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Snow's Falls1
Snow's Falls, on the Little Androscoggin River, about four miles north from the Court House in Paris, possess some considerable notoriety, and are well worth a visit from the curious. The country circumjacent to the Falls, is rocky, uneven, and almost mountainous. Two hills, one upon either side of the stream, seem heretofore to have met and to have interposed a barrier to a passage of the river through which it finally burst its way, strewing the valley beneath with ruins and fashioning out a multitude of circular cavities in the ledge of granite which was now laid bare at the base of these Falls, and over which the water rushed with deafening uproar. There was probably a fissure in this ledge, traversing it in a direction with the river, which, in process of time, has been so deepened and widened that now the whole body of the stream is precipitated through a channel so narrow that one may easily step across it.
Standing upon this smooth and solid bed of granite, you hear the water rushing and roaring beneath you, and sending up spray in the angular passage, to be colored by the golden beams of the sun, and to be drunk in by the thirsty verdure of the banks. Looking through this zig-zag channel from either extremity, it presents a profile drawn analogous to artificial fortifications, and the eye hastily searches for the bristling bayonet and the cannon, as it sees the numerous bastions and curtains extending themselves at great length with almost the regular disposition of engineer construction. Above you the river spreads itself out in ample dimensions, and approaches peaceably and silently, until it is forced to find vent in this narrow channel, where it lashes itself into fury and pours itself along in a roar that is heard for miles around. Standing in perfect security on the very edge of this chasm, you may look down into it,
"Through which foam globes in eddies ride,
Thick as the schemes of human pride,
That down life's current drive amain,
As frail, as frothy and as vain."
Below you the country spreads itself out in a rich landscape; you see the silver stream threading itself along through occasional woodland and opening on both sides of its rich bank, exhibiting the monuments of industry and art. At a distance the village spire rises itself up proudly above the buildings that surround it, and divers roads are seen traversing the adjacent country, converging to the village like radii from circumference to center.
These falls take their name from the circumstances of a hunter named Captain Snow being killed there by the Indians as far back as the year 1762. This country was then a wilderness---New Gloucester, the nearest settlement, was just commencing, and Captain Snow and a Mr. Stinchfield were engaged in hunting and trapping on this stream. Their camp was pitched on the east side of the river, near by the falls, and tradition points to the very spot. Indian depredations at that time were very frequent. A party of warriors had descended from Canada, and scattering themselves among the frontier settlements, were carrying with them devastation and terror. One party, having laden themselves with booty, in returning discovered these traps of the hunters, and evidently traced them to their camp. Stinchfield, who happened to be on the outside, discovered them when within a few rods of it; he uttered a scream of terror and conjured Snow, who was within, to surrender, as resistance would be useless. Snow, who was aware of the horrible sufferings to which they doomed their prisoners, replied that he never would surrender himself alive; that it was better to perish there than at the stake. The Indians finding themselves discovered, with a yell precipitated themselves upon the camp. Snow appeared at the door with his musket in his hand and made a demonstration of surrender; but he only did this to single out his victim. The Indian who covered the file in its approach was of ferocious appearance and uncommon stature. His head was adorned with the plumage of the eagle taken entire, its wings depending over either shoulder, and talons and beak so arranged that it still seemed to have life and conscious of its kingly power. When within a few steps of Snow, and signifying to him good quarter, Snow suddenly elevated the muzzle of his piece, and saying that he neither asked or gave quarter, discharged it into the bosom of the Indian sachem, who rolled upon the ground in the mortal agonies of death. Before Snow could recover the camp or make another movement of offence, he himself was slain and cut in pieces by the whole party, who had flung themselves at once in fury upon him. They then betook themselves to lamentations and howlings for the loss of their chief, and having performed all the funeral rites due to his rank, and significant of their consideration of his loss, they sank him in a neighboring bog and continued their march northward, taking Stinchfield along with them, calculating to offer him up as a sacrifice for the death of their chief.
On the borders of Lake Umbagog, they were joined by the Indians who had been spoiling in other directions, and here they feasted several days, holding their orgies both for the success of their campaign and the loss of their sachem. They afterwards went to Canada, and Stinchfield, watching every opportunity to escape, at length ventured, and traveling the wilderness alone, finally reached his friends in safety and informed them of the tragical death of his comrade. The remains of Snow were subsequently interred by a party that went from New Gloucester, and a mound of stones loosely thrown together still marks the spot where sleeps the valiant hunter whose name is perpetuated by identifying it with the name of the falls.
1Honorable Elijah L. Hamlin, first issue of the Oxford Observer, 1824. Reprinted in History of Paris, Maine from Its Settlement to 1880, William B. Lapham and Silas P. Maxim, 1884, Pp. 387-389.
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