Aerial photo courtesy US Air force, Hanscom AFB, Bedford Massachusetts

The Bedford Sampler
Bicentennial Edition

                Compiled and Edited by
The Friends of the Bedford Free Public Library Bedford, Massachusett 1974

The Shawsheen River
by Abigail Bacon
   The river that flows quietly through the Bedford meadows was given the name "Shawshin" by order of the General Court of Massachusetts on May 9, 1644. In 1636 Mathew Cradock, governor of the colonial company in England, wrote to Governor John Winthrop in America expressing a desire to obtain a grant of two thousand acres of land "at a place called Shawe Shynn." It has been recorded that "Shasheen" was an early Indian name meaning "great spring." Indians in this area frequently visited the springs, where Bedford Springs is now located, believing that the pure waters offered healing qualities to sick and ailing members of their tribe.
    The river's source is in Lincoln, and its tributaries include Beaver Brook, Elm Brook, Tar Kiln, Hartwell, Potash, and Vine Brooks. The graphic names of some of these smaller streams have lost their meaning through the years. The Shawsheen flows peacefully from Bedford to Billerica, after rushing over the dam into quieter waters, on through Wilmington and over to Lawrence, where it empties into the Merrimac River. It was never a navigable river except for smaller boats and canoes during early spring months when melting snows and spring rains swell all New England streams. Some evidence of Indian villages found along its banks give proof that the birch bark canoes of these early natives skimmed its quiet waters where they fished with spear and net for trout and salmon.
   An early Indian trading post is thought to have been situated on the river bank near the present location of the old house at Page and Shawsheen Roads. Doubtless Indians brought furs to exchange with the white men for buttons, beads, pots, kettles, and clothing. In 1730 Benjamin Danforth operated an inn at this spot, where weary travelers along the river could  stop for rest and refreshment. He sold the inn about 1760 to John Webber, whose descendants are here in Bedford today.
   Other early settlers of the 17th century purchased large grants of land along the river that offered a means of transportation, fishing, and a watering place for farm animals. They included Michael Bacon and his sons Benjamin and Josiah; Nathaniel Page; John Hartwell; and John Fassett. The rich soil of the river meadows would grow bountiful crops to sustain these pioneer families.
   Before 1675 Michael Bacon was operating a grist mill on the Shawshine River. Remains of the mill dam may still be found showing huge boulders that must have been placed after many hours of labor by strong men, probably with the help of oxen. By 1730 the corn mill and a saw mill were operated by Michael's son, Jonathan, one of the incorporators of the town of Bedford in 1729.
   There is a legend about a later owner of the mill on the Shawshine. This miller was kept constantly busy by pioneer settlers who brought their corn to be ground into meal. The young bachelor seldom ceased his work except on the Sabbath Day, never seeming to give thought of the possibility that a wife could be a helpmate to him in his home nearby. But there came a time in early spring when he was not always at the mill to set the mill wheel turning for the work of the day. When questioned by an inquiring farmer, his young assistant replied, "The miller has gone downstream. He goes often these days." A few months later at the Sabbath morning church service, announcement was made by the pastor of the approaching marriage of the miller and Miriam Gray, whose father's home was on the banks of the Shawshine in Cochichawick, the early name of Andover. In June the wedding took place, and after the celebration at her father's home, Miriam and her bridegroom stepped into their canoe at Cochichawick landing, and accompanied by other canoes filled with a gay group of young guests, paddled twenty miles up the river arriving at the miller's landing in the early morning hours.
   On the following Sabbath the arrival of the bride and groom at the village church created great consternation. The bride appeared in a cloak of scarlet, her bonnet gay with plumes of a matching red which contrasted becomingly with her dark eyes and hair. Her appearance was in grave contrast to the subdued dress of the members of the congregation. Then the people remembered an old tale, that at her birth it was predicted that Miriam Gray would turn out to be a witch. Her strange appearance seemed to bear out the truth of this prediction.
   Poor Miriam came to be called the "Witch of Shawshine" and was shunned by her neighbors. It was said that even the miller's horse shied away from her in her scarlet cloak. The miller began to suffer from a lack of business. Thus terrible prejudice continued through the years until a scourge of throat distemper visited the village. It was then, with no thought of herself, that Miriam went to the aid of her neighbors and tormentors. She nursed many a child through the illness and administered comfort to the parents. The disease was finally arrested and the grateful people no longer spoke of the "Witch of Shawshine." As Miriam grew older, the ugly stories were forgotten and she came to be beloved by the villagers.
   Along the banks of the Shawshine, flowers have always bloomed. In moist places blue gentians can be found, and the scarlet of the cardinal flower creates a bright spot on the bank opposite the old mill site.   Jack-in- the-pulpits moisten their roots among the rocks in little brooklets, and beds of white wood anemones and pink fringed polygala grow in the woodlands alongside the river. In the summer time purple loosestrife covers the river meadows with brilliance. In swampy places in May and June may be found the delicate white blossoms of the wild calla, and from the river can be seen pink rhodora of which Emerson wrote:
               If eyes were made for seeing
               Then Beauty is its own excuse for being...
               The beauty of this gentle river flowing through our town could be
                said to have been, in earlier days, "its own excuse for being."

From the 1967 edition of The Bedford Sampler, compiled and edited by The Friends of the Library.

How the Shawsheen Got Its Name
by Louise K. Brown

Ere Columbus crossed the Ocean,
Or the Pilgrims touched at Plymouth,
Ere the voice of any pale face
Echoed through these valleys round us,
Here the wigwam smoke in cirdets
Rose above these woods and hill-tops
And the tread of Indian chieftains
Sounded through their leafy arches.

   So begins a delightful little poem, written by an anonymous Bedford resident and printed in a forgotten publication called "The Telephone" in 1878. It tells the story of an Indian maiden who belonged to a tribe which lived on the Merrimack River. The maiden, whose name was Sheen, which was Indian for beauty, had fallen in love with a young brave of a southern tribe. Tired of waiting for her absent lover, and fearful of what might have happened to him, she resolved to travel over the hills and valleys until she should find him.

It was in the month of flowers,
The beginning of the Summer,
When the birds sing all their love-songs,
When one-half the air seems perfume
And sweet melody the other,
That she started on her journey.

   With stars to guide her by night, and bird-songs by day, she came to the land of the Algonquins. Her lover was preparing to go forth to battle, but when he saw her, he threw down his war bonnet, laid aside his bow and quiver, and ran with eager steps to meet her. He satisfied her thirst and hunger, and listened to the story of her journey.

While they sat there thus rehearsing
All their tales of love and hunting
Suddenly, as if by magic,
At the door of the wigwam,
Where laid the crown of eagle feathers,
Burst a fountain of pure water,
And it ran on to the Northward,
Then to Eastward and to Westward,
Till it followed all the Pathway
Which the lovely Sheen had travelled.

Then the story goes on to say that the Brave took his helmet of eagle feathers, dipped it in the sparkling waters, and, lifting it high above his head, shouted so that the forests echoed with the words he uttered. "Here this streamlet now I christen by the name of Sheen, the beauty, and of Shaw, the path she travelled."
The echoes resounded throughout the forest, "Shawsheen, Shawsheen, Beauty's Pathway."

And 'Tis said that now in Summer,
In the lovely month of flowers,
When the birds sing all their love-songs,
When one-half the air seems perfume,
And sweet melody the other,
You can hear the water's murmur
That sweet name which then he gave it.

—from The Bedford Minute-Man, used with permission