Due North

Historians love maps. I love maps. In my dining room is an old map that according to my wife I paid entirely too much for. It is tiled “L’Isle De Terre-Neuve L’Acadie” published in 1780 and drawn by Rigobert Bonne. This French map includes much of Atlantic Canada and all of New England extending southerly to Philadelphia. It is my own little treasure of history showing colonial settlements, forts and Indian tribes. Then there is the map that my wife framed to which I claim, “she paid entirely too much for,” a huge map has she framed as a gift.  It is the historic odyssey of the Acadian People of Nova Scotia. Taken together, these maps tell a story of my Acadian heritage. 

Maps help us define our history, politics, boundaries and stories. In the course of writing these stories I have come to know so many wonderful connections between local history and geography. And, if you know where to look, the intersection between historic maps and the present day is evident all around us.  Maps have helped me locate a long lost cave, ancient roads that no longer exists to the public, and even the spot of buried cellar holes. For this local historian, maps are key to unlocking details of the past and are the connection between the land today and yesteryear.

Our earliest map of the area is the “Map of the Twelve Divisions” which dates to 1698. In 1647, when the natives granted land to the “settlers” the territory was known as the “New Grant.”  This was the undivided land extending from the Blue Hills to the Plymouth Line and contained 40,000 acres of land. The upland was laid out into divisions, by parallel lines running from north to south and became known simply as the “Twelve Divisions.” All of the swamps and lowland was excluded as unusable. Towns that exist today did not exist at the time of this map.

A trip to the boundary marker in 1921.

A second map was drawn around 1713 that became known as the “Twenty-five Divisions.” The lines on this map run parallel from Braintree through the present town of Stoughton along to the Rhode Island border. This is the map that Dwight MacKerron, the president of the Stoughton Historical Society uses the most. “Certain landmarks still exist from that map from over 300 years ago,” says MacKerron. West Street from Plain Street to McNamara’s Corner is a good example. The street is a straight line that exactly matches up with and parallel with the range lines from the ancient map.

Today, MacKerron uses maps to establish links between some of Stoughton’s oldest properties, including the 1750 Glover House, and their locations today. Since Canton was once Stoughton, the maps that survive today in the local historical society are of great interest to MacKerron. Many a Sunday is passed poring over hand-drawn documents that purport to show the boundaries of the Ponkapoag Plantation. MacKerron has located four known boundaries at corners on the ground. In the woods, tramping over stone walls, MacKerron uses maps and modern GPS to define the old boundaries that have been lost to time. Still, more boundary markers may be out there. Just last week the author found a reference to another stone boundary maker that is located “just off Turnpike Street, South of Muddy Pond and East side of the street.” Historic maps and Mackerron’s dedication will help us find this boundary if it still exists.

There are ghosts on the ground that connect us to maps. Take for instance the top of the Great Blue Hill. If you know where to find it, there is a small copper seal embedded in a rocky outcropping. In addition, there are a few drill holes to be found. These are relics of surveys done at the beginning of the 19^th century. The earliest being that of Simeon Borden. Borden was an inventor, engineer and self-taught mathematician from Fall River and was named assistant to the head of the Trigonometical Survey of Massachusetts mandated by the state legislature in 1830. By 1834, the director had resigned and Borden took over. The survey of Massachusetts was finished in 1838 and presented to the American Philosophical Society in Philadelphia in 1841. This was the first statewide survey done in the United States. And, some of the survey points can still be found in the Blue Hill Reservation.

In 1932 a coastal and geodetic survey described the location of the original bolt. “At the highest point of Great Blue Hill, in the Southwestern part of the town of Milton, and within a few feet of the Canton line. A road leads to the summit, from a point near the junction of Blue Hill and Canton Avenues, and a car may be driven to the top, by permission of the police of the Blue Hills Reservation, in which the hill is situated. On the floor of the Blue Hill Observatory there is a triangular brass plate, inscribed as follows--about 2.2 feet below this x was the copper bolt set about 1834 by Simeon Borden for the Massachusetts Trigonometrical Survey in latitude 42 deg 12 min 44 sec n. Longitude 71 deg 6 min 53 sec and 635.05 feet above mean tide.”

Yet, this small plate may not accurate. A short history of the observatory written in 1887 by Abbott Lawrence Rotch, the founder of the weather station, reports that, “although careful search was made under the ruins of the [original] lookout for the copper bolt, set by Simeon Borden, about 1832, it was not found. Its position was, however, known to be 26.25 feet n 15 deg 37 min E of the bolt fixed by the coast survey in 1844, which is in plain view, and a brass plate on the lower floor of the tower now marks the site of the Borden Bolt.

Unfortunately, the plate is incorrect. The latitude of the Borden station shows that it was “South” of the Coastal Survey Station, rather than “North.” Engineers in 1932 supposed, “the direction given is reversed.” It is most likely that the original copper bolt is located under the flagpole that sits at the summit. That said, there are a few reference marks that can be found with a sharp eye.  A trip to the top of Blue Hill is worth the effort and finding the drill hole that dates back to the 1830’s is a real treat.

As Canton begins a month of studying and discussing maps through the One Town, One Book event, we will get a chance to learn much about maps and history. The book, The Map Thief, by Michael Blanding is described as “the story of an infamous crime, a revered map dealer with an unsavory secret, and the ruthless subculture that consumed him.” Against the backdrop of the book, the community will come to love maps through a series of public programs.

And, perhaps the coolest maps under discussion are not quite maps at all. There is a series of “Birdseye Views” that were drawn in the late 19^th and early 20^th centuries. A hybrid between a map and a poster, these views are spectacular in detail and accuracy. Jim Roache, a curator at the Canton Historical Society has a passion for the 1918 view of Canton. Drawn from a perspective looking north from Gridley Hill (a secret spot that still exists).  The view presents in exquisite detail most every factory and home that can be seen across the entire town. It is both a map and piece of art.

We all have our favorite maps. MacKerron spends so much time with the “Twenty-five Divisions,” as it is “the intersection between the land we see around us today and the original land of our history.” For Roache, the 1855 Walling map is his go-to map. “After the railroad came through town we experienced an enormous growth spurt,” says Roache. “The Walling map shows all the new housing and industrial development in great detail and helps me identify locations that still exist today.”

Finally, my personal favorites are the small hand-drawn maps that had been used for Historical Society walks in the late 1800’s. They are printed on blue paper and were distributed to the participants as they trekked from old to new across the modern roads of the time. One is reproduced here for your enjoyment, and perhaps to study as an overlay to our present day.

1.     

Fast Day Map

The Fowl Meadows: For Peat's Sake

The Fowl Meadows at the Neponset River circa 1890.
(photo by L.C. Horton, courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

There is an ancient map from 1794 inscribed with the names of the selectmen of Stoughton — Elijah Crane, Jabez Talbot and Nathan Crane — and on this map there are more than six bridges that cross the Neponset River in what is now Canton. Today, we mostly cross the Neponset River along Neponset Street, yet this road is among the newer roads, historically speaking. When we drive past the old Canton Airport, we see wetland and what we now consider “open space.” To the early settlers, this land was well supplied for access to food and valuable pastures.

The early bridges were used to access land in the Fowl Meadows, our western boundary. The first mention of this land dates to 1646, and much of this area was granted to Dedham in grants of 1653. As the train to Boston runs through these meadows, you can see luxurious grasses, and in late fall the meadows turn almost reddish in color. The grass here is actually called “fowl meadow” and is also known as “false redtop” (Poa serotina). This grass is typical of New England and “makes a soft and pliable hay, of excellent quality.” It could be mowed late in the season and made nutritious hay that was used as winter fodder.

The bridges that were used to access these meadows for grazing were named for the men who built them and owned grants to the meadows. Holmses Bridge, Thorp’s Bridge, Woodards Bridge, Fishers Bridge, and Majors Bridge — all ancient owners of meadows across the Neponset River. Vestiges of these structures are long lost. I know of a small arched double row of stones that is almost hidden by time and quite near the railroad tracks off University Avenue that I believe once played a part in the loading of carts filled with hay, but for the most part these crossings have been long lost.

What lies below the soft fields of grass is a thick, rich soil abundant with nutrients enriched by the river and thick with peat. After the retreat of the last ice age, the peat formed as the grasses decayed and were compressed by time. The peat is quite thick and Daniel Huntoon (History of Canton) observed, “Should our supply of coal ever become exhausted, fuel can here be obtained in an unlimited abundance.”

The peat is dense, and because of a lack of oxygen it inhibits the decay of archeological artifacts. In fact, some of the oldest artifacts in New England have been discovered along the Neponset River. Spots along the Fowl Meadows have served professional and amateur archeologists with a view that spans almost 18,000 years of human occupation. Amazing stories tied to the worksites, campsites, and migration of humans through this land will be shared in future articles.

The peat bogs gave rise to a little known and hardly mentioned industry in Canton. In 1908, J. Harry Hartley purchased 100 acres of land in Canton and Norwood. Hartley was the military editor of the Boston Globe and an esteemed member of the Ancient and Honorable Artillery Company of Massachusetts. This “newspaper man” had a vision that peat would become a new “cheap and inexhaustible fuel” for Boston.

Various attempts at harvesting peat had already been tried in New England. Peat, known as “bog fuel,” is the earliest stage of the creation of coal. The Boston and Maine Railroad tested this fuel in 1904. A large supply of peat was harvested in Lexington, and the railroad experimented over the winter of 1905 and found the fuel burned exceptionally well, but faster than coal. Also, in 1907, Mathew C. Sharpneck of Boston patented a new machine and assigned his patent to the American Peat Machinery Company of Portland, Maine. The machine used a series of blades to chop the peat and mix it such that it forms “ribbons of dark mud” that would be dried on a rack and cured with a current of air.

Hartley, the newspaper man, was well aware of the use of peat fuel in Europe and purchased one of Mr. Sharpneck’s machines. A plan was conceived along with Hartley’s son, Charles H. Hartley. Together these two men began the process of harvesting peat in the Fowl Meadows. In June 1908, all preparations were placed into operation. A small railroad track was laid deep into the Fowl Meadows and carts were connected via a steel cable to a series of sheds at the edge of the bog. A 100-foot-long building contained an engine house and the peat machine. Workers shoveled the heavy, wet peat into the hopper cars, and a winch pulled the cars along the rail to the main factory building. The contents were dumped onto a conveyor belt and processed through the peat machine. Drying sheds were also built on the property and the finished product was bagged for sale. This pioneering operation left little record. We would imagine that it soon thereafter failed, for no records exist that show otherwise.

The other reminder of the peat in the Fowl Meadows is the enormous fires that have historically consumed this land. Many times summer lightning storms would strike the ground, and the ensuing blaze would be all consuming. In 1923, a stubborn bog fire burned for several months. Norwood became “Smokytown” as the subterranean inferno blazed through the fall. This had been a year in which drought conditions had raised the alert to fire marshals throughout the commonwealth. More than 2,344 fires burned over 46,646 acres of fields and woodland, causing extensive damage.

In Canton, the summer of 1923 was particularly bad, and by all accounts the worst that had been seen in more than 40 years. Several tons of hay owned by Elijah White was destroyed in mid October by a fire that was set by two boys. That same day three tons of hay was burnt at William Murphy’s house on Bailey Street. In one day alone, fires were reported on Everett, Turnpike, Pecunit and Walpole streets, as well as Spring Lane and six other locations. In all, more than 13 fires burned on Friday, October 12, 1923. This set a record for the most working fires in one day in the Canton Fire Department’s history.

The bog fires burned for nine weeks. The smoke was excessive and more than 1,700 acres were ablaze through 1923. Hiking deep into the underbrush, firemen cut a four-mile-long ditch through the meadows and kept water pumping through the cut to create a fire line. The fire burned five to six feet underground, fueled by the never-ending supply of peat. Firemen on horseback worked their way into the deepest reaches of the meadows to access the edges of the fire and reported hellish scenes where the fire undercut root systems such that trees would collapse. “Through the smoke wreaths the bare branches of the trees showed gaunt and spectral … tongues of yellow flames were burning briskly amidst the tangle … rain was ineffective, breathing was difficult, eyes smarted and shed involuntary tears, and the heat of the ground felt hot through the sole of one’s boots.” The smoke from these fires caused such darkness that auto accidents became commonplace. After nightfall, travel became treacherous; you “literally could not see your hand in front of your face.”

The fires, although less frequent, are still a problem today. If you talk with Jim Fitzpatrick, our former fire chief, he can tell many stories of the meadow fires that were started by lighting or train sparks or errant cigarettes thrown from moving cars. More than 170 brush burn permits have been issued this year, so as you smell the wafting smoke from the spring burning season, recall the stories of the great fires in the Fowl Meadows and think about our history for peat’s sake.

This story ran in the Canton Citizen on March 24, 2011

A Cave to Remember

Fairbanks Ledge on Standish Way
 (photo by George T. Comeau)

I was intrigued the day I opened the email from my good friend and fellow historian Dave Lambert. Lambert is one of the town of Stoughton’s preeminent local historians, and since Canton was once part of Stoughton, he shares my passion for all things related to the history of our two sibling communities.

The email arrived in early January 2009. The body of the email was simple and read: “Here are the images of Fairbanks Cave in 1908, and the location in 2009. Want to go on an adventure; let me know!”

An adventure? “Yes” always was my answer. After all, I assume, dear reader, that you saw my last installment on the subject of trespassing. The very idea of a “cave” in Canton was more than I could hope for. The email contained the map illustrated with this story.

Old maps are not new to Canton. The “Histy” has dozens upon dozens. Nestled in banker’s boxes, on the shelf above the vault door, hanging on walls, in flat files, and just about everywhere throughout the building. In fact, several similar maps to the one that Lambert sent me are in a small metal drawer just inside the Historical Society vault. Some of the maps are so old and creased that great care must be taken with simply unrolling the vellum.

It turns out that actually finding this cave would be harder than it seemed. Canton has changed so much in a hundred years. The landscape has been bulldozed, filled, excavated, and man has dominated the natural form such that little unprotected and untouched open space remains. A cave might surely be lost to growth and expansion of subdivisions and modern construction.

That said, the accompanying map that came with Lambert’s email had a few tantalizing clues. It was amazingly detailed and accurate in measure and scale. The map was sketched en route to accompany an outing of the Appalachian Mountain Club (AMC). The trip of 44 persons came to Canton on April 11, 1908, and “hiked” from Canton Junction to the Wetherbee Pasture and onto the Fairbanks Cave. The total hike was 4.5 miles and took a few hours to complete.  Today, actually finding this cave would take me several days of research and driving around town.

The Wetherbee Pasture in 1918 Now the
Blue Hill Country Club
(courtesy of the Canton Historical Society)

The map was drawn by E.G. Chamberlain. Chamberlain had written the guide on the Blue Hills for Appalachia, the Journal of the AMC, in 1883 and likely led the club’s excursion to Canton and Milton in 1883. Chamberlain’s map of the Blue Hill Range is highly detailed and superbly drawn. By 1904, Chamberlain’s Blue Hill Panorama had been carelessly copied by so many people that he had an original copy lithographed, and it became standard issue for all day hikers from the AMC.

It was the practice of the AMC to bring along a mapmaker on outings to draw details of the trip and publish these as small “blue prints” to be distributed to members. The map that Lambert had emailed me was a small blueprint that captured small details in the paths and landscape perfectly. It should prove easy to find the cave’s location simply looking at old maps and overlaying Google Maps with the 1908 drawing.

The puzzle on the Fairbanks Cave Map is that I could find no local reference to Fairbanks. It was Chamberlain’s practice to name objects discovered by the club during their outings. For instance, Chamberlain writes of a trip to Amesbury, Massachusetts: “After visiting Powder House Hill we crossed a deep valley and ascended a higher hill, which diligent search shows has never appeared on any map. Even the recent state topographic map omits it. So I called it ‘Lost Hill’ on my outing map.” This was a clue that perhaps Chamberlain had simply named the cave on whim.

It turns out that in the Canton Historical Society a small map drawn to accompany the 1887 Fast Day Walk to the same spot described the topography, 21 years earlier, as Fairbanks Ledge. The historian Daniel Huntoon walked with the society members that day and told the story: “A huge mass of cold gray granite rises abruptly in the midst of the woods and underbrush. On the westerly side is an opening where six or eight men might easily find shelter. Here tradition asserts that one Fairbanks, ages ago, was obliged to secrete himself for a long time in order to avoid the officers of justice. It would appear that an Indian made some offensive gesture, accompanied with an insulting remark to Fairbanks; whereupon the latter, upon the impulse of the moment, fired a charge of buckshot into the Indian, from the effects of which he died.”

The AMC Outing to Fairbanks Cave
(courtesy of David Lambert)
Click to enlarge details

The map is very technically drawn and is very similar to several other hand-drawn maps of the same period. Canton had plenty of connections in the AMC. Frederic Endicott, a prominent Canton resident and superb surveyor and cartographer, served as a councilor to the AMC. Many of Endicott’s maps survive in the Canton Historical Society and are superbly drawn and highly accurate. Endicott drew the 1887 Fast Day Walk map that identifies this site as Fairbanks Ledge.

The overlays of historic maps, the AMC Map, and our new age Google Maps – complete with satellite imagery – do not solve the question. After unsuccessfully locating the cave using our modern technology, it was time to talk to people in the area.

I called Mrs. Meadow, who lives on the west side of Elm Street and whose property I guessed the cave would be located on. Meadow came to Canton in 1956 and had purchased the Draper property on Elm Street. The original tract of land totaled almost 75 acres, and when Route 95 cut through the property it was reduced to the present 40 acres. This large property is largely intact and could be a breakthrough in this research. Mrs. Meadow, however, did not think the cave was on her property, but a return call from her son, Richard, confirmed both the existence and the location.

Richard Meadow, a prominent archeologist at Harvard University, had indeed recalled what he described as the “Indian Cave.” In reality, it was a large rocky outcropping with a deep hole that he would explore with other friends while hiking his own property and the neighboring Fish property. A small opening in the fence gave access to the area where the “cave” was situated.

And so the mystery is solved; you too can visit the Indian Cave. It turns out that the “cave” was never really lost and never really a cave in the truest sense. Fairbanks Ledge is readily accessible if you drive to the very end of Standish Way. The rock is, as Huntoon described it, “immense,” and well worth the drive by. Finding an old map and discovering our rich local history is as impressive as the journey itself.

This story originally appeared in the Canton Citizen on February 3, 2011.