The Old Water Tower

By Bet­ty Bolevic

The old water tow­er in Danville, built with­in a ten year peri­od after the Civ­il War.

Pri­or to Kate and Harold Beat­tie relo­cat­ing our fam­i­ly to the farm in Danville, and when spend­ing an occa­sion­al week­end with Gram­my McDon­ald, I would often sit in her large green wick­er rock­er on the wrap­around porch, con­tent­ed­ly draw­ing with my first box of crayons on the small blank sheets of paper secret­ly torn from the backs of books.

Years lat­er, sit­ting in the same spot, I would now and then become momen­tar­i­ly star­tled, first by the whis­tle, then the cloud of smoke, and final­ly the famil­iar click­ety-clack of the freight train gain­ing momen­tum as it wound its way toward St. Johns­bury after a stop at the Danville Sta­tion to unload goods – some for Delmer Smith’s Danville Grain Store.

I avid­ly watched the steam engine maneu­ver­ing its loaded cars slow­ly and effort­less­ly around the bend from the vil­lage and across the swampy field adja­cent to the front of our house, always in antic­i­pa­tion that this would be one of the rare times it would squeal to a stop and take on water that ran from the spring in Will Findley’s field (cur­rent­ly Mt View Dri­ve) and was stored in a tank with­in the gray cylin­dri­cal wood­en tow­er to the right of the track — a some­what rau­cous and lengthy process.

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Lincoln Proposes Compensated Emancipation and Grant’s Fortunes Take an Ominous Turn

An exam­ple of a peti­tion for eman­ci­pa­tion from Wash­ing­ton D.C. Lin­coln float­ed the idea of com­pen­sat­ing slave own­ers in return for free­dom grant­ed in March. The act was in effect as of April 1862. In this case, a slave named Sophia was peti­tioned for release.

By Gary Far­row, mem­ber of the Danville His­tor­i­cal Society

Grant’s vic­to­ries at Fort Hen­ry and Donel­son dark­ens fes­tiv­i­ties in the south­ern cap­i­tal. The War Depart­ment sees peace dawn over Ten­nessee. Lin­coln floats the idea of com­pen­sat­ed eman­ci­pa­tion. The First Ver­mont Cal­vary was itch’n to fight. And despite his suc­cess in the field, Grant lands in hot water.

North Star 1 March

Gen­er­al News Items

Jef­fer­son Davis was offi­cial­ly inauger­at­ed in Rich­mond as Pres­i­dent of the South­ern Confederacy.

Jeff Davis, Pres­i­dent of the bogus South­ern Con­fed­er­a­cy, was inau­gu­rat­ed at Rich­mond, last Sat­ur­day. Col Wood (one of the recent­ly returned fed­er­al pris­on­ers) was present and says there was no enthu­si­asm what­ev­er. Not a cheer to be raised.

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Accord­ing to the eye­wit­ness, the cer­e­mo­ny went flat while a lead­ing south­ern paper sound­ed an even dark­er note.

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Raising Israel Randall

Local historian conjectures a life not found in the history book

Lance Com­fort holds the Israel Ran­dall deed that he bought on Ebay.

By Sharon Lakey

The ide­al his­to­ri­an goes to the mouth of the tomb, cries: “Lazarus, come forth!” and sets him that was dead for ages, blink­ing and pas­sion­ate, in the sun.”

AUSTIN O’MALLEY, Key­stones of Thought

Lance Comfort’s Lazarus is Israel Ran­dall of North Danville, and his attempt to raise him start­ed with a deed he bought on Ebay.

The deed, a time-weath­ered doc­u­ment, begins with “Know all men by these presents that I Jesse Leav­en­worth of Danville in the Coun­ty of Orange and State of Ver­mont for and in con­sid­er­a­tion of the sum of thir­ty pounds law­ful mon­ey to men in hand paid before the deliv­ery here­of by Israel Ran­dal of Danville…” The deed is dat­ed Novem­ber 30, 1791.

With deed in hand, Lance began his own his­tor­i­cal mys­tery tour with a series of ques­tions that devel­oped into a con­jec­tured under­stand­ing of Israel Randall’s life in Danville. “His­to­ry is writ­ten by the sur­vivors, the win­ners, those who passed their his­to­ry for­ward. If a fam­i­ly didn’t stick around, they do not appear in the his­to­ry book,” said Lance, point­ing to Vil­lage in the Hills a his­to­ry of Danville, Ver­mont that lay on the table in front of us. A quick check of the index in the book shows no Israel Randall.

How­ev­er, Randall’s name does appear once in the book—page 24 on the map that is cap­tioned: “Final divi­sion of land under Danville’s sec­ond char­ter in 1802 fol­low­ing set­tle­ment with New York for ’30,000 rights.’” There, in the tini­est of print, is a plot with­out a num­ber read­ing “200A Israel Ran­dall.” The first town char­ter was grant­ed under New York with the name of Hills­bor­ough; the sec­ond char­ter was grant­ed under Ver­mont with the name Danville. Vil­lage in the Hills describes this con­fus­ing process in detail in chap­ter two. It was a process that Lance believes affect­ed Ran­dall as well as and oth­er ear­li­er set­tlers. Could Ran­dall have set­tled first under the Hills­bor­ough char­ter, then lat­er be made to com­ply with the sec­ond? Lance believes this is likely.

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February 1862, Forts Fall, Rumsellers Revolt, and Grant Earns His Nickname

Ulysses S. Grant, the “butch­er”

By Gary Far­row, Danville His­tor­i­cal Society

The North Star report­ed that things were look­ing up for the North. The Union Navy secured anoth­er vic­to­ry and a beard­ed, soft-spo­ken small man from the West appeared on the scene to accom­plish what elud­ed the Union gen­er­als who came before. In addi­tion there is a sto­ry of “boys being boys” in Brat­tle­boro and Cap­tain R. W. Laird mak­ing a trip back home to Danville.

North Star February 1. 1862

Sword Pre­sen­ta­tion

Capt. R. W. Laird of Com­pa­ny H., 4th Reg­i­ment Ver­mont Vol­un­teers, was pre­sent­ed with a splen­did sword, at Camp Grif­fin, VA on Jan 20th, as a slight token of high esteem in which he is held by the men of his com­mand, for his ener­gy and untir­ing zeal in their behalf.

Cap­tain Laird returned to his home in West Danville, last week Thurs­day. We under­stand that he has returned with recruit­ing orders, and will enlist recruits for the Ver­mont Brigade.

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The Greenbank’s Hollow Historic Park Site Nears Completion

By Sharon Lakey

Hol­lis Pri­or and David Hous­ton shep­herd­ed the project through sev­en years of work.

On a rainy Octo­ber day, 2011, Dave Hous­ton and Hol­lis Pri­or, com­mit­tee heads for the Greenbank’s Hol­low His­tor­i­cal Park, met a bus­load of Danville sec­ond graders at the cov­ered bridge. The chil­dren lined both sides under cov­er of the bridge, eat­ing bagged lunch­es, and lis­ten­ing to the con­stant rush of water rolling down Joe’s Brook. After­wards, they trekked up the hill after David and Hol­lis to the old school site where the new kiosk stands.

One of the chil­dren exclaimed, “My dad­dy gave the wood for this.” The impres­sive struc­ture was new­ly up by the efforts of the Danville road crew, the area groomed and land­scaped, sur­round­ed by the foun­da­tion stones of the old school. No infor­ma­tion was on the kiosk yet, but the whole idea of group of chil­dren stand­ing in the mid­dle of the school­house site was his­toric in itself. After some con­ver­sa­tion and ques­tions about its his­to­ry, the group again fell in behind David and Hol­lis and moved down to the bridge. There they stood on the spot, imag­in­ing the huge five-sto­ry woolen mill that used to stand next to the lit­tle bridge.

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Prognostications for the New Year–January 1862

Prognostications for the New Year, Money Finds Its Way Back Home, and the Panorama of War Comes to Danville

By Gary Far­row, mem­ber of the Danville His­tor­i­cal Society

Union­ist Cap­tain Lyon, who was in charge of guard­ing a US artillery sta­tion in the slave state of Missouri.

The troops set­tled in for the first full month of win­ter. Restrict­ed move­ment meant that major bat­tles in many parts of the coun­try would have to wait for spring, so the news turned to the more mun­dane aspects of the war. And, as tech­no­log­i­cal changes (such as the tele­graph) sped news to Danville, the town would see and expe­ri­ence a new, rich­er and more vivid medi­um that told the sto­ry of their age.

Grandiose prog­nos­ti­ca­tions short­change peo­ple and their sto­ries. This was nev­er truer than in the bor­der states of Mis­souri and West Vir­ginia, which were, in their own unique way, micro­cosms of the larg­er conflict.

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