But When The River Spread Out Broader, With An
Uninhabited Islet, Or A Long, Low Sandy Shore Which Ran On
Single
and devious, not answering to its opposite, but far off as if it
were sea-shore or single coast,
And the land no longer nursed the
river in its bosom, but they conversed as equals, the rustling
leaves with rippling waves, and few fences were seen, but high
oak woods on one side, and large herds of cattle, and all tracks
seemed a point to one centre behind some statelier grove, - we
imagined that the river flowed through an extensive manor, and
that the few inhabitants were retainers to a lord, and a feudal
state of things prevailed.
When there was a suitable reach, we caught sight of the Goffstown
mountain, the Indian Uncannunuc, rising before us on the west
side. It was a calm and beautiful day, with only a slight zephyr
to ripple the surface of the water, and rustle the woods on
shore, and just warmth enough to prove the kindly disposition of
Nature to her children. With buoyant spirits and vigorous
impulses we tossed our boat rapidly along into the very middle of
this forenoon. The fish-hawk sailed and screamed overhead. The
chipping or striped squirrel, _Sciurus striatus_ (_Tamias
Lysteri_, Aud.), sat upon the end of some Virginia fence or rider
reaching over the stream, twirling a green nut with one paw, as
in a lathe, while the other held it fast against its incisors as
chisels. Like an independent russet leaf, with a will of its
own, rustling whither it could; now under the fence, now over it,
now peeping at the voyageurs through a crack with only its tail
visible, now at its lunch deep in the toothsome kernel, and now a
rod off playing at hide-and-seek, with the nut stowed away in its
chops, where were half a dozen more besides, extending its cheeks
to a ludicrous breadth, - as if it were devising through what safe
valve of frisk or somerset to let its superfluous life escape;
the stream passing harmlessly off, even while it sits, in
constant electric flashes through its tail. And now with a
chuckling squeak it dives into the root of a hazel, and we see no
more of it. Or the larger red squirrel or chickaree, sometimes
called the Hudson Bay squirrel (_Scriurus Hudsonius_), gave
warning of our approach by that peculiar alarum of his, like the
winding up of some strong clock, in the top of a pine-tree, and
dodged behind its stem, or leaped from tree to tree with such
caution and adroitness, as if much depended on the fidelity of
his scout, running along the white-pine boughs sometimes twenty
rods by our side, with such speed, and by such unerring routes,
as if it were some well-worn familiar path to him; and presently,
when we have passed, he returns to his work of cutting off the
pine-cones, and letting them fall to the ground.
We passed Cromwell's Falls, the first we met with on this river,
this forenoon, by means of locks, without using our wheels.
These falls are the Nesenkeag of the Indians. Great Nesenkeag
Stream comes in on the right just above, and Little Nesenkeag
some distance below, both in Litchfield. We read in the
Gazetteer, under the head of Merrimack, that "The first house in
this town was erected on the margin of the river [soon after
1665] for a house of traffic with the Indians. For some time one
Cromwell carried on a lucrative trade with them, weighing their
furs with his foot, till, enraged at his supposed or real
deception, they formed the resolution to murder him. This
intention being communicated to Cromwell, he buried his wealth
and made his escape. Within a few hours after his flight, a
party of the Penacook tribe arrived, and, not finding the object
of their resentment, burnt his habitation." Upon the top of the
high bank here, close to the river, was still to be seen his
cellar, now overgrown with trees. It was a convenient spot for
such a traffic, at the foot of the first falls above the
settlements, and commanding a pleasant view up the river, where
he could see the Indians coming down with their furs. The
lock-man told us that his shovel and tongs had been ploughed up
here, and also a stone with his name on it. But we will not
vouch for the truth of this story. In the New Hampshire
Historical Collections for 1815 it says, "Some time after pewter
was found in the well, and an iron pot and trammel in the sand;
the latter are preserved." These were the traces of the white
trader. On the opposite bank, where it jutted over the stream
cape-wise, we picked up four arrow-heads and a small Indian tool
made of stone, as soon as we had climbed it, where plainly there
had once stood a wigwam of the Indians with whom Cromwell traded,
and who fished and hunted here before he came.
As usual the gossips have not been silent respecting Cromwell's
buried wealth, and it is said that some years ago a farmer's
plough, not far from here, slid over a flat stone which emitted a
hollow sound, and, on its being raised, a small hole six inches
in diameter was discovered, stoned about, from which a sum of
money was taken. The lock-man told us another similar story about
a farmer in a neighboring town, who had been a poor man, but who
suddenly bought a good farm, and was well to do in the world,
and, when he was questioned, did not give a satisfactory account
of the matter; how few, alas, could! This caused his hired man to
remember that one day, as they were ploughing together, the
plough struck something, and his employer, going back to look,
concluded not to go round again, saying that the sky looked
rather lowering, and so put up his team.
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