Showing posts with label Abbott. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Abbott. Show all posts

Friday, August 8, 2014

The Gerrish Boys of Maine

A photo taken in front of Gerrish's Hunting Camp at North Twin Dam. Luther Morrill Gerrish operated the camp. From Maine Memory Network
From The Bay State Monthly There is a famous camp near North Twin Dam, (Photo from Chesuncook Village Association) kept by Luther Gerrish, and in front of it the accommodating conductor will bring the train to a stop for passengers to alight. A low log structure is the camp, but roomy and comfortable, standing on an elevation overlooking South Twin Lake, with Katahdin looming up in the northwest. Its guide proprietor will greet you with a friendly shake of the hand and a twinkling eye. He has bidden many people welcome to his forest home; and now that the railroad passes his door he begins to feel the need of enlarging his quarters. Often in the fall, passengers on the trains see the front of the camp fairly covered with deer hung up around the piazza awaiting shipment. The camp is in the center of the most famous region for big game in New England. What luck sportsmen had here in the shooting season of last year — October, November and December — is indicated by the shipment of carcasses from Norcross, the shipping point for the region.

From all the stations on the Bangor and Aroostook road there were shipped in the three months named one thousand and one deer, fifty caribou and forty-five moose, and these did not represent fifty per cent of the number killed or one hundredth part of one per cent of the number running wild in the district. In fact, big game seems to be increasing there, in spite of sportsmen. Deer are so plenty and so tame, that a number have been killed on the tracks this year by the engines; and hardly a day passes but passengers on the trains catch glimpses of them in the woods. Not long ago a buck brought a train to a standstill by rushing under a car platform and setting the brakes by getting entangled in the air hose. His carcass was hoisted into the baggage car, and the train proceeded.

The fisherman finds no less delight than the hunter in this region of the woods. Trout fill the streams and lakes, and seem waiting to be caught. There is no end to the devious waterways one may enter in quest of fish or in pursuit of the exhilarating sport of canoeing in that wonderful land of lakes and streams. The famous Bangor canoes, light, buoyant, tight craft, made of canvas and light wood and finished with some sort of enamel that makes them snag-proof, are found everywhere here. The sportsman is indebted to E. H. Gerrish, a brother of Luther Gerrish, and no less skilled than he as a guide, for these remarkable boats. In twenty years' experience as hunter, trapper and guide in the Maine woods, Mr. Gerrish formed the ideas which resulted in the production of the canoe which is now found in all the lakes and streams of northern Maine, and is becoming known all over the country. Check out Bangoreans loved sailing and paddling canoes made locally 19th C. photograph of a 30 foot Gerrish canoe by Wayne E Reilly and Facebook page E H Gerrish Canoes


More Info on Gerrish  Find A Grave From  Sunday, April 1, 1894 Paper: Boston Herald (Boston, MA) 

Great story from Chicago Journal 

Possible Tragedy.

Luther Gerrish, of Norcross, one of the oldest and wealthiest guides in Maine, has had two or three perilous encounters with the ultimate Lucifer, all of which have ended happily. A few winters ago, he started through the Aroostook wilderness to look out a route for the new railroad to Ashland. C. P. Treat, a contractor, of Chicago, and Joe Abbott, a civil engineer, of New York, were with him. They struck in on the Allegash, and were snowshoeing through the woods toward the headwaters of the St. John's, when a sleety rain storm came on, compelling them to make camp. The streams were so badly swollen after the rain that the party walked a long way into the hills before they made an attempt to cross.
When a few rods from the shore, Mr. Treat went waist-deep into ice-cold water, and in trying to get him out, Abbott and Gerrish were wet through. The storm had cleared off cold, with a northwest wind that sent the thermometer down to zero, and kept it there. Though it was twenty miles to the nearest camp, the iceclad men pushed on, hoping that brisk walking would warm them up. In crossing another stream, all three of the men were soaked to their armpits, and before they had gone a mile Mr. Treat wanted to sit down and rest. His feet were cold, he said, and he was sleepy, though a short nap would make him all right They dragged him along a few miles, and then Mr. Abbott gave out and wanted to sleep. Gerrish knew what these symptoms meant, and saw that they must stop and build a fire or all would perish.
When he had stripped the men's feet and wrapped them in comforts and mittens, he collected some dry wood and dead brush for the indispensable fire. He was pretty blue when he put his hand in his hip pocket and pulled out a bunch of matches that were water-soaked, and was not overcheerful when he found but three matches in his waistcoat. Abbott, who was a good woodsman, insisted on kindling a fire, saying he had steady nerves and could make one go the first time. Then Mr. Treat insisted on his rights, so it was agreed to divide the matches equally and give every man a trial. To Mr. Treat, as the millionaire of the party, was given first chance. His match blazed up finely until caught by a gust from Alaska, when it went out before half burned. Abbott lighted a shred of birch bark with his match, but the bark curled up with the heat and extinguished the blaze before he could undo the coils.
It was now Gerrish's turn. He knew what would happen if his match failed to go. Treat and Abbott would certainly freeze to death, and the new railroad would be held back for years. The prosperity of half of Aroostook county, the life of a man who was worth $10,000,000, as well as the lives of Abbott and himself, all depended upon a little slip of wood not so big as a restaurant toothpick. He piled up the brush about him so as to make a green tent surrounding the heap of wood, and lifting a loose bundle of dry pine needles and shredded birch bark in one hand, he scratched the match, and holding it vertically until the blue blaze was climbing the stick, gently shoved it inside the bundle of tinder.
He fanned it slowly with his breath for a moment, and when he saw forks of flame through the white smoke the dry wood was torn apart and filled with the precious fire. New sticks were placed on top until the flames climbed the wooden bowlder. When he turned to look at Treat and Abbott, both were sitting with their faces covered. They, too, knew the meaning of the last match and could not look at him. If they must freeze to death, they preferred to do so fancying they were sitting before a fire. When Gerrish told them to sit over so the fire would not burn their clothing, they laughed like two boys who had just holed a fat woodchuck.—Chicago Journal.
See also Source: 
Modern Maine: its historic background, people, and resources, Volume 4

Saturday, June 15, 2013

Phelps at the Finish (Andover Phelps Family)

By Charlotte Helen Abbott Andover Historical Society 8/18/1905

After examination of the early proprietor's books, and the deeds of those who first parted with the  land taken by Edward Phelps, I find that he bought the lot of Job Tyler in North Parish, and the division lots that fall to it after that date brought his outlying land north and east of Blanchard's lots,  and near Haggetts pond.  But he bought more of Russe and Chandler, which brought his holdings nearer the West meeting house.  Samuel Hutchinson and others took the North Parish lots, so that in the days of Samuel and Francis Phelps, the surviving members of migrations were all located around Haggetts pond and in the Merrimac woods, and having intermarried with Danes and Chandlers and Mooar, we can guess that the last holdings of Chandler Phelps; one fourth of a mile north of the church, and that of Joshua, grandfather of the late residents of this estate near the pond and the Lowell railroad, indicate the main holdings in West Parish.  John Godfrey, of lpswich, also sold 40 acres to old Edward in 1666,  apparently held by mortgage from Job Tyler, so when we, sometime in the future, proceed to locate the Tyler lots, something more definite will be found of the North Parish home of  the first arrivals of the Phelps infants.
Samuel Phelps and his wife, Priscilla Chandler lost the eldest Samuel at Lake George 1750.  His brother, Joshua, born 1738, married Lois Ballard, a daughter of old Deacon Hezekiah Ballard and Lydia Chandler, so related closely to many allied families here - Dane, Holt, Deacon Nathan Abbot, and many others, who may not know how it is they are cousins to Phelps blood.
Henry Phelps married Mary Ballard, a cousin of his sister-in-law, Hannah married Benjamin Mooar of Lewiston, Me., and Priscilla married PhiIemon Dane (called Daniel in the Phelps book). These are best known to us from continued residence.  The children of Joshua include Lois, wife of lsaac Blunt, Jr., represented still by Charles Blunt and the family of the late Samuel, Hannah married Nathan Abbott, and one of her children was our faithful carpenter Nathan, who was well known in my childhood on the list of Abotts and Clement's men. The only son who survived, Joshua Phelps, born1774, died in 1801, and his wife, Mary Gilson of Pepperell, of a family allied to other lines here, lived to 1856.  In the next generation we are all familiar with the quiet lives at the old homestead still standing in the West Parish, a fine model of its style, held by Joshua, wife Dorothy Watson, from Sandwich, N. H. He was the third of the name to hold the estate, where he died in 1873 at 76, she passing at 84 in 1880.  After a life of journeying to and fro across the country. Joshua died here from an accident, in 1886, a single man following his brother Asa, who died in 1862, in California.  Mrs. Gilman and her sister Dorothy Phelps, were the last to hold the most ancient of the Phelps' estates in direct line. Samuel Phelps, son of Joshua, was a blacksmith, latest at Syracuse, N.Y.  Mary married Levi Bean in 1819, Lydia married Jonathon Abbott, Jr., Henry, born 1807, and his wife Eliza, Merrill, well known by her remarkable strength which sustained her through long years of sorrow and care, and who recently died in North Andover with her daughter, represent the Joshua line.  Henry Phelps and Mary Ballard saved Mary who married Joseph Chandler in 1806, in the line of Mrs. Peter Smith, and Chandler Phelps, who died at 82 in 1868.

Most of Chandler Phelps' life was spent, I should judge, on what very likely was the oldest holding in West Parish of the early Samuel, if I can judge from legacies of heirs and sales to the neighbors, before his day.  He married twice, Lydia Parkhurst, a Chandler cousin, and mother of the children, and again Hannah Frye Ballard, daughter of Hezekiah.  Only two children grew up, Herman, wife Esther Merrill, and Jacob, who died at 31, leaving a widow, Rebecca (Chandler) who married John Russell of Wilton, N.H.  Herman is represented by Frank Chandler Phelps, wife Abbie T. Hardy, and several in the tenth generation in his family, and a brother, Herman, and wife AlIen Ward, I have with three children and not traced outside as yet.  Frank Phelps has our banner family in the line holding this name, though there is plenty of the blood line. Samuel, Francis, and his wife Phebe Holt, an aunt of Dane Holt on Prospect Hill farm, born 1722, had by their alliance a chance for a large and long-lived family. The Phelps' book says he lived awhile in Hollis, N. H. and died in Pepperell, Me.
So many errors cling to this line, that I hesitate to back up this statement till verified.  The date of his death l758, at 38, and the widow's second marriage (by book) with Thomas Marshall, very likely determined the home of the children who "pop up" unexpectedly in Tewksbury, Mass., when they were old enough to marry.  Timothy of Hollis and Hanover, N. H., Phebe, born 1750 outside of Andover, so here in Andover at 16, in 1766 warned by authorities as to her lack of claims on pauper accommodation, in case she came to grief, (a great benefit to genealogists was this sweeping warning out of Essex County in 1766), and Joseph, born 1748, of whom the book and I agree mainly in the two wives he annexed, Ruth French and Isabel Isabel Dutton, and he lived in Tewksbury.  His sister Phebe, the warned maiden, married Jacob Foster of Andover, who owned the farm up on the North Andover line near the Richardson stables, latest of the lucky descendants of Andrew Foster and his witch wife Ann, whose cottage stood on the training field.  No pauper in her ranks.
Joseph Phelps, by his first wife, Ruth French, left Ruth, wife of Ephraim Foster, Francis of Danvers, wife Hannah Dandee.  Isaac, born 1778, died on a voyage to the West Indies, Joseph, who married Rebecca Abbott, daughter of Moses Abbott and Elizabeth Holt, Jonathan, who married Abigail Abbott, her sister, lived on Salem street many years, dying at 88 in 1866, Samuel and wife Sally Brooks, of Lexington, Elisha and Mary French of Northfield, Mary, wife of Amos Sheldon of Danvers and Shirley, Jacob and wife Rebecca Reed, of South Natick, these were children of Ruth French, adding two infants who died.  She saved the Phelps name.  By second wife, Isabel Dutton, Lydia, wife of a Jonathan Abbott not placed by book, Timothy, who married Dorcas Chamberlain of Dedham, Theodore, Joel, our veteran shoemaker, who lived on Central street so long, marrying twice, but left only one heir James, Hannah, born 1801, not traced, Henry, 1806, married Lydia Foster and moved to Dedham.  There, look at that record and think that all but two of the seventeen matured and thirteen were married.  We all know the happy home the sisters had together so long on Salem street, Elizabeth Holt Phelps, Belinda Jane, children of Joseph, and who kept a very successful club dining-room for students, and cut gowns for the maidens who graduated from abbott and Punchard.  Hannah Holt Phelps, of this happy, hospitable group of cousins, still survives, and resides with her eldest son, Rev. George Gutterson, whose record as an olive tree almost equals his great-grandfather's.  Her sister, Priscilla, wife of Richard Moore, so long resident, all these we have known in joy and sorrow, friends of our fathers and of us the middle-aged Abbotts and Holts and Chandlers.  These Phelps from old Henry down always had things happen to them, and I cannot do justice to the romance of the incidents kept for the family ear alone, that might fill this bare outline of a virile, long-lived gifted race of Salem Quakers.