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The Old Hubbard Tavern
“at the Plumtrees”

The early settlers in Amherst and Sunderland were prosaic people. They had no time or inclination to devise high-sounding names for each locality, but designated hill and brook and plain by some title associated with its owner or with events unknown to the present generation. Descendants of these ancient worthies have found it difficult to change the names thus given, however great was their desire. Thus in the northeastern part of Amherst, though the postoffice has become Cushman, yet the settlement will long remain, in the minds of old-fashioned folk, North Amherst City. President Hitchcock and the august senior class of Amherst college could not persuade the people of Sunderland that the name “Mount Toby” should be transformed into “Mettawompe,” or that “Mount Taurus“ was a more euphonious name than “Bull Hill.” An elevation in South Amherst, for many years the property of a worthy deacon in the local church, is much better known as “Lyman’s Hill” than as “Mount Pollux.” “Factory Hollow,” “Nuttingville,” “Hawley Swamp,” and “Kelloggville,” are well known to residents of Amherst, and the “Devil’s Garden” in “Turkey Pass” only lost its name when the trap rock carried away by the Amherst & Sunderland street railroad, to be used in the construction of State highways.

The old-time fathers, however, occasionally by chance bestowed a title at once poetic and descriptive. The forests were to them of no particular value except to furnish lumber with which to build their homes. To find a single fruit tree among the oaks and maples, even though its product might be acrid and imperfect, was indeed a blessing, and a grove of wild plum trees was of sufficient importance to give a name to the locality in which it was discovered. Thus travelers by trolley to-day, after passing through north Amherst, are shown, just over the Sunderland line, an ancient dwelling near the “Dry brook,” and are told that this district is the “Plumtrees,” and this house is the “Old Hubbard Tavern.” The last wild plum tree died a natural death on the Hubbard farm with the memory of the present generation, but its kindred are still living among the forest of Mount Toby. The children of Parker Hubbard remember well the taste of its sour and bitter fruit, and its name will forever be connected with the hamlet where their ancestors built among the plum trees the historic tavern home.

George Hubbard, the common ancestor, was in 1636 a surveyor in Windsor, Connecticut, and afterward moved to Wethersfield. His son John became on of the founders of Hadley and his grandson, Isaac, and great grandson, Isaac Jr., were among the forty first settlers of Sunderland. The former was a deacon in the Sunderland church, and the latter served as selectman and town clerk. His great great grandson, Israel, the eldest son of Isaac Jr., settled on the farm at present occupied by the firth generation of his descendants.

The extreme souther part of Sunderland was at this time a wilderness of woods. Lieutenant Abner Cooley of Springfield had ventured, about 1739, to build a log cabin within these shadows, and finding it a safe and comfortable place in which to live, a few years later had erected a frame house sourth of where the brick house stands, which is now the property of his great grandson, Deacon George L. Cooley. The Cooley family, living so far from the center of civilization, naturally in these troubled times desired to have neighbors. Isaac Hubbard, Jr., had settled in the north part of the Plumtrees district, and his son, Israel, intended to build north of the “Dry,” or “Mohawk,” brook. The story runs that Abner Cooley, in order to persuade his townsman to build still nearer, gave him ten acres of land south of the brook, including the site of the present schoolhouse. Here Israel Hubbard built his cabin, in which he lived until 1763, when history states that the present house was completed. If this date be correct, among the children born in that humble home was Caleb Hubbard, afterward to become a famous leader in the Revolution.

Israel Hubbard was a staunch Federalist, and a member of the first Provincial Congress. He was shrewd in business, and willing to turn an honest penny in anyway he could. Farm products did not bring him large prices in those days, and markets were unknown. Therefore, to gain a little income from the passing stranger, Israel obtained a license as “innholder and taverner, and to sell strong drink,” and found this occupation profitable and less laborious than clearing up the virgin soil. The license was renewed until 1783, and continued in the name of his son, Caleb, and grandson, Ashley, who kept a wayside inn until 1839. Then the house was closed to the public, but has been occupied as a dwelling by the descendants of Israel Hubbard until the present time.

In cutting off the forest trees their owner was careful to leave a few saplings for the benefit of future generations. The beautiful maple grove which is to-day the admiration of all beholders, and under which many a picnic party has been held…., attests the value of his forethought. In building the house he also had an eye to the welfare of his posterity. The square brick chimney, equal to a room in size, has stood unmoved, though hurricanes have broken down the veteran trees nearby. The great hewn timbers, showing the marks of woodman’s axe, have neither settled nor decayed. Some of the small-paned windows, from buffetings by storms of many winters, are loosened in their casings, but the glass remains unbroken. No drop of rain has found an entrance between those ancient clapboards which clothe the massive oaken frame. Each wrought iron nail was pounded in and clinched by conscientious workmen, under the watchful eye of the owner, who was at once the builder and contractor. The ell, in which was the barroom has been moved away, but the main building, a solid structure, stands secure, and gives fair promise of a home for generations yet to come.

Caleb Hubbard, the son of Israel, was brought up in a good old-fashioned country home. His mother was Abigail, the daughter of Nathaniel Smith, one of the first settlers in Sunderland. His muscles were developed by work upon the farm, and his ready wit was sharpened by the discipline of the old-time district school. He was a youth of decided character and determined will, and when the disturbances arose which transformed the farmers into soldiers, the boy Caleb, twenty years old, enlisted as a minute man, and with a company of his companions, engaged a British deserter to drill them in the use of arms. In 1774, Caleb Hubbard was appointed, with a companion, to “collect whatever specie the inhabitants of the town were willing to give to the poor people of Boston, and also to convey said collection to the town of Boston.” Then came the Lexington alarm. Caleb Hubbard was plowing with a pair of oxen and one horse in the field north of the “Dry brook” when the tidings were brought to him of the expected attack. Leaving the oxen standing and the plow sticking in the furrow, he jumped upon the horse and galloped off to Sunderland to give the alarm. The minute men quickly gathered and spent that eventful night of April 19, 1775, in Israel Hubbard’s tavern, then at four o’clock the next morning rode to Belchertown, where they left their horses and marched away toward Boston.

The patient oxen must have waited for an indefinite time as, though history relates the fact that they were left, it gives no proof that they were ever removed. The tree under which they stood was blown down a few years since. Young Caleb was in active service about fifteen months, at Cambridge, Ticonderoga, and other strategic points, and was appointed quartermaster sergeant of the company of which Zebina Montague was quartermaster. After the surrender of Burgoyne, the young officer, a veteran at the age of twenty-three, came home, married Tryphena Montague and settled down to keep the tavern at the Plumtrees. His war record and superior intelligence gave him much influence among his fellows, and his ready repartee and keen sense of humor made him a favorite with all. He became a Jefferson Democrat, much to the disgust of his father, Israel, who, being a Federalist, did not agree with Caleb in his politics, and could not tolerate opposition.

Israel, having served from 1776 to 1781 in the General Court, felt that he understood the situation, and Caleb, having been himself in the thickest of the conflict, was sure that he was right. Two men with similar characteristics and opposite convictions in the same family were like steel and flint, and sparks were sure to fly. Long and hot were the discussions, from which neither came out victorious. To the last year of his life the doughty Israel persisted in attending town meeting in order, as he said, that he might “spile Caleb’s vote.” He lived to the advanced age of ninety-two, and died in 1817.

Caleb Hubbard and his father were both progressive men, interested in new movements which promised to advance the public welfare. January 8, 1801, Pacific lodge of masons was organized by men from Amherst, Leverett, Hadley, and Sunderland, and the first place of meeting was the double room in the Hubbard tavern. This was divided by a swinging partition, so that it could be made into one large room or two smaller ones, as occasion required. Phineas Hubbard, son of Giles, was the first master of this organization, and Caleb Hubbard, his cousin, was its first treasurer. His insignia of office, in its antique frame, is seen to-day hanging in the hall. For one year Pacific lodge held its meetings in this upper room, after which it passed through many vicissitudes, but rallied, and is to-day one of the strong and flourishing organizations of Amherst. Its members had to pass through a lonely country to reach their lodge room. Major Caleb used to tell his grand-children tales of bears being seen in the woods near by, which probably had their dens in the recesses of Sunderland cave among the rocks of Mount Toby. Wolves ranged all through that section as late as 1805, killing sheep and frightening the children, so that they did not dare to peep out of doors after nightfall. These foes, so dreaded by the farmer, were destroyed by a party of citizens, who tracked them after a light snow, and other wild creatures, as settlers became more numerous, fled into the depths of the woods, pursued by the hunter, who was loth to give up the game which was so large a part of his subsistence.

The Hubbard tavern during major Caleb’s reign was a favorite place of resort for old and young, who loved to hear the landlord’s funny stories, while enjoying his generous hospitality. Sleighing parties came to have a dance in the ballroom and kept up the festivities until daylight. The master was also a justice of the peace, and many a marriage ceremony was performed in the old tavern for country couples, who traveled on horseback, the bashful bride seated on a pillion behind her rustic swain. When the old soldiers were gathered in Boston to dedicate the Bunker hill monument, Major Caleb, so-called from his command in the militia, was among the guests, sat upon the platform and made a speech. The old war veteran kept his strength until late in life, and when ninety years of age beat all the boys at splitting rails, and laughed at their discomfiture. These old-time Hubbards were a long-lived race. The funeral of Israel, who died in 1817, aged ninety-two, and that of his son Caleb, when at the age of ninety-six the weakness of old age overcame his courageous soul, were doubtless held within these walls. Their bodies, placed at first in the vault across the road, were afterward laid to rest in the burying ground beside the river.

Ashley, the son of Caleb, inherited the tavern after his father’s death. He married Nancy Henderson, and for his second wife Betsey Dole of Shelburne. Of his seven children, but one, Mrs. Elizabeth Peck Alvord of Winsted, Connecticut, is living to-day. She married George Alvord, who was connected with the sanitary commission and with the navy department during the war, and was formerly cashier of the Winsted National bank.

Students of local history, searching the files of old newspapers published about fifty years ago, have noticed many poems signed “Viola.” Graceful lines they were, treating of varied subjects, but giving no clew to their authorship. The writer was evidently a lover of nature and a student of history, well versed in the usage of the old-fashioned English of that day. No clash of rhyme or fault of rhythm, no exaggerated sentiment or coarse allusion, marred the beauty of the unpretentious verses which, like a mirror, flashed out a clear reflection of plain and healthful rural life. Viola climbed the Holyoke range, and described her impressions in the poerm, “musings on Norwottuck.” She told the Indian tale of “The Moon of Falling Leaves,” and gave expression to her patriotic nature in stirring words entitled “My County.” The death of a neighbor’s infant was memorialized in the “Dirge to a Child.” “May You Die Among Your Kindred” was suggested by incidents of the Mexican war. “To the Memory of a Friend,” “To a Group of Children,” “The water Lily,” all show forth the character of the writer, but none disclose her name. At last an item in the Hampshire and Franklin Express of Amherst, describing the graduating exercises of a North Amherst private school for girls, gives us a “Valedictory Hymn,” written by Miss Nancy Hubbard of Plumtrees, and reveals the identity of this talent young writer with the poetess who we have known as “Viola.”

This seems to have been a farewell, for soon Viola went South as a teacher. Returning, she brought with her two Southern lads, and gave them lessons in the old tavern. She married Ansel Kellogg, president of the First National bank of Oshkosh, Wisconsin, and a leading financier in the State. He was the brother of Rufus Kellogg, a benefactor of Amherst college. The poetess of the Plumtrees died in her Western home in 1863. Her body was brought to Amherst and buried in the North Amherst cemetery. Her brother, Parker Dole Hubbard, inherited the old homestead with all its memories and traditions.

True to the spirit of their grandfather, Major Caleb, both the sons of Ashley Hubbard earnestly desired to perform their part in the struggle to preserve the Union, which their ancestors fought to establish, but the younger, Stephen Ashley, at the time editor of the Hartford Courant, had to stay on duty and take care of the paper while his associate, the future General Hawley, became a leader among the Union forces of the Civil war. Parker Hubbard enlisted in the 52nd Massachusetts Volunteers. He was not obliged to gallop on horseback to the front, but traveled by car and boat to New York city, and thence embarked on the steamer Illinois for Louisiana. Company G, which included forty-two soldiers from Amherst and twenty-four from Sunderland, saw much hard service, but most of its men returned in safety to their homes. Parker Hubbard became a member of the Edwin M. Stanton post, G. A. R., of Amherst. He cultivated his farm of about one hundred acres, raised tobacco, and made fine sugar from the maple grove. He died in 1895 in the house where he was born, and was buried in the Sunderland cemetery.

The atmosphere of the Plumtrees seemed conducive to artistic development. From its romantic surroundings Viola drew the inspiration needed to produce her poems. The mysterious mountains, the “Mohawk Brook,” flowing near her home, whose very name suggested that fierce tribe of Northern Indians so feared by the more peaceable natives of the Connecticut valley, the flowers and birds, and rural scenes by which she was surrounded, all contributed subject and material for verses without end. In the drought of Summer, when the water disappeared, and naught was left but stones and sand, the common name of the stream, “Dry brook,” seemed good and fitting. But when in Spring or Autumn the swollen torrent came raging down, carrying everything before it, then the old traditional name may have been remembered and possibly used. Whether Viola knew the brook as “Dry,” or “Mohawk,” she certainly made use of that and all other beauties of nature near her home as warp and woof with which to weave the subtle fancies of her poetic soul.

About 1850, Erastus Field, a portrait painter, chose this locality as a suitable place in which to pursue his avocation. He was born in Leverett, began to draw and paint in early youth, studied in New York city, carried on his profession in Monson and in Hartford, and finally settled in a cottage on the Hubbard farm, where he spent the remainder of his life. Across the road from the old house, among the trees upon the hill, he built a little studio, and there from early Spring till Winter’s snow he painted, and was happy. When cold made this retreat impossible, the artist found in the commodious barn behind the Hubbard tavern a place where he might exercise his skill without interruption from the outside world. Daguerreotypes were at this time expensive, and photographs unknown. To have a local artist within reach was a great boon for Amherst and Sunderland people, and old and young eagerly availed themselves of this opportunity to hand down their features to their posterity. Many faces of old residents would be unknown were it not for the portraits painted by Erastus Field and preserved by children and grandchildren as heirlooms for future generations. A picture of E. D. Marsh, when four years old, a sample of the artist’s skill, hung in his mother’s room during her lifetime, one of the most precious of her treasures.

The well-known portrait of Oliver Dickinson, the builder of the North Amherst church, was undoubtedly painted by Mr. Field. With unbounded imagination he was even able to paint a resident of North Amherst after death, and put eyes which were pronounced to be natural into the picture, though he never seen them in life. His industry was indefatigable, and his enthusiasm could not be restrained. As age advanced, he enlarged the scope of his endeavor and painted Bible and historical scenes. Samples of these are owned by North Amherst residents and by the North Amherst church. The children in the Hubbard tavern delighted to spend hours in the studio on the hill, watching the artist create his marvelous productions and hearing him explain his work. He died in extreme old age, a painter to the last, the only known artist in that section of the community.

Probably the largest collection of his portraits owned by any one family may be seen to-day in the Hubbard tavern. The walls of the parlor were at one time lined with these pictures in such a manner that the room seemed full of eyes staring the visitor out of countenance. There were major Caleb Hubbard and his wife, stiff and straight and orthodox, as seen in the illustration. In the painting the old soldier holds in his hand a public document and his iron-bowed glasses. Next, Ashley Hubbard and his wife, Betsey Dole, were seen, the former clutching with grim determination a Democratic paper, the Boston Statesman, the latter in white collar, and gold beads, with hair in puffs, and prim white camp, and in her hand a gay bead bag. Another picture of Betsey Dole Hubbard represents her as older and less formidable, with mouth not quite so firmly closed and eyes less staring and more kindly. Then came the sons of Ashley, Israel, Parker, and Stephen, very proper young men, strangely alike in features, and all attired in bright yellow vests, exactly similar in fashion. The eldest, Israel, distinguished by a black silk stock, was a schoolmate of Deacon Edmund Hobart. The placid faces of Parker and Stephen give no premonition of the future soldier and journalist, and seem the personification of calmness and content. Two pensive damsels, Nancy and Lizzie, complete the list. Both are dressed in grass-green gowns of antique fashion. Nancy has a curl hanging straight before each ear, and a broad white collar fastened with a pin, while Lizzie wears a locket and chain. The primness of these youthful faces cannot be described, and we attempt in vain to discern beneath the surface of that chubby countenance Viola the rustic poetess of our imagination.

The old Hubbard tavern is of exceeding interest to all who know its history. We are shown a corner cupboard now used as a bookcase, a “courting chair,” with low back and double seat, which was stuffed in olden time, and of unknown age. Here are beautiful mirrors, the conch shell probably used to call the boy Caleb to dinner, and an antique chair with double arms, rush bottom and wooden rollers, which look as if they were made when castors first were invented. Two volumes of newspapers in which are printed poems by Viola, are preserved, and specimens of crayon work by the poetess, who also seems to have been an artist. Pewter dishes, a whiskey measure, a lamp, a porringer, a glass decanter and long-necked wine glasses, all relics of old tavern days, are seen below, and on the stairs hangs a temperance banner painted by Erastus Field. The upper ballroom where the Masons held their meetings is panelled with wood, and overhead are the marks where hung the swinging partition. The garret is a storehouse of relics, with saddle bags and settle and flip irons and tall clock and tin kitchens and antique furniture galore. The favored visitor who is allowed to inspect these curios comes back as from a journey among the shadows of the past.

Mrs. Parker Hubbard and her son, George Caleb, Agricultural college, ’99, named for the first ancestor, who came from England, and for the Major, his great grandfather, live in the Hubbard tavern. Her daughters are Mrs. Nancy Kellogg Hubbard Howes of Holyoke, a graduate of Mount Holyoke college, and Mrs. Helen E. Stowell of North Amherst. The latter is a member of the Mary Mattoon chapter, D. A. R., of Amherst.

The residents at the Plumtrees, though living in the town of Sunderland, are yet identified with Amherst by many interests and associations. Soldiers from both towns fought together in the Revolution and in the Civil war, and citizens of both towns organized Pacific lodge in the old Hubbard tavern. Descendants of these ancient worthies were among the first members of the North Amherst church and have always attended its services, and boys and girls from Sunderland to-day crowd the trolley cars on their way to the Amherst high school. In view of all these facts, Amherst may claim a share in the famous Hubbard tavern, and with her sister town may exhibit with pride this historic home, built by Israel Hubbard among those ancient plum trees so many years ago.

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