Carl's tour in Main Street

Front matter

CARL'S TOUR

IN

MAIN STREET

Chapter I

Mr. Editor : I never go far from home ; but I remember that about twenty years ago I made a tour through our Main street. It was a bright autumnal day, in the good month of October, when my venerable father — peace to his ashes, and forever green be his memory — took down his hat from the peg on which it was his custom to hang it, and said to me : " Come, Carl, let us go to the Common, and see the Cattle Show." In less than six minutes I was six inches taller ; and washing my face, as all travellers should when setting out on a long journey, and taking down my cap from the peg on which it hung, below my father's, I put it on my head, and w^e sallied forth, hand in hand, to witness a Worcester County Carnival.

Our house was not far from Lincoln Square, At that time the Square retained, more than it now does, the character it once had as the centre of trade, of fashion, and of life in our then quiet country village. There were five roads that then led out of the Square. One of them w^as Lincoln street, which was then, as it long had been, the great travelled road to Boston, and over which run daily innumerable stages, and baggage wagons, and pleasure carriages, making their way between the metropolis, the Connecticut valley, and the country beyond. It was the old mail road, on which the mails used, in the olden time, as my father informed me, to be carried from Boston to Philadelphia, and back in three weeks. It was on Lincoln street, he also told me — and he pointed out the place — where the Hancock Arms Tavern stood ; nearly opposite where the Gas Works now are. It was the resort, in olden times of the wits and wags and merry topers of the "north end;" and the headquarters of the army of insurgents in the Shays rebellion. It had probably outlived its day, and been supplanted by a more modern rival ; for my father informed me that after standing unoccupied for several years, it was fired by an incendiary, and burned to the ground some ten years before I first attended cattle show.

There were but few houses on Lincoln street at the time my memory of things begins, and none of the streets in existence that now lead out of it at right angles. It was lined on both sides, mainly, by the splendid farm of Gov. Lincoln, senior ; and his mansion house stood a quarter of a mile out of the Square, on the west side of the street. The grounds about it w^ere the finest in Worcester. Attached to it was a splendid garden ; and in the rear a beautiful pond, which the hand of improvement has sadly marred in these later da}'s ; and in front was the fine farm, extending half a mile to the east. Mr. Lincoln was a man of mark in the country. He filled the office of attorney general of the United States in Jefferson's cabinet, and lived and died a democrat. Although his house was a fine one in his day, and as well supplied as any in the country, yet he never had but one room carpeted ; painted board floors being thought good enough in those times for the best of people. I was pained, a few years ago, to see that house shoved ofl' its foundations, to make room for the more palace-like dwelling of an enterprising and wealthy mechanic. It stands now on the corner of Grove and Lexington streets. The Lincoln grounds are no longer the farm they w^ere when I used to run over them in my boyhood-

Streets have been cut through them ; trees have fallen before the axe ; and a railroad has usurped one side of the pond, and robbed it of the quietude that once made its banks a charming sylvan retreat.

Higher up Lincoln street, and north of the Lincoln mansion, was the fine old country seat of the Paine family. My father told me that it had never changed within his knowledge. It was Timothy Paine, if I remember rightly, that first planted himself there. He held various public offices, and before the Revolution he was appointed a Councillor to the royal governor. The people took a more patriotic view of the matter than he did, gathered around his house in great numbers, and thus induced him to relinquish the appointment. My father said that he never knevs^ Esq. Paine ; but that he knew his son. Dr. William Paine, who opened the first apothecary shop in Worcester ; that he was in England purchasing goods when the war broke out, and for some reason, which I do not now remember, he did not return home, but joined the British army in the capacity of a surgeon. After the war was over, however, he returned home, and in some way regained posession of his confiscated estate, which has been in the Paine family ever since, — a part of which

CAKI. S TOUR IN MAIN STREET. 5

is the splendid liill, now covered with wood, which lies east of the house, and will one day be a fortune of itself.

On our way to the Cattle vShow, ni} father pointed out the spot where the hrst saw and grist mill was built by the first settlers in Worcester. It was back of the residence of the late Madame Salisbury, near where stands the freight depot of the Nashua railroad. A dam was there thrown across Bimeleck, or Fort River, as Mill Brook was then called ; the water setting back and covering the low ground far up the stream, and coming, my father said, quite up to the travelled way of Lincoln street. He said that he had heard that there was a garrison near by, to defend the mills from attack by the Indians ; but he was not certain of the truth of it.

At the time of which I am speaking, another road came into the Square from the east. It was then a turnpike, running from Worcester to Boston, straight over hills and valleys, rivers and ponds, and turning neither to the right nor the left. It ran over the north wing of Chandler hill, and by the side of Bladder Pond ; and now bears the more fanciful name of Belmont street.

Salisbury street — the old road to Holden — led out of the Square in a northwest direction ; and Main street and Summer street in a southerly direction, diverging as they extended. Union and Highland streets were not laid out. Grove, Concord, Lexington, Prescott and Otis streets were then a cow pasture. The beautiful sheet of water, now known as Salisbury Pond, had no existence twenty years ago. The land it covers was then a meadow, with a brook meandering through it, over which I have crossed many a time, in my play, on a rail, where tlie water is now the deepest. The dam, which is now a part of Grove street, had not then been built ; and I desire here to thank the city government of the last year for the erection of a substantial sidewalk of timber and plank, on the edge of the dam, which adds so inuch to the convenience and comfort of the thousands, who, in pleasant weather, — especially on Sunday afternoons — walk through Grove street, to visit our beautiful Rural Cemetery, w^here so many of the friends of the present generation of the residents of Worcester rest from life's turmoils, and where they will one day be joined by those they have

left behind.

Yours, ever,

CARL.

Chapter II

Mr. Editor : In speaking of Lincoln street in my last letter, I forgot to mention that my father told me, when we were on our way to the Cattle Show, that there was once a Scotch Church in Worcester. It consisted, he said, of a little colony of Scotchmen, who came over early, and located themselves around the head waters of Bimeleck. They were an industrious and frugal people, who, if let alone, w ould have been a valuable addition to the settlement ; for it was the Scots, my father said, who first cultivated the potatoe in New England ; spun flax with the foot wheel, and wove it into linen cloth, and showed themselves adepts in other useful arts. But there was a prejudice against them, which lost no opportunity to give itself an airing. Having their own religious opinions and attachments, the Scotch settlers in Worcester desired b CARL S TOUR IN MAIN STREET.

to worship by themselves ; and they, therefore, undertook the erection, for themselves, of a meeting house. My father pointed out, as near as he was able, the spot where they raised the frame of a wooden church. My recollection of the place is not very distinct at this day ; but it was near the top of the hill in Lincoln street, — a little north of the Paine house, and in a position to command a pleasant prospect of the surrounding country. I regret for the reputation of the '* rude forefathers of the hamlet," that the frugal and pious Scotchmen were not allowed to enjoy their freedom of conscience without molestation. But such was not the case. My father told me that before the Scotch meeting house was completed, the rest of the people in tlie settlement rose in a body — respectable gentlemen and all — went to the churcii, under cover of the darkness of night, and razed the building to the ground, not leaving one stick upon another. The poor Scotch settlers " pulled up stakes," and found homes in other localities.

It was about twenty years ago, you will remember, that I told you my father said to me, one pleasant October day: "Come, Carl, let us go and see the Cattle Show," and that he took down his hat — it was a broad-brim — and I my cap, from the pegs on which it was our custom to hang them ; and we sallied forth on our tour through Main street, from the North end to the South end. At that time, as I said before, there were live roads — there are seven now — running out of Lincoln Square, which lies at the North end of Main street, and across which runs the ancient Bimeleck — the modern Mill Brook — under a stone arch bridge, as wide as the Square is wide. In my boy days, it was my custom to admire that bridge, it was so roomy, and nothing pleased me more than to see the stagemen drive their teams into the water at the North end, and wash their coaches and refresh their horses, after finishing their trip for the day from Boston on the east, or Springfield, or Northampton, or Hartford on the west. It seemed to my boy eyes, that the coachman who held the reins and cracked the whip for a team of four, was the most exalted man in the nation. Certain it is that I always made my bow to the coachman, instead of those who rode behind him. There was music in his post-horn, which the steam whistle does not begin to rival.

At the time I went through Lincoln Square, on my way with my father to the Cattle Show^, its appearance lO CARL S TOUR IN MAIN STREET.

was very different from what it now is. The Salisbury mansion stood then as it now stands, except that shortly afterwards I was astonished one day to see the workmen put screws under it, and give it an elevation of some half a dozen feet from the ground more than it had before. On the opposite side of the brook, where stands now the passenger station house of the Worcester and Nashua railroad, stood at that time, and for years afterw^ards, a one-story wooden building, which, my father told me, was the store in which the elder Mr. Salisbury carried on, for a long time, an extensive trade with Worcester and the country around, keeping, as was the custom of the time, a supply of West India and dry goods, and laying the foundation of that ample fortune which makes, at this day, the Salisbury estate one of the richest in the country, out of the large cities. I can but think, however, that something of success in this instance was owing to the habits of economy and frugality, which marked the early life of that gentleman; and which it would be better for the young men of to-day, who are in business, if they would study and imitate. My father said he knew him well, that he was always behind his counter, or in his little counting room, giving the

CARL S TOUK IN iMAIN STREET. I I

most scrupulous attention to every matter of business, no matter how inconsiderable, and retiring at night to a small room connected with his store, where he slept as the guard of his own property. Some one has kept a record of the young men who have commenced life as dealers in dry goods, and shows the failure ot 95 in every 100. Is it not to be attributed, in a great degree, to an extravagance in the way of doing business, and of living, which did not prevail with those who were the business men of half a century ago ?

My fiither pointed out to me the place where the elder Daniel Waldo — father of the late Daniel Waldo — kept store in the revolutionary times, but it has gone from my memory. I remember that he said that Mr. Waldo owned the first chaise that run in Worcester and that as he came originally from Boston, and was so extravagant as to ride in a chaise, his neighbors looked upon him as somewhat of an aristocrat. He told me also, an anecdote of what a narrow escape that gentleman run in the time of the Shays rebellion. It was cold and blustering weather, the Shays men were quartered at the Hancock Arms hotel, where the alarm was given that many of the soldiers had been poisoned by some unseen hand ; that many were sick, and perhaps all of them would die. The surgfeon of the regiment made an examination, and discovered that some deadly drug had been mingled with the sugar which the soldiers used, to sweeten their toddy. It was ascertained that the sugar had been bought at Mr. Waldo's store, and as he was not in favor of the rebellion, it was believed that he had purposely put poison into the sugar to destroy the rebellionists. An officer with a file of soldiers was sent to arrest the offender. They marched him to the Hancock Arms, where it was proposed to subject him to what is now denominated Lynch law. But execution was delayed until some one or more soldiers should die of the poison. In the mean time the discovery was made that the poisonous substance in the toddy was nothing but yellow snuff, which by some accident had been dropped into the sugar, and the offender was discharged upon the payment of a fine of a barrel of rum.

Twenty years ago, when I set out on my travels, what is now the Nashua Hotel w^as a two-story public house, standing several rods east of its present location. It has since been moved, and modernized and renovated, I hope, in more ways than one. It was a good inn for the accommodation of beasts^ but a terrific place for men. It was a "rum tavern" in its most fiery signification. It had a long piazza in front, and there sat the signs., from morning to night, of the business carried on within ; a blotched and bloated row of frail mortality, the sight of which always made the marrow^ creep in my bones whenever I had occasion to run by it. Some of those poor unfortunates I knew by sight. The sods of the valley now press upon their lips ; or, I doubt not, they would speak, with terrible earnestness, to every young man, the burning words, " Touch not the drunkard's cupf^

And lays them in the urn of everlasting sleep."

In this connection, I am reminded of a man by the name of Pete Johnso^i., who, I doubt not, is remembered by many of your city readers. Years ago, Pete kept a rum shop on the east side of Lincoln Square, in the basement of the brick building now occupied by the Washington Engine Company, — and a first-rate fire company it is too. I used to be pleased to hear the fire bells, for, boy as I was, I was sure to steal away from home and "run" with that company to fires. There was In it an excitement that was ahnost fun. Pete was a great talker, and a great wag. I believe he was a native of Worcester ; but I know^ not what became of him. He had always his story to tell, and I would gfo without my dinner anv time for the sake of listening to one of Pete's stories. Temperance and temperance men were never favorites with him. One of his stories was this (though I am aware that I cannot tell it with any of the grace with which he told it) : "When they were building the Western Railroad to Albany (said he) I went up into York state, and hired a small tavern, at no great distance from a hard-work in the track. I kept the house solely for the accommodation of travellers^ you know. Yet I was very much annoyed by the Irish workmen upon the railroad coming to get rum to drink. It worried ine to see them waste their money so ; but yet as they would waste It, I thought I might as well have It as somebody else. And as I was anxious for their good, I hit upon a plan, which was alike beneficial to them and to me. They would come to my house so drunk that I did not dare refuse them what they called for ; and as they called for drink after drink, I put in more

CARJ^'S TOUR IN MAIN STREET. 15

and more zvater^ until ^ hi the end^ they had drunk so much water that they went away quite sober.'' Pete was a philosopher in dram drinking, and at the same time had an eye to the improvement of his finances.

CARL.

Chapter III

Mr. Edito7' : At the close of my last letter we had made our entrance into Lincoln Square on our way to Main street. Crowds of people were passing along in the same direction. My father told me to note them well, and see how great was the diversity of character and conduct, " for (said he) it is such a crowd as you will see no other day in the year, whatever may be the holiday." I did observe the crowd, and I have not failed to obey the injunction every year since. There were old men and young men, striplings and boys, old ladies and young ladies, misses and girls ; many riding and many walking, high crown and low crown, broad brim and narrow brim, long waist and short waist, the modest cottage head gear and the flaunting flare up, the long skirt and the short skirt, the poor and the rich, the substantial yeoman, and the vulgar cockney, and last, though not least, a caravan of pedlers, all going to see and enjoy the Farmer's Annual Holiday ; and perhaps w^ith no higher ambition in many of them, than honestly, or dishonestly, to " turn a penny."

I w^as on tiptoe with the multitude to see the sights, but when we got into the Square, my father chilled me with the remark, " Come, Carl, go with me into the jail. I must see my old friend M." "Why, what is he there for? What has he been doing, that they shut him up ? Is he a rogue ? " Such were the questions that I put in quick succession. "No (was the answer), he has only been unfortunate. He owes money which he cannot pay." In my simplicity I asked the question, " And how can he pay it by being in prison?" It's the law," was the ready reply.

We called at the tavern, kept by Mr. Bellows. It stood on the south side of the Square, at the corner ot Summer street, wdiere now stands the large brick building that was erected for the accommodation of the Worcester Branch Railroad. The house was crowded with people ; there \vas no Maine law^ in those days ; but my father found the turnkey, and we went to the jail. It was a large stone building, w^hich 2 stood a little way from the house, near where Union street now enters the Square. Massive iron doors were opened one after another, with huge keys, and we climbed up stone steps after stone steps until w^e reached the third story. " Those rooms below (said my father), are for the criminals, these for the poor debtors." Another lock w^as turned, the iron door creaked on its hinges, we were ushered into M's cell, and the door shut and locked upon us. " Come in half an hour," said my father to the turnkey; and this was my first half hour in prison. I have been in jails, and houses of correction, and state prisons, since that time, but never w^ith such emotions as moved my inmost heart on that occasion.

Mr. M. (and his image haunts me) was a man ot middle age, and of middling stature. He gave my father a cordial welcome. He looked pensive. For furniture there was a small bed on one side of the cell, two chairs, and a small unpainted table, on which were two or three books and a newspaper. " I was looking over my book of accounts (said he) as you entered, to see if there is anything to prevent my taking the oath. I could pay all my debts if men would pay me what they owe me ; but if they will not, or can not, then I must suffer the consequences." I was then taking mv first lesson in the philosophy of the relation of debtor and creditor, and have since found it a circular chain, the links of which are all dependent upon each other. They talked fast. My father w^as more cheerful in jail than out. M. smiled occasionally a sardonic smile, and I busied myself in looking out, as well as I could, at the grated window, and in examining every nook and crevice, scratch and mark, upon the forbiddino- walls and dirtv ceilins:. The turnkev came back and opened the door. I started out. Mr. M. patted me on my head, and made some remark which I do not now reinember ; and as I looked back I saw my father take something from his pocket and give to him ; but what it was I did not see, and he would not tell me, though I often asked him the question.

When we passed down stairs, and had reached the lower floor, my father halted for a moment at the door of a cold and dreary cell. "This (said he), was for many years the miserable cell of the howling, naked, filthy maniac, Peter Sibley, of Sutton, who was tried for murder, and acquitted by the jury on the ground of insanity. The boys would come under his window to ' stir him up,' as they said, that they might hear his insane ravings. It ^vas for him, and such as he, that the State built its Lunatic Hospitals ; and he has been taken out and carried there." Years afterwards, when I came to understand the subject better, I saw, in one of the wards of the hospital, the "howling, naked, filthy maniac," transformed into the quiet, neat, and w^ell-dressed patient, whom no one would mistrust for an insane man, were it not for the expression of the countenance, which is as plainly th^e language of insanity, to one who can read it, as though it were written in letters and words upon the pallid brow. Sibley lived incurably insane, and died but a little while ago, having been in confinement well nigh forty years.

When Ave had reached the street in front of the jail my father turned round and surveyed it with his eye, letting fall some remark about the "progress of civilization," which I did not fully hear nor comprehend. "Your grandfather told me (said he), that when the county was incorporated, about a hundred years ago (it was in 1731), they built a cage in the back part ot the Jennison house, just south of the Unitarian meeting house ; but that in the course of a few months they moved the cage to the house of Mr. Daniel Heywood, where now stands the new City Hall.* A jail was built, as soon it could be done conveniently, north of the Square, which lasted about twenty years, when a larger one was built near by, and after about thirty years more this one was erected." He said that he remembered well wdien it was built ; that it was one of the first buildings of stone erected in the commonw^ealth, and drew from every one the remark that "■ it would last and serve the county for hundreds of years." In less than half a century it had been leveled w^ith the ground, as unsuited to the wants of a growing community, and not one stone ^vas left upon another. The little " rum tavern" took its departure about the same time, and on the spot where it stood the enterprising firm of Joseph Walker & Sonsf now manufacture, daily, hundreds of pairs of boots, without the help of the "evil spirits," or the toddy stick, that danced attendance on their revels. A railroad nov^^ occupies the ground betvv^een where once stood the inn and the jail, and over it run hourly, trains of cars that never entered into the dreams of the thousands of

*Now Bay State House. tNow Dean Building(?).

*'poor debtors," whose limited occupation it had been to look out through the grates, and gaze, in vain regrets, upon a patch, here and there, of blue sky.

"I pity him, poor fellow (said my father, as he stood looking up to the grated window) but I cannot help him." " Why can you not help him ? " inquired I with innocent simplicity. " Because, my son, I

have no money to spare. It takes all I can get to

(I lost the rest of the sentence) and I must be just before I can be generous. I must try and keep out of debt, or I may have to go to Jail myself, and you will then come and pity me in my cell, as you have now pitied Mr. M."

We started along towards Main street. Between the jail and Mill Brook stood a two-story wooden building, on the lower floor of which our present worthy Register of Probate* had his law office, and over it was a small tenement, wdiich was reached by a flight of stairs out of doors, standing within a few feet of the water. We had just entered upon the bridge, when I heard the door of that house open, and looking round, over my left shoulder, I saw a [man stagger out of the door, and pitch head foremost from

*Charles G. Prentiss, Esq.

tlie top to the bottom of the stairs. "Oh. the poor di"unkard," said my father, "that's the end of him." We turned about and walked quickly to the spot. His wife came running dow^n the stairs. We lifted him up, expecting his neck was broken, or the breath beat out of his body, wdien he opened his eyes with an unearthly stare, and exclaimed, "Let me alone, I know w^hat I 'm about, I 've been to Cattle Show^ once, and I'm going again, so hands off!" His grief-stricken wife looked up as if oppressed with the' consciousness that this world had no holiday for her, and with the remark, " I'll take care of him," she thanked us for our kindness, and we turned away.

Yours, ever,

CARL.

Chapter IV

J/r. Editor : — As we walked away from the jail, and crossed the bridge at Lincoln Square, my father remarked ; " This is not now the ' Bridge of Sighs,' though I think it might have been in the olden time." I inquired what he meant ; and he said there was once a "love aflair near by, which made much talk in the time of it."

He said that among the Scotch settlers in Worcester, there came over an Irish family by the name of Rankin. They had several daughters, the youngest of whom was Anna. At that time there was a family here, very respectable for the times, by the name of Andrews. One of the boys was named Samuel, who was at the time an undergraduate in Harvard College. Sam. came home to spend a vacation, and while at home he saw Anna Rankin ; and taking a liking to

*^her neck," which, like Kathleen Bawn's was " so soft, and so smooth, without freckle or speck," he '' fell in love," as the novel-writers say. He forthwith threw Latin and Greek to the dogs ; made love to Anna, and in due time married her ; and, purchasino- a farm down on the west side of Qiiinsigamond Lake, he settled down and became an industrious and frugal yeoman. In that occupation he prospered so w^ell that in a few years he quitted his flirm, and moved into the village, and built him a house on the very spot where the stone jail was subsequently erected. Afterwards he built him a larger and better house on ground now occupied by the l)lock of brick houses opposite the court house. Father and mother both died, leaving an only daughter, named Anna, after her mother, with an estate that made her the principal heiress of Worcester in those times.