Reminiscences from The Life of a Pioneer by Ira Ayer I
What is now the city of Haverhill, Mass., lies immediately on the north shore of the Merrimac River, about 15 miles from its mouth. About one mile above the city is a very beautiful farm, exceeding any on the river. The north boundary of the river lot, was what is called the River Road. On this road, the buildings of the farm were placed. The house was wood color, and I should think, always had been. The west end was brick; it had a number of holes in it, said to be there for the purpose of shooting Indians in olden times. How this was I cannot say; judging from appearances however, it might have been so, for the house looked as though it had been through the wars. It had a chimney on the brick end. The kitchen, bedroom, and buttery were all the rooms below. There were only one square room and two bedrooms above. The stairs were one side of the chimney. The stories were low; the well was between the house and the barn
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It was on this beautiful farm and into this less beautiful house that my parents moved in their early marriage, about 1794. You may ask, reader, "How was it that your father had the best farm on the river?" I cannot tell you how it was, but I can tell you how it was not; viz by any dishonesty, whatever. So I suppose it was by fair contract, just as all my father's descendants do business.
Old Mrs. Frink was a woman with one eye. She lived about half way from my parents' home and the town. It was said she was a witch. She saw my mother about the time of her moving into the new house and said "When you get moved, I will come and see you." I suppose Mrs. Frink was not pleased with my mother's reply, for it was said that after that she looked over into the pigpen and bewitched the pigs. At any rate the pigs jumped out, so the story went, and ran about in such a way as to lead one to say they were bewitched whether they really believed it or not. I remember the old woman very well; she used to call when she came along, to rest herself. As I remember how the old lady looked, if I believed in witches, it would not be hard for me to credit the pig story.
