From the Oct. 25, 1963 edition of the Vineyard Gazette by Joseph Chase Allen:

High stone walls, some lengths standing taller than a very tall man’s shoulder, enclose the ancient meadow. It is a long, and relatively narrow enclosure, probably running to ten acres or even more but no one could even guess at its extent today with brush-clumps and even trees, dotting what was once called “plough-land.” A gentle roll, like a low ocean swell, once rippled the smoothly-mowed area, but nothing of this can now be seen.

There is not, as a rule, any trace of standing water, nor does it appear that water ever has stood there, yet this was the site of the spring that breathed, a phenomenon that astonished the early dwellers of this area and eventually filled them with an overwhelming sense of dread and foreboding.

A little of the history of this area might be in order. For in the story of the breathing spring, there is included something of the once intimate relationship between Marks’ Valley on the Middle Road and Kephigan Valley on the North Road.

Few people realize the rather peculiar family history that goes along with this area of high hills, low valleys and running brooks. Of boiling springs and swamps, brilliant with colored leaves of maple and birch in autumn and heavily perfumed with the scent of wild flowers in summer. Yet the span of years which lies between the original settling of this tract and today, is brief indeed, as history is reckoned.

Farm houses dotted it, some situated on the slopes of hills, some on the occasional level spots, or by the banks of brooks. Stone walls crossed and re-crossed the literal miles of land which these people held, and a dozen wagon roads extended to the several miles of beach where they went for the seaweed and kelp to fertilize their cornfields.

And then, when death had removed certain family members, and other title-holders came into the picture, the holdings of the original family were split, with strangers occupying the land and houses that lay between such divisions.

When still another owner took possession of the places, and enjoyed prosperity for a time, only to have the plague descend when he divided his land and shared it with his son, there was real concern shown. Some farmers of the locality declared that the suffering livestock appeared to be running short of water. This, the owner said, could not be true and he referred to his boiling spring in the meadow.

How long this sort of thing continued no one actually knows. Certainly three, possibly four, owners of the property experienced this misfortune. In all cases the lack of water was suggested, and proven to the satisfaction of all to be unfounded. Men of the neighborhood shook their heads, and declared that there was a curse on the place. They told strange tales that had been handed down through the generations of wickedness of previous owners, or possible crime, and they said that the place was haunted, cursed, bewitched and many other things.

Sixty years or more ago there arrived on the scene yet another newcomer who was not to be disturbed by old tales of curses or witchcraft. He took the lead in planning the operation of the place, and among the things he did was to pasture cattle in the same old fields that had been used for this purpose a century and more before. For a time all was well, and then yet again, the cattle became thin all at once, with sunken eyes and obvious weakness.

As it had been with others, this new owner thought at once of a shortage of water, but having visited the spring he was reassured. Yet, when it occurred for the second time, he went further with his research and this was when it was discovered that the spring breathed.

For a daily inspection revealed that the spring, which overflowed at one time, would shrink, and diminish as time passed until nothing remained save a patch of damp mud. And then, just as the animals became frantic for the want of water, it would begin to fill once more and would overflow again. No livestock could exist under such conditions and the newcomer took immediate steps to see that no further water shortage occurred.

Far fewer people lived in the area than had occupied it in other years but those who remained renewed their telling of the ancient tales of curses and witchcraft, which, they contended, were borne out by this most singular phenomenon. Obviously, they reasoned, something, unknown, but truly powerful, objected to a division of the ancient farm. Left undivided, all appeared to be well, as indeed it was, but once divided, and particularly if the spring was depended upon, disaster followed.

Which is the reason why, if anyone should care to examine land titles, it will be found that a certain small tract of land has changed hands again and again for no obvious reason.

As for the spring, if it is a spring, it still “breathes.”

Compiled by Hilary Wallcox
library@vineyardgazette.com