Gurdon Saltonstall

THOUGH THE COMPANY of Puritan divines must have contained a fair share of crusty characters, popular tradition suggests that none could hold a candle to Connecticut's Gurdon Saltonstall. As minister, businessman, one of the founders of Yale University and governor of the colony from 1708 to 1725, he was obviously one of early Connecticut's most important movers and shakers. But as sometimes happens with powerful people, Saltonstall was not one to hide his light under a bushel -- or even a hogshead. To the contrary, he liked nothing better than to dress up like a French dandy and, shouting orders to the servants, set forth upon the country roads in his magnificent carriage, so common folk could see a real gentleman and be uplifted by the sight.
Originally a New Londoner, Saltonstall became interested early in the eighteenth century in the already thriving iron works by the shores of a lake which the Indians called Lonotononket ("Tear of the Great Spirit"), but which the less romantic Yankees named Furnace Pond, lying between Branford and East Haven. This interest was heightened and Saltonstall's opportunity to play the grand lord was improved when he married the heiress to the Roswell estate. On the ancestral lands of his bride -- which included much of the shore of Furnace Pond -- Gurdon Saltonstall erected a magnificent, rambling manor house, with lawns sweeping down to the shores of the lake. Now he could live in the manner to which he would like to become accustomed, right next door to the bog iron works with which he wanted to be associated.
During this period, it should be noted, Furnace Pond had become the favorite resort of all the geese within what must have been a hundred mile radius. Over a period of time, the massive gaggle apparently became discontented with merely commanding the waters of the lake with their raucous honking and flapping presence and took to coming ashore to squabble among themselves and forage over the lakeside farmlands. Gurdon Saltonstall's carefully manicured lawns and gardens soon were recognized by the goose population as the best picnic spot in the area, much to the detriment of the landscape and the temper of the landlord. Common folk used to come for miles around to take a gander at the pompous lord of Saltonstall manor as he battled the feathered invaders. Much to the amusement of his neighbors, Saltonstall often left the field of combat in ignominious defeat, his fine clothes in disarray, his voice hoarse and his beefy face scarlet with rage. Not surprisingly, the goose-war became the principal subject of conversation wherever the good folk of East Haven and Branford gathered to gossip.
Down that way they are still talking and chuckling about what might be called Saltonstall's last stand in the war against the geese. After what happened at Chidsey's ferry, they say, the high and mighty Gurdon Saltonstall lost all his lust for goose feathers. The whole incident took place at Stony Creek, where a man named Chidsey operated a grist mill. However, at high tide the river above the mill became so deep that ox-carts and carriages on their way to the mill were unable to cross. At such times Deborah Chidsey, wife of the miller, operated a one-woman ferry service at the fording-place so that customers could reach the mill and the Chidseys could turn a few extra pennies in the bargain.
One fine day when the tide was rising in Stony Creek, who should rumble up to the river bank in his elegant coach but Gurdon Saltonstall, a vision of sartorial splendor. After some haggling, Dame Chidsey agreed to ferry the overbearing squire across the stream so that he could make an important business meeting in New Haven. Now, nobody ever knew for sure exactly how it happened, but through accident, clumsiness or malice, the ferry-woman managed to ground out her raft -- right at mid-stream. As she unsuccessfully tried to pole the ferry off its perch, her passenger began to huff and puff and turn beet red. "What are you going to do?" screeched the angry Saltonstall, "What are you going to do?" "Do?" answered the feisty ferry-woman, gathering her skirts. "Wait for the tide or fall or" -- stepping over the thwart -- "do as I do." So saying, she stepped into the water and began wading ashore, petticoats billowing around her, honking wildly as she splashed and flapped her elbows like the wings of a goose.
Many a gale of laughter rocked the village when word got around that old Gurdon Saltonstall, unwilling to wet his fine boots or to take them off, sat all day and half the night on the stranded ferry, until the next high tide at last released him. As if that story were not enough to bring lasting fame to the name of Saltonstall, years later they gave his name to the lovely lake where once he fought the geese. So it remains on the map today. Maybe the self-important Saltonstall had the last laugh, after all.

from Legendary Connecticut by David E. Philips / ISBN 1-880684-05-5 / $17.95

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