86 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE 



highest place in war or peace. We pass in silence the old-wives 

 tales concerning him, his superhuman strength, his miraculous 

 cures, his astounding feats of divination, nor shall we add anoth- 

 er to the list of seven dying speeches reported by as many sober 

 histories. The authentic record is brief, his fame rests largely 

 upon tradition, but that by his people he was esteemed great 

 is the highest praise that can be accorded. He was born about 

 1540 and was an old man when the Pilgrims landed. His old 

 age was passed in poverty ; once lord of thousands of acres, he 

 was compelled to beg the poor privilege of living upon a patch 

 of intervale and two little islands in the Merrimack. Even these 

 were taken from him by the puritan rulers of the godly Com- 

 monwealth of Massachusetts. But the title-deeds to his vast 

 possessions, wrung from him by white cunning, served to enrich 

 the state, assisted in the spread of the gospel, and erected the 

 cradle of liberty. 



It is known that Passaconavvay had four sons and two daugh- 

 ters ; of the sons Wonolancet alone became famous in his time, 

 and the Appalachian Club has given his name to a small moun- 

 tain of the Sandwich range, which nestles like a pappoose under 

 the towering shoulders of his sire. 



When the first white hunter or trapper actually settled at the 

 falls of Amoskeag, Acteon was one hundred years old and was 

 alive twenty years afterwards; in 1726' he was known as "Old 

 Acteon," The terrible Pehaungun, " Beware of Me," was killed 

 in a drunken frolic in 1732. He was then one hundred and 

 twenty-four years old, and in his youth no white man had stepped 

 upon the soil of Derryfield. It will serve but little purpose to 

 recount a further list of long-forgotten names, to which nothing 

 authentic can be added. Acteon has gone to the home of the 

 Coosucks, Wahowa lives only in the classic yell of Dartmouth ; 

 Watannumon rests by the Mikaseota, the bones of Paugus lie 

 hidden in the white sands of Ossipee, and P.issaconavvay sleeps. 



Forty years ago a worn-out locomotive of the Northern Rail- 

 way was sent to the junk-shop. Emblazoned letters upon the 



