New Horizons Genealogy

"Specializing in New England and New York Colonial American Ancestry"

Addison County Vermont Biographies
Town of Addison

Town of Addison, Vermont biographies copied from the Vermont Historical Gazetteer, by Abby Maria Hemenway.

Try our genealogy search engine

JOHN STRONG was born in Salisbury, Conn., A. D. 1738, and when 21 years of age was married to Agnes McCure, also born in Salisbury, the only daugh­ter of J. McCure, a wealthy landholder of Edin­burgh, Scotland, who, being deeply implicated in the "Rebellion of 1715, fled to this country, having first, (to prevent confiscation,) put into the hands of a friend his large property. He died in a few years, leaving two young chil­dren, a son and daughter. His wife survived him but a few weeks. He was in the receipt of rents until the time of his death, after which no further remittances were made, and Agnes was put out to service, where she remained until she married. Her brother John was killed in a naval action soon after the death of her parents, so that she was early inured to hardship. Though fragile in form and constitution, when their in­creasing family demanded some extra effort, the proposition to encounter the danger and priva­tions of removal to the wilds of the West, was met with cheerfulness and alacrity.

In February, 1766, they started, all his worldly goods consisting of an old pair of mares and a sleigh. His wife and three children, and all his household goods, found ample space in the sleigh. Their route lay through Albany and across the Hudson to Fort Gurney; then on the ice on Lake George to Ticonderoga; then on the ice on Lake Champlain to their house erected the fall before. He at once commenced chopping a fallow, and as soon as the spring opened, corn and potatoes ware planted, and the clearing kept on, to be ready for the winter wheat. About the 1st of June he was taken with chills and fever, (fever ague,) but a wife and children were dependent on his con­stant exertions, far away from resources. Kind neighbors had come in, but they were no better off than himself. So when the fit came on, he would lie down by a log heap until it was partly over, and then up and at it again. Wild animals were very troublesome, especially bears, with which he had many encounters. In September, Mrs. Strong, whilst her husband and a few neigh­bors had joined together and gone up the lake in a bateau, and thence to Albany, to procure necessaries for the settlement, one evening was sitting by the fire with her children about her. The evenings had become somewhat chilly. The kettle of samp intended for supper had just been taken from the fire, when, hearing a noise, she looked towards the door, and saw the blanket that served the purpose of one, raised up, and an old bear protruding her head into the room. The sight of the fire caused her to dodge back. Mrs. Strong caught the baby, and sending the older children to the loft, she followed and drew the ladder after her. The floor of this loft was made by laying small poles close together, which gave ample opportunity to see all passing below. The bear, after reconnoitring the place several times, came in with two cubs. They first upset the milk that had been placed on the table for supper. The old bear then made a dash at the pudding-pot, and thrusting in her head, swallowed a large mouthful and filled her mouth with another, be­fore she found it was boiling hot. Giving a furious growl, she struck the pot with her paw, up­setting and breaking it. She then set herself up on end, endeavoring to poke the pudding from her mouth, whining and growling all the time. This was so ludicrous, the cubs setting up on end, one on each side, and wondering what ailed their mother, that it drew a loud laugh from the chil­dren above. This seemed to excite the anger of the beast more than ever, and with a roar she rushed for the place where they had escaped, up aloft. This they had covered up when they drew up the ladder, and now commenced a struggle; the bear to get up, the mother and children to keep her down. After many fruitless attempts, the bear gave it up, and towards morning moved off. After Strong's return, a door made from the slabs split from the basswood and hung on wooden hinges gave them some security from like inroads in future.

At another time, Strong and Smalley were crossing the lake from Chimney Point to McKen­sies, in Neviah, in a canoe, and when near Sandy Point, they saw something swimming in the water, which they at once supposed to be a deer, and gave chase. As they drew near, they found, instead of a deer, it was an enormous black bear that they were pursuing. This was a different affair, and a consultation was held. They had nothing but an axe, but they had too much pluck to back out, so it was planned that Smalley was to get into the wake of the bear, and run the canoe bows on, whilst Strong, standing in the bow with the axe, was to knock Bruin on the head. But "The best laid scheme of mice and men, gang aft a­gley."

Smalley brought the boat up in good style, and Strong, with all the force of a man used to felling the giants of the forest, struck the bear full on the head. The bear minded it no more than if it had been a walking-stick in­stead of an axe, but instantly turning, placed both fore paws on the side of the boat and upset it, turning both the men into the lake. The bear, instead of following them, crawled up on to the bottom of the boat, and took possession, quietly seating himself, and looking on with great gravity, whilst the men were floundering in the water. Smalley, who was not a very good swimmer, seeing the bear so quiet, thought he might hold on by one end of the boat, until it should float ashore; but no, Bruin would have none of their company; and they were obliged, each with an oar under his arms to sustain him, to make the best of their way to Sandy Point, the nearest shore. From here they had to go around the head of Bullwagga Bay, and north as far as Point Henry, where they found their boat, minus their axe and other baggage, and were very glad to come off so well.

One more bear story, and that will do.

One fall the bears were making destructive work in his cornfield; he found where they came in, and placed his trap in their road. The second morning he found his trap gone, and plenty of signs that a large bear had taken it; he got two of his neighbors, Kellogg and Pangborn, to go with him. They had two guns and an axe, and three dogs. After following the track for some two miles they heard the dogs, and as they came up they found the hear with her back against a large stub, cuffing the dogs whenever they came within reach. The trap was on one of her hind legs. Kellogg proposed to shoot the bear, but Strong said he could kill her with his axe as well as to waste a charge of ammunition, which was scarce and difficult to get. So taking the axe, and remembering his encounter on the lake, he turned the bit of the axe, intending to split her head open. He approached cautiously, and when near enough, gave the blow with tremendous force, but the bear, with all the skill of a prac­tised boxer, caught the axe as it was descending; with one of her paws knocking it out of his hand, at the same time catching him with the other, she drew him up for the death-hug; as she did so, endeavoring to grab his throat in her mouth. One moment more, and he would have been a man­gled corpse. The first effort he avoided by bend­ing his head close upon his breast; the second, by running his left hand into her open mouth and down her throat, until he could hook the ends of his fingers into the roots of her tongue. This hold he kept until the end, although every time the bear closed her mouth his thumb was crushed and ground between her grinders, her mouth being so narrow that it was impossible to put it out of the way. He now called on Kellogg for God's sake to shoot the bear, but this he dared not do, for fear of shooting Strong; for as soon as he got the bear by the tongue, she endeavored to get rid of him by plunging and rolling about, so that one moment the bear was on top, and the next Strong. In these struggles they came where the axe had been thrown at first. This Strong seized with his right hand, and striking the bear in the small of the back, severed it at a blow. This so paralyzed her that the loosened her hug, and he snatched his hand from her mouth, and cleared himself of her reach. The men then dispatched her with their guns. His mutilated thumb he carried, as a memento of the fight, to his dying day.

Indians in their visits caused more fear than wild beasts, especially after the commencement of the Revolutionary struggle. Although through the policy of some of the leading men of the Grants the British had been induced to treat the settlers on the east side of the lake with mild­ness, and had forbidden the Indians to molest them, yet their savageness was ready to burst forth on the slightest provocation. So much was this the case, that, if a party of Indians made their appearance when the men were absent, the women allowed them to help themselves to what­ever they liked. At one time a party came in when Mrs Strong was alone. They first took the cream from the milk and rubbed it on their faces; then rubbing soot on their hands, painted themselves in all the hideousness of the war-paint, and sang the war-song with whoop and dances. Just as they were leaving, one of them discovered a showy colored short-gown, that her husband had just made her a birthday present of. This he took, and putting it on, seemed greatly delighted, and with yells and whoops they departed. She had a place between the outer wall of the house and the chimney, where, whenever Indians were seen about, she used to hide her babe. A barrel of sour milk was kept, where a set of pewter dishes (a rare thing at that time) was, as soon as used, put for security. One day an Indian came in and saw a small plate, which he took, and making a hole in it, put in a string and wore it off as an ornament. They would sometimes, when hungry, kill a hog or beef. The following will show that their fears were not groundless: One morning in June, just when the sky takes on that peculiar hue that has given it the term, "gray of the morning," Mrs. Strong arose and went to the spring, a few rods from the house, standing on the bank of the lake. The birds had just commenced their morning matins, making "woodland and lea" vocal with song. The air was laden with the perfume of the wild flowers. Not a breath stirred a leaf or ruffled the glass-like surface of the waters of the lake. She stopped a moment to enjoy it. As she stood listening to the song of the birds, she thought she heard the dip of a paddle in the water, and looking through the trees that fringed the bank, saw a canoe filled with Indians. In a moment more the boat passed the trees in full view. A pole was fastened upright in the bow, on the top of which was the scalp of a little girl ten years old her flaxen ringlets just stirred in the morning air, while streams of clotted blood all down showed it was placed there whilst yet bleeding. Whilst horror froze her to the spot she thought she recognized it as the hair of a beautiful child of a dear friend of hers, living on the other side of the lake. She saw other scalps attached to their waist-belts, whilst two other canoes, farther out in the lake, each had the terrible signal at their bows. The Indians, on seeing her, gave the war-whoop, and made signals as though they would scalp her; and she fled to the house like a frightened deer. The day brought tidings that their friends on the other side had all been massacred and scalped, six in number, and their houses burned.

The morning previous to the taking of Crown Point by Burgoyne, Mrs. Strong was sitting at the breakfast-table. Her two oldest sons, Asa and Samuel, had started at daylight to hunt for young cattle that had strayed in the woods. Her husband had gone to Rutland to procure supplies of beef for the American forces at Ti­conderoga and Crown Point, when a daughter of Kellogg, (afterwards Mrs. Markham,) came rush­ing in with, "The Indians are coming, and we are all flying. There are bateaux at the Point to take us off, and you must hurry!" And back she ran to help her own folks, her father then being a prisoner in Quebec. Mrs. Strong was in very feeble health, totally unable to encounter hardship or fatigue; her husband away, her two oldest sons in the woods, and no one to warn or seek them. There was no way but to try and save the children that were with her. She took her youngest, a babe of six months, (Cyrus,) and putting him in a sack, with his head and shoul­ders out, fastened him on the back of her eldest daughter, and making up a bundle for each of the other children of the most necessary clothing, started them for the Point, charging them not to loiter or wait for her, and she would overtake them. After putting out the fire she closed the house, leaving the breakfast-table standing as it was when they first heard the news. She trav­elled on as fast as she was able until she came to the north bank of Hospital Creek. Here, en­tirely exhausted, she sat down, when Spalding, of Panton, who had waited to see all off, and also the approach of the foe, came riding at full gallop up the road, and seeing her sitting where she was, said, "Are you crazy? The Indians are in sight, — the lake is covered, and the woods are full of them!" She told him she could go no farther. He dismounted, and placing her on the pillion, remounted, and putting his horse to his speed, arrived just as the last bateau, containing her children, was putting off, — it having remained as long as they dared on her account. She was put on board, Spalding going on with his horse. That night they ar­rived at Whitehall. Here the settlers scattered in many directions, — some returning to Connec­ticut, others going east. Zadock Everest and family, with other neighbors, went east, and she went with them. Asa and Samuel, as they re­turned towards night, saw, by the columns of smoke coming up from every house, that the In­dians must have been there. They hid them­selves until dark, and then, cautiously approach­ing, found their house a blazing ruin. Believing that the family had escaped, they retraced their steps, and made the best of their way east towards Otter Creek. At daylight they found themselves near Snake Mountain. Fortunately, when they left home the morning previous, they took a gun and ammunition. They shot a partridge and roasted it, saving a part for their dinner, and pushed on, and in about a week found their mother and the rest of the children. They then hired a log-house, the older boys working out, and each doing what they could for their support.

Strong, hearing that Burgoyne had taken Crown Point, left his cattle at Brandon, and hastened for his home. On coming within sight of the forts he secreted himself until night. He then moved on cautiously, for fear of the Indians. On reaching the centre of a narrow ridge of land, just south of Foard's Creek, with a marsh on either side, covered with a dense growth of alders and willow, a yell, as demoniac as though the gates of the infernal regions had opened upon him, burst forth, and instantly he was surrounded by more than 200 savages, whooping and swing­ing their tomahawks over his head. Instant death seemed inevitable. A Tory was in com­mand. Having heard that he was expected in with cattle, he had got the assistance of this band of Indians to intercept him. After a few mo­ments he partially stilled the Indians, and addressing Strong, asked, "Where are your cattle?" Strong answered, "Safe." This short and dis­appointing answer fairly drove him mad with rage, and no doubt he would have sacrificed him on the spot, if an old chief, who knew Strong, had not interposed. Strong then told them to take him to the fort, and whatever was proper for him to answer, he would cheerfully do. He was then bound and taken to the other side, and placed in the guard-house until morning. When he was brought before the commanding officer, who was Col. Frasier, (afterward killed at Stillwater,) Strong explained who he was, the uncertain fate of his family, and his anxiety on their account.

Frasier generously let him go on parole, until the middle of November, when he was to be at Crown Point to go with the army and prisoners to Canada. After thanking him, and just as he was leaving, he said, "Colonel, suppose the army never return, how then?" Frasier, smiling in­credulously, said, "Then you are released from all obligation." And ordering him a supply of provisions for his journey, dismissed him. He now procured a boat and went to his house, which he found in ashes. After searching for any re­mains that might be left, in case his wife and children had been burned in the house, he re­turned to the fort, where he procured a passage up the lake to Whitehall. He was here com­pletely at fault as to which way his family had gone, but was induced to believe they were in Connecticut, where he went, but found they had not been there, and returned and went in another direction, and, after weeks of fruitless search, had almost despaired of finding them, when one even­ing, weary and foot-sore, he called at a log-house in Dorset, Vt., for entertainment for the night. It was quite dark. A flickering light from the dying embers only rendered things more undistinguishable. He had just taken a seat, when a smart little woman, with a pail of milk, came in, and said, "Moses, can't you take the gentleman's hat?" That voice! He sprang towards her. "Agnes!" And she, with outstretched arms, "John, O John!" How quick the voice of loved ones strikes upon the ear, and vibrates through the heart! That was a happy night in the little log-house. The children came rushing in, and each in turn received their father's caress. Smiles of happiness and tears of joy mingled freely, for a father and husband was restored as from the dead. They had received no tidings of him after he left his cattle and went to look for them, and they mourned him as dead. The next year he hired a farm. He represented Dorset in the legislature from 1779 to 1782, in '81 was elected Assistant Judge for Bennington county, and also in '82, in '83 returned to Addison, on to the old farm where his descendants have ever since remained, — was elected to the legislature from Addison in '84, '85, and '86, — in '85 elected first Judge of the court in Addison county, — and in '86 Judge of Probate and member of the Coun­cil. These offices he held until 1801, 16 years; in 1791 was a member of the convention that ratified the Constitution of the United States on the admission of Vermont to the Union. In 1801 his failing health warned him to retire from the cares of political life, and he resigned the many and important offices he then held, and in June, 1816, gave up his life "to God who gave it." As a Christian he was consistent. The Congregational church, of which he was a mem­ber, have good reason to remember his liberality. As a patriot and statesman he had the confidence of those who acted with him, wherever he re­sided.

ZADOCK EVEREST was born in Connecticut. In the summer of 1765 he came on to Addison, in company with two others, and commenced a clearing, and in September sowed it with wheat. This was the first clearing made by English settlers in this county. They returned to Connecticut in the fall, and the following May, Everest moved on by way of Otter Creek, and located himself in what was then thought to be Panton, and was an active participant in the struggles which the early settlers of this town had to endure. He opened the first public house in this county. On the coming down of Bur­goyne, he fled with his family and the settlers. On reaching Whitehall, he turned east into Pawlet, where he remained until 1784, when he returned to his former residence in Addison, the farm now owned by R. W. Eaton, Esq. He was elected a representative from Pawlet, March 12, 1778, and in 1785 from Panton, in '88 and '89, from Ad­dison, and again in '95; and held prominent offi­ces in town for a long series of years. He died in --, respected as one of the fathers of the town and church. Some very ancient relics were found on this farm several years ago. Gen. C. C. Everest, in digging a well on the height of land, perhaps 150 feet above the present level of the lake, after digging some 20 feet through an al­most impervious hard pan, came upon a strata of pebbles and sand, with every appearance of having once been the beach of the lake. Among these pebbles he found a short piece of rope, and an oak chip. The rope was of two strands. Its maker was not ascertained, as a curious old fellow picked it all to pieces before any one was aware what he was about. The chip was half an inch in thickness, and seven or eight inches long, in shape and appearance every way like a chip taken from a good-sized log, the chopper standing on the log and using an axe formed like ours. Where did the chip come from, and of what race of men were the choppers? It was deposited there centuries ago. Another curiosity was discovered on the farm of J. N. Smith. In cutting down a very old and large tree, a stone was found em­bedded near the heart, that probably had been placed there 150 years before. Did this county formerly belong to the Oneidas? Was this one of their boundary marks? It is a stone placed in a notch made by the blows of an axe in a tree. There were five divisions of this tribe, distin­guished from each other by the further devices of the plover, the bear, the tortoise, the eel, and the beaver. There were farther subdivisions, marked by the potatoe, the falcon, the lark, and the partridge.

LIEUT. BENJAMIN EVEREST was born in Seabury, Conn., and moved with his father to Addison when sixteen years of age. This was in 1769. Three years after his brother, Zadock Everest, came to this country, who was one of the first settlers. As a boy and young man, Benjamin was noted for his prowess and activity in all athletic exercises. There was not one in all the settlement that could run, jump, or wrestle with him. With a heart that never knew the sensation of fear, and a frame capable of enduring any hardship, he was by nature well fitted to take a part in those troublous times. In Au­gust, 1773, when Allen, Warner, and Baker came up to help the settlers drive off Col. Reid and his Yorkers from their position at Vergennes, Everest, with his brother Zadock and other neigh­bors joined them. After having torn down the mills, burned the dwellings, and destroyed the settlement, and being all ready to return, Allen made such an impression on Benjamin, their spirits were so much in unison, that Everest wished to go with Allen, as more trouble with the York­ers was expected. Allen was glad of his service, and very soon gave him a sergeant's warrant in his band. From this time until the opening of the Revolution, he was with Allen more or less.

On receipt of intelligence of the battle of Lex­ington, Everest immediately repaired to Allen's headquarters, where he received a commission as Lieutenant, which was afterwards confirmed. He was very active and useful in procuring men and information to aid in the capture of Ticon­deroga and Crown Point, and was with Allen why he entered the fort at Ticonderoga, and went up with Warner to take Crown Point. After Allen was taken prisoner at Montreal, Everest and his company was incorporated into Col. Seth Warner's regiment. He was with Warner at the battle of Hubbardton, and with his com­pany as rangers held the British in check by skir­mishing in the woods from point to point, facilitat­ing and covering the retreat of Warner. Warner was not at Bennington at the commencement of the battle, but having information from Stark of the approach of Baum, with orders to hasten to his aid, he did so, and arrived just at the most critical time. Col. Baum having been mortally wounded, and his troops broken and flying, the militia, under the impression that the battle was over, had dispersed in every direction in search of plunder, when Col. Breymen, who had been sent to Baum's relief, arrived on the ground. Soon after Warner arrived, and at a glance saw the peril of our troops, and gave the word to "Close!" when, like an eagle swooping to its prey, so he and his Green Mountain Boys came down on the enemy, and scattered them like dust before the wind. Night closing in favored the escape of the enemy, but they lost 207 killed and about 700 prisoners. Everest received the public thanks of Warner for the bravery of himself and men. After the capture of Burgoyne, Everest ob­tained a furlough, with the intention of visiting Addison to look after his father's property, — his father having gone back to Connecticut with his family. Not knowing how matters stood in that section, he approached warily, keeping on the highlands between Otter Creek and the lake, in­tending to strike the settlement at Vergennes, and then turn back to Addison. Arriving at the Falls at dark, he kindled a fire and lay down. About midnight ho was awoke by the war-whoop, and found himself a prisoner to a party of In­dians that were on their way to Lake Memphra­magog, to attend a council of most of the tribes of Canada, New York, and New England. He suffered much from the thongs with which he was bound, at the first, but understanding the na­ture of the Indians very well, he so gained their confidence, that they showed him more leniency afterwards. On the breaking up of the council he was brought back to the western shore of Lake Champlain, near Whallons Bay, where they en­camped for the winter. He had been pondering in his mind for a long time various plans for escape, but concluded to wait until the lake was frozen. It was now December, and the lake had been frozen some two or three days, the ice as smooth as glass; the sun shone out quite pleas­antly, and the air was comfortable. The Indians prepared for a frolic on the ice; many of them had skates and were very good skaters. Everest asked to be permitted to go down and see the sport, as he had never seen any one skate; they gave him leave to go, two or three evidently keeping an eye on him. He expressed his wonder and delight at their performances, so naturally that all suspicion was lulled. After a time, when the Indians began to be tired, and many were taking off their skates, he asked a young Indian who had just taken off a very fine pair, to let him try and skate. This the Indian readily consented to, expecting to have sport out of the white man's falls and awkwardness. Everest put on the skates, got up, and no sooner up than down he came, striking heavily on the ice; and again he essayed to stand and down he fell, and so continued to play the novice until all the Indians had come in from outside on the lake. He had contrived to stumble and work his way some 15 or 20 rods from the nearest, when he turned and skated a rod or two towards them, and partly falling he got on his knees, and begun to fix and tighten his skates. This being done, he rose, and striking a few strokes towards the eastern shore, he bent to his work, giving, as he leaned forward, a few insulting slaps to denote that he was off. With a whoop and a yell of rage, the Indians that had on their skates started in pursuit. He soon saw that none could overtake him, and felt quite confident of his escape. After getting more than half across the lake, and the ice behind him cov­ered with Indians, he looked toward the east shore and saw two Indians coming round a point directly in front of him. This did not alarm him, for he turned his course directly up the lake. Again he looked and saw his pursuers (except­ing two of their best skaters, who followed di­rectly in his track) had spread themselves in a line from shore to shore. He did not at first un­derstand it, but after having passed up the lake about three miles, he came suddenly upon one of those immense cracks or fissures in the ice that so frequently occur when the ice is glare. It ran in the form of a semicircle from shore to shore, the arch in the centre and up the lake. He saw he was in a trap. The Indians on his flanks had already reached the crack, and were coming down towards the middle. He flew along the edge of the crack, but no place that seemed pos­sible for human power to leap was there. But the enemy were close upon him; he took a short run backward, and then shooting forward like lightning, with every nerve strained, he took the leap, and just reached the farther side. None of the Indians dared to follow. Finding snow on the ice at Panton, he left it, and made good his way to his regiment. He commanded the fort at Rut­land during the summer of 1778. Carleton having come down the lake in the fall of this year, un­dertook some repairs at Crown Point. The Americans wished to obtain some certain information in regard to it. Everest was asked to go. He was bold, active, and well acquainted with the locality. He went. Doffing his uniform, he procured a tory dress, (gray,) and boldly entered the garrison and offered his services as a work­man. He was set to tend masons, and made himself very acceptable by his industry. He had acquired about all the information he wanted, and would have left in a day or two, when, as ill-for­tune would have it, a man by the name of Ben­edict, also an early settler in Addison, but who espoused the British cause, came into the fort, saw Everest and knew him, but Everest did not see Benedict. Benedict gave notice to the officer in command that one of his men was a spy, a lieu­tenant in the American army, and before Everest was aware that he was suspected, he was arrested, thrown into prison, and there kept for nine days. Major Carleton, in the mean time, had collected 39 men and boys as prisoners, and most of them neighbors and acquaintances of Everest, con­cluded to take Everest to Canada before he was tried, and ordered him on board the vessel just ready to sail for Canada. On hoard this vessel was Kellogg, Spalding, his younger brother Joseph, and other of his neighbors. It was now the latter part of November; a severe storm from the northeast came on, sleet and snow, with the wind blowing furiously. The vessel had run up to Ticonderoga to take on board some freight. During the day Everest had bribed one of the sailors to bring on board a bottle of liquor, which was secreted by Everest. At sunset the vessel was taken into the middle of the lake and an­chored there. The night was very wild and tem­pestuous. At the solicitation of the prisoners, the captain had ordered a tent pitched on deck, to shield them from the storm. Everest now pro­posed to his fellow-prisoners to try to escape. They were anchored about half a mile north of the bridge that crossed the lake at that place, and he proposed to invite the sentry to take a drink or two out of the bottle and shelter themselves from the storm, whilst they should watch their opportunity and let themselves into the lake and swim to the bridge. Only two dared to think of trying it. When every thing was quiet, Everest gave the sentry a drink out of the bottle, and in a little while asked him to come under the tents and have another glass. This was complied with; and in a short time Everest, saying "What a storm it is," went out as if to take a look. He took off his clothing and tied it about his head, let himself down into the water near the stern, and struck out for the bridge. It almost made him cry out aloud when he first went into the water, it was so piercing cold. Spalding followed next, but the water was so cold when he touched it, that he shrank back and crawled on board again. No other one attempted it. He succeeded in reach­ing the bridge, on which he crawled, and where, before he could dress himself, he came near per­ishing, being much colder than in the water. Seeing and hearing nothing of his companions, he concluded they had not started, or perished in the attempt. There was a party of British on the east shore at the end of the bridge, and In­dians at the west end. Everest thought he could pass the Indians the best. His dress was gray, the tory uniform, and he resolved to make the Indians think he came from the British encamp­ment, and was on his way with special orders; but just before reaching the shore, and where a quan­tity of goods had been piled ready for shipping, and so covering the bridge that there was only a very narrow pass, stood or rather leaned a senti­nel. Everest looked about for a stick or some weapon, but could find nothing. He recollected he had a razor in his pocket, and opening it, ap­proached very cautiously. He saw the man was asleep. With his razor ready, and his face towards the sleeper, he passed within six inches of him, ready, if the man stirred, to cut his throat. He passed the Indian camp without suspicion on their part, but soon after fell into one of the ditches of the fort, getting thoroughly wet. He now took a northwest course for about four or five miles, and came upon a fire where a party of Indians had camped the day before. After he had satisfied himself that no one was lurking in the neighborhood, he came to the fire, built a good one, and warmed him­self and thoroughly dried his clothes. Just be­fore daybreak the storm ceased, the moon came out, and he started north, keeping along the range of mountains. About sunrise he came to Put's Creek; here he stopped and rested awhile; and then keeping back on the hills, yet still in sight of the lake, until he came to Webster's, an old acquaintance, who lived where Cole's Mills now are, (about four miles north of Fort Henry.) Webster was in the woods chopping when Everest came to him. They started to go down to the house, but on coming into the clearing they saw the British fleet coming down the lake, with a very light breeze. Everest immediately went back and secreted himself in the woods; — Web­ster carried him some food; for he had eaten noth­ing for twenty-four hours. Webster agreed to keep a look out until after dark, and when the coast was clear to come to the door and chop a few sticks of wood, and whistle a tune agreed upon. The fleet anchored right opposite Web­ster's, and when all was quiet, at the signal, Everest came out. Webster let him have his canoe, and Everest giving the fleet a wide berth, landed safely on the east shore, and made his way to Castleton. He was afterwards taken prisoner by seven lndians, but escaped the next day. After the war he went to Connecticut, and moved his mother and the younger children up to Pawlet, his father having died previously. He resided here some two or three years, and was married. Soon after they came back on to the old farm in Addison, where some of his descendants now live. He died at a good old age, a member of the Baptist church, and much respected.

GENERAL DAVID WHITNEY came into Addison soon after the close of the Revolution, and settled on the farm previously owned by Kellogg. He afterwards removed to the farm on the north bank of Ward's Creek, where he lived until a few years previous to his death, when he moved to Bridport, where he died May 10, 1850, at the age of 93. He was a mem­ber of the Constitutional Conventions of 1793, 1814, '36, and '43; represented Addison in 1790, '92, 93, '97, '98, 1808 to 1815, and '24. He was a shrewd politician, and always one of the lead­ing men in the town; possessed considerable con­versational powers, spiced with a quiet vein of humor. I recollect his account of having the lake fever soon after he came into town, and as it illustrates the practice of the day, I give it. It was whilst he lived on the Kellogg farm, a few rods from where J. W. Strong's house now stands. He was taken very sick, — pulse bounding, eyes bloodshot and starting from their sockets, the blood coursing through his veins like liquid fire. The doctor was sent for; on arriving, ordered every window and door closed, although it was in the hottest of dog days, — cold water for­bidden, warm drinks ordered. Thus days and nights of intolerable suffering, went by, and when he begged for just one drop of water, it was denied. One night two neighbors, weary and tired from the harvest field, came in to watch through the night. One of them soon dropped off to sleep; the other, more enduring, still kept watch. At midnight, after giving the General his med­icine, he brought in a pail of water, fresh from the well. How quick the sick man would have the wealth of the Indies for one draught of that sparkling water. Could he not by stratagem secure it? He feigned sleep; and the tired man, fixing himself as comfortable as possible, was soon in a sound sleep. Whitney now crawled from the bed on his hands and knees, and made his way to the pail. With what eagerness he clutched the cup and drained it, draught after draught. He then wished he could breathe a little fresh air, it was so stifling where he was. The man still slept; he opened the door. How still and quiet every thing lay in the moonlight. The dew on the grass sparkling like diamonds — the chirp of the cricket alone broke the silence. How delicious was the night-wind, as it fanned his fevered cheek and burning brow. The idea of escape from his prison, as he regarded it, pre­sented itself, and instantly he started, crossing the road and through a thicket hedge that grew beside the fence, into a meadow, and plunging down amid the tall wet grass, he clapped his hands for joy, as he rolled from side to side. But now the fever is upon him; the fire is quenched, and his strength is gone. He cannot rise. The watchers have missed him. They shout his name. He tries to answer, but is too weak. They find and carry him to the house, and in alarm run for the doctor. He does not get there until morning. A quiet, refreshing sleep has removed all symp­toms of fever. The doctor would give him pill and potion, but the General would none of it, and told him that he had got a new doctor, old Dame Nature, who seemed to understand the case altogether the best, and he should trust to her. Returning health showed his judgment in choosing. Ague and fever, and bilious intermittents, prevailed extremely in the early settlement of the town, but for quite a number of years little or none has been known.

JONAH CASE was among the early settlers of the town. He built the first brick house in the county, in which H. Crane, Esq., now lives. It was kept as a public house; the courts of the county were held here for several years. Loyal Case, a son of his, was sheriff for several years. A daughter of his married the Hon. Horatio Seymour, of Middlebury.

PAYNE was one of the early proprietors of the town, and a large land-owner and speculator. He built the old tavern stand at Chimney Point, the frame of which is now enclosed in the brick building of H. Barnes, Jr.

BENAJAH BENEDICT came into town previous to the Revolution. On the breaking out of the war he sided with the Crown. After the peace, he acquiesced in the Government, and took the oath of allegiance, and became a warm supporter of our free institutions.

MAJOR T. WOODFORD was a soldier in the Revolution, and died in --, on the farm where he had long lived, now owned by J. W. Smith. One of his daughters married Rev. Justus Hough, first settled minister in the Congregational church in Addison, and first prin­cipal in the county Grammar school. Another daughter married Rev. Mr. Messer, for a long time pastor of the Congregational church in Shoreham.

CAPT. COOK was another old Revolutionary patriot. He served during nearly the whole war.

REV. SYLVANUS CHAPIN was also an old pensioner. He preached for the Congregational church at different times for many years, and was the founder of the Congre­gational church in Moriah, and preached to them for very little pay for a long time. He was simple in his dress and living, but his purse was always open to promote the cause of God, whether of his peculiar denomination or not, and he will be long remembered for his benevolence, his many ec­centricities, and keen wit. A young man with a good deal of pomposity, proclaiming his infidel belief, among other things stated that man was a mere machine. Chapin, who was sitting by, said, "So, young man, you think you are nothing but a machine." "Yes, and I can prove it." Chapin replied, "A great bellows, I suppose. Ah, it needs no proof, it is evident you are right!" Roars of laughter followed, and the young fellow was ever after glad to keep his infidelity to him­self, when Father Chapin was about. Mr. Chapin died in 1--, at the age of --.

ENOCH COBB WINES, — born at Hanover, N. J., fitted at Castleton Academy, and graduated at Middlebury College, 1827, — was Professor of Mathematics in the U. S. Navy two and a half years; five years Principal of the Edgehill School, Princeton, N. J.; five years Professor of Mental, Moral, and Political Philosophy, in the Central High School, Philadelphia, Penn.; five years Principal of the Oakland School, Burlington, N. J. ; preached in Cornwall about a year ; in East Hampton, L. I., three and a half years.