For generations locals and tourists alike have marveled at the smooth, bowl like shapes carved into the granite on the Lyndeborugh side of the falls we call Purgatory. The one nearest the brook is deep enough for a person to stand in, and many surely have. A few even took the time to carve their names on its walls. The second is much shallower, but bares an uncanny resemblance to a human foot. A really big human foot. It is hard not to wonder at the forces that would create such features in one of the hardest rock mediums available for carving. You and I know it happened thousands of years ago as the ice of that age thawed and living things began to reclaim the area.
But science can’t explain everything folks have witnessed in the millennia since. Strange sights and sounds, even smells… And just how is it that Purgatory gorge is always so cold, even in the heat of summer? Well, there is a story that explains that. A story passed down by the generations that came before us. A tale that most likely echoes one told by the Indians for more than a thousand years before any European climbed up Mont Vernon’s green hillside.
The basic premise involves a powerful, evil spirit, and the notion to lead the innocent astray through a promise of good food. For the Indians, the spirit may have been Askweedaheed, an Algonkian fire god known to bring bad luck and misfortune. For the English, it was the Devil. Whatever the evil may have been, the legendary food of temptation was baked beans.
Yes, baked beans. Baking beans was an Indian trick that the Pilgrims quickly learned because beans are perfect little packets of protein that can be cultivated, cured, and carried or stored for miles and months. The American made bean is an uncomplicated food resource for any idiot who can keep them dry and rodent free. The preparations were simple, too. Just give the beans a good soaking in water, then slow cook them. Preferably with seasonings, something sweet, and on a good day, meat.
The cooking method that comes to bear in this story was another neat trick invented by Indians. Just dig a pit a few times larger than your earthenware bean pot, and have a fire big enough to fill the pit with embers. Secure the lid, pack the bean pot in the pit with embers on all sides, and shovel enough dirt over the whole thing to create an insulating blanket. The hard work is done. The rest is easy. Time and embers can do their part on their own. Allow the big hand of the clock cycle around 4 to 8 times, and dig up your dinner, hot and ready to devour.
But of course, the Devil in our story had his own ideas about a heat source…
Our legend begins on the cold gray cusp of winter some two and a half centuries ago. A group of unhappy clergy men were huddled under a hemlock tree somewhere along Amherst’s westernmost boundary line. They had been traveling by foot from Lyndeborough, and lost the crude trail they were following under heaps of windblown leaves. Bone chilling rain cemented the darkening clouds to the tree tops and obliterated any sense of direction. Before they knew it, the afternoon was wasted nurturing unproductive arguments over the true path. Now all they could do was stand under an evergreen, hands buried in their matchless pockets, and agree that the prospect of a warm place to rest and a nourishing hot meal was fading as fast as the day’s light.
Just as the darkness was complete, the rain stopped, and the rising full moon began to peek through the thinning clouds. One of the holy men noticed a light bobbing between the old growth trees… Salvation! Like moths to the flame, the cold, empty bellied ministers ran towards that light, calling for assistance.
Unfortunately, the flame they perceived was in the hands of the Devil himself. His preternatural senses had picked up on the desperation of the clergymen, and he presumed them to be easy prey. A burning knot of pine and a hooded cloak was all he needed to hide his true identity. They ran to him begging for help, hoping against hope that he could guide them to shelter for the night.
He told them of a granite over hang in a chasm close by, and a pot of baked beans buried in the ground, nearly ready to uncover and eat. The clergymen could hardly believe their change of luck. They eagerly followed as he led them down a treacherously steep hill to a stream that gurgled through a flat, rocky wood. The going was tough but the miserable clergy men kept faith, envisioning the comfort of a warm meal, they gladly endured every stumble over the wet, mossy rocks.
The group followed the sleepy brook until suddenly, it roared through a rock crevice, pitching itself over the edge of an unexpected cliff. It was a precarious place for a meal, but air was warmer, strangely so… one minister commented that it was though the ground radiated heat. Blinded by relief and gratitude, the clergy did not notice that the disguised Devil had not bothered burning wood for embers. They had no clue that heat cooking the beans in his pot was summoned up straight from hell. Lulled by the hypnotic heat, they did not notice things were starting to go drastically wrong. The granite around the cooking pit glowed with heat, the rock softening like chocolate. Even when the pot of beans exploded, the only concern of the blissfully unaware clergy was the loss of a hot meal. It wasn’t until Devil stepped back to catch his balance and shield his face from the weaponized beans wizzing through the air. His foot became mired in what was now molten rock, hot enough to cause even Ol’ Scratch tortuous pain. It is said that his frustration caused him to grow in size, and reveal his familiar red skin. An unearthly howl let loose from his expanding
throat, and it was followed by a string of loathsome oaths which filled the gorge and echoed up the hills on either side of the brook. The clergy, finally realizing that their perceived savior was much more than he had lead them to believe, turned tail and scrambled back up the hill towards civilization. Some say that they didn’t stop running until they had passed Amherst and were half way to Hollis.
And the Devil? Once he freed his foot, he left, too, taking with him every last bit of heat from that stone, which remains cold to the touch even at midday in August. Now the only evidence of the episode is that deep pit that once cooked the vile beans, and the giant print left by the Devil’s foot.
To this day, local teenagers dare each other to venture to the falls on cold October nights, particularly when the moon is full. There they listen for the echos of the Devil’s howl in the basin below the falls, along with bits of his oath’s crackling in the gallons of water ricocheting through Purgatory’s chute. And when it is particularly calm, some claim to have caught the distinct whiff of beans and… brimstone!
***HAPPY HALLOWEEN***
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~In Other News~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Our MEETING this month is scheduled for Tuesday, October 5th, and will be located on the first floor of the Town Hall. Folks tend to arrive a bit early, but we get down to business promptly at 7:00. It sure would be great to see you there! Hope you can make it!
BONUS: I will be sending out a Zoom Meeting link to everyone on my emailing list, feel free to join that way. If you are not on my list, but wish to receive the link, Contact me by clicking here. Thanks so much!
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Our MUSEUM will be open on October 16 from 1:00 to 4:00. There is always something interesting to see and learn about in our beautifully curated museum which is located on the second floor of the Town’s Hall.
At 2:00, the museum will host the First Annual retelling of The Devil’s Beanpot and Footprint. Mark your calendars for this event as you prepare for your Halloween festivities, and stop by for some of Mont Vernon’s spookiest oral history… and a few other surprises!!
Mont Vernon Historical Society News Letter 
Thanks for this spooky,intriguing story!
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