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FAYSTON.

 

BY MRS. LAURA BRIGHAM BOYCE.

 

This township is in the S. W. corner of the County, 20 miles from Montpelier; b. N. by Duxbury, E. by Waitsfield, S. by Warren and Lincoln, W. by Huntington and Buell's Gore; 6 miles square; land el­evated, lying in large swells, except along Mill brook and Shephard's brook, where there is some intervale. Shephard's brook runs through the North part of the town, and empties into Mad river in Waitsfield. It affords ample water power, and several flourishing mills are in operation on its banks.

 

There was an extensive beaver meadow on this stream, and many of the trees on its banks were partly cut down by these animals. The brook received its name from one Shephard, who used to hunt beavers here.

 

Mill brook runs through the South part of the town, in an Easterly direction, and empties into Mad river in Waitsfield; this stream has good water-power, and several mills and one tannery are located on it. There is considerable good lumber in town, especially in the more mountainous parts, the most valuable of which is spruce. As many as 7,000 or 8,000 clapboard logs are annually cut in Fayston, besides the common lumber, ash, basswood, etc. There is also a good deal of hemlock, the bark of which is used extensively in tanneries. The spruce and hemlock lumber is a source of profit to the inhabitants. The maple is abundant, and there are many valuable sugar orchards; some have a thousand handsome second growth trees in one body. This adds an item to the income of the farmer, at the prices that have prevailed for maple sugar and syrup of late years.

The soil is strong and fertile, though not as easily tilled as a more sandy loam. These fertile upland farms are well adapted to dairying, as the sweetest grass is found here, and water as pure and soft as ever drank, two indispensable requisites for the dairy. Dairying is the chief source of in­come of a greater part of the inhabitants, though wheat and oats are raised here in

 

 

 

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abundance, but potatoes more especially. Corn is often a remunerative crop; but not so sure as on the intervales.

Fayston was granted Feb. 25, and char­tered Feb. 27, 1782, to Ebenezer Wal­bridge and his associates. It was first set­tled by Lynde Wait in 1798. In 1800, there were 18 persons in town.

Lucia Wait, daughter of Lynde Wait, better known as Squire Wait, was born in 1801, the first child born in town; subse­quently, Wait Farr, a son of William Farr, was born, and received a lot of land from Griswold Wait, as being the first male child born in town. From which we see in those primitive days the weaker were oppressed by the stronger, as they are still. There was no orthodox reason why Lucia Wait should not have had that lot of land as her birthright—except that she wasn't a boy.

The town was organized Aug. 6, 1805. James Wait was the first town clerk; Thomas Green the first constable; and Lynde Wait, Rufus Barrett and William Williams the first selectmen. Aug. 27, 1805, there was a town meeting called to petition the General Assembly to be set off with other towns from Chittenden County, which was not granted until some time in 1810 or 1811, when Fayston became a part of Jefferson County.

The first highways were surveyed in 1807, by Edmund Rice, surveyor. The first school district was organized in 1809, and consisted of the whole town, but subse­quently, in 1810, we believe, it was di­vided into two districts. The first tax levied on the grand list was in 1807, which was 5 cents on a dollar, to be worked out on the highway. The first tax levied on the grand list to be paid in money was in 1810. It was 1 cent on a dollar, and we have no doubt was as hard for these people as were the excessive taxes during the war for their descendants. The taxes levied on the grand list in Fayston during the war in one year were $10.79 on a dollar of the grand list, making a poll tax of $21.58, and school and highway taxes besides, which must have made another dollar. This was in 1864. There were several other bounty taxes raised during the war, but this was the heaviest. Fayston paid her war debt as she went along, and can show a clean record. In 1812, the town voted to raise 1 cent on a dollar for the support of schools, which was to be paid to the town treasurer in grain. At this time there were 25 children in district No. 1, between the ages of 4 and 18.

In March, 1809, William Newcomb, William Rogers and Marjena Gardener were elected "hog howards," an office now obsolete, and exactly what its duties were, even then, we are unable to learn. But it was an old-time custom to elect newly-married men to that notable office, which might have been no sinecure after all, as the swine in those days all ran where they listed, and unless they were much less vicious than their modern descendants, it must have needed three "hog constables" to a town to have kept them in order.

In April. 1808. William and Paul Boyce, two Quakers, emigrated from Richmond, N. H., and settled near beaver meadow, on Shephard's brook. This was the first opening in what is now called North Fayston. There is a little romance connected with this same William Boyce. It seems that William's susceptible heart had been touch­ed by one Irene Ballou, a Quaker maiden of his native place, and when he had made a beginning on his new home in the woods he began to be lonely, and feel the need of a helpmate to wash his wooden plates and pewter porringer, and also to assist him in picking up brush, planting potatoes, and several other things wherein the good wives made themselves useful in "the olden time," being then truly helpmates for men, instead of help spends, as many of the more modern wives are. So William jour­neyed to Richmond to claim his bride. He tarried long, and when he returned it was not the gentle Irene who accompanied him. Whether he met with a fairer Quaker­ess than she, and lost his heart with her against his will, or whether Irene was averse to going into the new country, among the bears and wolves, tradition saith not, but that it was not the latter reason we may infer from her farewell to

 

 

 

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him: "William, I wish thee well, I hope the Lord will bless thee, but I know He wont." Says one of his descendants: "I think He didn't, for be was always in some sort of trouble or other." Let the fate of William be a warning to all young Quakers, as well as those who quake not at all, to always keep their promises.

 

BOYCE FAMILY OF FAYSTON.

 

PAUL BOYCE married Rhoda Palmer, of Waitsfield, and here on the farm they first rescued from the wilderness, they lived to a ripe old age, and were finally buried in the cemetery not far away.

Their son, ZIBA WENTWORTH BOYCE, always resided in town until his death, 1877, age, 63. He received but a common school education, but by his own efforts, ultimately became a thorough scholar, and taught school many terms. Later he served the town in various capacities, and up to the time of his death was noted for his fine mental endowments. He was often jo­cosely called the "wisdom of North Fays­ton," and not altogether without reason. He was a writer of considerable ability, both in prose and verse. His two daugh­ters inherited his talent for writing, more especially his younger daughter, Mrs. Em­ongene Smith, now a resident of Dubuque, Iowa. The eldest daughter, Mrs. S. Minerva Boyce, has always remained at the homestead.

When Ziba W. was quite a young lad, his father sent him one night with his brother after the sheep, but they having strayed from their usual pasture, they failed to find them. In the morning they found what there was left of them, eleven having been devoured by the wolves during the night.

On one occasion Paul Boyce was going off into the woods with his oxen, when he met a bear with two cubs face to face. The meeting was not a remarkably pleasant one to him; he being a Quaker and averse to fighting, was pleased when the bear turned and trotted off.

About the year 1809, Stephen Griggs emigrated from Pomfret, Conn., and set­tled about one-half mile from Esquire Wait's farm. He resided there as long as he lived, and his companion, who survived him many years, died there. The place has never passed out of the family, a grand­daughter at present residing there. This farm and the Brigham farm are the only ones in South Fayston which have never passed out of the families of the first set­tlers.

Deer-yards were frequently found on the eastern slopes of the hills. The early set­tlers used to hunt them in winter when the snow was deep, so that they could not es­cape. Buck's horns were often found in the woods. Sable were quite abundant. Ezra Meach, of Shelburne, passed through the town in 1809, setting his line of traps for sable, and blazed trees along his route. He found it quite profitable business, as these animals were exceedingly good in the western part of the town. The panther, the great dread of the juvenile community, was often seen, or supposed to he seen, but never captured in this town.

 

UNCLE JOHN'S INDIAN RAID.

 

Some time about 1803, there were then five or six families settled in what is now known as South Fayston. There were Uncle John and Uncle Rufus Barrett—I call them Uncle John and Uncle Rufus, as there were the names by which I knew them in my early childhood, albeit they were both young men at the date of my story. There were Squire Wait and Thos. Green, and if there were others I do not know their names.

Now at that time the raising of a new house or barn was a job that required plenty of muscle and new rum, for they were built of logs, and very heavy.

On a certain day, somebody in Warren was to raise a barn, and as the country was sparsely settled, everybody was in­vited far and near, and all the men of Fays­ton went except Uncle John. Whether he stayed at home to guard the women and children from the bears and wolves, tra­dition saith not. I only know he "tarried by the stuff," and all went well till near sundown, when suddenly there burst upon his ears a long, wild cry, between a howl

 

 

 

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and a whoop. Uncle John was on the alert; he listened with bated breath a few moments; louder and nearer than before came that terrible howl, this time in a dif­ferent direction.

" 'Tis the Indian war whoop," said Uncle John; "no doubt we are surround­ed, and the men all away." He stood not upon the order of going, but went at once. Uncle John was no coward, and if the red­skins got his scalp, they should buy it dearly, he resolved, and seizing his gun, bidding his wife to follow, he ran to alarm the neighbors, and get them all together, that he might defend them as long as pos­sible. In a short time every woman and child in the settlement was ensconced in Uncle Rufus' domicile, with all the fire­arms the settlement contained, the door barricaded, and all the preparations made to receive the red-skins that one man could do, aided by a few courageous women. They listened, with hearing made acute by fear, for the repetition of the war whoop. Now they heard it evidently nearing them—Uncle John loaded all the guns—now they heard it further away. With pale faces and palpitating hearts, they awaited the onset. The twilight shades deepened, the night closed in, but still the Indians did not attack them.

Now there was an additional anxiety among the inmates of the little cabin, for it was time for the men to be returning from the raising, and as they were un­armed, they would fall an easy prey to the Indians.

Meanwhile the men, having finished their labors, were returning home, all uncon­scious of the danger menacing them. They reached home, but were surprised to find those homes deserted. "Come on to my house," said Uncle Rufus, "perhaps the women were lonesome, and have gone to make my wife a visit." So, not knowing what else to do, they went on. Yes, there was a light at Uncle Rufus', sure enough, and a glance sufficed to show that there was some unusual commotion within. What could it be?

"Hark, I hear voices," cried one of the women, "it is the Indians this time, sure." The children began to cry, and I suppose it would have been very delicate if the women had fainted, but they did no such thing.

"What are you all about here? why don't you let us in?" cried Uncle Rufus, shaking the door. The door was opened speedily, and instead of being scalped by the Indians, they fell into the arms of their astonished husbands.

"What is all this pow-wow about, any­way?" said one. Then Uncle John ex­plained how he had heard the Indian war-whoop off in the woods, and had gathered the women and children there together for protection. The men burst into a loud laugh. "It was the wolves," said Squire Wait, "we heard them howling on the mountain as we came home. I'll be bound there isn't a red-skin within 50 miles."

Uncle John was somewhat crestfallen, but he was rather glad after all that it wasn't Indians, for he preferred to have his scalp in its proper place, rather than dangling from the red-skins' belts.

Some time in 1814, there was a rumor current of great treasure buried by the Spanish Legions at the forks of Shepherd's brook, and William Boyce, having a desire for "the root of all evil," resolved to find it. He engaged one Arad Sherman, a man of such magical powers that in his hands a witch-hazel rod performed as many antics as the rod of Aaron, and they went about the search. Arad took the enchanted rod, and lo! it pointed out the exact location of the buried treasure, but it remained for them to dig and get it. It had been revealed to Arad that they must dig in the night time, and no word must be spoken by any one of the number during the whole time of the digging, else the treasure would be lost to them. So one night they started on their secret expedi­tion. Nothing was heard but the dull thud of the bars in the earth, and grating of the spade. The earth was obstinate, but they were determined no powers of earth should cheat them of their treasure. The hours wore on, when suddenly William's bar struck against the iron chest containing the treasure, with a sharp "clink." Over‑

 

 

 

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joyed at their success, William forgot the caution and cried out "I've found it!" At that instant the box shook with an ominous rattle, and sank down, down, far below the sight of their longing eyes, taking the bar and all with it, says the tradition. Fright­ened nearly out of their wits, they "ske­daddled" for home, sadder if not better men, and the treasure remains buried there to this day.

In the winter of 1826, a beautiful doe was run down Shepherd's brook to Mad river, near Jason Carpenter's and brought up in an open eddy out of the reach of the dogs. Judge Carpenter caught it in his arms, and, seven or eight hunters coming up just then, he told them that they could not have the doe, but each one of them might go and select a sheep from his flock, if they would go home about their business. Nothing but the beautiful doe would satisfy these blood-thirsty hunters, and, seizing the deer by main force, they killed it on the spot.

Pigeons were abundant. One device for keeping them off the grain patches was a boy threshing a log chain around a stump. They used also to construct bough houses on the edge of the field, and draw a huge net over the baiting place, thus se­curing dozens at a haul. Partridges were caught on their drumming logs in snares, or, if not there, the gunner was sure to find them in some thicket. So it came to be a proverb, "hunted like a partridge."

In early days Uncle Moses Eaton used to bring corn from Richmond on the backs of two horses, the roads not being passable for any vehicle.

On his journey Uncle Moses met Uncle Joe Clark, of Duxbury, at Pride's tavern in Waterbury. "Now," said Uncle Joe, "you will want some pork to go with that corn, and you just call at my house, and tell Aunt Betsey to put you up a good clear piece of pork." The next time they met Uncle Moses said, "I called on Aunt Betsey, as you told me, and she raised her hands and blessed herself, saying, "What on airth does that man mean, sending any one here for pork, when he knows that we haint had any kind of meat in the house for six months?" But Uncle Joe enjoyed the joke hugely.

In Fayston there was considerable snow on the 8th and 9th of June, 1816, and everything was frozen down to the ground. The trees put out new leaves three times during that season, having been cut off twice by frost; hardly anything ripened, and the settlers saw dreary times.

 

WILLIAM NEWCOMB

 

came to the township quite early in its set­tlement, and finished his days here. He built one of the first framed houses in town, Esquire Wait's being the first; Mr. Newcomb and Merrill Tyler each built theirs the same year, but I am unable to learn in what year. Mr. Newcomb's farm was occupied by his son Hosea many years, but has passed into the hands of strangers. The old house was burned during a high wind, in Oct. 1878.

 

DR. DAN NEWCOMB, son of Hosea New­comb, was born and reared here, but has been for several years a practicing physi­cian in Steele County, Ill. He is also the author of a medical work entitled, "When and How," a work of considerable merit. Don Carlos, another son, is a prominent wholesale merchant of Atchison, Kansas.

 

NATHAN AND JACOB BOYCE.

 

In 1808, Nathan Boyce and his wife, Zeviah, came to Fayston, and settled on Shephard's brook, near Paul Boyce, of whom he was a relative, and also of the Quaker faith. Nathan Boyce died many years ago; his wife in 1856, aged about 90, I think. She resided with her son Jacob, who died in 186—. His wife still survives him, at the age of 81 (1878. She is still living, Aug. 1881.) She lives on the old farm with her son, Seth Boyce. The farm has always remained in the family.

Jacob Boyce had 4 sons and 4 daughters, all of whom, save one, are settled in Fays­ton or the immediately adjacent towns.

 

BRIGHAM FAMILY.

 

In 1809, Gershom Brigham and family emigrated from Winchester, N. H., and settled in South Fayston, near Lynde Wait's. Elisha, their third child, was then 17 years old, and eventually settled on the

 

 

 

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same land, his other brothers and sisters finding other homes. His parents resided with him while they lived, and their bones rest in the little green grave-yard on the old Wait farm. Elisha lived here to ripe old age, raising a family of it children, all of whom are now living except one daugh­ter, who died at the age of 42. The two eldest sons and the two youngest daughters of this family have some literary talent, having all contributed to the press accept­ably, in prose and verse. The eldest son, [See separate notice of Dr. G. N. Brigham].

Elisha Brigham died in 1863, aged 70 years; his widow in 1876, aged 77. The old home that she had resided in for more than 40 years, took fire in some mysterious manner, and was burned in the early morn­ing hours, when her demise was hourly expected. She was borne from the flaming house to the home of a neighbor, and breathed her last in the very house whence she went on her wedding day to be mar­ried 59 years before.

Mrs. Brigham was a woman of remark­able powers, mental and physical. Left an orphan by the death of her mother at the age of 12, she came from Randolph, Vt., her native place, to reside in the family of Esquire Wait, so she became early identi­fied with the history of the town. Her re­markably vigorous constitution and ambi­tion to excel, fitted her for the position of a pioneer's wife, and she endured the hard­ships and deprivations consequent on the building up of a new place, with great fortitude. With a large family of her own and many cares, yet she acted as nurse for half the town, and such was her skill in the management of the sick, that the old phy­sician, now dead, used always, if he had a critical case, to send for Mrs. Brigham, and said, with her to nurse them, he felt pretty sure of bringing his patients through. Her very presence and touch seemed to bring healing with them.

When Mrs. Brigham was a fair, young wife of 19, she was small, lithe and supple, with nerves of steel, and she never shrank from any of the hardships of her life. They then made sugar nearly a mile from the house. It was growing late in the spring, and Mr. Brigham was anxious to be about his spring's work, and his wife, being equally anxious for a good supply of sugar, offered to go with her sister, a girl of 17, and boil in the sap. Taking the baby with them, they started for the sugar-camp. It was late in spring and quite warm, and babies were not killed by a breath of fresh air in those days. They boiled sap all day, Mrs. B. gathering in some sap near the boiling place. In the afternoon they heard a good deal of bark­ing off in the woods, but supposed it was some hounds after foxes. Mr. Brigham did not get up to the sugar-camp to bring down the syrup till nine o'clock, they staying there alone until that time. A neighbor passing through the camp early the next morning, found a sheep dead at the foot of a tree where Mrs. Brigham had gathered sap at sundown. The sheep was still warm when Mr. Brigham arrived on the spot. On looking around, they found 20 sheep had been killed by the wolves. Mrs. Brigham and her fair sister did not care to boil till nine o'clock the next night.

On one occasion Mrs. Brigham, desiring to get some weaving done, mounted an unbroken, 3-years-old colt, that had never had a woman on his back before, and started on a ride of 4 miles through the woods, to Wm. Farr's, with a bag of yarn fastened to the saddle-bow. There was only a bridle-path part of the way, and the colt was shy, but he found his match in the little woman of scarce 100 pounds' weight, and carried her safely to her destination. Her business dispatched at Mr. Farr's, she started homeward by another route, having occasion to call at one William Marsten's, who lived far up on the road leading over the mountain into Huntington, and from thence homeward by a route so indistinctly mark­ed, blazed trees being the guide, she mis­took a path worn by the cattle for the traveled road, and did not discover her mistake till she came up to the pasture fence. Nothing daunted, she took down the fence, passed over, then replaced it, and went over, being then so near home that she felt pretty sure of her whereabouts. After the colt became better broken, she

 

 

 

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used often to take one child in her arms and another behind her, and go to the store, 3 or 4 miles distant, or visit a distant neighbor, or to go to meeting.

 

JOTHAM CARPENTER

 

was the first settled minister, and received the minister lot of land in this town. How many years he remained here I know not, but he has one son now living in Brook­field.

 

Preaching has generally been of a desul­tory character, owing to the fact that North and South Fayston are divided by a nat­ural barrier of hills, that makes it far more convenient for the North section to go to Moretown, and the South part is more accessible to Waitsfield, so that it seems probable that the different sections will never unite in worship. The people in N. Fayston have an organized Baptist society, and have quite frequent preaching, and some years hire a minister, and many years ago, the Methodists had quite a large society in So. Fayston, but it has been dismembered a long time, and most of its former members are dead, and those re­maining have united with the Methodist church in Waitsfield.

 

John and Rufus Barrett were among the early settlers, and one Thomas Green, but as they have no descendants remaining in town, I cannot tell when they settled here, but they were here as early as 1803, it is believed.

Elizabeth, widow of John Barrett, died in Waitsfield a few years since (1878) aged 93 years. She survived her husband many years.

 

One Jonathan Lamson died in town several years ago, at the age of 84. His wife lived to the age of 107 years. Timothy Chase died at the age of 91; his wife, Ruth, some years earlier, over 80. Lynde Wait, the first settler, moved from town many years ago, and eventually went West, and I have learned, died at an advanced age, over 80. Nearly all the early settlers whom I have known, lived to ripe old age, but they have passed away, and with them much of the material for a full history of the town. I have gathered as much as I could that is reliable, but even the last two, from whom I have elicited most of the facts recorded here, have now gone to their long homes, and much that I have gathered here would now be forever sealed in silence, had I began my work a little later.

 

CAPT. ELLIOT PORTER,

 

the first captain of the militia in the town, was born in Hartford, Vt., 1785, married Sidney Ward in 1811, and soon after re­moved to Fayston, where they began to clear them a home in the North part of the town, where they resided till their death. He died at the age of 89; his wife at 86. They had 8 children. William E. Porter, their son, died at 57; 4 sons are now living.

 

WILLARD B. PORTER,

 

son of Elliot, has always resided in town, near where he was born, and has served the town in almost every official capacity. He has been town clerk 31 years, school district clerk 25 years, treasurer 14 years, justice of the peace 30 years, and in that capacity married 86 couple. He has rep­resented the town 6 sessions, including 1 extra session, and has attended 2 consti­tutional conventions. Mr. Porter says the first school he attended was in his father's log-house chamber; the scholars, his eldest brother, himself and one Jane Laws; the teacher's name, Elizabeth Sherman. Mr. Willard Porter has done more business for the town than any other person now living.

 

WARREN C. PORTER

 

served as a soldier during nearly the whole war of the Rebellion, and has taught school 24 terms. Dr. Wilfred W. Porter, see separate notice. Walter, the youngest son, remains on the old homestead, and it was his care to soothe the declining years of his parents as they went slowly down the dark valley.

There was no death occurred in the family of Elliot Porter for 50 years.

 

WILLIAM SHERMAN

 

was among the early settlers of Fayston, though I am not informed in what year he

 

 

 

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settled here. He represented the town in the general assembly, and held other town offices. His daughter, widow of Eli Bruce, still lives on the old homestead that he re­deemed from the wilderness.

 

ELI BRUCE

was a long-time resident of Fayston, and did a large amount of business for the town, several times being the represent­ative, and justice of peace for many years. He died at the age of 69. His daughter was the first person buried in the cemetery in N. Fayston.

 

SILAS W. FISHER

resides in N. Fayston, on the farm where he has lived for 50 years. His wife has been dead some years. He has two sur­viving sons; one in the West, and the other, C. M. Fisher, is constable of Fays­ton at the present time—1878. He died in 1879.

 

BENJAMIN B. FISHER

was the first postmaster in town, and held the office till his death, and his wife held the office 4 years afterwards. Truman Murray is the present incumbent.

 

RILEY MANSFIELD

came to the town when he was quite a young man, and passed his days here, dying in 1876, aged 75; his wife in 1874; out of a large family, there is only one sur­viving child of theirs.

 

JOSEPH MARBLE

came to Fayston in September, 1809, and with his wife Susan passed the remnant of his days here, dying at the age of 84; his wife at 81. They had 11 children, two only are living (1878.) One daughter in Wisconsin, and Benjamin on the farm where his father began 70 years ago. He is I think now over 80 years of age—is still living, aged 86. Cynthia, daughter of Joseph Marble, and widow of Peter Quimby, died Aug., 1878, aged 74.

One fall, Joseph Marble, Jr., had a log‑rolling, to build a new house, the old one giving signs of failing up. In the evening the rosy cheeked lasses from far and near joined with the athletic youths in a dance. It wasn't the "German," nor waltz, nor polka, but a genuine jig. It was a merry company who beat time to the music of a corn-stalk fiddle in farmer Marble's kitch­en, the jocund laugh and jest followed the "O be joyful," as it went its unfailing round, which it always did on such occa­sions. They grew exceedingly merry, and one fellow, feeling chock full and running over with hilarity, declared "When they felt like that they ought to kick it out." So they put in "the double shuffle, toe and heel," with such zest that the decayed sleepers gave way. Down went floor, dancers, corn-stalk fiddle, and all, into the cellar. Whether the hilarious fellow "kicked it out" to his satisfaction, we are not informed, but if his fiddle was injured in its journey it could be easily replaced.

In 1830, a little daughter of William Marston, 4 years old, strayed from home, and wandered on and on in the obscure bridle path. She came out at one Carpen­ter's, in Huntington, having crossed the mountain, and spent a day and a night in the woods; and beasts of prey, at that time were numerous upon the mountains.

Jonathan Nelson had a son and daugh­ter lost in the woods about 1842. The boy was 12 years of age, the girl younger. After a toilsome search, they were found on the second day, unharmed, near Cam­el's Hump.

In 1847, the alarm was given that a little son of Ira Wheeler, 4 years old, had not returned from school. The neighbors turned out, and searching all day returned at night without any trace of the lost one. The mother was almost distracted. The search was continued the second day with no better results. I remember hearing my brother say, as he took a quantity of provisions with him on the third day, that they were "resolved not to return home again until the boy was found either dead or alive," though many thought that he must have perished already, either from hunger and fatigue, or from the bears infesting, the woods. He was soon found in the town of Duxbury, several miles from home, having been nearly 3 days and nights in the woods. He had carried his dinner-pail when he started from school

 

 

 

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at night, and providentially some of the scholars had given him some dinner that day, so that his own remained untouched.

This being the second time the men had been called out to hunt for lost children in 5 years, some of them were getting rather tired of the thing, whereupon Ziba Boyce drew up a set of resolutions and read them on the occasion, after the child was found, and all were feeling as jolly as such weary mortals could. I have not a copy of them all, but it was resolved "that mothers be instructed to take care of their children, and not let them wander off into woods to be food for the bears, or for the neighbors to hunt up."

There have been no more lost children to search for in Fayston since that, so we may suppose it to have been effective. Fayston, along with other towns, has suffered from freshets at various times. In the year 1830, occurred what was known as the "great freshet." Buildings were swept away, one person was drowned, and others barely escaped. The famous "Green Mountain slide," which began within a few feet of the summit, where the town is divided from Buel's Gore, in sight of the homestead where I was born, occurred in the summer of 1827. It had rained quite hard some days, and the soil, becoming loosened, gave way, carrying with it trees, rocks, and the debris of ages, on its downward course. Gathering impetus as it advanced, for the mountain is very steep here, it went thundering down the mountain side a distance of a mile or more, with a crash and rumble that shook the earth for miles around, like an earthquake. One branch of Mill brook comes down from here, and, being dammed up by the debris of this grand avalanche, its waters accumulated till it became a miniature lake, then overleaping its barriers it rushed down to its work of destruction below. In July, 1858, a destructive freshet visited Fayston, and the towns adjacent. It had been exceedingly dry, and water was very low. At 7 o'clock in the afternoon, on Saturday, July, 3, the workmen in the mill of Campbell & Grandy were desiring rain, that they might run the mill. They got what they desired, only got too much; for instead of running the mill they ran for their lives, and let the mill run itself, as it did very rapidly down stream, in less than 2 hours after the rain commenced. The old saying "it never rains but it pours" was verified; it came in sheets. I remem­ber watching the brooks surging through our door-yard; we felt no alarm, thinking a thunder shower not likely to do much damage. We retired to rest, and slept undisturbed, not being in the vicinity of the large streams. We learned in the morning every bridge between Fayston and Middlesex, but one, was swept away. Campbell & Grandy's mill went off before 10 o'clock, and the house pertaining to the mill was so much undermined by the water, the inmates left, taking what valuables they could with them. Mr. Green's fam­ily also deserted their house. The water was several feet deep in the road, but, the storm soon subsiding, the houses did not go off.

A clapboard mill owned by Brigham brother, on Shepherd's brook, was ruined. Not a mill in town escaped a good deal of injury. Many people left their houses, expecting them to be carried down the seething flood, and but one bridge of any account was left in town, and the roads were completely demoralized!

This storm seemed a local one, not doing much damage except in the towns in the Mad river basin and on tributary streams. I have heard it speculated that two rain clouds met on the mountain ridges. Be that as it may, I think two hours' rain seldom did such damage in any locality.

In the freshet of 1869, Fayston suffered less than many other towns, but several bridges were carried off, the roads cut up badly, mill dams swept away, etc.

The mill rebuilt on the site of the one swept away in 1858, this time owned by Richardson & Rich, was again carried off, but as considerable of the machinery was afterward found, Mr. Richardson deter­mined to rebuild, putting it a few rods lower down the stream. He has built a

 

 

 

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fine, large mill there, and feels secure this mill shall stand.

Fayston is a very healthy town. There are several living in town over 80 years of age.

            [This was written in 1867.]

 

ELISHA BRIGHAM

was born in old Marlboro, Mass., 1792. In the common school he obtained all the education he ever had beyond the poor chance of gleaning a little, here and there, from a limited supply of books, amid a multitude of cares at home; but at the age of 12, he had mastered most of Pike's Arithmetic; performing more examples by the feeble light of an old-fashioned chimney fire-place, than at school. So engaged was he that he often went to bed on a difficult problem, to dream it out on his pillow. From Old Marlboro, the fam­mily removed to Winchester, N. H., and there hearing of the emigration to the Winooski, and Mad River Valleys, they cast lots with the pioneers to this then wilderness country, and removed on to the tract of land owned in the present homestead. Elisha, now 16, began to take the lead in business, his father being very infirm. About half a dozen families were settled in the south part of the town, having made little openings in the forest, with no well worked road into the town. He and two other members of the family, came the first year to roll up the log-house. The next year all came on, and a family of 8 persons, several children younger than himself, seemed to be dependent on him, even so young, as a foster-father and a guardian. He commenced levelling the old forest trees, and bringing into tillage, meadow and pasturage. Early and late he toiled, and year by year the meadow widened, and the line of woods receded.

In the earliest business transactions of the town, we find the name of Elisha Brigham. There was hardly a year from that time till his death, but what he held some town office. But what most distin­guished him was his exact honesty. No man could ever say that he defrauded him of the least in this world's goods. He would rather suffer wrong than to do wrong. He never could oppress the weak, as, instinctively, his whole nature prompted him to espouse their cause. And his reli­gious example was the crowning glory of the man. He was the real pioneer of Methodism in the town; for many years leader in all their social meetings, and around him grew up a thriving class. In this earlier history of the community it might well have been christened the home of the good. Class-leader and chorister, he guided them encouragingly on, and yet his manner was never exciting, hardly, even, could it be said to be fervid or warm; but solid goodness, tenderness, and genu­ine interest in all that pertained to the soul's welfare, were manifest. The waver­ing came to him, for he never faltered; the weak, because he was a pillar of strength. He was a man of no doubts in his religious belief, and a man living not by emotion, but principle, and his home was one of hospitality; particularly was the preacher his guest.

In 1816, collector, often juror and select­man, many years lister, nearly always high­way-surveyor, district clerk or committee man. In all his more active life, however, he was nearly alone in his politics, he being a thorough whig, while the town was intensely democratic. For which rea­son probably he was never sent to the Legislature of the State, as this seems to be the only office of importance which he at some time has not held.

At the age of 24, he married Sophronia Ryder. They had 12 children, but one of whom died in infancy; the rest were all living in 1863. One daughter died in July, 1866; the rest are all living, 1881. And in the fullness of affection and tenderness all will say he was a good father. Daily he gathered them around his fam­ily altar, while they lived with him, and sought for than the reconciliation of God. He walked before them soberly, patiently, peaceably. His soul seemed like an unruffled river, gliding ever tran­quil and even in its banks almost alike in sunshine and in storm. He had no enemies; but was Grandfather, and "Un­cle Elisha," to all the neighborhood. Even

 

 

 

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the old and young far out of his own im­mediate neighborhood, called him by the sobriquet of Uncle Elisha, and seemed to mourn for him as for a good old uncle. His family physician remarked of him after his decease, that he was "the one man of whom he could say, he did not know that he had an enemy in the world. He was a peacemaker."

 

ONLY A LITTLE WHILE.

 

BY MRS. LAURA BRIGHAM BOYCE.

 

                  Only a little while

Lingers the springtime with its sun and dew

      And song of birds, and gently falling rain,

And springing flowers, on hillside and on plain,

      Clothing the earth in garments fresh and new.

 

                  Only a little while

The summer tarries with its sultry heat;

      Showering its smiles upon the fruitful land,

Ripening the harvest for the reaper's hand,

      Ere autumn shall the fruitful work complete.

 

                  Only a little while

The autumn paints with gorgeousness the leaves,

      Ere wintry winds shall pluck them from the bough

To drape the earth's dark, corrugated brow,—

      Then hasten, loiterer, gather in thy sheaves.

 

                  Only a little while

The winter winds shall moan and wildly rave,

      While the fierce storm-king walks abroad in might,

Clothing the carol in garments pure and white,

      Ere the grim monarch, too. shall find a grave.

 

                  Only a little while,

Life's spring-time lingers, and our youthful feet

      Through flowery paths of innocence are led,

And joyous visions fill our careless head;

      Too bright, alas! as beautiful as fleet.

 

                  Only a little while

Life's summer waits with storm and genial sun,

      With days of toil and nights of calm repose;

We find without its thorn we pluck no rose,

      And spring-time visions vanish one by one.

 

                  Only a little while

Ere autumn comes and life is on the wane

      Happy for us if well our work be done,

For if we loitered in the summer's sun,

      How shall we labor in the autumn rain?

 

                  Only a little while,

And winter comes apace; the hoary head,

      And palsied limbs, tell of the labors past,

And victories won—ah! soon shall be the last,—

      And they shall whisper softly "he is dead."

 

 

W. W. PORTER

was born in Fayston, July 24, 1826. He was the 4th son of Elliot Porter and Sidney Ward, the former a native of Hartford, the latter a native of Poultney, Vt., and a daughter of Judge William Ward, judge in Rutland Co. 22 years.

Wilfred spent his time until he was 17 on the farm, and attending school winters; at which time he commenced studying falls and springs, and teaching winters, attend­ing the academies at Montpelier and Bakerstield, and working on the farm during the summer months until he was 22 years of age.

As early as fifteen he had set his mind upon the medical profession for life, and bent all his energies in that direction. Having studied medicine some time previously, he, at 22, entered the office of Dr. G. N. Brigham, and began the study of medicine, which he continued summers, teaching school falls and winters for 1½ year, when he entered the medical college at Woodstock, where he remained one term, and afterwards at Castleton, Vt., for two terms, graduating from that college in the fall of '51, when he came to Syracuse, and entered the office of Dr. Hiram Hoyt for a short time; May, 1852, entered the school at Geddes as principal teacher for one year, and May 16, 1853, opened an office in that place to practice his profession, which he has continued until the present.

At the close of his first year, the resident doctor of Geddes died, leaving him in full possession of the field. Dr. Porter rose rapidly, and by integrity of purpose and dealing, grew into a very large and lu­crative practice, which he carried on for 15 years, as it were, alone, after which he had partners in the practice of medicine.

His practice gradually extended to the city of Syracuse, when, in 1875, the de­mand upon him for medical treatment from that city became so great that he opened an office there, which he alternately at­tends upon, with his home office in Geddes. He has been for 25 years a member of the Onondaga County Medical Society, and for one term its president, and a permanent member of the New York State Medical Society; also a member of the American Medical Association, and upon organiza­tion of the College of Medicine of Syracuse University, in 1872, he was appointed clin­ical professor of obstetrics and gynaecology the first year, and at the end of the year, professor in full, which position he still re­tains.

His skill in the treatment of diseases has

 

 

 

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won for him a position in the esteem of the people to be envied by young practitioners, and his indomitable perseverance and en­durance of body have enabled him to grat­ify, in a great measure, the laudable am­bition of his earlier years—to be among the first in his profession. He was one of the first movers in the organization and establishment of a university at Syracuse, and since its beginning has been a trustee and closely identified with all its interests, and has been largely identified with the pub­lic schools of his town since his first resi­dence there, being supt. of the schools of the town for some 2 years, and trustee of the village school for some 25 years; also being president of the board of educa­tion.

 

He and his wife are warmly attached to the Methodist Episcopal church, and are not only liberal supporters of the same, but of any enterprise they regard as look­ing to the building up of good society.

In the year 1853, Nov. 13, he married Miss Jane, daughter of Simeon Draper and Clarissa Stone, of Geddes; children, Clara A., George D. (deceased), Wilfred W. Jr., Jane and Louie.

 

LONGEVITY RECORD IN 1881.

 

Ruth Chase died in 1865, aged 84; Timothy Chase in 1875, 93; Benj. Corliss, in 1865, nearly 91; Henry Morgan, 1868, 84. The wife of Henry Morgan (in Northfield), over 80 years. Her home was in Fayston. James Baird died in 1870, aged 81; Geo. Somerville, 1870, 80; Margarett Strong, 1870, 98; Elizabeth Lamson, in 1872. Her friends differed as to her age; some claim­ed she was 104; others that she was but 102. Her husband, Jonathan Lamson, died some 20 years since, aged between 80 and 90; Jane McAughin died in 1872, aged 82; Capt. Elliot Porter, 1874, nearly 90; Sidney Porter, his wife, 1875, 86; Joseph and Susan Marble, over 80; Zeviah Boyce, 1856, aged about 90; Mehitable Tyler, 1855, between 80 and 90. Elizabeth Bar­rett died in Waitsfield in 1873, aged 93. She was for many years a resident of Fays­ton, but moved to W. a short time before her death.

 

TOWN OFFICERS 1871-1881.

 

Town Clerks, Willard B. Porter, 1871 to '80; D. S. Stoddard, 1880; S. J. Dana, 1881. Representatives, 1871, none; S. J. Dana, 1872; M. S. Strong, 1874; D. S. Stoddard, 1876; Seth Boyce, 1878; Na­than Boyce, 1880. Treasurers, D. S. Stoddard, 1871, '72; A. D. Bragg, 1875, '79; Seth Boyce, 1880, '81. First Select­men, C. D. Billings, 1871; Dan Boyce, 1872; C. S. Dana, 1874; Seth Boyce, 1875; J. Patterson, 1876; M. S. Strong, 1879; John Maxwell, 1878, '79; J. P. Boyce, 1880, '81. Constables, Cornelius McMul­len, 1871, 72; H. G. Campbell, 1873, '74 C. M. Fisher, 1875, '76, '79; S. J. Dana, 1877, '78, Allen S. Howe, 1880; M. S. Strong, 1881. Grand Jury, G. O. Boyce, 1871, '72, '73, '75; W. B. Porter, 1874, '76; C. S. Dana, 1877, 78; Seth Boyce, 1879, '80; R. Maxwell and Wm. Chipman, 1881. School Supt., Grey H. Porter, 1871, '72, '73; Rev. J. F. Buzzel, 1874 to 1881. Trustees of the Town, Seth Boyce, 1873, '79; Geo. Boyce, 1877, '78, '80, '81. Jus­tices of the Peace, Willard B. Porter, 1872, '74, '76, '78; G. O. Boyce, 1872, '74; D. S. Stoddard, 1872, '76, '78, '80; Z. W. Boyce, 1872, '74; H. H. Morgan, 1872; C. D. Billings, 1874; E. Ainsworth, 1874; S. J. Dana, 1876, '78, '80; O. S. Bruce, J. Z. Marble, 1878; Nathan Boyce, Stephen Johnson, Dan Boyce, 1880.

 

GERSHOM NELSON BRIGHAM, M. D.,

 

for 20 years a practicing physician at Mont­pelier, was born in Fayston, Mar. 3, 1820, was son of Elisha Brigham, who made his pitch in F. with the first settlers. His mother, Sophronia Ryder, whose mother was Lucy Chase, a relative of the Hon. Dudley Chase [See Randolph History, vol. II], was a woman of vigorous consti­tution and an active, original mind. Sev­eral ancestors in the Brigham line have been physicians, one of whom was Gershom Brigham, of Marlboro, Mass., the old an­cestral town of the Brighams of this coun­try, the stock tracing back to the parish of Brigham in Northumberland Co., Eng­land. Dr. G. N. Brigham received his education in our common schools, with a

 

 

 

                                                                FAYSTON.                                                          189

 

year in Wash. Co. Gram. Sch. and a half year at Poultney Academy, and studied medicine with Dr. David C. Joslyn, of Waitsfield, Dr. S. W. Thayer, now of Bur­lington, Prof. Benj. R. Palmer, now of Woodstock, graduating at Woodstock Medical College in 1845, attending three courses of lectures. He has practiced 3 years at Warren, then 3 years at Waits­field; removed to Montpelier, 1849; at­tended lectures at the college of Physicians and Surgeons, N. Y., spending much time in the hospitals of the city, about which time he became a convert to homeopathy, and was the second person in middle Vermont to espouse the cause at this time so unpopular, and one of six who founded the State Homoeopathic Society. He has ed­ucated quite a number of students in his office, among whom, his own son, Dr. Homer C. Brigham, of Montpelier, and Prof. Wilfred W. Porter, of the Medical Department in the Syracuse University. While at Montpelier he served a while as postmaster; was town superintendent of common schools; lectured on education, temperance and sundry scientific subjects, and has been a contributor to medical journals, and known to the secular press in essays and poetical contributions for over 25 years. He delivered the class poem be­fore the Norwich University in 1870; pub­lished in that year a 12 mo. vol., pp. 180, "The Harvest Moon and other Poems" at the Riverside Press, which with additions came out in a second edition.

The Doctor has since issued a "Work on Catarrhal Diseases," 126 pp., and re­ports a work on "Pulmonary Consump­tion," nearly ready for press; that he has written this year, 1881, a play in tragedy, "Benedict Arnold," that he expects to publish. He is regular contributor to three medical journals, and has written for as many as thirty of the leading newspapers, East and West. He married, 1st, Laura Elvira Tyler, dau. of Merrill Tyler, Esq., of Fayston; children, Homer C., Willard Irving, Julia Lena, Ida Lenore. His first wife died Mar. 12, 1873. He married, 2d, Miss Agnes Ruth Walker, dau. of Ephraim Walker, Esq., of Springfield. They have one child. Dr. Brigham has resided since 1878, at Grand Rapids, Mich. His son, Dr. Homer C., is in practice at Montpelier. In his poetical writings—not a few—the Doctor has always inclined to the patriotic.

Aug. 16th, 100th anniversary of Benning­ton battle. At the meeting of the Ver­monter's Society in Michigan, at Grand Rapids, Hon. W. A. Howard delivered the oration, and Dr. G. N. Brigham, the poem. We give an extract. In our crowded pages we have scarce room for poetic extracts, even, and this appears to be the musical town of the County. Such a flock of native poets, all expecting by right of manor, to sing in the history of their birth town, with the one who has written the most in this prolific field, we must begin to be brief. Haply, he has published too widely to be in need of our illustration:

 

FROM "THE BATTLE OF BENNINGTON."

 

When Freedom's cause in doubtful scaie

Hung trembling o'er Columbia's land,

And men with sinking hearts turned pale

That 'gainst the foe there stood no brand,

Vermont, thy banner rose.

Green waved thy lofty mountain pine,

Which thou didst make thy battle sign,

Then from the mountain fastness thou

Didst sally with a knitted brow,

And tyrants felt thy blows.

 

The bugle blew no frightful blast

Where th' sulphrous smoke its mantle cast,

For oft thy sons in forest field

The heavy broadsword learned to wield

In their old border frays.

Bred to reclaim the native soil

With sinewed limb and patient toil,

The forest path to stoutly fend,

Where foes did lurk, or wild feasts wend,

No danger did amaze.

 

Free as the mountain air they breathe,

The vassal's place they dare disown;

The blade from scabbard to unsheath

And see the slaughters harvest sown,

Ere wrong shall rule the day.

So when the midnight cry, "To arms!"

Did reach them at their northern farms,

They snatched the musket and the powder-horn,

And shook their brand with patriots' scorn,

And gathered to the fray.

 

Vermont, thy soul's young life was there,

There from thy rocks up leapt the fire

That made thy hills the altar-stair

To holy freedom's star-crowned spire,

While all the world did doubt.

In native hearts and native blades

The freeman's hope forever lives;

The soul that first in sorrow wades,

The most to human nature gives

In sorest times of drought.

 

 

 

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The hosts of Albion sleep secure,

The mountain path to them is sure,

And in their dreams they wait the day

To feast and drive the mob away,

            And forage on the town.

That dream to England sealed her doom;

They roused to hear the cannon boom,

And see the mountaineers they scorned

In serried line of battle formed,

            And on them coming down.

 

And who here making pilgrimage,

When told how, with their muskets clubbed,

Our sires from breastworks drove the foe,

How here were English veterans drubbed

            By plowmen gloved in steel,

Shall say, the race keeps not to-day

The Spartan fire—

 

    •    •    •    •    •    •    •    •    •

 

Shall say, if with this trenchant warp

There runs not through it thread of gold;

Or if the Attic salt still flows

Through pulsing veins of later mold,

            And pledges colored wine.

 

    •    •    •    •    •    •    •    •    •

 

From hence the field of Bennington

With Concord and with Lexington,

Upon the patriot's scroll shall blaze,

And virtue's hearts proclaim her praise,

            Till chivalry's page shall end—

Shall tell how Mars did glut his rage,

How screamed the eagle round her nest,

When death or freedom was the gage,

While war unloosed her battle vest,

            And carnage rode a fiend.

 

    •    •    •    •    •    •    •    •    •

 

And where the nations strive and hope,

And in the breaking darkness grope,

Here may expiring faith still burn,

And see the patriot's emblem turn

            Above this crimson sea.

 

From another poem on the same sub­ject:

 

How grand thy towering cliffs, where twines

      The hemlock's green to wreath thy crown;

How bright thy peaks when day declines,

      As there thy glory settles down.

 

When stirred the border fend, how rang

      The note of war;

 

    •    •    •    •    •    •    •    •    •

 

And where the wolf ran down her prey

      By grange girt in with woodland dun,

The ranger hurried to the fray,

      There flashed the border-guardsman's gun.

 

And when a mightier cause called for

      Thy sons to draw the sword    •    •    •

 

    •    •    •    •    •    •    •    •    •

 

      The bugle gave the hills its blast.

 

And men in buckskin breeches came,

      Their waists slung with the powder-horn,

Their hearts with freedom's spark aflame,                                                        ,

      And battled till the STATE was born.

 

    •    •    •    •    •    •    •    thy border cry

      Rang to the Northern cliffs for help,

When Allen mustered for old Ti.,

      And drove from there the lion's whelp.

 

From there to Hoosick's bloody flume

      Marched forth our sires with hearts aflame,

And snatched the British lion's plume,

      And wrote for us a storied name.

 

From a remembrance to Vermont:

 

O, bring the spring that plumes the glen,

      And hearty be the greeting;

We'll think in kindness of the men

      Whose hearts to ours gave beating;

Nor shall their armor rust

Taken by us in trust.

 

    •    •    •    •    •    •    •    •    •

 

Bathed in the noon of peace, green, green

      Forever, be those hills;

Green where the hoar frost builds her screen,

      And winter's goblet fills,

The frost and cedar green!

 

Queen Virgin of the Ancient North,

      Throned spirit of the crags,

Who called the sturdy Aliens forth

      To weave thy battle-flags.

We take the sprig of pine,

Proud of our lineal line.

Vermont! Vermont! Our childhood's home,

      Still home where'er we roam.

 

 

MISS SUSAN GRIGGS.

 

BY ANNA B. BRAGG,

 

Many efficient teachers of our district schools have been reared and educated in this town, though the greater part have followed teaching but a few terms before commencing "life work," but Miss Griggs has made teaching the business of her life, and in years of service, number of pupils, and different branches thoroughly learned and imparted to others, has no equal here, and perhaps but few in our whole country. She was born in this town, Feb. 1814. From her earliest schooldays, her book was her favorite companion, often upon her wheel-bench, that sentence after sentence of some coveted lesson might be committed to memory, while her hands spun thread after thread of wool or flax, working willingly for herself and her brothers and sisters, as was the custom in those days.

When 12 years of age, her father, an earnest Christian man, died, leaving his wife and little ones to struggle along the path of life alone in God's care. But as in his life he had often said, "Susan is our student," so in all her young days after she seemed to hear his voice encouraging her to give her time, talents and life to the work of Christian education. She began teaching in the Sabbath-school at 13, and at 16 in a district-school, where for many years her time was spent, and in attending school, as she completed the course of

 

 

 

                                                                FAYSTON.                                                          191

 

study at Newbury Seminary. In 1850, she was one of the teachers sent out to the South and West by Gov. Slade. She taught one year at Wilmington, N. C., and then went to Wolcottville, Ind., under the direction of Gov. Slade, a small village in a new town, first teaching in the family of George Wolcott, with the addition of a few neighbors' children; then in a small school-house. The school so increased, Mr. Wolcott, the founder of the village, built a convenient seminary at his own expense, furnished with musical instruments, library, apparatus, etc. Here she taught for 17 years, principal of the school, hav­ing sometimes one or two assistant teach­ers, and often a hundred pupils. Beside the common and higher English branches, there were often classes in German, Latin, French and painting, and always in music, vocal and instrumental, and always a lit­erary society, and always a Sabbath-school, in which she taught a class, and was some­times superintendent. She says "these years were full of toil, but bright with hope that minds were there awakened to the beauties of the inviting realms of purity and truth."

After a short rest with a brother in Missouri and another in Wisconsin, she re­sumed teaching in Fort Wayne College, Ind.; afterward in Iowa about 2 years, and is now in Kendallville, Ind., one of a corps of 12 teachers; 60 pupils under her charge. "Many will rise up and call her blessed."

Mrs. Celia (Baxter) Brigham, of Evart, Michigan, contributes the following for the Baxter family:

 

EBER H. BAXTER AND FAMILY

 

came to Fayston in April, 1831, and lived there 20 years. They had 14 children; one died in infancy. They removed to Michigan with 10 children—two remained in Fayston—in 1851. Albert Baxter, eldest son, had then lived in Mich. about 6 years. He has been for the last 20 years connected with the Grand Rapids Eagle; is now ed­itor of Grand Rapids Daily Eagle. Albert, Celia—Mrs. C. B. Brigham; Rosina—Mrs. R. B. Cadwell, now in California; Edwin, lawyer in Grand Haven, Mich.; Uri J., lawyer in Washington, D. C.; Sabrina—Mrs. S. B. Cooper, Evart, Mich.; and Vi­enna I.—Mrs. V. I. B. Corman, Lowell, Mich., of the Baxter family, are more or less known as occasional authors in prose and poetry. Twelve children, the father now in his 80th year (1879) still survive. Ira C., sixth son, left his body on the field of Chickamauga, Sept. 20, 1863. E. H. Baxter was town clerk and justice of peace in Fayston for several years.

 

MRS. CELIA B. BRIGHAM

 

has written many years for press, and for many newspapers and journals short poems. She has sent us for her representation in the dear old birthtown, a rather pretty collection, for which we can make room only for the following:

 

 

     TO MY SLEEPING BABE.

 

Gently, little cherub, gently

      Droop those weary eyelids now;

Slumber's hand is pressing lightly,

      Softly on thy cloudless brow.

 

Meekly, little sleeper, meekly

      Folded on thy guileless breast

Dimpled hands of pearly whiteness—

      Lovely is thy "rosy rest."

 

Calmly, little dreamer, calmly

      Beats that tiny heart of thine—

As the pulses of the leaflet,

      Rocked to rest at eventime,

 

Softly, little darling, softly

      Dies away thy mother's song;

And the angels come to guard thee,

      Through the night hours, lone and long.

 

Sweetly, blessed infant, sweetly

      Fall their whispers on thine ear;

Smiles are on thy lips of coral—

      Snowy pinions hover near.

 

 

     TO AN UNSEEN MINSTREL.

 

The lark may sing to the chickadee,

      From his lofty azure throne,

Nor feel the thrill in the maple tree,

      Where his listener sits alone;

Even thus, thy spirit sings to me—

      Hearest thou the answering tone?

From their sunward flight, can thy tireless wings

Ever fold where the forest warbler sings?

 

Thou callest the voices of long ago

      From level-trodden graves,

As the wind may call an echoing note

      From out the dark sea caves—

As the burning stars of heaven may call

      To the restless, heaving waves—

That, ever-changing beneath their gaze,

Can answer only in broken rays!

 

      THE NEGLECTED BIBLE.

 

Precious, but neglected Bible!

      Let me ope thy lids once more,

And, with reverential feelings,

      Turn the sacred pages o'er.

 

 

 

            192                         VERMONT HISTORICAL MAGAZINE.

 

Source of joy and consolation,

      Vainly does thy fount supply

Me with life's pure crystal waters—

      Lo! I languish, faint and die!

 

Not because is sealed the fountain

      That could soothe the keenest woe;

Not because the stream unfailing

      Hath one moment ceased to flow;

But because my thirsty spirit,

      Seeking bitter draught, passed by,

Heedlessly, the living waters—

      Lo! I languish, faint and die!

 

Descriptive of how many a Vermonter felt in 1851, is a little "sonnet" below, by ELISHA ALDIS BRIGHAM, sent me by Mrs. Brigham, that her husband may, as well as herself, have a little niche in the history of their native town:

 

SONNET.

 

O, tell me not of Liberty's bright land!

Where man by brother man is bought and sold;

To toil in sweat and tears, for others gold,

Obedient to a tyrant's stern command;

Where children part upon the auction stand

To meet no more, and weeping parents torn

Asunder—slave-bound captives long to mourn,

Are scattered far and wide, a broken band.

Where Justice on proud Freedom's altar sleeps,

Where mercy's voice is never heard to sigh;

Where pity's hand ne'er wipes the tearful eye

Of Afric's exiles, who in misery weep—

The millions three who wear oppression's brand;

Oh! call it not sweet Freedom's happy land!

 

Fayston, 'Feb. 1851.

 

A whole budget from natives in the West: We will not give any one's long piece entire; but not having the heart to leave any son or daughter who knocks at the old Green Mountain door, out entirely, even if they are unfortunately a "poet," we shall give some one short extract, or sonnet for all who have sent home their pieces for Fayston, and let the dry old, only statisticians, growl as they may. Here comes the Fayston men and women of the pen for a page or two: First, a long poem, almost a news-column, fine print, "written in my chamber at Washington, on the an­niversary eve of the assassination of Presi­dent Lincoln." We will have six or seven verses from

 

 

THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE ASSASSINATION.

 

      BY H. J. BAXTER

 

      Why sound the bells

So mournfully upon the air of night?

Why volley forth the guns upon the night,

      With sudden peal that tells

Of darkling horror and of dire affright ?

 

      The morn shall ope

With a dread tale that tells of dark eclipse—

Of a dark deed that throws its black eclipse

      On all a nation's hope,

And smites the joy that filled a nation's lips?

 

      Stricken and low!

Aye, let us weep—weep for the guilt and crime—

The ingrate sense—the coward guilt and crime!

      Dissolve in tears and woe

The darkling horror of this monstrous time!

 

      His name breathe not,

His thrice-accursed name, whose brutal hand—

Whose foul, polluted heart and brutal hand

      A demon's purpose wrought,

And whelmed in grief our glad, rejoicing land.

 

    •    •    •    •    •    •    •    •    •

 

A nation's heart bowed with him in the dust

      We turn our hope in vain

To seek a chieftain worthy of his trust.

 

      No marvel here!

Two kingliest come not haply born and twinned—

Each age its one great soul, nor matched, nor twinned,

      Owning no mortal peer—

So is his glory in our age unkinned.

 

      His mantle fell—

On whom is not yet shown—yet sure its folds

Are buried not—its rich and loving folds

      Shall lay some blessed spell

On him who inset his noble spirit hold.

 

      Great chieftain! rest!

Our hearts shall go as pilgrims to thy tomb;

Our spirits mourn and bless thy martyr tomb;

      We deem thy lot is blest;

Our love shall rob our sorrow of its gloom,

 

      All coming time

Shall never despoil thy glory or its crown—

Each year Shall set its jewels in thy crown—

      Each day bell's passing chime

Shall add it tongue to speak thy just renown.

 

 

LITTLE BEN.

 

BY SARAH BRIGHAM MANSFIELD.

 

In a lonely spot in a dismal street

Little Ben sat chafing his bare, cold feet,

And so hungry, too, for nothing to eat,

      All the long day had poor Ben.

His mother, alas, had long been dead—

So long, he could just remember, her and

The sweet pale face as she knelt by his bed

      And prayed God to bless little Ben.

 

The twilight deepened, how dark it grew,

And how heavily fell the chill night dew,

And the moaning winds pierced through and through

      The form of poor little Ben.

"Oh! why am I left here alone," he cried,

"Dear mamma told me before she died

She was going to Heaven; Oh, mamma," he sighed,

      "Why don't you come for poor Ben?"

 

"Can you be happy, tho' in Heaven a saint,

While I am so cold, so weary, so faint?

Dear mother, dost hear your poor darling's plaint?

      Oh, come for your own little Ben!"

The morning came with its rosy light,

And kissed the wan cheeks and lids so white.

They were closed for aye! in the lone night

      An angel had come for poor Ben.

 

 

 

                                                                FAYSTON.                                                          193

 

 

THE FIRST FLOWER OF SPRING.

 

      BY ZIBA W. BOYCE, (deceased.)

 

The first April violet beside the bare tree,

Looking gayly up seemed to be saying to me,

"I come with yon robin, sweet spring to recall,

There caroling above me the glad news to all—

How pleased all your feelings—your eye and your ear;

With gay exultation you welcome us here;

But in the soon future, surrounded by flowers,

And Summer bird's plumage, far gayer than ours,

Forgotten the perils we willingly bore—

First messengers telling of winter no more."

I thought of the bird, and the flower, and then

Confessed it is thus with all pioneer men.

Let them labor and suffer new truths to disclose,

Their wants or their woes there's nobody knows.

The world owns the work when the labor is done—

They, the bird and the flower, forgotten and gone.

 

 

          THE RAIN.

 

      BY MRS. D. T. SMITH.

 

When from winter's icy spell

Burst the brooklets in the dell,

            With a song;

When the early robins call

From the sunny garden wall,

            All day long;

When the crocus shows its face,

And the fern its dainty grace,

            And the daffodil;

And the dandelion bright

Decks the field with golden light

            On the hill;

When the Spring has waked a world again,

      And the apple-blossoms whiten,

      And the grasses gleam and brighten,

Then we listen to the rythmic patter of the rain.

 

When the lilies, snowy white,

Gleam upon the lakelet bright,

            'Mid their leaves;

And the twittering swallows fly,

Building nests for by and by,

            'Neath the eaves;

Roses blush i' the dewy morn,

Bees their honey-quest have gone

            All the day;

And the daisies, starry, bright,

Glisten in the firefly's light

            As they may;

When Summer decks the mountain and the plain,

      When she binds her golden sheaves,

      Then she tilts her glossy leaves

In the splashing and the dashing of the rain.

 

When the maple forests redden,

And the sweet ferns brown and deaden

            On the lea,

Straightly furrowed lie the acres,

And we near the roar of breakers

            Out at sea;

When the birds their columns muster,

And the golden pipins cluster

            On the bough,

And the autumn breeze is sighing,

Springtime past and Summer dying,

            Here and now;

And autumn winds are filled with sounds of pain

      When the katydids are calling;

      Then the crimson leaves are falling

Through the weeping and the moaning of th' rain.

 

Dubuque, Iowa.

 

 

     THE MOSS-COVERED TROUGH.

 

            BY S. MINERVA BOYCE.

 

That moss-covered trough, decaying there yonder,

      I remember it well when but a child;

Though years have flown by, I still love to wander

      Along the old road by the woodland wild.

 

Ah! yes, I remember when full and o'erflowing,

      With the clear, sparkling nectar, so cool;

The old farmer came with his bucket from mowing,

      And we drank from his cup, then trudged on to school.

 

And then 'neath the low-spreading maple close by it,

      Were gathered the wildlings of May;

There blossomed the hat of lad who drew nigh it,

      And blue-bird and robin sang sweeter that day.

 

Though now thrown aside, to give room for another,

      All neglected, and moss-grown, and old,

I still find a charm to be found in none other,

      Were it carved e'er so lovely, or plated with gold.

 

Long ago the old farmer finished his mowing,

      Filled his last bucket, "reaped his last grain;"

Then went just beyond where seed-time and sowing

      Will never recall him to labor again.

 

And here we give, if we may nip at will, the buds, for which we only have room, a pretty extract from SABRINA BAN­TER, born in Fayston:

 

BUDS AND BLOSSOMS.

 

We walked within my garden

      On a dewy, balmy morn—

 

    •    •    •    •    •    •    •    •    •

 

We paused beside a rose-bush,

      The swelling buds to note—

To drink the gushing fragrance

      Which round us seemed to float;

 

    •    •    •    •    •    •    •    •    •

 

One bud we'd viewed but yesternight,

      When very fair it grew—

We'd waited for the morrow's light

      To see it washed in dew,

A worm had found the curling leaf,

 

    •    •    •    •    •    •    •    •    •

 

Had marred the bursting budlet,

      Had withered stem and flower.

 

Alas! for earthly happiness,

      In bitterness I cried,

Naught beautiful, naught lovely,

      May on this earth abide!

A blight is on the floweret,

      A blight is on the grove,

A doubly blighting power upon

      Those objects that we love!

 

"Mortal!" the voice seemed near,

      And musical the tone,

 

    •    •    •    •    •    •    •    •    •

 

Are there no buds, whose brightness

      Outshines the garden rose?

What worm had nipped the blossom?

      Who answereth for those ?

 

"Within the human garden

      How many a floweret lies,

Despoiled by reckless gardener—

 

    •    •    •    •    •    •    •    •    •

 

And in the whispered lays we heard,

      And from the flowers there smiled,

A plea for human rose-buds—

 

    •    •    •    •    •    •    •    •    •

 

 

 

            194                         VERMONT HISTORICAL MAGAZINE.

 

Taking a skipping extract from EMOGENE M. BOYCE:

 

I paused once more, gave a few lingering looks

At the dear olden place, the remembered nooks:

The orchard, the garden, the dark, silent mill,

The little red cot at the foot of the hill,

Where the little trout brook, still murmured alone:

The old lofty pines sang the same mournful song,

When with father and mother, we children four,

Had gathered at eve 'round the old cottage door.

 

 

SOLDIERS OF FAYSTON.

 

BY DORRIC S. STODDARD.

 

The notes of war that rang through the land in the winter and spring of 61 were not without their effect upon the town of Fayston. Her hardy sons willingly re­sponded to their country's call. The fol­lowing is the record of services rendered and lives given, who served for their own town in the order of enlistment:

 

THOMAS MAXWELL, the first resident of Fayston to respond to the call for volunteers. He enlisted May 7, 1861, at the age of 20 years, in Co. F. 2d Vt. Reg.; was discharged, by reason of sickness, Feb 21, 1863; re-enlisted Mar. 20, '64, in Co. F. 17th Vt. Reg.; severely wounded in the Wilderness May 6, '64. The ball entered the neck, passed through the roots of the tongue, and lodged in the base of the head, where it still remains; discharged June 17, '65.

MARK AND LUTHER CHASE, brothers, enlisted Aug. 14, '61, in Co. H. 6th Vt.; aged 26 and 18 years. Mark was dis­charged May 29, '62; reenlisted Nov. 27, '63; taken prisoner, and died at Ander­sonville, Ga., July 3, '64. Luther died in hospital Jan. 31, '62.

GEO. SOMERVILLE, age 23, enlisted in Co. G. 6th Vt., Aug. 29, '61; discharged June 23, '62.

JOHN H. HUNTER, age 41; enlisted Sept. 2, '61, Co. H. 6th Vt.; chosen cor­poral; discharged; reenlisted Dec. 15, '63; lost an arm in the service; finally dis­charged Mar. 10, '65.

GEO. L. MARBLE, age 30, enlisted in Co. G. 6th Vt., Sept. 10, '61; reenlisted Feb. 8. '64; taken prisoner Oct. 19, '64; supposed to have died in Libby Prison.

WM. M. STRONG, age 19, enlisted in Co. G. 6th Vt., Sept. 23, '61 ; served 3 years; mustered out Oct 28, '64.

ALLEN E. MEHUREN, enlisted in Co. G. 6th Vt., Sept, 27, '61, age 23; discharged by reason of sickness, Feb. 4, '63.

CORNELIUS MCMULLEN, age 29, enlisted in Co. B. 6th Vt., Oct. 3, '61, re-enlisted Dec. 15, '63, transferred to Co. H. Oct. 16, '64, served till the close of the war, mustered out June 26, '65.

HENRY C. BACKUS, age 24, enlisted in Co. G. 6th Reg't., Oct. 7, '61, promoted sergeant, mustered out Oct. 28, '64.

WARREN C. PORTER, age 37, enlisted Oct. 15, '61, in Co. G. 6th Vt., served 3 years, mustered out Oct. 28, '64.

CHESTER S. DANA, age 33, enlisted in Co. B. 10th Vt., July 18, '62, chosen 5th sergeant, promoted to 1st ser'gt., sick in general hospital much of the latter part of his service, discharged May 22, '65.

LAFAYETTE MOORE, enlisted in Co. F. 2d Vt. as a recruit, July 30, '62, age 26, died in the service Feb. 29, '64.

HEMAN A. MOORE, age 21, enlisted in Co. F. 2d Vt., Aug. 2, '62, mustered out June 19, '65.

ELI GIBSON, recruit in Co. G. 6th Vt.. enlisted Aug. 13, '62, age 22, died in the service April 7, '64.

LEWIS BETTIS, a resident of Warren, enlisted for this town in Co. G. 6th Vt., Aug. 13, '62, age 37; transferred to the Invalid Corps, Jan. 15, '64.

JOHN CHASE, age 23, enlisted in Co. G. 6th Vt., Aug. 13, '62; mustered out June 19, '65.

NATHAN THAYER, age 23; enlisted in Co. H. 6th Vt., Aug. 13, '62; discharged June 3, '63.

NELSON J. BOYCE, age 32; enlisted in Co. G. 6th Vt., Aug. 16, '62; transferred to the Invalid Corps July 1, '63.

LESTER H. HARRIS, age 25; enlisted Aug. 18, 62, in Co. F. 2d Vt.; died May 18, '63.

 

The following 17 soldiers all members of Co. B. 13th Vt., (9 months), enlisted Aug. 25, '62; mustered in Oct. 10, '62, at Brattleboro; mustered out at the same place July 21, '63; the battle of Gettys­burg being the only one in which they participated:

 

GEORGE O. BOYCE, 2d serg't., age 28;

 

 

 

                                                                FAYSTON.                                                          195

 

with others of his company taken prisoner by rebel guerrillas while going from Camp Carusi to Fairfax station with supply teams, May 14, '63. They were paroled the next day, and returned to the regiment.

Dorric S. Stoddard, 3d corporal, age 28; William E. Backus, age 22, detailed scout; John Baird, age 20, died of fever soon after returning home; Matthew Blair, age 27, afterwards re-enlisted in 56 Mass., killed in the Wilderness; Charles D. Billings, age 19, died at Camp Carusi May 19, '63; Chauncey Carpenter, age 39, re-enlisted Dec. 31, '63, in Co. C. 17th Vt., discharged May 13, '65; Samuel J. Dana, age 29, wounded at Gettysburg; Royal S. Haskins, age 21; Charles C. Ingalls, age 18, re-enlisted Sept. 1, '64, in Co. G. 6th Vt., mustered out June 19, '65; Stephen Johnson, age 21, re-enlisted Aug. 26, '64, in Co. G. 6th Vt., mustered out June 19, '65; Ziba H. McAllister, age 21, re-enlist­ed in Cavalry Co. C. Nov. 30, '63, trans­ferred to Co. A. June 19, '65, mustered out June 26, '65; Levi Nelson, age 20; William Nelson, age 26, Daniel Posnett, age 47, Winfield S. Rich, age 24, Reuben Richardson, age 45, transferred to Co. H., re-enlisted Nov. 30, '63, in Co. H. 6th Regt., discharged May 12, '65.

William G. Wilkins, age 18, enlisted in Co. F. 2d Vt., June 16, '63, discharged Jan. 21, '64.

Robert Hoffman, age 21, enlisted in the 3d Battery, Oct. 19, '64, discharged June 15, '65.

John W. Palmer, enlisted in Cavalry, Co. C. Nov. 28, '63, age 23, transferred to Co. A. June 21, '65, mustered out Aug. 9, '65.

Judson W. Richardson, age 29, enlisted in Co. H. 6th Vt., promoted corporal June 19, '65, and mustered out June 26, '65.

Charles O. Dyke, age 18, enlisted Nov. 30, '63, in Co. H. 6th Vt.; mustered out June 26, '65.

Myron Mansfield, age 18, enlisted Dec. 2, '63, in Co. H. 2d U. S. Sharp-shooters; transferred to Co. H. 4th Vt., Feb. 25, '65; supposed to have died at Andersonville.

Benj. B. Johnson, age 20, enlisted Dec. 3, '63, in Co. G. 6th Vt.; transferred to Vet. Res. Corps, Dec. 4, '64; mustered out July 15, '65.

Wm. H. Johnson, age 18, enlisted Dec. 3, '63, in Co. G. 6th Vt.; pro. corp. Sept. 23, '64; serg't. June 20, '65; mustered June 26, '65.

Charles B. Corliss, age 18, enlisted Dec. 3, '63, in Co. G. 6th Vt.; discharged June 28, '65.

Anson O. Brigham, age 21 , enlisted Dec. 5, '63, in Co. H. 6th Vt.; trans. to invalid corps, and discharged June 28, '65.

Calvin B. Marble, age 18, enlisted Dec. 9, '63, in Co. G. 6th Vt.; mustered out June 26, '65.

Edwin E. Chaffee, age 18, enlisted Dec. 9, '63 in Co. H. 6th Vt.; pro. corp. June 19, '63; must. out June 26, '65.

Asa E. Corliss, age 20, enlisted Sept. 7, '64, in Co. G. 6th Vt.; must. out July 19, '65.

John W. Ingalls, age 28, enlisted Sept. 16, '64, but did not enter service.

This town also furnished 14 non-resident soldiers, of whom I can give but a meagre report, as follows:

Geo. Arnold, Francis E. Buck, Thomas Bradley, 1st army corps; Sidney Dolby, 54 Mass. (colored); Wm. W. Green, Philip Gross, 1st A. C.; Wm. J. Hopkins, cav.; John J. Hern, 1st A. C.; Randall Hibbard, 1st A. C.; Frederic Kleinke, 1st A. C.; Nelson Parry, Co. B. 7th Vt., Nicholas Schmidt, 1st A. C.; John S. Templeton; James Williamstown, 1st A. C.

The following persons were furnished under draft, five of whom paid commuta­tion: Hiram E. Boyce, Eli Bruce, Jr., Nehemiah Colby, Charles M. Fisher, Julius T. Palmer, and one, Nathan Boyce, procured a substitute.

This town probably furnished from her own residents as many, if not more, sol­diers for other towns than were credited to her from non-residents, the record of some of which is given as follows:

Andrew J. Butler, Co. H. 6th Vt.; Hiland G. Campbell, 3d Vt. Battery; Alba B. Durkee, Co. I. 9th Vt.; Timothy Don­ivan, Co. H. 6th Vt.

In Co. G. 6th Vt.: Edward Dillon, G. W. Fisher, James N. Ingalls, Robert Max‑

 

 

 

            196                         VERMONT HISTORICAL MAGAZINE.

 

well and Samuel Maxwell. In 3d Vt.: Wm. W. McAllister. In Co. G. 6th Vt.: James H. Somerville, Ichabod Thomas. Dexter Marble lost a leg in the service, in a Wisconsin regiment.

Thus I have given as best I can from memory, and from data at command, an imperfect record of Fayston and Fayston men during the rebellion. Undoubtedly the foregoing record is not perfect, yet I think it is substantially correct.

Probably no town in the state suffered more financially than this. During the latter part of the war when large bounties were demanded by volunteers, and paid by wealthy towns, Fayston, to save herself from draft was obliged in one year (1864) to raise for bounties and town expenses the almost unheard of sum of $12.50 cents upon every dollar of her grand list, thus subjecting the owner of a simple poll list to the payment of a tax of $25. Yet this enormous sum was paid immediately, with scarce a murmur of complaint, and not a dollar left to be a drag-weight upon tax­payers in after years.

Fayston can look back upon her finan­cial record as a town, and the military rec­ord of her soldiers with no feelings but those of honor, satisfaction and pride; knowing that the privations and valor of her sons in the field, and the liberality of her citizens at home all contributed their mite to keep the grand old flag still float­ing over a free and undivided nation.

 

 

GRAND ARMY REPUBLIC'S RESPONSE

     TO SUMNER'S BILL FOR ERASING

          OUR BATTLE RECORDS.

 

      BY D. S. STODDARD.

 

Blot out our battle records, boys,

      Charles Summer's bill doth say;

Forget that you were soldiers once,

      And turn your thoughts away.

 

Yes, turn your thoughts away, my boys,

      So noble, brave and true;

Forget you lugged a knapsack once,

      And wore the army blue.

 

Flaunt not that starry flag, my boys,

      With Lee's Mills, on its fold,

'Twill make some rebel's heart ache, boys,

      To see it there so bold.

 

And blot out Savage Station, too,

      And likewise Malvern Hill;

That was a noisy place, you know,

      But blot it out, you will.

 

Fort Henry, too, and Donelson,

      Where Grant "Surrender" spake,

In such decided tones it made

      The rebel Pillow shake.

 

And Shiloh, too, and Vicksburg, where

      One Fourth of July day,

Brave Pemberton his well-tried sword

      At the feet of Grant did lay.

 

And Cedar Creek, and Winchester,

      And Sheridan's famous ride :—

Forget it, boys, forget it all,

      It hurts the rebels' pride.

 

And Fredericksburg, and Antietam,

      Where cannon rang and roared;

And Gettysburg, where three long days

      Grape shot and shell were poured.

 

Where thousands freely gave their lives,

      And drenched with blood the sand,

To stay the flow of Treason's tide

      In Freedom's happy land.

 

And Richmond, too, and Petersburg,

      And the Wilderness, forget;

And comrades dear who fought so well,

      Whose sun of life there set.

 

Forget, my boys, you ever marched

      With Sherman to the sea!

Deny you ever fought against

      The rebels under Lee!

 

And Appomattox Court House, too,

      Where Lee dissolved his camp;

And gave his long and well-tried sword

      To General U. S. Grant.

 

Those names, we've loved them long, my boys,

      And oft a glow of pride

Has thrilled through every vein, to think

      We fought there side by side.

 

And oftentimes, my comrades dear,

      These comes a sadder thought—

The price, the price! by which our land

      These cherished records bought.

 

And now shall we erase those names,

      And make our battle-flags,

Which e'er have been the soldier's pride,

      Nothing but worthless rags?

 

No more shall read those glorious names

      While swinging in the breeze?

No more our hearts shall swell with pride

      To think of bygone deeds?

 

And must we suffer all this shame

      To please that rebel horde,

Who brought the war upon themselves

      By drawing first the sword?

 

Then we must ask their pardon, too,

      For what we've done and said;

Tramp down the graves of comrades dear.

      And honor rebel dead.

 

And I suppose the next kind thing

      That Sumner'll want is this,

That we get down upon our knees,

      And rebel coat-tails kiss!

 

Now, comrades, when all this appears.

      'Twill be when we are dead!

When every man who fought the rebs

      Sleeps in his narrow bed!

 

 

 

                                                             MARSHFIELD.                                                       197

 

For while there's one of us alive,

      Though kicked, or cuffed, or spurned!

Our battle-flags shall bear those names

      That we so richly earned!

 

And when we swing them in the breeze,

      Those names shall glisten there,

As long as they enfold a stripe

      Or bear a single star.

 

Rebels may sigh for what they lost,

      And mourn for what we won;—

Their moans and sighs can ne'er atone

      For half the mischief done.

 

And comrades, when we older grow,

      And gray hairs fill our head,

And some of us lie sleeping there

      Amid the quiet dead;

 

Our children then will catch the theme

      Those battle-flags inspire,

And oftentimes their hearts be filled

      With patriotic fire!

 

And should it be in future years

      That Treason rears its head,

And threatens to destroy the land

      For which we fought and bled;

 

Our sons will hoist those war worn flags,

      And wave them tow'rd the sky,

While rebels learn again, my boys,

      That Treason then must die.

 

Those records fair shall never be

      Expunged from human sight!

Before we'll suffer that, my boys,

      We'll go again, and fight.

 

Fayston, Vt., Jan. 8,1873.

 

Mrs. L. B. Boyce continues and thus; closes the record of Fayston:

 

SAMUEL DANA

 

has been a resident of Fayston for many years, and raised a large family here. Six of his sons and one son-in-law were in the army in the great rebellion. Several of them were seriously wounded while in ser­vice, yet all are now living and the father and mother also.

 

I have been able to gather but little concerning our military record previous to our late war.

 

In 1841, one Jesse Mix was a revolution­ary pensioner, and William Wait, and a Mrs. Hutchinson. John Cloud, who lost a leg in the revolutionary war, was for many years a resident of this town, but died clsewhere.

Of the war of 1812 there are no records that I can find, and the old inhabitants are either dead or moved away.

 

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MARSHFIELD.

 

BY MRS. H. C. PITKIN.

 

Marshfield was granted to the Stock­bridge tribe of Indians, Oct. 16, 1782, and chartered to them June 22, 1790, by the General Assembly of Vermont, containing 23,040 acres; lat. 44° 19', long. 4° 30' on the upper waters of the Winooski; bounded N. by Cabot, E. by Peacham and Harris' Gore, S. by East Montpelier, Plain­field and Goshen Gore, W. by Calais and East Montpelier.

In the charter it is stipulated the town­ship shall be divided into 75 equal shares, etc., with the usual charter conditions.

The charter is signed by Gov. Moses Robinson and Joseph Tracy, Sec.

The township was purchased of the Indians by Capt. Isaac Marsh of Stockbridge, Mass., in honor of whom it is named, for £140 lawful money, and the deed was signed by 18 Indians, thus:

O Joseph Shawguthguat, O Hendrick Aupanmat, O Jehosuhim Alokaim, 0 Peter Pohijhionurpjsut, + Joseph Luonahant, + John Pophmin, + Solomon Quargariahont, + Uhndrw Warmaeruph, + Vendru Waumurmn, + Hudrink Ihchumhwmh, + Moses Laupunmsapeat, + Thomas Wind, + John Thonhpol, + David Neson­ukausdahawauk, + Cornelius Janmauch, + David Nesonuhkeah Grum, + Abraham Maummumthickhur, + Isaac Unamprey.

This deed was given July 29, 1789, and witnessed by David Pixley and John Sar­geant, missionary.

These Indians, it is supposed, when they secured the grant of this land, in­tended to remove here, and make it their hunting-ground, but finding white settle­ments were beginning to cluster around it, they disposed of it as best they could, and sought the unbroken forests of New York and called the new home there, in honor of the old one in Massachusetts.

Capt. Marsh had married, for his second wife, a young widow by the name of Pitkin, of East Hartford, Conn., and four of her sons, and two of his own daughters were among the pioneers of his new township. Caleb Pitkin one of these sons, came from East Hartford as a surveyor, with a com-