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since this last spring out of my father's cellar, doe here sweare by the great name of the everliving God that I have not delivered out of my father's cellar nor out of any other place any strong liquors to any Indian or Indians of Pennicook since the beginning of this last spring to the 12th, of" August last directly or indirectly, and this I affirme to be the very Truth, as I shall answere it before the Judgment seate of Christ another day. Sworn in Court, as attests

Edw. Rawson, Secret.


Whereas I Richard Waldern am accused by sundry Indians about Penny-Cooke of ye breach of ye law prohibiting sale of liquors to Indians some tyme this last suminer, I doe hereby sweare and take God, who is ye searcher of all hearts to witness yt this their accusation is wholly untrue, and yt I have not directly or indirectly by myselfe or by any other person by my order or allowance in any measure or degree done what they accuse me of, and this I doe affirme to be ye verry truth as I shall answer it before ye Judgment seat of Christ another day.

Taken upon oath in open General Court this 31st of October, 1668, as attests

Edw. Rawson, Secret.


The Deputyes judge that Capt. Walderne having taken the oath as above is to be freed from any Charge exhibited against him, and is hereby discharged therefrom with reference to the Consent of our Honored magistrates hereto.

William Torrey, Cleric.
Consented to by ye magistrates.

Edward Rawson, Secret.

VIII. The Deputyes havinge heard and duely considered of the Case of Pet er Coffin, and on perusal of what hath bin presented, doe find that he the sayd Coffin hath traded liquors Irregularly, and contrary to law, and doe therefore Judge that he shall pay as a fine to the Country the the sum of fifty pounds and all charges, which hath accrued thereby, with reference to the consent of our honored magistrates hereto,

William Torrey, Cleric. The magistrates consent hereto.

Edward Rawson, Secret.


Account of the Storm and Avalanches at the White

Mountains, in 1826.-By J. B. MOORE. On Monday the 28th of Aug. 1826, at the White Mountains, in New Hampshire, occurred one of the most remarkable floods of rain ever known in that region, and attended with circumstances of calamity perhaps unequalled in this state, from any similar cause.

The White Mountains, and their sublime scenes, having long been objects of curiosity to the writer of these sketches, in common with others who had never seen them, he joined a small party of friends, a few days previous to the storm, in an excursion to these mountains.

Late in the evening of the 27th, we had ascended to the Camp, a frail shelter erected of the bark of trees by Mr. Crawford, for the accommodation of visitors, who usually passed the night there, in order to avail themselves of the fine views presented from the mountain at sunrise. This Camp is situated 6 3-4 miles N. E. of Crawford's house, at an elevation of about 2800 feet above the sea, on the side and within 2 1-4 miles

of the summit of Mount Washington. Our path lay through a wilderness; in some places overgrown with high grass and bushes, in others incumbered with fallen trees and underbrush-now opening upon a desolate spot, where fires had passed along, and suddenly entering the deep forest, whose intermingling foliage shut out the light of heaven. Night coming upon us very soon after we left his house, our guide (Mr. Crawford) struck up a light, and we chased each other in Indian file over a path, sometimes rendered as luminous as day by the addition of torches, and at others but dimly seen by our nearly extinguished lights. The miles were accurately announced by our leader as he passed along, and we were in fit mood for repose, when, at a little after 10 o'clock in the evening, we reached the Camp. At this hour a quiet starlight reigned above us, and taking each a blanket, we laid down upon a bed of twigs, and, listening to the music of a small stream which poured down at our right, fell into a refreshing sleep.

At 3 o'clock in the morning of the 28th, fearful indications of rain were discovered; slight showers had been frequent for several days previous, and the wind continuing at a south-easterly point, the thick and moist clouds collected about the mountains, and high winds swept in every direction through the deep valleys. About five o'clock, the rain commenced, occasionally pouring down in torrents, as the winds altered the course of the clouds, but generally falling moderately until afternoon, when its violence rapidly increased. Climbing up on a gnarled oak a few rods from the Camp, during a temporary suspension of the rain, we could see, towards the summit of the mountain, the trees and shrubbery bending in every direction, and above them the bare rocks smoking, as it were, from the violence of

the storm. To us the very summit seemed to shake in the tempest, and an involuntary dread touched our hearts, as the noise of the storm increased, and the sudden gusts swept over our heads, dashing down streams of water upon us.

Finding it impossible to keep our fires—the rain continuing to increase—and fearing that either the violent winds or the rain might deprive us of our frail shelter,-at half past 4 o'clock, P. M. we left the Camp, and after great exertion, in fording rapid streams, seeking new paths to avoid the deep waters collected in many places before us, and crossing the swollen and roaring branches of the Ammonoosuck-several of which had risen, in four hours, 6 or S feet-we reached Crawford's a little before nine in the evening, in the midst of the most dreadful rain-storm we ever witnessed. The very earth seemed to shake under our feet, as the winds drove down from the mountains through the valley-mingling their roar with that of the river, which now tumbled along in a white foam, like a tremendous cataract.

The storm ceased about midnight. The next morning's sun shone out brightly upon a scene of desolation, such as none of us had ever witnessed. The entire crops of our host, on the low grounds west of his dwelling, were destroyed, the water having completely covered them, and risen even up to the steps of the dwelling-fourteen of his flock of sheep were drowned a shed 90 feet in length was carried away in the flood, and portions of his most fertile lands were covered deep with sand and gravel, borne down in the torrent from the mountains. The water rose 3 or 4 feet higher at this place, than was ever before known— and the whole surface of the earth, over which the floods came, seemed to have undergone a transformation. Thousands of trunks, branches, and roots of trees, passed along the current, cov

ering, in some directions, whole acres; and wherever any thing impeded their progress, forming strong and high dams, until the rapid gathering of the inass behind drove through all obstructions. Deep excavations in the earth, large masses of stones, gravel and sand thrown up—broken trunks ard fragments of trees, &c.—were presented to the eye in every direction, as the waters subsided; and their fall was almost as rapid as the rise.

The effect of the rain upon the mountains was immediately perceived, on casting the eye in their direction. Long slides were noticed, having the appearance of stripes, extending through the dense forest from near the summits to the base of the mountains. One slide had the appearance of passing directly over the spot where we had encamped on the night of the 27th. A young artist, who had been several days among these mountains taking sketches of their scenery, as also Mr. Crawford, assured us, that nearly all these slides took place during the storm that had just passed. Their appearance was striking. Commencing generally near the highest limit of vegetation on the mountains, which on some of them is near the summits, the slides widened and deepened in their course downward, carrying along with them generally all the trees, shrubbery and loose earth from the mountain of granite beneath. From a few yards in width near their commencement, the avalanches extended in some instances to hundreds of rods in width near the foot of the mountains. They exposed in most cases a surface of red or yellow earth, contrasting beautifully with the deep colors of the dense forest through which they swept. No satisfactory estimate could be made of the extent of these slides. Could they have been surveyed, they would probably have been found to extend to thousands of acres.

Defeated in our attempt to ascend the moun

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