RAISING THE MEETING-HOUSE.
At this time, the all-absorbing topic of conversation in Tyng Township
was the raising of the new meeting-house, which had been long deferred
on account of the failure to build a mill to saw the necessary
lumber. In this important event, however, the Scotch-Irish showed
little interest. It is true they had no meeting-house, as the place
of worship was invariably called at that period, but they were able
to attend divine services in the town across the river, and thus did
not miss the building as much as their rivals. The Tyng colonists had
held occasional meetings at private houses, but it was not altogether
convenient or satisfactory. Then, too, there was a provision in their
grant calling for a house of worship, and until it was built they could
not conscientiously reply to the attacks of the others, who were not
above ridicule. So the raising of the meeting-house became the one
theme of conversation.
All through the summer it had been planned to have the new house
ready for dedication at Thanksgiving; but the season had been so
unfavourable for out-of-door work, taken with other delays and
difficulties, that this had finally been given up. This became the more
necessary, as Thanksgiving came early that year, the thirteenth of
November having been appointed.
But raising day came at last, fair but cold. Early in the morning the
men began to gather from far and near. Raisings in those times were
important events, and men, and even women, often came long distances
to be present and to lend such assistance as they could, either in
helping raise the big timbers or in assisting to prepare the supper
for the crowd of hungry workmen. If the raising of an ordinary house
would draw such a crowd, how many more must come to the raising of
a meeting-house. Men were at this raising under the Three Pines
of Tyng Township from Chelmsford, twenty-five miles distant, from
Old Dunstable, the home of the late Captain Tyng, from Nottingham,
Naticook, Londonderry, Chester, and other towns. One singular thing
was noticed and commented upon. Among the big crowd the most casual
observer did not fail to notice the absence of the Scotch-Irish. It is
true Mr. Archibald Stark was there, as he had said he should be, and
also a few others, but not a “baker’s dozen,” as some one remarked.
But this did not trouble Mr. Anderson, the master builder, as long as
he saw in the eighty or more men collected enough strength to lift the
stout frame lying there ready to be put into proper position.
Raisings meant something different in those days from what they do
now, when a building is “put up” by piecemeal. A whole side was
stoutly joined together on the ground, and then raised bodily by sheer
strength. Poles, with iron spikes in the end, were used to facilitate
the lifting, when the form had been raised as high as one could easily
reach. Then, at the loud command of the boss, “Up, up, up!” went the
heavy timbers, nothing like the cobwebs we put into buildings to-day,
until the tenons would slip into the mortises with a sharp report, and
the whole would stand as firm “as the rock-ribbed hills!”
Tyng meeting-house being a large building for those days, its timbers
were uncommonly big, and being poorly seasoned, were extremely heavy;
but “many hands make light work,” and one side after another went up,
amid loud cheering and not a little drinking.
Three sides had thus been brought into position, and the men seized
with a hearty will on the skeleton of the remaining wall.
“Now, boys! all together,” cried Mr. Anderson; “heave-o!”
Two men, who were not able to lift as well as some of the rest, had
each been stationed at the foot of the corner posts, so as to keep
them from slipping, and so far there had been no accident. But this
time, either one of the men had not planted himself with the necessary
firmness, or else the men had been more careless than common in lifting
the ponderous form, for one of the posts began to slip on the frozen
ground.
“Hold firm, there, Robbins!” yelled Mr. Anderson. “Up with her, boys!
Heave-o! heave-o!”
Slowly rose the mighty frame, notwithstanding that it was still
slipping in spite of the frantic efforts of the man at the base. It
had risen so far that in another moment it would be secure on its own
footing, when the man called Robbins lost his presence of mind. Instead
of bracing himself more firmly and holding on, he loosened his clutch
and retreated.
The action imperilled the life of every man under the timbers. Should
the lifters drop the frame, a few might escape as it fell, but many
would certainly be crushed under the falling broadside. Each man,
knowing this, held upon the massive frame with all the strength he
could muster, so that for a moment the whole form was held balanced
almost free from the ground. It was a terrible moment. Even the noisy
Mr. Anderson was silent.
Sometimes one young in experience will do what an older person would
fail to accomplish successfully. It is certain no man there could have
reached the foot of that sliding post as quickly as did Norman McNiel.
His position had been favourable for the action, but what was of more
vital importance, while others held their breath with terror, he had
presence of mind equal to the emergency. That post had got to be held
firm, or all would be lost!
Near the foot of the timber was a stout hornbeam lever, which some one
had thrown down a moment before. Seizing this, and throwing enough of
his weight upon the lifting timber to keep it down, he planted one
end of the stout stick against the stonework, and brought the lever
over the foot of the post, so as to hold it where it was. Assured that
he could keep it from slipping further, he shouted to the overtaxed
workmen:
“Now, all together, up with it! I can hold the foot.”
His words gave hope to the nearly exhausted men, who, with an almost
superhuman effort, tugged anew at the heavy woodwork, which began to
rise again.
“Heave-o, boys! Up she goes!” cried Mr. Anderson, exultantly.
The next moment tenon and mortise met, a loud report followed, and the
huge broadside stood erect and firm.
While Mr. Anderson and a few others flew to drive in the pins to make
sure of their work, most of the men sank upon the ground to rest. There
was general rejoicing, and one more enthusiastic than the rest proposed
three cheers for Tyngtown’s new meeting-house.
“And three more for Norman McNiel,” said Mr. Anderson, “who made it
possible. If it hadn’t been for him, there would have been no cheering,
I can tell you.”
Every one felt the truth of this, and one after another grasped
Norman’s hand, with generous thanksgiving on their lips.
Thus Tyng Township meeting-house was raised, and the colonists went to
their respective homes with lighter hearts than they had known since
accepting the responsibilities of their grant. Norman went home with
Mr. Stark, who praised him heartily for his brave conduct.
“Mark my words, lad, you have made more friends to-day than you had
before. When a man’s life is in actual danger, he is apt to appreciate
the effort made in his behalf. I minded that Gunwad was not there. He
has lost ground. That burning of Christo’s cabin has set every one
against him. It was a miserable act, wholly uncalled for. Well, I am
glad their meeting-house is at last on its feet. They cannot get it
finished before another summer.”
If the Tyng colonists could not have their meeting-house to hold
services in on Thanksgiving day, they could at least observe the
occasion with their accustomed ardour, and a shooting-match, intended
to eclipse anything of the kind, was arranged to take place at that
time. It was expected that marksmen would come from far and near
to participate in the trial at arms. After persistent coaxing,
the Woodranger had been finally obtained to act as manager of the
ceremonies, but on the thirteenth a snow-storm set in. Every one was
glad to hover over the wide-mouthed fireplace for such warmth and
comfort as it afforded. It was the gloomiest Thanksgiving ever known in
Tyng Township, and its storm, to some, foreboded the end.
The Woodranger was stopping at Captain Goffe’s, but as soon as he
had seen that the shooting-match would not take place, he showed his
uneasiness at the enforced idleness.
“What! never at rest?” asked Mr. Goffe, senior. “Don’t you ever get
tired, old man?”
“I should dissemble the great truth o’ natur’ if I said I did not, sir.
Ask the old man if he is never tired who sits in the chimney-corner
and sucks his thumbs, cap’n. I may have my weakness, but man on the
move is seldom tired. He gets oneasy, it is true, but motion is life,
inactivity death. Man might as well be a stump, fit only to be put up
in the clearing to stop deer from trespassing, as to sit idly down. I
think I’ll perambulate over toward ol’ Pawtuckaway, and mebbe I shall
hark a deer or a moose.”
The snow fell so rapidly that before midnight a foot and a half lay on
the ground. Winter, it might be said, had fairly set in.