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CHAPTER XII

A CONCORD PATRIOT'S SECRET

      IT was in the autumn of 1858 that I made my first visit to Old Concord; and having intrusted my all (four dollars), the result of a season's labor, to the safe keeping of the savings-bank, I descended the steps of that, to me, pretentious building, went out on to the "milldam," and looked around. To a boy of less than ten years, and those spent in close application upon a rocky farm, even a glimpse into Concord of those days was a revelation hardly dreamed of.
      "There are 'queer people' over there in that town," said my grandmother when putting a bit of lunch into my pocket "lest I be faint." I was thus prepared to take some observations in that line. I was anxious to see some of those people, peculiar to Old Concord, whom the unappreciative of the world designated as "queer people."
      To have heard my own voice in asking a question would have so frightened me as to have cast a shadow forever over the memory of that first visit.
      People, not unlike those familiar to me, came

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and went, as I stood at an unobserved corner; and I began to conclude that the "queer people" must all be hermits, and had retired for the day from the gaze of the world, when my attention was attracted to a group of boys apparently listening to an old man addressing his conversation to them. Having a liking for old people, and believing that the central figure of the group must be one of those strange characters, preaching a strange doctrine, that I had been faithfully warned against, I quietly made my way towards him. "Sure enough," thought I, "here is one of them." Queer enough to look at! He was a little old man, with a wrinkled, russet face, bordered by a few stray bristles that had escaped the razor's search. His hat was a sort of half apology for an ancient bell top. His outside garment was a loose frock of a mixed bluish color, that covered

[Photo - "Ebenezer Hubbard"]

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his bowed figure from his ears to his feet that were encased in a pair of stout cowhide brogans. Queer as he looked, it was nothing in comparison to what he was saying, according to my youthful estimation.
      He was unmindful of the new member of his audience, who compared well with the trim little youngsters giving heed to the message being delivered with vehemence of temper. "I tell ye, boys, that monument stands where the enemy was. Queer piece of business to put up a monument where Gage's rascals stood when they killed our men." This was the burden of the old man's, message, repeated with variations, and with as much earnestness as though he was giving expression to a new idea.
      One bystander, who might have been regarded as a young man, caused a little departure from the main line of the old man's thought by saying, "Tell me, Uncle Ebby, where did the British find the flour?" -- "Out there where that meeting-house stands; 'twas there in my grandfather's malt-house, and out beyond in Wheeler's building too; over there was the mill, you know," was the old man's reply, together with a sweeping gesture with his cane towards the bank from which I had just come.
      With this the old man moved on a piece, took new bearings from a high board fence, and continued, "British? Yes, them British redcoats,"

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striking the ground with his hickory cane in the way of emphasis.
      "They came out here, destroyed all they could get, tried to burn the town, robbed the folks, and killed what they could, till we drove them off; and then these folks went and put up a monument where the rascals stood."
      With this utterance the old man moved on, scuffing his feet with rage, and turned into his yard, closing the gate after him.
      "Did you help drive the British off?" cried out a little fellow in the earnestness of honest inquiry, as the old man withdrew from his audience. The question, which brought no reply, was not unreasonable; in general appearance the speaker might well have passed for one who withstood the enemy at Old North Bridge.
      My neighbor's familiar team came in sight; and I retired from the group with as little ceremony as I joined it, and was soon on the way to my home, five miles away. I returned to my people, holding my bank-book tightly clasped in my hand as evidence of my being a person of property. I was also enjoying the satisfaction of having seen one of the "queer people," and the consciousness of having listened to some of their strange sayings. But this being in violation of the oft-repeated injunction of my grandmother to shun all such heretics, I did not dare to ask such questions as my curiosity prompted.

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      Barber's "History of Massachusetts" was one of the few books possessed by my grandparents, to which I was often directed; and I made haste to verify the words of the strange man by referring to this reliable volume as soon as opportunity permitted. Turning to the article on Concord, in the description of the monument I read, "Here, on the 19th of April, 1775, was made the first forcible resistance to British aggression. On the opposite bank stood the American militia. Here stood the invading army; and on this spot the first of the enemy fell in the war of the Revolution, which gave independence to these United States. In gratitude to God, and in the love of Freedom, this monument was erected, A.D. 1836."
      With this unquestionable evidence, I made haste to declare my belief in the man whom I had met, and my faith in others who I was told were different in manner, and had strange ideas about the future life.
      My first lesson in patriotism had been taken. The "queer man" had made a convert. Boylike, I lost no opportunity for ascertaining the name of the stranger who had so impressed me, and learned that he was Ebenezer Hubbard, or as many, in a half-familiar, half-derisive manner, called him, "Uncle Ebby."
      Some years passed before I had occasion to again visit the old town, and then it was in the line of business and at regular intervals. In the

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meantime I had become better prepared to appreciate that which was making the town of Concord famous the world over.
      My footsteps soon turned to an ancient burial-place of the town, frequented by many who were prompted by a commendable sentiment. While there engaged in the effort to decipher the epitaph on a mossgrown slab, I was startled by approaching footsteps. An aged man was coming down a winding path which entered the more trodden way near where I was laboring in attitude most humble. I perceived him to be the same old man whose words still rang in my ears. His morose countenance deterred me from making any advances towards him which my inclination prompted. I longed to assure him that he had one sympathizer, but, like many older than myself let an opportunity slip by, when by word or extended hand I might have lightened a burden.
      Being curious to ascertain the object of the old man's visit to a place familiar to every old resident of the town, I turned aside into the byway, and traced his footsteps, expecting to find them lead to the grave of some hero who in his life had entertained sentiments like those so freely expressed by the visitor, -- some grave that served as an altar to him, where he rekindled the fire of patriotism, and from which he returned to the village with new resolutions to redress the wrong that burdened his mind.

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      My most careful searching among the mossgrown slabs revealed no such sepulchre; but I fancied that the last visitor to the locality of the Gun House must have paused at an unpretentious slab, which told of a young life that closed with the last century. Could there be any sentiment of a nature indicated by the circumstances wrapped up in the old man? was the thought with which I returned to the village and to duty.
      It was not long before I met Ebenezer Hubbard at his own threshold. My taste had often led me to scan closely the ancient estate in the very heart of Concord. The old dwelling with its "lean-to," the time-worn well-sweep, the little shop near by, all surrounded by broad fields enclosed in part by a forbidding fence, appealed to my sentiment and curiosity.
      The aged owner apparently was not entirely averse to me, and as opportunity permitted I obtained from him the key which unlocked the outer door of his hidden self.
      The homestead was originally the estate of Robert Merriam, one of the three brothers who came with the very early settlers to that town, and having spent his years as a trader, and served his fellow-men as town clerk, commissioner, representative, and deacon, died in 1681, soon followed by his wife, Mary Sheafe.
      They left the estate to a cousin, Jonathan Hubbard, who married Hannah Rice of Sudbury.

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Thus began a family possession of almost two hundred years, when the death of the last resident, Ebenezer, brought it to an end. The old house was doubtless erected by Robert Merriam, and had seen more than two centuries of service when it was destroyed.

[Photo - "Hubbard House"]

      It was in its original grandeur when the town took a hand in the seizure and expulsion of Andros, and the change from Colonial to Provincial government took place. It was old when the Revolutionary period began, and in and about the house occurred incidents that tended to develop and foster a spirit of patriotism. It was in a storehouse on this farm that Gage's men de-

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stroyed flour that had been secreted for army use. From here went members of the Hubbard family into the war, after being in service on the 19th of April. David, son of Jonathan, went with General Arnold in his expedition to Quebec, and afterwards served under General Gates with other Concord men. He was discharged from the army of General Gates in November, 1776, on account of ill health. At one time he was a corporal in Captain Miles's company of Colonel Reed's regiment. He married Mary, daughter of Deacon Thomas Barrett, and thus became connected with a noted family of the Revolution.
      David Hubbard and young wife started out into the wilderness to establish a home in southern New Hampshire, and became active in the interests of the town of Hancock soon after its incorporation. Here Ebenezer was born, in 1782.
      The town being named for John Hancock, one of the original proprietors, the boy Ebenezer Hubbard became early interested in him as an influential man of the Revolution; and he did not lose his admiration for the patriot, although his townsmen were disappointed in not receiving substantial aid from the wealthy merchant whom they had complimented.
      Ebenezer saw the rude meeting-house erected, and though young had a share in the welcome extended to Rev. Reed Paige, who became the first minister.

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      The entire environments of Ebenezer Hubbard during the most impressionable period of his life were hard and severe. Self-denial was necessarily practised at every turn. He saw the meeting-house paid for, and the minister's salary provided, by means of barter. He had most naturally acquired habits of frugality before leaving his native town, which he did at the age of about ten years.
      Born of parents who were ardent patriots, and in a town that had recognized the valuable services of one of the early patriots of Massachusetts, the boy Ebenezer was well established in the principles of the colonists before he took up his abode at Concord with his grandfather, whose name he bore.
      Here the fireside tales of '76 assumed a double reality, and the old home around which the enemy had trodden became sacred to him. He boasted that John Hancock, when presiding in his official capacity over the Provincial Congress, had been entertained in the room which he occupied.
      In the practice of the habits early acquired, together with the additional advantages of the schools of Concord, the boy developed into manhood, gradually adding to the estate which he inherited.
      His mother, as Mrs. Nutting, made the home a place of delight to him for a while, until shadows fell across his pathway, and all light seemed to

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be darkness about him. He had a mechanical taste, and spent much time in the seclusion of his little workshop, near to the back door of his dwelling.
      The question of the erection of a monument to commemorate the events of April 19, 1775, met with his hearty approval, and the patriotism of his youth reasserted itself. It seemed as though the void of his life was to be partially met when the granite shaft was decided upon; but when it was located, in 1836, there was no bound to his indignation. From that time till his death, he continued to reiterate his disapproval of the act in the language that lie was using when I first met him.
      When the Trinitarian church was formed, in 1826, Mr. Hubbard gave the land for the erection of the meeting-house. It occupies the site of the building where the flour was stored which Gage's men scattered over the fields until there was the appearance of a light fall of snow.
      Far be it from any one to impugn the motives of the donor in this gift of a portion of his ancestral homestead for so good a purpose; but the act being so contrary to his ordinary habit, and so regretful to him in after years, it seemed to have been actuated by an acrimonious spirit in some direction. In later years no obstacle seemed to be too hideous for him to place within range of the meeting-house. As time advanced, and age

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crept on, his natural characteristics strengthened, the thoughtless acts of the careless irritated him, and there were but few in whom he placed any confidence. An aversion for the gentler sex, individually and as a class, seemed to dominate his life. At times he had the service of a family in his dwelling; but in the last of his days he lived alone, placing but little confidence in any one.
      The writer was one of the few who had a temporary place in his esteem. In the little shop, and also in the rude kitchen, Mr. Hubbard, when past fourscore years of age, repeated to his new friend the one known burden of his heart. 'Twas the same that I had already heard from his lips. It did not seem like the act of an old man in his dotage, inflicted upon young and old in season and out of season, but rather the bubbling of a pent-up stream from a deep-seated fountain of patriotism.
      "Justice will never be done in my day," were the words of conclusion, as he regretfully shook his aged form and turned to other subjects.
      On Oct. 3, 1871, a bright autumn morning, I entered the gate, walked up the pathway strewn with the most richly tinted foliage that had fallen during the night, and into the door unannounced as was my custom. In the little dingy kitchen of the "lean-to," in an old straight-back chair, sat the form of Ebenezer Hubbard, his staff still erect, but the hand of the owner had loosened

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its grasp upon this support and upon all of this world's possessions.
      The proper authorities came, and in the name of the law performed those services which affection failed to do. The old saddle-bags gave up their long-hidden load of gold and silver coin, the family Bible its well-worn scrip; and the hoarded wealth being gathered from all its hiding-places, the aged form was borne to the Town Hall, where the rite of sepulchre was performed, and then consigned to a grave in Sleepy Hollow. None could have been more beautiful for situation, but very different from his desire, which might have been granted had he been able to so control a certain characteristic of his nature as to intrust to another the key to the inner secret of his blighted life. A clause in the last will of Mr. Hubbard reads thus: "I hereby order my executor aforesaid to procure, if possible, a burial-lot in the middle burying-ground in said Concord, on the northerly side of the road leading from the centre of said Concord to Bedford, and opposite the Gun House, or if my said executor cannot procure such burial-lot there, then in any other burying-ground in said Concord to procure a suitable lot, and on such burial-lot to erect a suitable monument, with an inscription thereon, and to fence said burial-lot, the expense not to exceed two thousand dollars; and it is my express wish, if circumstances will permit, that the remains of

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my beloved mother, buried at Groton . . . and of my brother Silas B. Hubbard, buried in the State of Illinois, should be removed . . . to my said burial-lot, and there buried beside my body."
      The possible requests were carried out. An imposing granite monument tells the simple story of mortality.
      The winding pathway through the ancient burial-ground terminates not at a little mossgrown slab near the Gun House, but is lost in the continual passing of the curious of the world.
      A few weeks after the close of the life at the old homestead, a clergyman of Concord returned to his people and pulpit to regretfully learn that a service which Mr. Hubbard had requested of him, an almost entire stranger, had of necessity been performed by another. This request was in keeping with much of the life that had closed.
      The minister was a lone star, and of a nature which seemed to meet the wants of one about to sink beyond the western horizon. In the fulfilment of his promise, Rev. Mr. Rogers opened the closed door, and let the world look for a moment at a heart pierced in early youth by Cupid's dart.
      The one well-known desire of Ebenezer Hubbard was not gratified in his lifetime, but that which was denied him was brought about in part through a provision of his will.
      "I order my executor to pay the sum of one thousand dollars towards building a monument in

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[Photo - "Statue of Minute Man, Concord"]

said town of Concord on the spot where the Americans fell, on the opposite side of the river from the present monument, in the battle of the 19th of April, 1775."
      He also intrusted a friend with the sum of six hundred dollars towards the erection of a bridge across the river, at the place where the famous Old North Bridge "arched the flood."
      The land which he so much coveted for a public purpose was deeded to the town by Mr.

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Stedman Buttrick, who thus dedicated to the cause of liberty the ground on which his grandfather stood when in command of the Americans he uttered the memorable words, "Fire, fellow-soldiers! for God's sake, fire!"
      Other gifts were made; and on April 19, 1875, the completed work was unveiled to the world; and thus was Ebenezer Hubbard's longing gratified, but too late for him to enjoy.
      The patriotism of Mr. Hubbard was also manifested in gifts of one thousand dollars each to the poor and to the public library of Concord, and also of his native town, Hancock, N.H.
      To the value of the early impressions received during his life with the struggling settlers of Hancock, Mr. Hubbard testified through the gift of one thousand dollars to the Bible Society of Massachusetts, incorporated in the year 1810.
      The death of Ebenezer Hubbard marks the beginning of a new epoch in the development of Old Concord. With the close of his life there terminated two centuries of Hubbard possession. This farm was a most desirable location for building purposes. The broad acres, coveted by many, were purchased by a syndicate of progressive citizens. The ancient dwelling was taken down, the unsightly obstacles removed, and a broad avenue cut through the farm, on which have been erected some of the best residences of the town.

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      The old elms which mark the site of the old house, and the new street through the farm, are all that remind the people of to-day of the little old man, Ebenezer Hubbard.

[Photo - "Battle Monument at Concord"]

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