Radio Script #719

Little Talks on Common Things

February 26, 1967

It is 120 years since Waterville went through the sensation of its first murder. It turned out to be a real scandal because both the eventually convicted murderer and his victim were prominent citizens. Even today rumor occasionally turns up about that ancient crime.

Recently I saw a statement written by a Waterville woman in 1901. The writer must remain nameless, but here is what she wrote: “I was told today (remember, that was in 1901, 54 years after the murder) a bit of information about the Coolidge murder in 1847. It is something I never heard before about that crime, and it explains why Coolidge wanted the money of Mathews just at that time. Of course there was a woman in the affair. A Mrs. B., whose home was in Massachusetts, was visiting relatives on Silver Street. During her prolonged visit Dr. Coolidge was called in to treat her for a slight illness. Intimate relations between her and the doctor ensued. Mrs. B. agreed to leave her husband and child and take a trip across the ocean with the doctor, but they needed money for the journey. Dr. Coolidge decided he could borrow the needed funds from Ed Mathews, and then get rid of Mathews to remove all evidence of indebtedness. Mrs. B. went to Hallowell, where Coolidge was to join her, to take the steamer to Boston. But plans were shattered when Coolidge decided he must get rid of Mathews on that very night. Within 24 hours of the discovery of Mathews body, the doctor was arrested. The woman returned to her husband, who soon died. She then remarried but was soon again a widow. My informant said that a year before the murder, a party of Waterville people were stopping at a hotel in Boothbay. A member of the party was Dr. Valorus Coolidge. In the midst of a dining table conversation Coolidge asked Wyman Moor, one of Waterville’s most prominent citizens, ‘What is the penalty for murder in this state?’ Moor replied, ‘Young man, are you thinking of trying the experiment?'”

Now this whole story, jotted down by a Waterville resident in 1901, may be entirely fictitious. The published record of the trial shows that at least a dozen witnesses testified to Coolidge’s borrowing money for speculation in western lands, a venture in which huge profits were made by some investors, but in which a great many more lost all they put in.

There is no question, however, that young Dr. Coolidge was attractive to women. Preserved to this day at the Waterville Historical Society is a letter which Coolidge wrote from the prison in Thomaston to a lady who had told him she was confident of his innocence. Anyhow, it was a spectacular case — that murder of Ed Mathews — concerning which the rumors have not ceased after 120 years.

More news keeps popping up about that sleigh ride that Florence Perry took to the Yates Mansion in Vassalboro in 1900. One of the persons who went on that ride was Nellie Lovering, now Mrs. Willard Rockwood, the distinguished historian of both the local Methodist Church and the Waterville Women’s Club. Mrs. Rockwood was one of the Betas who were guests of the Sigma Kappas on that ride, and she was in the big sleigh that tipped over. One amusing incident of that mishap, in which fortunately no one was hurt, Mrs. Rockwood recalls with a chuckle. One girl who was on the upper side when that rig tipped over was thrown clear and rolled down the bank beside the railroad track. When the group pulled themselves together and made a check, sure enough, one girl was missing. They all began to call her name and shout: “Where are you? Where are you?” Finally they heard a soft, squeaky voice from down in the depths say, trustingly: “Here I am.” And there she was, unhurt, down the steep bank near where the Maine Central tracks crossed the old ferry road.

Now I want to tell you the most amazing part of the story. Four of the girls who made that ride are still living, and they are all members of the Colby Class of 1902, which next June will celebrate its 65th year out of college. Those four are Nellie Lovering Rockwood of Waterville; Vera Nash Locke of Oberlin, Ohio; Edna Owen Douglass of Newton, Connecticut and Edith Williams Small, for many years a resident of Freedom, but now of Waterville. Those four hope to be present for their 65th class reunion at Colby in June.

For twenty years, from 1879 to 1899, the pastor of the Waterville Baptist Church was Dr. William H. Spencer. He had served in the Civil War, not like his predecessor, Dr. Pepper, as a chaplain, but as an infantry major. Dr. Spencer left an account of his battle experience, which shows that he was anything but a pacifist clergyman. Here is a part of what he wrote of Chancellorsville: “As soon as we drew near the battlefield, we came to a place which tried the courage of all of us. The road ran through an open field dotted with dead and wounded. There were other grim tokens of the rear of a desparate battle — straggling men, cannon without horses and with broken carriages, battle smoke in the air, and the sound of distant gunfire. Besides the wounded men lying around us, others were coming out of the woods limping and bleeding.

“Before us was a thick forest of big hemlocks, and as we looked at the redness of the setting sun I wondered if I should ever see another sunset. We passed through the hemlocks and came out into a clear field where the afternoon battle had raged. We lay down by the side of the road, conscious that we were in a still ticklish place. As the firing sounded farther and farther away, I began to hope that the battle was over. But our colonel was of another mind. Suddenly we were roused and sent forward with bayonets ready.

“I remember how finely the regiment marched across that field to unknown horrors beyond. While we were wondering what would come next, a voice from the woods challenged us: ‘What regiment is that?’ To my dismay one of our privates piped up, ‘The 61st New York’. Then came the reply: ‘Lay down your arms or I’ll blow you all to Hell.’ Instantly we were on our feet and poured a volley into the enemy position. Both sides settled down to a grim game of give and take in the growing darkness. Suddenly I felt a smarting pain in my left knee and sat down to examine it. Finding it was only buckshot, I hastened back to my command, but I tell you it took that little buckshot wound six weeks to heal.

“I had been back with my regiment scarcely more than two minutes when I felt a smashing blow on my right leg above the knee. I dropped because I had to, and lay on my back unable to rise. I thought I was doomed by loss of blood, but soon the instinct of survival prevailed. I saw I was not going to bleed to death; so I called a couple of men to carry me back to the road away from the firing line. But the pain in my wound became so intense that I begged them to lay me down and let me die. They refused, and insisted on carrying me to the road, where they left me.

“As I lay there, I was not at all smitten by a fit of heroics to get back into the battle. It felt fine just to lie there and rest. And I knew my men would give a good account of themselves, whether I was with them or not. My prevailing sensation was one of relief. I was no coward, but neither was I a rough rider. I was just an ordinary patriot, ready if need be to die for my country, but never spoiling for a fight. And I am sure many of my brave comrades were made of the same stuff.

“My greatest need was water, and amazingly I got it the next morning from one of the enemy. I awoke to discover that I was a prisoner. The Confederate Colonel came to me and showed all the tenderness of a brother, letting me see a side of the rebel nature I had never encountered before. The next day I was in the hospital at Libby Prison, where fortunately I stayed only 24 days before I was exchanged and on my way home.”

That was the most memorable Civil War experience of the man who was pastor of Waterville’s First Baptist Church for twenty years.

Stage coaches were common in Maine long after the railroad invaded the state. Let me tell you about some of the stage lines that were operating in 1860, just before the outbreak of the Civil War.

One route of 74 miles was from Hallowell to Bangor via Belfast. The route led through Augusta, South China, Palermo, Montville and Searsmont to Belfast, then through Swanville, Searsport, Frankfort and Hampden to Bangor. Two long routes were of special interest to this region of Central Maine.

The longest carried the stages for 200 miles from Hallowell to Quebec. It went through Augusta, Belgrade, Smithfield and Mercer to Norridgewock, then the most important town in Somerset County and the county seat. From Norridgewock the stage went on through Madison, Anson, Solon, Bingham, Dead River, Parlin Pond, Moose River, and Jona’s Camp to the Canada line. Notice there was then no place called Jackman. The only places mentioned as stage stops between the Canada line and Quebec were St. Marie and Port Levis, though doubtless the stage stopped wherever a passneger wanted to get on or off.

A shorter stage line of 62 miles ran from Hallowell to Solon. From Augusta the stage came to Waterville via the Sidney side of the river, made stops at Kendalls Mills, Pishon’s Ferry, and Bloomfield, did not cross the Kennebec into Skowhegan, but continued up the west side of the river to Norridgewock, then on to Anson and Solon.

Besides the stage lines that ran from Hallowell to Bangor via Belfast, a shorter route went from Augusta to Getchells Corner in Vassalboro, then across to Outlet (the old name for East Vassalboro),on to China and Albion, then through Unity, Troy, Dixmont and Newburg to Hampden and Bangor.

An interesting route covered the 120 miles from Portland to Caratunk Falls in Solon. It traversed Falmouth, Gray, New Gloucester, Minot, Turner, Livermore, Jay, Farmington, New Sharon, Mercer, Starks, Norridgewock and Anson, before arriving at Caratunk Falls — what seems to us today a decidedly roundabout route, but was then the best traveled way.

There were many other stage lines in Maine in 1860, but we must call this  enough for today. We’ll be with you again next Sunday.

Year: 1967