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at^M1iALO<3Y COLUI^crnoM
ALLEN COUNTY PUBLIC LIBRARY
3 1833 01152 1587
THE GRAFTON HISTORICAL SERIES
Edited by HENRY R. STILES, A.M., M.D
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Edited by Henry R. StUes, A.M., M.D.
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In Press
The Diary of Reverend Enos Hitchcock
A Chaplain in The Revolution
Historic Graveyards of Maryland and
their Inscriptions
By Helen W. Ridgely
THE GRAFTON PRESS
70 Fifth Avenue C Beacon Street
New York Boston
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IN OLDE NEW YORK" ^
SKETCHES OF OLD TIMES AND PLACES IN
BOTH THE STATE AND THE CITY
BY
CHARLES BURR TODD
Author of ''In Olde Connecticut," "In Olde Massachusetts,"
The Story of the City of New York," "The ^"^'*'
True Aaron Burr," etc.
THE GRAFTON PRESS
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
Copyright, 1907
By the GRAFTON PRESS
J 241079
FOREWORD
rriHIS book is dedicated to the citizens of New
â– ^ York who love her history and traditions.
Many of its stories were written twenty years ago
and are repeated now with very Httle change simply
because they described types and conditions (espe-
cially in the great city) that no longer exist. The
generation that read them in 1885 in the Evening Post
or Lippincotfs Magazine will re-peruse them as one
reads the faces of old friends long forgotten. To
the generation which has come on the stage since
they were written they will have the novelty and in-
terest of original tales. My publishers and some of
my critics have suggested that I adapt them to
changed conditions. I let them stand as written.
C. B. T.
October, 1907.
PAGE
I
The Old City Dock . . • .
1
II
The French Admiral Pierre de
Landais .....
17
III
Two Marble Cemeteries .
28
IV
Some Old Time Figures
36
V
New York City in 1827
45
VI
Some Old Booksellers .
54
VII
A New York Curiosity Shop
72
VIII
The Old Jumel Mansion .
77
IX
Two American Shrines .
86
X
The Story of the Palatines
91
XI
A Decayed Stronghold
118
XII
The Oriskany Monument .
123
XIII
Johnson Hall
129
XIV
Thomas Paine's Last Home
140
XV
The American Barbison
149
XVI
Easthampton Churchyard .
167
XVII
The Wreck of the John Miltoj
f 177
s^VIII
King Pharaoh's Widow
. 184
XIX
An Island Manor
. 190
XX
The Whalemen of Sag Harbor
. 197
XXI
Tales of Southampton
. 206
iii Contents
PAGE
XXII The Shinnecocks . . .216
XXIII Port Jefferson and the Whaleboat
Privateersmen .... 225
XXIV Harvard's First Graduate . . 232
XXV Fire Island 236
ILLUSTRATIONS
The Clipper Ship Dreadnought Frontispiece
FACING PAGE
The Old City Dock 4
St. Patrick's Cemetery 18
The New York Marble Cemetery 30
The New York City Marble Cemetery 34
Broadway from City Hall Park 52
The Jumel Mansion in 1854 78
The Richmond Hill Mansion 80
Ruins of Fort Ticonderoga 118
The Oriskany Monument 124
The Johnson House 130
The Thomas Paine Memorial 142
Main Street, Easthampton 150
The Gardiner Mansion, Gardiner's Island 190
The Surf Hotel, Fire Island 236
IN OLDE NEW YORK
IN OLDE NEW YORK
CHAPTER I
THE OLD CITY DOCK*
\ N old time friend of mine, a gentleman of leisure,
'*^*- whenever an attack of ennui threatens, flees
to the city docks, where he finds in their bustle and
infinite variety an unfailing specific. He stops to
inspect whole fleets of canal boats snugly housed
during winter from the terrors of the "raging canawl,"
is thrilled at sight of an ocean steamer just in from
a perilous voyage, storm-battered, with torn sails, and
decks and rigging sheathed with ice. The great rail-
way docks hold him a long time. On the Southern
steamship wharves he draws odorous breaths of resin
and tar, trails his cane through little puddles of molasses,
and gets his hair full of cotton lint, whereat the steve-
dores grin. The dock where the trim little fruit
schooners from the West Indies unload is a favorite
haunt and so are the piers along South Street, below
Roosevelt, where the few battered veterans of the Cali-
fornia and Canton trade still discharge their cargoes.
When his circuit is completed he has studied every
» Written in 1883.
2 In Olde New York
nationality, learaed the cut of every civilized jib,
heard the music of every tongue, and inspected the
products of the known earth.
The region between the present Coenties Slip and
Whitehall Street my friend finds most prolific of fan-
cies. It is the site of the old city dock, the first built
on Manhattan. This dock was the corner-stone of
the commerce of our metropolis, the progenitor of our
thirty miles or more of wharves. That famous mo-
nopoly, the West India Company, built it, and its
quaint, round-bottomed, high-pooped Dutch sliips were
the first vessels here. They gathered the grain, pelts,
lumber, potash, and medicinal herbs that then formed
New Netherland's exports, or landed the hardware,
groceries, household goods, brick, "cow calves" and
"ewe milk sheep," and other pecuHar Dutch imports.
As late as 1702 this dock formed almost the sole wharf-
age of the city, and seventy-four vessels, pinks, galleys,
snows, a few brigs and ships, were moored to it during
the year, two thirds of them from the West Indies and
Southern provinces. The town then contained 5250
inhabitants, living in 750 dwellings, so that the wharf
was ample for its needs. As much of the interest and
romance of the old dock gathers about this period
from 1090 to 1700, I may indicate its primitiveness
by the fact that the city streets were first lighted in
1697, by hanging a lantern on a pole before every
seventh house "in the dark time of the moon," and
The Old City Dock 3
that the city poHce force consisted of four honest
citizens whose office was to walk the streets at night
sounding a bell and proclaiming the hour and state of
the weather.
Along the rude dock at that time we should have
seen, here a galley from Fayal, there a " pink" from
Barbadoes, in its neighbor a "snow" from Boston or
the Virginias, with possibly a full-rigged bark or ship
from London unloading cargo, for England was as
determined then as later that her American colonies
should receive their European products through her
own bottoms and warehouses. It is likely, too, that
a trim, buoyant vessel, painted black, with long taper-
ing masts and spars, would be lying at the wharf —
a slave trader lately in from the coast of Guinea, and
about to sail for a new cargo. As soon as the stout
burghers of Manhattan acquired a little wealth in
stock and lands they felt the need of servants, and
despatched ships to the coast of Africa after them.
Strange adventures and many dangers attended these
early traders; if they escaped the pirates which then
swarmed in all frequented seas, they ran into some httle
port along the Angola coast, bargained with the petty
king of the place for a contingent, and so creeping
along the shore made up their cargo from a score of
villages, provided, however, that some piratical craft
did not follow them into harbor and capture craft,
cargo and all. For these were the days of such free-
4 In Olde New York
booting in the colonies as seems incredible to modem
ears.
In our character of dreamer we shall see a dim,
shadowy vessel far out in the offing that does not come
boldly up to the wharf hke an honest craft, but tacks
and fills as if waiting an assurance that the coast is
clear before venturing in. While we are speculating
about her a long boat appears coming from her direc-
tion, in whose bow stands a stout, swarthy, bearded
man, his sinister face tanned by Indian suns, a fine,
beautifully wrought gold chain from Arabian work-
shops about his neck, rings set with gems on his fingers,
and under his coat a netted belt through whose meshes
we catch the gleam of gold. Once ashore he makes
his way to the Governor's mansion, whence he presently
returns smiling and rubbing his hands gleefully, and
then hurries away to the ship. Next morning we
gather with the crowd to see the latter berthed, and
when this is done and the hatches removed, bale after
bale of costly merchandise is hauled up and carried
away. One might fancy himself for the nonce trans-
ported to the Orient. Tea and cassia, rich silks of
China, woven fabrics of Cashmere, Indian sandal
wood, perfumes, and gems, spices and gums of Ceylon.
African gold and ivory, with half the products of
European workshops, the vessel pours out, until half-
a-million dollars in value has passed from her hold.
There is no doubt as to the character of the craft: she
'0-
1 ;;'
o J
The Old City Dock 5
belonged to that powerful guild of pirates which at
this period, under the corrupt Governor Fletcher, had
become one of the wealthiest interests of the city.
These colonial pirates at this distance of time seem
the ideal freebooters. As a rule they were the most
enterprising shipmasters of their day, who were drawn
from the merchant service into privateering during
the French and Spanish wars, and on the return of
peace, impatient of restraint, became privateers on
general principles and turned their guns on vessels
of every flag. The whole waste of waters was their
cruising ground, but their special field was the Indian
Ocean. With characteristic ingenuity they reduced
the business to a system. The home merchants, who
in many cases had fitted them out and had a share in
the profits, established lines of swift vessels to Mada-
gascar, the rendezvous of the pirates, which carried
out such supplies as they might need and brought
back the booty to be disposed of as lawful merchandise,
the pirates themselves returning home only at intervals.
What seductive pictures must have been painted for
the adventurous youth of Gotham in 1690-6 when
the pirate captains were beating up the town for re-
cruits! Fighting and bloodshed were not mentioned;
the prizes were unarmed and would yield to a show
of strength. And in sober truth these calculations
were correct. East India piracy was not a bloody trade ;
captured crews and passengers were in most cases well
6 In Olde New York
treated and put ashore at the nearest point. At the
trial of Captain Kidd liis prosecutors could not fix a
single murder upon him, except that of a mutinous
member of liis crew. With such inducements scores
of vessels fitted out from the colonial ports, chiefly
from New York and Rhode Island. Had they been
content with plundering the Dutch and native traders,
they might have continued to flourish for years; but
when, grown bolder, they began taking the rich bottoms
of the East India Company, that powerful corporation
began taking steps to suppress them.
The era of the CaHfornia and Canton clipper ships
was one of which America may justly be proud, and,
singularly enough, the trade wliich they created cen-
tered in the neighborhood, if not on the site, of the old
city dock.
They had their origin in the advantages wliich our
shrewd merchants of 1845 saw lay in quick passages
to the East, but they were brought to perfection by
the California gold mining excitement of '49 and suc-
ceeding years. During their existence, they gave us
the supremacy of the seas, excited the keenest rivalry
between American and English ship-builders, and be-
came the theme of international comment. Yet one
looks in vain for any account of them in the published
histories of the city, while the opening of the Pacific
Railway and the development of steam navigation
so revolutionized the machinery of commerce that
The Old City Dock 7
merchants of to-day have almost forgotten their ex-
istence. The two hnes of clippers were of nearly
simultaneous origin, the one in part the complement
of the other.
In the winter of 1848-9 New York wore an air of
suppressed excitement: in counting-room and office,
tavern and exchange, there was one common topic of
conversation — gold ; until, at length, the spell of it
fell on half the energetic men of the city. The spring
before, a workman clearing out a mill-race on a branch
of the Sacramento had found particles of gold. The
discovery leaked out despite the efforts made to keep
it secret; it floated over the mountains, came around
the Horn, and brought unrest and disquiet not only
to the Atlantic seaboard cities, but to the old world
centers of capital and population as well. Many yet
remember the scenes of bustle and excitement pro-
duced by the news. Ordinary methods of money-
making seemed slow or superannuated compared with
the picking up of gold nuggets in the river beds. The
newspapers fanned the flame by pubhshing interviews
with returned Californians, and every scrap of news
concerning the diggings that could be gathered. The
Herald published California specials, and tales of
twenty-five and twenty-eight pound nuggets picked
up by lucky miners. Associations were at once formed
for proceeding to the gold regions. Clothing men
turned their attention to providing mining outfits;
8 In Olde New York
patent medicine men evolved specifics against chills,
fevers, rheumatisms, and other diseases incident to
a new country; publishers advertised "choice reading,
suitable for voyagers to the Pacific," and inventors
placed in the field a bewildering and ludicrous array
of contrivances for camping and gold-washing. Patent
mess hampers, folding tables, and dressing cases,
gold detecting scales, portable India rubber beds that
could quickly be inflated for use, and houses of the
same material that could be put up or taken down in
a few hours, figure in the advertisements of the day.
"I first heard the news, I tliink, in February, 1849,"
said an old pioneer, " from the wife of Clerk Gallagher,
of Washington Market. She had a babe barely a
month old, and was in a pretty condition at her hus-
band's leaving her and going to the mines. As we
were talking Gallagher came in, and I remarked that
I felt like laying my stick across his back for his cruelty
in leaving wife and baby. 'Ah,' said he, 'wait till you
hear it all,' and he sat down and told me such tales
of the mines that when he had finished I was ready
to leave my desk and family and set out for the diggings.
There was witchcraft in it, you see."
The first pioneers went around Cape Horn, usually
chartering their vessel and furnishing their own out-
fits. The later and more favorite route was across
Mexico, and later still over the Isthmus. The first to
lead a party over the Mexican route was Col. J. C.
The Old City Dock 9
Battersby, of New York City, favorably known during
the war as commander of the First New York Lincoln
Cavalry, and for his war sketches in Harper's Weekly.
The Colonel's reminiscences of the event are enter-
taining. "It was in March, 1849," he says, "that I
hired a room at No. 2 Dey Street and advertised to
lead a company of men across Mexico to California
in sixty days at $250 each. It was the first time, to
my knowledge, that the idea had been broached.
The usual method for gold-diggers then was to form
an association of perhaps fifty or a hundred members,
charter a vessel, procure outfits, and sail around the
Cape, a voyage of five or sLx months. As showing
that there were those incredulous as to the richness
of the new Eldorado, I may mention that soon after
my advertisement appeared, the owner of the building
came to me and said he would have no more men roped
in there and their money taken away. 'You tell
them,' said he, 'there's gold in California, and I don't
believe there's that gold in California,' indicating a
section of his thumb nail as large as a pea. 'Very
well,' said I, and secured rooms of Richard French,
on or near the spot where the Belmont Hotel now
stands.
" The plan was so novel, however, and untried,
that few presented themselves. I secured but one.
Dr. N. S. Murphy, an Irish physician of character
and attainments. I had chartered the bark Eugenia,
10 In Okie New York
owned by Peter Argus & Co., and, after holding her
three weeks for the desired number, put my horse, my
Newfoundland dog, Rubens, and my outfit on board,
and embarked with the doctor for Vera Cruz where
we arrived in tliirty-one days. From that port we took
the National Road to the City of Mexico twelve days,
thence by easy stages through the valley of Guarrnica,
later Maximilian's summer retreat, to Acapulco.
Here the doctor was taken ill with burning fever and
lay forty days in the Governor's palace, where we were
hospitably entertained. Just as he was well enough
to travel, the British steamer Unicorn came into port
eight months from New York with 600 passengers on
board bound for San Francisco. Cabins, decks, fore-
castle, ever}i;hing was full, except the upper compart-
ment of a large coop on the main deck wliich had been
used for the storage of fowls: this we secured for $100
each, and in tliis queer cabin made the voyage to San
Francisco."
The vast influx of gold-seekers into California
naturally induced a demand for all sorts of goods, and
to supply these artd at the same time furnish quick
passenger service, the merchants of New York and
Boston provided the clipper lines. J. & N. Briggs,
40 South Street; E. B. Sutton, 119 Wall; James Smith,
116 Wall; E. Richards & Co., 52 South; Thomas
Wardle, 88 South; E. W. Kimball & Co., 84 Wall;
C. II. & W. Pierson, 61 South; and N. L. McCready
The Old City Dock 11
& Co., 36 South, figure in the advertisements of the
day as the principal ship owners in the CaHfornia
trade, all of them, it will be noticed, in the vicinity of
the old city dock. This section of the water front
never had seen, and never will see again, such scenes
of bustle and animation as then enlivened it. Truck
after truck loaded with lumber, groceries, provisions,
clothing, mining implements, and miners' outfits
crowded it from morning till night. Groups of pioneers
roughly clad in suits of tough, ill-smelling, English
cloth, with pockets covering all available space, wives
and children bidding them tearful farewells, the de-
parture of half-a-dozen vessels a day, were the scenes
there presented.
The trade with California was a very unsatisfactory
one for the merchants engaged, owing to the fluctuating
character of the market. Many fortunes were lost
as well as made in the business, and many cargoes
shipped that did not pay the charges, the ship owners
being often obliged to sue for their freight money.
An instance of tliis uncertainty was narrated by Colonel
Battersby. On arriving at San Francisco he had
written a letter to a friend in New York, casliier of
the Chemical Bank, in which he mentioned casually
the abundance and cheapness of provisions in the city.
As the cashier was reading it a gentleman came in to
draw out $50,000, remarking as he did so that he was
about sending a cargo of provisions to California, as
12 In Olde New York
they were all starving out there. On hearing the
Colonel's letter, however, he decided to relinquish the
venture. Perhaps it was this uncertainty of a market,
perhaps the competition of the steamers, that led the
more enterprising merchants to make San Francisco
only a port of call, and to send their clipper ships over
the Pacific to the rich ports of China and India; at
least about this time originated the Canton tea trade
as a distinctive business of the port.
Of course, there had been trade with Cliina before,
but the California clippers were not in it. Salem,
fifty years earlier, had boldly announced herself a
competitor with Europe for the trade of the Orient,
and had demonstrated the superiority of small, swift
vessels in the transportation of teas and rich cargoes.
Boston and New York now began to put in commission
those magnificent clippers that for speed and seafaring
qualities have never been equaled, and which, but
for the development of the steam marine, would cer-
tainly have wrested from England her boasted suprem-
acy of the seas. Most of the shrewd, far-seeing
merchants and skilled sea captains who carried on this
enterprise have done with ledger and log-book, and
sleep in Greenwood or in the coral depths. A single
firm the writer succeeded in finding in Burling Slip,
and was kindly allowed to mouse among its scrap-
books and records at will.
The great object aimed at in these clippers was
The Old City Dock 13
speed, and their owners had the Enghsh as well as the
American market in mind in their construction. If
the English merchant could secure his cargo of tea
or silks from Canton in an American bottom a month
earlier than in an Enghsh one, they argued, interest
would prompt him to charter the quicker craft. It
was found, too, the longer a cargo of tea was on the
water the more it deteriorated. "Speed" was there-
fore the order given the American ship-builder. The
more famous clipper ship-yards were those of W. H.
Webb and Jacob Westervelt in Brooklyn, Charles
Mallory and Greenwood & Sons, Mystic, Ct., and
Donald McKay, East Boston. The chppers were
sharp, comparatively narrow for their length, and
models of trimness and grace. Some were of large
tonnage, the Eternal for instance registered 1800 tons,
the Staghound 1534, the Sovereign of the Seas, built
by Donald McKay, 2421. Later the Young America,
of New York, was turned out, registering eighty tons
more, whereupon Mr. McKay expressed his deter-
mination to build a ship of 3500 tons to carry 4000
tons of merchandise to California. As a rule, how-
ever, the true Canton clippers were vessels of from
500 to 1000 tons burden. Some of the quick passages
they made approached the incredible, and exceeded
the quickest steamer time of the day. In 1852 there
were in commission the clipper ships Surprise, Celestial^
Sea Witch, Samuel Russell, Staghound, George E.
14 In Olde New York
Webster, and barks Race Horse and Mcmnon, all of
which had made the passage from New York to San
Francisco in from ninety to one hundred and twenty
days, the average steamer time being one hundred
and fifty. The clipper sliip Northern Light once sailed
from San Francisco to Boston in seventy-six days,
five hours; and in a trial of speed with the Contest
in 1853 made the passage to New York in seventy-
three days. The log-book of the ship Samuel Russell,
one of New York's finest vessels, in a voyage from
Cliina home, showed a total of 6722 miles run in thirty
days, the greatest distance in one day being 318, or
13^ miles per hour. The same ship sailed from
Whampoa, Cliina, February 5, 1848, passed Anglers
on the 15th, Cape of Good Hope March 18, the equator
April 6, and took the New York pilot April 27.
One gets no idea of the esprit and dash of the clippers,
however, unless he stumbles on some idle tar of the
many on South Street, who formerly served in the
fleet. Mentiqn a Canton clipper to such a one, and
his eyes glisten, and liis tongue wags fast. "There
was nothin' like 'em for prettiness," he observes, "and
the way they jist did flog all other craft out of the
water. I remember once we was at Hong Konfj in
the Saml Russell, and as there was a Britisher leaving
for New York, we sent home letters by him. 'Bout
a month later the Rtissell cleared on the same tack,
an' she did drive on that voyage like a race horse.
The Old City Dock 15
Sail after sail she overhauled and left behind : roundin
the Cape, I remember, the Jack Tars started the
sayin' that 'the old man couldn't hold his horses in.'
But flyin' up the coast of Brazil what did we do but
skip by that Britisher that had our letters on board
and make port a week ahead of him, delivering 'em
by word of mouth. Another voyage I was on that
racer, the Flyiri Cloud, comin' home from Hong
Kong. I tell you 'twas as bracin' as a glass of grog
to stand on her top hamper and feel her pull, comin'
down the trades. Once in a while a brother Yankee
would give us a tug before we could shake him off,
but as for anytliin' foreign, English, Dutch, or French,
we handled 'em as though they was babies. There
was one thing the ship did on that v'yage that I've alius
blamed her owners or nearest relations fer not spin 'in'
a yarn on. One day we took a pretty smart breeze
on the starboard quarter, and held it tolerably steady
for the space of ten days, in which time, sir, we made
upwards of forty-five degrees, hard on to 3200 miles,
328 miles one day, as the log will show. Ther's
another thing; bein' so long and narrer, you'd expect
the clippers would ship some water, but all that v'yage,
I didn't see a gallon o' water on the ship's deck, not
enough to wash her down with."
American ships continued to rule the wave, until
superseded by the more reliable steamers. But what
a turn in fortune's wheel! In 1853 American ships
16 In Olde New York
securing cargoes in English home ports amid the
fiercest competition; in 1883 almost every pound of
America's exports afloat in British bottoms, and
scarcely an American vessel in commission in the foreign
trade!
CHAPTER II
THE FRENCH ADMIRAL PIERRE DE LANDAIS
TN 1880, St. Patrick's churchyard was one of the
■*• few in the densely populated portion of the city
remaining intact, and had long been closed to in-
terments except by special permit of the Board of
Health.
A blank brick wall hid it from the three streets
Mulberry, Mott, and Prince that bounded it: the old
Cathedral of St. Patrick overshadowed it, while the
office of the Calvary Cemetery Association formed
part of the northern boundary.
If one hunted up the old sexton and was admitted
he found little turf within, Httle shade, a litter of
twigs and leaves on the ground, some of the tomb-
stones shattered, and others overthrown or leaning far
out of the perpendicular; while the voices of the few
birds that harbored there were drowned by the dis-
cordant noises of a squalid neighborhood.
In this ground a tombstone was long ago erected
with this inscription:
18 In Olde New York
A La Memoire
de
Pierre de Landais,
Ancien Centre Admiral
au service
Des Etats Unis.
Qui disparut
June, 1818,
ae 87 ans.
For forty years prior to the above date Pierre Lan-
dais had been one of the noted characters of the city.
He claimed the rank of "Admiral," and those who
would retain his favor were obliged to observe a punc-
tilious regard for the title. His short, stout figure clad
in a faded Continental uniform — cocked hat, small
sword, knee breeches, and all — seated in the shade
of Printing-House Square or pacing slowly down
Broadway to the Bowling Green — his favorite prome-
nade — was a familiar object to the New Yorkers of
one hundred years ago. In the coffee-houses and
inns, equal sharers of his attentions, he never failed
of a circle of admirers to whom he recounted stirring
talcs of sea fights in which he had been an actor, and
generally concluded with an account of his capture of
the Scrapis and Countess of Scarborough, and a hearty
denunciation of the man who had stolen the laurels of
that conflict from him. His persistency as a claimant
0) ^
g IT.
ill
0/^
-o5
°o2
a; c3
The French Admiral Pierre de Landais 19
before Congress alone made liim noteworthy. He
had claims for arrears of pay and for prize money,
and urged them for forty years until he became the
Nestor of American claimants. Every year, at the
sitting of Congress, he hurried to Washington in the
lumbering old coaches that then connected the cities,
and haunted the lobbies and galleries of the Capitol
like an unquiet spirit, deluging Congress with petitions
and memorials, watching its proceedings with feverish
interest, and button-holing members at every oppor-
tunity in the interest of his claims. In the journals
of Congress no name appears more frequently among
the petitioners and memorialists than his; but although
his petitions were personally urged, and often accom-
panied by letters offering cogent reasons why his claims
should be allowed, they were never granted, and the
old man, year by year, returned to his lodgings at
the close of the session as empty as he went, to renew
the conflict with poverty, and live in the hope of
better fortune another year.
His history has the elements of a romance. One
cannot but feel, too, on reviewing his career, that there
may have been a grain of injustice in the treatment he
received from his adopted country. He was born a
Count of France, and early rose to the command of a
French hne-of-battle ship, but relinquished all in
1777 to join his fortunes with those of the young re-
public across the sea, then engaged in her gallant
20 In Olde New York
stand for liberty. Baron Steuben recommended him,
and Silas Deane, then American Commissioner to
France, gave liim the command of the ship Heureux,
rechristened the Flammand, recently purchased to
convey military stores to America. His commission,
dated March 1, 1777, was accompanied by this interest-
ing letter from the worthy Commissioner: "I give you
a commission to use in case of necessity or advantage
in making a prize, but you are not to go out of your
course for that purpose. You will keep an account
of your expenses, which will be paid you on your
arrival in America. I shall write to the Congress by
other conveyances, and assure them that you have
received nothing but your expenses, and your generous
confidence in them will not pass unnoticed." So good
an authority as the Marine Committee of Congress
testified to the skill and address with wliich Landais
executed tliis commission, in eluding the British
cruisers sent to intercept him, and bringing the Flam-
mand safely into port. Congress also showed its
appreciation of him by commissioning him a captain
in the navy, and ordered 12,000 livres to be paid liim
"as a pecuniary consideration equal to his services."
The Marine Committee also gave liim the oversight
of the sliips-of-war then building at Portsmouth and
Salisbury for the newly-created navy, in their report
to Congress styling him "an excellent sea officer, and
skilled in the construction of ships-of-war." The next
The French Admiral Pierre de Landais 21
summer he enjoyed a still more signal mark of its
favor. On the 29th of May, 1778, the Alliance, a fine
and uncommonly fast frigate of thirty-six guns, was
launched at Salisbury, Mass., where she had been long
building. She went into commission June 19, and for
her maiden voyage was ordered to transport the Mar-
quis de Lafayette and suite to France. Her com-
mander, duly commissioned by Congress, was the
Admiral Pierre Landais. The memorable voyage of
the Alliance, the motley character of her crew — a
part of whom were EngHsh seamen from a vessel
wrecked on the Massachusetts coast — how these
mutinied as the vessel neared the British coast, and
how the mutiny was promptly quelled by Landais,
and the vessel safely brought into Brest, is told in
history.
In France Landais met his evil genius in the person
of the famous Admiral John Paul Jones. Landais
had his faults, being haughty, imperious, punctihous,
quarrelsome, and a martinet. Jones was all this and
more, and the two were at enmity from the moment
of meeting. They met first in August, 1779, at Brest,
where a little squadron composed of four French
vessels and the Alliance had rendezvoused in order to
make a swoop on the Baltic fleet then about due in
England. Jones, in command of the Bon Homme
Richard, was the senior officer, and there was trouble
before the fleet sailed as to who should command it,
22 In Olde New York
but the matter was amicably settled at last by each
of the five commanders signing an agreement to act
in concert under the commissions received from Con-
gress. The squadron got under way August 14, and
on the 23d of September met the Baltic fleet, con-
voyed by the Serapis and Countess of Scarborough.
The details of the engagement that followed are so
familiar that I need not repeat them. The charges
so frequently made against Captain Landais by Jones
in liis report of the affair to Frankhn, and corroborated
by the statements of other officers of the fleet, merit
attention. It was charged that the Alliance held aloof
at the opening of the engagement, and that when she
came to the aid of the Bon Homme Richard, then
engaged with the Serapis, she poured her broadsides
into the former, and repeated the maneuver again
and again, never once striking the Serapis except
over or through the decks of the Richard. The report
did more than this — it distinctly charged the com-
mander of the Alliance, first with cowardice and then
with treachery — that he designed to sink the Richard
in order to win for himself the glory of capturing the
Serapis. These charges were generally accepted as
true by the American public of that day, and have
passed into history as truth. This paper makes no
attempt to disprove them. It is but due to Captain
Landais to say, however, that he met them with an
indignant denial, and that he at once demanded a
The French Admiral Pierre de Landais 23
trial, where he might be confronted with his accusers,
which demand was not granted.
He showed himself to be no craven, however, by
calling out one of liis defamers — Captain Cottineau,
of the Pallas — and running him through with his
smallsword. This exploit he followed up by chal-
lenging the commander of the Bon Homme Richard.
No meeting, however, took place. Franklin, obliged
to notice the charges, ordered Landais to Paris to
answer them; but although the latter promptly pre-
sented himself at the capital, and used every effort to
that effect, he failed to secure a trial.
Finding his efforts there fruitless, Landais, early in
1780, applied to Franklin for leave to go to America
to answer the charges preferred against liim there.
FrankUn, no doubt glad to have the affair off his hands,
consented, and ordered his expenses paid. A few
weeks later, March 17, Landais wrote again to Frank-
lin asking to be reinstated in command of the Alliance,
which had by this time come into French waters and
was lying at L'Orient, and which, it was rumored,
was soon to sail with stores for America. A testi-
monial from fourteen officers of the Alliance, declar-
ing Captain Landais to be a brave and capable com-
mander, and a letter from the crew, saving that unless
their prize-money was paid and their former captain
restored to them they would not sail in the Alliance,
accompanied the letter. Franklin deemed the send-
24 In Olde New York
ing of this letter an act of unparalleled effrontery,
and in his reply frankly told its author so. At this
juncture Arthur Lee, agent of the United States at
Paris, came to the aid of our hero with an opinion
that by the terms of liis old commission from Congress,
wliich had never been revoked, he was still lawful
commander of the Alliance, and indeed responsible
for her until relieved by Congress; and, with this con-
venient instrument in his pocket, Landais lost no time
in getting to L 'Orient and regaining liis old command.
Then the Alliance hastily completed taking in cargo
and put to sea. Arrived in Boston her captain found
the Court of Inquiry he had demanded awaiting him.
Its verdict, based solely, as its victim affirmed, on the
testimony of his enemies, was guilty of the charges
preferred by Jones, and its sentence a summary dis-
missal from the service. Degraded in rank and stained
in reputation, the Admiral returned to France and
took service under the Republic. He was at once
given command of the seventy-four-gun frigate Patriot,
and did efficient service in the war which the young
General Bonaparte was then waging in Italy. In
1797 he quitted the French service and returned to
New York, which continued to be his residence until
his death in 1820. These years were spent solely
in pressing his claims upon the attention of Con-
gress.
These claims were for arrears of pay wliile in actual
The French Admiral Pierre de Landais 25
service in the Navy, and for arrears of prize money.
The Alliance, while under his command, had taken
three prizes, valued in the aggregate at $40,000, which
she sent into Bergen, Norway, but which the authori-
ties there, overawed by British power, delivered to
their former owners. The commander's share of this
money Landais later made the basis of a heavy claim
against the Government, with what success has been
stated. His pugnaciousness even in old age seems
not to have deserted him. On one occasion while in
Washington, it is said, hearing that a Congressman
had spoken slightingly of him in debate, he mounted
his smallsword and proceeded to the gallery of the
House, where he despatched a page to the offending
member with an invitation to meet him on the field
of honor. Toward Admiral John Paul Jones, whom
he regarded as the author of his misfortunes, he en-
tertained the deepest antipathy. The story goes —
set in motion by himself — that on one occasion he
met the Chevalier in Water Street and coolly spat in
his face — a story which was denied by Jones and his
friends as often as told. Toward the close of his
career the Count became miserably poor, eking out
an existence by the aid of an annuity purchased years
before by his arrears of prize money.
In a memorial addressed to Congress during this
period, and later published in a pamphlet now ex-
tremely rare, he thus refers to his exploits and to the
26 In Okie New York
straits to which he is reduced. The words are en-
tirely tjT^ical of the man. He says:
"I was born and brought up in affluence; was
admitted into the sea-service of the King of France
in 1762, in wliich service I was wounded in the year
1763, in a glorious sea-battle; circumnavigated the
globe under command of M. de Bougain^^lle in the
years 1766-67-68; had command of a line-of-battle
ship in 1773; brought into Portsmouth, Hampshire,
in 1777, a ship loaded with brass guns, mortars, etc.,
for the United States. Being returned to France in
1791, I had command of the French 74-gun ship
Patriot, and had at different times under my orders
ten squadrons or divisions of the army. The Patriot
was the nearest sliip to the batteries of the city of
Oneglia at the taking of it. With seven ships of the
line I took the Island of Antioch in 1792, which was
guarded by 2500 men."
He then goes on to state that, promoted to the rank
of Rear-Admiral, he had command of the ship
Ocean, of 122 guns, on board of wliich his allowance
for table expenses alone was forty li\Tes per day; that
he had a fortune when he came to this country, all of
which had Ijcen spent in urging his claim; so that for
the last seven years he had been reduced to living on
a dollar a week and " when at home to do the meanest
drudgery of my lodging in order to keep my honor
and integrity unsoiled and to preserve my life."
The French Admiral Pierre de Landais 27
The last few years of his Hfe were spent in Brooklyn,
in a house on Fulton Street. He frequented his
accustomed haunts, however, so long as strength per-
mitted. His eccentricities increased with age. He
evinced much bitterness against Congress and the
Government, and his sense of honor became so nice
that he would not even allow a friend to pay his fer-
riage over the river. In 1818 he ordered a tombstone,
caused to be engraved upon it the inscription given in
the beginning of this paper, and then placed it at the
head of his prospective grave in St. Patrick's Church-
yard. When attacked by his last illness he was carried
at his own request, to Bellevue Hospital, and there
died September 17, 1820. After a long search I suc-
ceeded in finding the record of his death and burial
in the books of the Cemetery Association, as follows:
"Admiral Peter Landais, died in Bellevue Hospital,
Sept. 17, 1820. Funeral expenses $20.62|. Paid."
CHAPTER III
TWO MARBLE CEMETERIES
rriHERE are two Interesting old cemeteries in the
^ neighborhood of Second Avenue and Second
Street, one the New York Marble Cemetery, on Second
Avenue between Second and Third streets, the other
the New York City Marble Cemetery on Second Street,
between Second and First avenues. Although their
names are similiar, they are separate organizations.
Some of their features are peculiar. They are, we
believe, the only cemeteries in the city whose owner-
ship and managements are entirely non-sectarian. They
are the only ones where the old-fashioned custom of
interring the dead in underground vaults has always
been followed. They contain the only receiving vaults
in the city limits open to the general public, and their
tombs hold more dust of "ancient families" than any
plots of equal proportions in the town.
When they were laid out they were in a waste of
pasture field; the city had then barely crept up to
Bleecker Street. Now they are surrounded by piles
of brick and mortar so high that the sun must be well
Two Marble Cemeteries 29
up before its rays touch their flowers and green
sward.
The New York Marble Cemetery occupies nearly all
the inside, or the back yards, of the block and is entered
from Second Avenue through a narrow passageway.
From the iron gate on the avenue one would not
imagine there was a cemetery within, for there are no
monuments at all, and not even slabs to mark the
exact position of the stone-lined vaults which are
sunken beneath the surface. Set into the high wall
surrounding the grounds are tablets bearing the names
of the owners of the vaults, 156 in number. At one
end is a large index tablet with the names in alpha-
betical order, and among them we read the well-known
New York names of Kernochan, Parrish, John Hone,
Scribner, Stokes, Riggs, Harvey, Van Zandt, Griswold
Lorillard, Hoyt, Anthony Dey, Haggerty, and New-
comb. The grounds are laid out with three broad
avenues, perhaps 200 feet long, and with cross-walks
about 85 feet long at either end, and in the far corner
is the receiving vault.
The New York City Marble Cemetery is in plain
view of the passer-by going through Second Street.
Here the vaults are 258 in number and are marked by
stone slabs let into the ground, while there are many
handsome monuments which have been erected by the
vault owners in the memory of their dead. Against
the rear wall, opposite the entrance, is a large receiving
30 In Olde New York
vault, which in its day has held representatives of every
nation and clime, both the noble and ignoble, the great
and wise of the city, as well as the stranger who died
far from home and kin, within its walls. The principal
monuments and slabs bear the names of Gouverneur,
Fish, Allen, Bullus, Holt, Gallatin, Griswold, Gross,
De Klyn, Quackenbos, Kevan, Rowland, and Blood-
good, Anthony, Bancker, Bergh, Bogardus, Booraem,
Hoffman, Kip, Kneeland, Lenox, Low, Morton, Ogden,
Ockershausen, Ridabock, Roosevelt, Saltus, Storm,
Tappin, Tier, Tillotson, Van Alen, Van Antwerp,
Vantine, Webb, Willett, Winans, Wynkoop, and
others.
Much more of history and romance lingers about
the old yard than the careless passer-by, or the curious
student even, at first sight would imagine. In itself
it has little claim to antiquity, having been laid out
barely seventy-six years ago. In its vaults, however,
reposes the dust of the stout old mynheers and burgo-
masters who first settled Manhattan Island. This
apparent contradiction is explained by the fact that
it has been made a receptacle for the contents of church
vaults and family burial-places among the earliest on
the island. It was first purchased in 1831 by Perkins
Nichols and Ebert A. Bancker, who designed it as a
private cemetciy for their own families, and for a
limited number of others who might purchase rights
of interment there. It then formed a part of the
Two Marble Cemeteries 31
Phillip Minthorn farm, and the region round about
was covered with farms and pastures. Bleecker
Street was then on the outskirts of the city. Second
Street and the adjoining avenues had been laid out,
but there were no buildings on them, and a series of
pastures and marshes, tenanted by geese and cattle,
swept to the East River. The purchase comprised
some fifteen city lots, and the sum paid was $8643.
The next year, 1832, it was regularly incorporated as
the New York City Marble Cemetery, the title being
vested in a board of five trustees. The construction
of vaults was at once begun, and 234 were completed
by 1838, at which time the cemetery may be said to
have been finished, although twenty-four vaults were
opened in 1843. Many vaults had been purchased
and many interments made before this, however, one
of the first having been that of the remains of ex-
President Monroe. Soon after the opening of the
ground several down-town churches and many private
families purchased the vaults and removed the remains
of their dead thither. One of the most notable in-
stances of this was that of the Kip family, which pur-
chased vault 241 and removed thither generations of
their dead from the old family buiying-ground at Kip's
Bay. About the same time the old South Dutch
Church, on Garden Street, purchased vaults Nos. 191
and 192, and deposited the remains of the dead in its
vaults which had lain there so long as to be unknown
32 In Olde New York
or unclaimed by kindred. Some 5000 dead, the trustees
estimate, are now enclosed in these vaults.
Old residents of the city, familiar with the cemetery,
tell of many striking scenes and incidents in its history.
Imposing ceremonies attended the interment here, on
the 7th of July, 1831, of the remains of James Monroe,
fifth President of the United States. A brigade of
militia, under General Jacob Morton, formed the mili-
tary pageant. The chief men of the nation joined the
procession, and, as the coffin was lowered into the
vault, bells tolled, and the flags of vessels in the harbor
flew at half-mast. These august ceremonies dedicated
the new cemetery, so to speak, and added much to its
later repute among the old, exclusive families of the
city. At first thought it seems strange that Monroe, a
native of Virginia, should have been interred in this
little private cemetery on the outskirts of New York.
The mystery becomes clear, however, when it is re-
membered that his son-in-law, Samuel L. Gouverneur,
at whose house he died, owned a vault in the cemeter}^
and that it was natural for Mrs. Gouverneur to desire
her father laid near her own last resting-place. After
reposing here for twenty-seven years the remains were
exhumed and conveyed to Virginia with rather less of
ceremony than had attended their original interment.
A simple incident led Virginia to take this action.
Early in 1857 a number of gentlemen, natives of that
State, but resident in New York, conceived the plan
Two Marble Cemeteries 33
of raising a monument to the ex-President over the
unrecognized vault that held his dust. The project
was hinted abroad, and in course of time reached
Virginia, where it seems to have touched State pride
and jealousy to the quick. That it should be left to
New York to commemorate a son of Virginia who had
filled the chair of the Chief Magistrate was deemed a
reflection on the Commonwealth, and steps were at
once taken to have the remains removed to the State
capital. To create public sentiment in favor of this,
exaggerated reports as to the condition of the Presi-
dent's grave were spread broadcast through the State.
He was reported as lying in an old, unused burying-
ground, overgrown with weeds and vines, in the
outskirts of the city, his grave unmarked, and cattle
and hogs roaming at will above it. A committee of
two was appointed by Virginia to receive the remains
and attend them to their final resting-place in Holly-
wood Cemetery, Richmond. At the yard the exhuma-
tion was conducted with secrecy, the family being
desirous of avoiding a crowd.
At 4.30 o'clock on the 2d of July, 1858, a carriage
drove up to the cemetery gate. It contained Alderman
Adams, representing the Common Council, and was
soon joined by carriages containing the Virginia dele-
gates, Messrs. Mumford and O. Jennings Wise, Col.
James Monroe and S. L. Gouverneur representing
the family, a delegation of resident Virginians, and the
34 In Olde New York
undertaker. At five o'clock the coffin of the ex-Presi-
dent was placed in the hearse, and, amid the tolling
of bells, with the flags of the shipping in the harbor at
half-mast, was conveyed to the Church of the Annun-
ciation, in Fourteenth Street. Here and at the City
Hall it lay in state for several days, and was then con-
veyed to Riclmiond by the steamer Jamestown, its
escort, the famous Seventh Regiment, proceeding by
the Ericsson. Old members of that gallant corps
still remember the service for its heat and discomforts.
The visitor, perhaps, will be apt to linger longest
about vaults 191 and 192. Here rest the unknown,
unclaimed remains of the early burghers of New
Amsterdam. What a stir you fancy there must have
been among the ghosts when the edict for clearing out
the vaults of the Old South went forth. A hundred
and more years they had rested undisturbed. Genera-
tions had come and gone. A city had grown up around
them. Their descendants, like their property, had
been scattered over the earth, and now none remained
to care for their bones. The church authorities,
alarmed at the encroachments of the city on their
property, ordered a removal to the new cemetery up
town. Then came a day when the vaults were opened
and the old sexton descended with his box to gather
up the dust.
There are other vaults in the yard prolific of mem-
ories. In the Morton vault lie the remains of General
i^
^.2
> ,
-s
^ 8 s
1241079
Two Marble Cemeteries 35
Jacob Morton, who commanded the military at the
obsequies of ex-President Monroe. The receiving
vault held for some years the body of the Spanish-
American General Paez, who, after the usual stormy
career of generals in his country, fled to New York, to
find the death he had escaped in far more warlike
scenes awaiting him here. The body was in dispute
among the relatives, it is said, and when the question
was settled it was removed to South America for burial.
Commodore Eagle of the navy is buried at the west
end of the yard, and near him lies Commodore Bullus;
the latter, with his wife and three small children, was
on board the Chesapeake when the Leopard made her
murderous attack. They were on their way to a
Mediterranean Consulate at the time, and during the
action Mrs. Bullus and her children were removed
from the cabin to a place of safety, but the Commodore,
though a non-combatant, remained on deck and fought
gallantly through the whole affair.
CHAPTER IV
SOME OLD-TIME riGURES
JOHN I. BROWERE was one of a class of men
peculiar to the early days of American art. A
native of New York, he was in his youth a sign painter.
Showing promising talent, he was induced to take
lessons under Arcliibald Robertson, and after slight
instruction moved to TarrytowTi and set up his easel
as a portrait painter, at the same time eking out his
resources by teaching school. A httle later a brother
offered him a free passage to Leghorn in the sliip he
commanded, and the artist proceeded to Italy, spend-
ing two years there, rambling from city to city and
diligently studying art, and more especially sculpture.
Returning to America about 1820, he built a studio
in the rear of his residence, No. 315 Broadway, adjoin-
ing the old New York Hospital, and I suppose took
the bust of every gentleman of note then living in the
city. Some 200 examples of his work are said to be
in existence in New York. His most ambitious
project was a national gallery of busts and statues of
distinguished Americans, a project encouraged by
* This was written in 1883.
Some Old Time Figures 37
Jefferson, Adams, Lafayette, and all the famous men
of the day. Browere was a poet and inventor as well
as artist; one occasionally comes upon his verses in
the albums of old ladies of the city; he also invented
a stove for burning anthracite coal, and a process for
manufacturing oiled silk, which gave several people
immense fortunes, although he, owing to his improvi-
dence in money matters, never received a penny. He
died poor in 1834, of cholera, after only six hours'
illness, at his house by the old mile-stone in the Bowery,
leaving his gallery only half completed. His son, A.
D. O. Browere, the artist, has recently placed on ex-
hibition a completed portion, which embraces busts
of Jefferson, Lafayette, the three Adamses, Madison,
Clay, DeWitt CUnton, the three captors of Andre,
Forrest, and others."
These facts, suggested by the modest sign, " Browere's
Busts of Distinguished Americans, " on the front of
the building No. 788 Broadway, were told me some
twenty years ago by an old New Yorker. It proved
to be an interesting place to visit. Climbing two
flights of long winding stairs from an entrance on
Tenth Street, and passing through a long passage,
we entered the gallery, a well-lighted, neatly-carpeted
room. Twenty-three busts were ranged around the
sides, and there were others, with a collection of the
exhibitor's paintings in an ante-room. The busts were
interesting certainly, both as examples of the art of
38 In Olde New York
1820-25 and from their historic associations, but still
more interesting was the gossip and reminiscence they
inspired in the wliite-haired gentleman who exliibited
them. One might detect, however, running through
his monologue a little vein of resentment at the indif-
ference of the pubHc to the merits of his collec-
tion, and the eflforts made in certain quarters to
discredit it.
"When my father was about taking the cast of
Charles Carroll, of Carrollton," said he, "he received
testimonials of his skill and ability from the first gentle-
men in the city. I will read you this from Prof. Samuel
L. Mitchell, LL.D., wliich was endorsed by many
others equally competent to judge." From a little
morocco-covered book he read: "I approve your de-
sign of executing a likeness in statuary of the Honor-
able Charles Carroll, of Carrollton. When you shall
present yourself to him within a few days, I authorize
you to employ my testimony in favor of your skill.
Having submitted more than once to your plastic
operations, I know that you can perform it successfully
without pain and within a reasonable time. The like-
nesses you have made are remarkably exact; so much
so that they may be called facsimile imitations of the
life. Your gallery contains so many specimens of
correct casts that not only committees, but critical
judges, bear witness to your industry, genius, and
talent."
Some Old Time Figures 39
"Jefferson writes here from Monticello, Adams
from Quincy, Madison from Montpelier, Clinton from
Albany, all bearing witness to the originality and life-
likeness of the casts made by my father; but when at
the late celebration at Tarrytown I wished to place
the busts of Van Wart, Williams, and Paulding on ex-
hibition, it was objected to by a few young artists and
reporters, on the ground that it was not 'good art.'
They were there, though, and an old gentleman came
up who regarded them with great interest. 'Who
did them.^' said he at length. 'My father, Jolm I.
Browere, the sculptor,' I replied. 'I knew him and
them,' he rejoined, 'and they are fine examples.' I
afterward learned that the gentleman was Samuel J.
Tilden.
"I want the Government to make bronze copies of
the casts," he continued, "and place them in the
Capitol or some museum of liistorical characters, but
Congressmen whom I have approached say they
cannot be worthy, because Jolm I. Browere's name
does not appear in Dunlap's book of American ar-
tists. I'll tell you why it does not appear. My
father, before he had ever met Dunlap, was asked
one day how he liked liis ' Death on the Pale Horse ' ?
'It's a strong work,' he replied, 'but looks as if it
was painted by a man with but one eye.' The re-
mark was reported to the painter, who had but one
eye, and he was mortally offended; he blackballed
40 In Olde New York
my father at the National Academy, and subse-
quently ignored him in his biographical work."
"The greatest difficulty the sculptor had in secur-
ing these," he remarked, turning to the casts, "was
with Lafayette's. Of course he was very desirous of
securing the distinguished friend of America for his
collection, and when Lafayette visited the city in 1825
a committee of the Common Council was appointed
to induce him to sit. He compHed after much per-
suasion. The composition had set and my father
was about taking it off, when the clock struck and a
spectator inadvertently remarked that the hour for
the corporation dinner (which Lafayette was to attend)
had arrived. ' Sacre hleuV said he, starting up, 'take
it off, take it off,' causing a piece to fall from under
the eye. This accident, which necessitated a second
sitting, led to some interesting correspondence pre-
served in my book here which you may like to read.
First is a letter from the Committee of the Common
Council to Lafayette, dated 'New York, Saturday,
12 o'clock, July 12, 1825,' as follows:
"'Dear General: We have just been to see your
bust by Mr. Browere, and have pleasure in saying it
is vastly superior to any other likeness of General
Lafayette which as yet has fallen under our inspection.
Indeed it is a faithful resemblance of every part of
your features and form, from the head to the breast,
with the exception of a slight defect about the left eye.
Some Old Time Figures 41
caused by the loss of the material of which the mould
was made. This defect Mr. Browere assures us (and
we have confidence in his assurance) that he can cor-
rect in a few moments and without giving you any
pain, provided you will again condescend to submit
to his operations for a limited time. We should much
regret that the slight blemish should not be corrected,
which if not done will cause to us and to the nation a
continual source of chagrin and disappointment.'
Two days later Alderman King wrote my father:
'Every exertion has been made to get General
Lafayette to spend half an hour to get the eye of his
portrait bust completed, but in vain. He has not had
more than four hours each night to sleep, but has
consented that you may take his mask in Philadelphia.
He left New York this morning at 8, and will be in
Philadelphia on Monday next, where he will remain
three days. If you can be present there on Monday,
or Tuesday at furthest, you can complete the matter.
He has pledged liis word. This arrangement was all
that could be eflFected by your friend.' My father,
you see, adds this postscript:
"'The subscribing artist met General Lafayette on
Monday in the Hall of Independence, Philadelphia,
and Tuesday morning from 7 to 8 was busy in making
another Ukeness from the face and head of the General.
At 4 P.M. of that day he finished the bust under the
eye of the General and his attendants, and had the
42 In Olde New York
pleasure then of receiving from the General and his
son their assurances that it was the only good bust
ever made of him.'
"The masks of Jefferson, Madison, and Mrs. Madi-
son were taken with several others during a visit to
Wasliington made by my father in 1825. It was his
custom to get a certificate of genuineness and likeness
from each sitter, and there are autograph letters in this
book from most of the subjects, to that effect. Jeffer-
son, for instance, writes from Monticello, October 16,
1825: 'At the request of the Hon. James Madison, and
of Mr. Browere, of the city of New York, I hereby
certify that Mr. Browere has this day made a mould
in plaster composition from my person for the purpose
of making a portrait bust and statue for his contem-
plated National Gallery.' Here is a bust of Hamilton
modeled from a miniature by Archibald Robertson.
Jackson's bust he did not succeed in getting, as Powers
had preceded him by a few days, and had extorted a
promise not to sit to any other artist. He, however,
made a sketch. The finest head in the collection is
that of DeWitt Clinton. In appearance he was cer-
tainly the noblest Roman of them all.
"I must repeat an impromptu that Samuel Wood-
worth, author of 'The Old Oaken Bucket,' made on
this bust. He had called to see that of Admiral Porter,
and as he stood in the door on departing, father said:
'Sammy, here's something you haven't seen,' at the
Some Old Time Figures 43
same time throwing off the cloth from the bust. Wood-
worth made a gesture as of restraint, and repeated:
'Stay! the bust that graces yonder shelf
claims our regard.
It is the front of Jove himself,
The majesty of Virtue not of Power!
Before which Guilt and Meanness only cower.
Who can behold that bust and not exclaim.
Let everlasting honor claim our Clinton's name?'
made his bow, and departed.
"Van Wart's bust my father took at Tarrytown.
Paulding was brought to No. 315 by Alderman Percy
Van Wyck. Williams gave him the most trouble.
Twice he went by sloop and foot to Scoharie to take
his mask, and both times the veteran was away from
home. At length WiUiams came to Peekskill on a
visit, General Delavan sent my father word, and he
went up there and took it. This was a short time be-
fore Williams's death. J. W. Parkinson, a gentleman
of leisure in New York fifty years ago, reputed to be a
natural son of George IV., once offered my father
$3000 for the casts of the captors of Andre, his inten-
tion being to destroy them, but my father refused the
offer. There is a story connected with this bust of
Forrest the tragedian. There is no hair on the head,
you see. When that was taken the actor was com-
paratively unknown, having just made his appearance
in 'William Tell' at the Old Bowery Theatre. My
father declared that he would make an actor of note,
44 In Olde New York
and asked to take his mask for his gallery. On the
night the bust was taken, Forrest was to play William
Tell, and fearing the plaster mould might cling to his
hair, he donned a silk cap for the operation."
By and by, as no visitors appeared to interrupt, Mr.
Browere's recollections assumed a more personal cast.
He submitted to our inspection a time-stained certifi-
cate of membership in the National Academy, dated
1838, and signed by Henry Inman, President, and also
a letter informing him that his picture of " Canonicus "
had drawn the first Academy prize of $100. We were
also shown several of his paintings, some California
landscapes, and three scenes from the life of Rip Van
Winkle.
CHAPTER V
NEW YORK CITY IN 1827
ONE conversant with the history of New York
knows how rapidly change has occurred in the
city, but he cannot realize it vividly until he has loitered
along its streets with some genial veteran who knew
the town in his youth, and loves nothing better than
to impart his reminiscences to the sympathetic listener.
Such a walk in such company we once had the
pleasure of taking, our route being down the Bowery
from Astor Place to Frankhn Square, and thence to
the City Hall.
"All north of Astor Place, in 1825," said our com-
panion, " was open country, a region of farms, thickets,
swamps, market gardens and fine old country seats
in extensive grounds. My early memories of the
region beyond St. Mark's Church yonder are grue-
some enough. It was then known as Stuyvesant
Meadows, and gained unenviable notoriety by the
hanging there of one John Johnson, whose cast, taken
by Browere, may still be seen at Fowler & Wells's.
Johnson was the great criminal of his day. He kept
a sailor's boarding-house on Water Street, and one
46 In Olde New York
night murdered a farmer who had put up at his house,
having, as Johnson thought, some money about him.
The murderer put the remains in a sack, and was sur-
prised, at night, carrying it through Schuyler's Alley
toward the river. Guilt made him a coward. He
dropped the sack and ran, its contents were thus dis-
covered, and he was tried and sentenced by Judge
Edwards to be hanged. The procession, up Broad-
way to Bleecker, across to the Bowery, then down
Ninth Street to the gallows, called out the greatest
crowd New York had ever seen, and led to the aboli-
tion of such displays. Johnson was attired for the
occasion in wliite, with a white cap drawn over his
head. He rode in an open carriage escorted by
Stewart's troop of cavalry in advance, and a detach-
ment of the National Guard in the rear, while an im-
mense crowd of all ages and both sexes followed."
We had now progressed as far down the Bowery
as Bleecker Street. "Bleecker was my great black-
berry preserve when I was a boy," observed our
cicerone, with a sigh. "What luscious berries grew
beside the walls on either side, and roses — no such
roses bloom nowadays." A few doors below Bleecker,
he stopped opposite a beer saloon. "Right here
Charlotte Temple lived after her retirement from the
stage, and died here. The house was one story high,
with two dormer-windows and a trellis on both sides
covered with the luxuriant vines of the trumpet-flower.
New York in 1827 47
There was a little yard in front about twenty feet
deep filled with shrubs and flowers. The house was a
Mecca for the good and gifted of the city so long as its
mistress resided there, and few strangers of distinction
came to the city without paying a visit there. It was
known for some time after her death as the 'Temple
House,' and finally was turned into a drinking saloon
called the Gotham.
"The Bowery in those days resembled a country
road; it was unpaved and sandy above Spring Street,
and was studded pretty thickly with residences of the
gentry. These had high stoops fronting the road,
and were embowered in trees and shrubbery. Many
a summer night I have seen whole families on the stoops
enjoying the cool of the evening, and cliildren trundling
hoops or playing marbles on the sidewalk. There
was one institution pecuhar to the Bowery in those days,
or at least it attained greater perfection there than in
other parts of the city. I refer to the hot-corn venders.
These were exclusively colored women, each dressed
as neatly as though she had come out of a bandbox,
with a flaming bandanna handkerchief on her head tied
in a peak. West India fashion, the ends hanging down,
and clean white or checked apron. They sat on
stools at the street corners and noted places, each with
a pail beside her, filled with hot corn on the ear, and a
small cup on each side, one containing salt and the
other butter. When a patron approached she handed
48 In Olde New York
him a smoking ear, and the salt and butter; the latter
he gravely rubbed on the ear and ate as he stood.
Their cry was musical, and could be heard blocks
away. 'Hot com, hot corn! here's your hly white
hot corn,' they cried, but an old woman who sold on
the comer of Hester and Bond Streets, improved on
this. Her cry was :
'Hot corn, hot com!
Some for a penny and some two cents.
Com cost money and fire expense.
Here's your lily-white hot corn!'
"There were almost as many venders on the streets
then as now, but more characteristic and picturesque.
Some bore trays containing baked pears swimming
in molasses, which the purchaser took between his
thumb and finger and ate. The 'sand man' was a
verity in those days. All the barrooms, restaurants,
and many of the kitchens in the city had sanded floors,
and men in long white frocks, with two-wheeled carts,
peddling Rockaway sand, were familiar objects on
the streets. Then there were the darkeys who sold
bundles of straw for filling beds, and an old blind
man who sold door-mats made of picked tar rope.
One of the most genial and popular landlords in the
city I have seen peddling pails of pure spring water
in the Bowery at two cents a pail. He brought it from
what was then called Greenwich Village, above Aaron
Burr's Richmond Hill mansion.
New York in 1827 49
"This is the most distinctive landmark of old New
York I have seen," he remarked when another block
was passed, patting aflPectionately as he spoke a mossy
old mile-stone set in the sidewalk nearly opposite
Rivington Street, wliich bore this legend, " 1 Mile
from City Hall." "Many a tired passenger in the
four-horse tally-ho sLx days on the road from Boston
has gleefully hailed this stone. The drivers of the
Harlem and Manhattanville stages always greeted it
with a merrier bugle peal. In those days we hadn't
thought of a railroad, and the Erie Canal was just
being opened. Spring Street marked the limits of the
paved streets in this direction when I was a boy and
young man. The walks were mostly of bricks laid
cat-a-comered, in those days.
" You see that third house on the side street. There
I found my wife. I was passing one morning and saw
her through the window looking do\vn the street.
Suddenly she became aware that I was staring at her,
and slammed the blind to with energy. 'Sam,' said I
to my brother, 'that girl's going to be my wife.' Pass-
ing that way a few days after, I saw a notice out that
boarders would be taken, and presented myself as a
candidate. Six months after we were married. That
is fifty years ago, and I have never had cause to regret
it; she has been a good wife.
" I never cross Grand Street " — we had reached
the roar and rush of that thoroughfare — " without
50 In Olde New York
thinking of a walk I had down it to the ferry in 1823.
There was to be a race that day on a course near
where the Union course was opened later, and all
New York interested in sport went out there to see it.
The race was between Eclipse and Sir Henry, and the
great interest taken in it arose from the fact that it had
been arranged between the horsemen of the North
and South to test the merits of the thoroughbreds of
the two sections. Echpse represented the North and
Sir Henry the South. There was not a house on Grand
Street then between Essex Street and the ferry. I saw
on the south wild marshy pasture fields, with cattle
grazing among the black berry and wild-rose bushes,
and in the distance on the hills some old Dutch farm-
houses. Colonel Willet's place, on the left, a fine old
country mansion, I remember, standing back from
the road amid its orchards. Grand Street Ferry was
then known as the 'Hook' ferry. You would laugh
at the ferry-boats of those days. They had open
decks with an awning stretched over and benches
around the sides, and were propelled by horse-power.
From four to sixteen horses were required, and they
walked around a shaft in the center of the boat, turn-
ing it as sailors turn the capstan, and this shaft by
gearing turned the paddle wheels. On some boats
the horses worked a tread mill like the modern thresh-
ing machines. The North triumphed that day —
EcUpse won. I doubt if he would, hovv^ever, had it
New York in 1827 51
not been for Sam Purely, a noted jockey of that time.
Eclipse lost the first heat, and Purdy saw from his
place on the judge's stand that his jockey was goring
him so terribly that he bled. So he leaped from the
stand, pulled the jockey off, and mounted in his place.
Eclipse felt the change at once, put his head up and
tail out and won the next two heads easily, putting
$20,000 in his master's pocket."
Chatham Square and Frankhn Square recalled many
reminiscences, but not of a nature to interest the
public. In City Hall Park, however, our friend's
recollections became of more general interest. "The
City Hall had just been built then, between two prisons,
the Bridewell and jail. The jail, or debtor's prison,
was east of the hall and surrounded with a tight board
fence about eight feet high. On the Chambers Street
side of the Park were three buildings, all under one
roof. First (nearest Broadway) was the American
or Scudder's Museum, then the Academy of Fine
Arts, and the Almshouse, the artist and showman
being not far from the Almshouse at that day in more
senses than one. John Vanderlyn's Rotunda came
next on the east. Vanderlyn had been discovered by
Colonel Burr, in an interior town, covering his master's
blacksmith's shop with charcoal sketches, and had
been sent by him to Paris and Rome for education in
art. His 'Marius amid the ruins of Carthage' had
taken the prize at Paris under Napoleon, and he re-
52 In Olde New York
turned to New York comparatively famous. The city,
thinking to do something for American art, built the
Rotunda and gave Vanderlyn the lease of it for a
studio, and for the exhibition of his pictures. He
exhibited there his 'Marius,' 'Ariadne,' and the 'Gar-
den of Versailles,' the latter a panorama taking up
two sides of the room. Speaking of pictures, Michael
Paff once made a lucky discovery. Paff was a picture
dealer, having a store on Broadway, near Vesey, and
the best art connoisseur in the city. A gentleman in
town had a large picture of Esther before King Ahas-
uerus, that he had secured at an auction sale, and
which his wife was desirous of exchanging for two
landscapes at Paff's. Paff good-naturedly made the
exchange, but in cleaning up his new purchase dis-
covered it to be a genuine Van Dyck. After that he
spent about a week to the square inch cleaning and
bringing out the original color. Wealthy gentlemen,
art patrons, would drop in during the process, and
offer to purchase. Paff's first price was $1000, after
that he rose $1000 on every offer not accepted. Lyman
Reid, the patron of Cole, offered him $7000 for it,
which was quickly rejected, Paff's price having then
risen to $16,000. I was in the store one day with Alfred
Pell and Lyman Reid when Sir Robert Porter came in
and offered Paff $12,000 for the picture, saying he was
authorized to give that sum and no more by the National
Gallery, of London. Paff refused, and held on to the
New York in 1827 53
picture till his death. After that event, his widow
sold the picture to the National Gallery, it was said,
for $20,000. I could give you a volume of reminis-
cences about the old American Museum. It had been
removed to the site of the later Herald Building,
and had ruined several owners, when P. T. Barnum
got hold of it and tnade a success of it.
"A fence surrounded the Park in those days, with
an entrance gate on the west. On the Chatham Street
side were a number of low one-story buildings —
cigar shops, beer saloons, and the pawn-shop of William
Stevenson, the first of the kind ever opened in New
York. Right opposite, on the corner of Frankfort
Street, stood Tammany Hall, the cradle of the present
famous organization; the modern sachems, you will
reflect, were but papooses then. The Hall was used
chiefly for public meetings of a political cast. The
real council-room of the braves was a saloon a hundred
feet back on Frankfort Street, called the 'Pewter Mug.'
Here the chiefs held their pow-wows, and the plan
of their campaigns was mapped out. Several lawyers
of note had offices in the Hall. Aaron Burr's was on
the south side of the building. Many a time have I
seen him help Madame Jumel into her carriage stand-
ing before the door, and he did it with incomparable
grace."
CHAPTER VI
SOME OLD BOOKSELLERS
OF the many obscure callings by which men gain
a liveUhood in New York none is more useful
than that of the antiquarian booksellers, of whom
there were in 1885 about twenty in the city. The
favorite home of this class was then the region trav-
ersed by William and Nassau streets, which may be
said to be bounded somewhat indefinitely, by Chff
Street on the east and Broadway on the west.
These establishments displayed no gilded signs or
plate-glass windows to the pubhc gaze. They never
advertised in the public prints ; they rather avoided than
sought publicity, being hidden away in musty, ill-
smelhng apartments, up many flights of narrow stairs,
or at the end of long, dimly-lighted passages. Their
customers in person were few, their chief patrons being
the collectors and bibliophiles of the entire country,
and these were reached by catalogues issued quarterly.
These catalogues were often extensive and elaborate,
and displayed much wit and ingenuity in their con-
struction. The first page of a catalogue of 1868, for
instance, reads as follows:
Some Old Booksellers 55
"Two thousand seven hundred personals, funeral
sermons, eulogies, biographical sketches, memorials,
&c., which may be bought — if any one wants them
— of , who, on receipt of the trifling number of
cents hinted at just to the left of the place and date
of imprint will take pleasure in sending any one or
more of them, at liis own expense, to any place where
Uncle Sam keeps a post-office."
The "Motto" is the following sentiment from
Horace Greeley:
"A man who does not care enough about his rela-
tions to pay four sliillings for a funeral sermon on his
grandfather, or even on his mother-in-law, is a born
ingrate, and meaner than a goat thief."
Another is a "catalogue of about two bushels of
tidbits relating to that never-to-be-forgotten scrim-
mage the American Revolution, for sale by ,
book peddler." In his preface to the same the old
bookseller thus refers to some of the bores that infect
a bookseller's shop:
" At the instance of a considerable number of friendly
critics who have heretofore more than made up by
their willingness to give good advice for their reluc-
tance to buy anything, but who without doubt are only
waiting for me to show a proper and becoming appre-
ciation of their views, I have requested the printer to
put the A's at one end of this list and the W's at an-
other, and call it a catalogue. As I am now for the
56 In Olde New York
first time trying to cater to a class of pundits who
know what's what, I have not ventured to apply the
terms rare and scarce, nor any one of the endless
changes which may be rung upon them by the hand
of a master. I trust, however, that I shall be par-
doned (as I have a family to support) for mentioning
that a considerable number of my tidbits were con-
sidered by Mr. Stevens worthy a place in his catalogue
of nuggets, and that not a few of them are so uncommon
that they have escaped the notice of the compiler of
that invaluable handbook, Sabin's Dictionary, and his
hundred-eyed corps of assistants. Perhaps — as is
constitutional with me — I have been modester than
I could afford, and that I ought to have made an un-
sparing use of the adjectives and peppered my book
with them, hit or miss. The die is cast, however;
quite likely I may not sell a tidbit; but I am determined
this once to give my modesty the rein, and like Lord
Timothy Dexter, let critic or customer pepper or salt
this, my first catalogue, to suit liimself.
" Having chosen my exemplar, I will be no less
attentive to the convenience of my critics and cus-
tomers than was his Lord Timothyship to the wants
of his readers. I have therefore copied for their use,
from a recent auction catalogue, a few of the adjec-
tives and persuasives applied to such of the commoner
tidbits as the owner had been able to 'buy at a bar-
gain.' 'Scarce,' 'Very scarce,' 'Rare,' 'Very Rare,'
Some Old Booksellers 57
•"Tres Rare' (that's French). 'Unattainable except at
public sale.' 'Not mentioned by Rich.' 'We have
never sold a copy.' 'We are unable to record any
other copy.'"
The immense private collections which are from
time to time unloaded upon the market hurt the trade
and are greatly dreaded by the old booksellers. Such
a collection was the Brinley Ubrary, sold at auction
in New York.
In his catalogue, issued soon after the sale, one of
the tradesmen thus labors with the deluded buyers who
will purchase at auction rather than of the trade:
"This sale footed up nearly $49,000. Mr. Brinley,
by his will, not less wisely than generously, gave to
five public Hbraries $24,500, to be bought out or, as a
book-peddler would express it, in trade.
"The libraries of the favored institutions fought
nobly. So nobly that it is doubtful if the bequests
will make the estate a dollar the poorer. Of books so
rare that I know nothing about their value, I will say
as httle as I know. Rare books that I had seen sold
before, sold liigh. The greater part of the catalogue
sold very liigh. Hundreds of common books — so
common that they may readily be found in bookstores,
and yet not unworthy a place in tliis splendid collec-
tion — sold at prices far beyond what any bookseller
would dare to ask. Buyers of such, except ' on account,'
generally got their fingers burnt. I had myself just
58 In Olde New York
enough of that sort of experience to know how it feels.
Having by mistake bought lot 1785 for $15, I had it
resold on my account; it brought $7. At the reselling
the librarians did not rally worth a cent. I would have
cheerfully given their institutions a dollar apiece all
round if they had stood by me.
"Lot 163, Chalmers Annals, found an appreciative
buyer at $18.50. I sold the young gentleman from
the country, who bid $18, a much better copy the next
morning for half the money. The same buyer secured
lot 176, Phillips's Paper Currency, at $7.50. I can
generally furnish it at five, ten off to public libraries.
I may leave them nothing by will, but mean to do my
level best by them as long as I live.
"Lot 205, Trumbull's United States, somebody
must have been in a great hurry for. It brought $3.
The next bidder is my affinity, if I could only find him.
I should be happy to sell him a clean, uncut copy for a
dollar.
"Lot 234, Knox's Journal, lacking a portrait and a
title-page, was snapped up at $16. I have a copy which
could be made as good as Mr. Brinley's by pulling
out a title-page — it already fills the bill in lacking
a portrait — which I am dying to sell for ten.
"No. 289, Drake's Address, sold for $2. If the
previous bidder will send a small boy with seventy-
five cents he will get a copy by return boy.
"No. 325, Lechford, $2.75. I have a few more
Some Old Booksellers 59
left of the same sort at $1.50. No. 374, Noah Web-
ster's version of Winthrop's Journal, $10. I sold as
good a copy not long since at $4. Numbers 267 and
390, Commissionary Wilson's Orderly Book and
Easton's King PhiHp, as it is called for short, are num-
bers I. and II. of Munsell's Historical Series, in 10
volumes, which during the large paper and limited
edition mania used to sell as high as $400 per set.
The two volumes brought $26.50. A complete set in
half morocco will be found in tliis catalogue at $35.
"No. 331, Papers Concerning the Attack on Hatfield
and Deerfield, wiped out sixteen of the ten thousand
dollars given to Yale College. It used to sell at a
much higher figure, but times have changed. I sold a
copy a short time ago for five.
"No. 412, News from New England, 2 copies, both
found purchasers at $2.25. I have a copy, see my
No. 274, at seventy-five cents.
"No. 767, James Fitch's Connecticut Election
Sermon, Cambridge, 1674, the first printed, sold for
$38. In a note to lot 2154 Dr. Trumbull, the cata-
loguer, says: 'Five [Conn. Election] sermons were
printed in Cambridge and Boston before a press was
established in Connecticut. Of these five, four will
be found elsewhere in this catalogue.' That's so, and
the four, which were the first, third, fourth and fifth,
brought an average of $25.50 each. In the same note
Dr. Trumbull, whose notes are always interesting,
60 In Olde New York
says further: 'Mr. Brinley began this collection nearly
forty years ago, and allowed no opportunity of com-
pleting and perfecting it to escape.' I sold a beautiful
copy of the one which Mr. Brinley did not have a short
time ago for $15. I always sent my catalogue to the
gentlemen who bought the other four, but buyers at
auction of course save the book-peddlers' profit.
"Of numbers 975, 1029, 50, 81, 96 and 1117,
'Mathers,' good copies will be found in this catalogue
at peddlers' prices. Numbers 1356, 7, Drake's
Witchcraft Delusion, small and large paper, sold for
$9.00 and $10.50 in paper. I sell them at five and
six. No. 1359, Drake's Annals of Witchcraft, sold
for $8.75 in cloth. I sell it for $2.50 in paper. An-
other half dollar would buy a cloth jacket for it, leav-
ing nearly two-tliirds of the money toward buying the
buyer a jacket.
"No. 1377 was bought by the author for $2.25.
For the money I would have given him three copies.
I catalogue it at seventy-five cents and always send
him my catalogues.
"I have an indistinct recollection of having in my
early youth read a short list of conundrums, each one
of which was too much for an eastern king whose
reputation for wisdom stood high. Had Solomon —
I think that was the king's name — attended the
Brinley sale I am convinced that in his list of things
which no fellow can find out would be ranked as the
Some Old Booksellers 61
knottiest the question why book-buyers in bookshops
are so stingy and in book auctions so lavish."
There are specialists, even among the dealers in
dead books, one being known to his fellows as dealing
largely in genealogies and kindred works; another
makes a specialty of rare foreign books and prints;
another confines himself to rare Americana; while a
fourth devotes his energies exclusively to the collection
and sale of American pamphlets. A chance service
rendered one of the guild, in the discovery of a rare
volume, gained me liis good will, a seat at his fireside,
and a share in the racy anecdotes with wliich he en-
livened it; these anecdotes covered a wide range of
subjects, and included reminiscences of the famous
literary men of two generations who had frequented
his shop. Some of these reminiscences I am sure will
interest the reader.
Of Poe he said: "The character drawn of Poe by
his various biographers and critics may with safety
be pronounced an excess of exaggeration, but this is
not to be much wondered at when it is considered that
these men were his rivals, either as poets or prose-
writers, and it is well known that such are generally as
jealous of each other as are the ladies who are hand-
some of those who desire to be considered so. It is an
old truism, and as true as it is old, that in the multitude
of counsellors there is safety. I therefore will show
you my opinion of this gifted but unfortunate genius : it
62 In Olde New York
may be estimated as worth little, but it has this merit:
It comes from an eye- and ear-witness, and this, it
must be remembered, is the very highest of legal evi-
dence. For eight months or more, 'one house con-
tained us, us one table fed.' During that time I saw
much of him, and had an opportunity of conversing
with him often; and I must say I never saw him the
least affected with liquor, nor ever descend to any
known vice, while he was one of the most courteous,
gentlemanly and intelligent companions I have ever
met. Besides, he had an extra inducement to be a
good man, for he had a wife of matchless beauty and
loveliness; her eye could match that of any houri,
and her face defy the genius of a Canova to imitate;
her temper and disposition were of surpassing sweet-
ness; in addition, she seemed as much devoted to him
and his every interest as a young mother is to her
first-born. During this time he wrote his longest
prose romance, entitled the Adventures of Arthur
Gordon Pym. Poe had a remarkably pleasing and
prepossessing countenance — what the ladies would
call decidedly handsome. He died after a brief and
fitful career at Baltimore, October, 1849, where his
remains lie interred in an obscure burying-ground."
Of Simms he showed this entry in his diary, under
date of October 15, 1868: " To-day I had the pleasure of
a call from William Gilmore Simms, the novelist.
He is quite affable in conversation, and apparently
Some Old Booksellers 63
well stocked with general information, which he can
impart with fluency. He appears somewhat down-
cast, or rather, I should say, has a melancholy cast of
countenance: he is advanced in years, with a profusion
of hair around his face, cliin and throat — is apparently
between sixty and seventy years of age. I requested
him to enroll liis name in my autograph-book, which
he did with readiness. He remarked that he was
often requested to do so, especially by the ladies. I
replied that this was a debt which every man incurred
when he became public property either by his words,
actions, or writings. He acquiesced in the justice of
the remark. Mr. Simms was in search of a copy of
Johnson's History of the Seminoles, to aid him in
making a new book. He was accompanied by Mr.
Duykinck."
Halleck he thus introduced: "On a certain occasion
I was passing a Roman Catholic church in New York:
seeing the doors open and throngs of people pressing
in, I stepped inside to see what I could see. I had not
well got inside when I beheld Fitzgreene Halleck
standing uncovered, with reverential attitude, among
the crowd of unshorn and unwashed worshipers. I
remained till I saw liim leave. In doing so he made a
courteous bow, as is the polite custom of the humblest
of these people on taking their departure.
" On the subject of compliments paid him for poeti-
cal talents, Mr. Halleck once said to me, 'They are
64 In Olde New York
generally made by those who are ignorant or who
have a desire to please or flatter, or perhaps a com-
bination of all. As a general thing, they are devoid
of sincerity, and rather offensive than pleasing. There
is no general rule without its exception, however, and
in my bagful of compUments I cherish one which comes
under that rule, and reflecting upon it affords me real
pleasure as it did then. On a warm day in summer
a young man came into the office with a countenance
glowing with ardor, innocence, and honesty, and liis
eyes beaming with enthusiasm. Said he, "Is Mr.
Halleck to be found here ? " I answered in the aflSrma-
tive. Continued he, with evidently increased emotion,
"Could I see him.?" — "You see him now," I replied.
He grasped me by the hand with a hearty vigorousness
that added to my conviction of his sincerity. Said he,
"I am happy, most happy, in having had the pleasure
at last of seeing one whose poems have afforded me no
ordinary gratification and delight. I have longed to
see you, and I have dreamt that I have seen you, but
now I behold you with mine own eyes. God bless
you for ever and ever! I have come eleven hundred
miles, from the banks of the Miami in Ohio, mainly
for that purpose, and I have been compensated for
my pains."'
" Mr. Halleck told me that he had been soHcited to
write a life of his early and beloved friend Drake.
'But,' said he, 'I did not well see how I could grant
Some Old Booksellers 65
such a request: I had no lever for my fulcrum. What
could I say about one who had studied pharmacy,
dissection, written a few poems, and then left the scene
of action ? I had no material, and a mere meaningless
eulogy would have been out of the c|uestion.'
"In personal appearance Halleck was rather below
the medium height and well built: in walking he had
a rather slow and shuffling gait, as if sometliing afflicted
his feet; a florid, bland, and pleasant countenance;
a bright gray eye ; was remarkably pleasant and courte-
ous in conversation, and, as a natural consequence,
much beloved by all who had the pleasure of his ac-
quaintance. But to that brilliancy in conversation
which some of liis admirers have been pleased to attrib-
ute to him, in my opinion he could lay no claim. His
library w^as sold at auction in New York on the evening
of October 12, 1868. If the collection disposed of on
that occasion was really liis library in full, it must be
confessed it was a sorry affair and meager in the
extreme. In surveying the collection a judge of the
value of such property would perhaps pronounce it
worth from one hundred and twenty-five to one hun-
dred and fifty dollars. The books brought fabulous
prices — at least ten times their value. The company
was large, good-humored, and just in the frame of mind
to be a little more than liberal, doubtless stimulated
to be so from a desire to possess a rehc of the departed
poet who had added fame to the hterature of his
66 In Olde New York
country. The following are the names of a few of
the books and the prices they brought: Nicholas
Nickleby, with the author's autograph, $18; Bryant's
Uttle volume of poems entitled Thirty Poems, with
the author's autograph, $11; Campbell's Poems, with
Halleck's autograph, $8.50; Catalogue of the Straw-
berry Hill Collection, $16; Barnaby Rudge, presenta-
tion copy by the author to Halleck, $15; Coleridge's
Poems, with a few notes by Halleck, $10; Fanny, a
poem by Mr. Halleck, $10. The sum-total realized
for Ms library was twelve hundred and fifty dollars."
Aaron Burr was the subject of some interesting
reminiscences: "Shortly after I came to New York,
Aaron Burr was pointed out to me as he was slowly
wending his way up Broadway, between Chambers
Street and the old theater, on the City Hall side. I
frequently afterward met him in tliis and other streets.
He was always an object of interest, inasmuch as he
had become an liistorical character, somewhat notori-
ously so. I will attempt to describe his appearance,
or rather how he appeared to me: He was small, thin
and attenuated in form, perhaps a little over five feet
in height, weight not much over a hundred pounds.
He walked with a slow, measured and feeble step,
stooping considerably, occasionally with both hands
behind liis back. He had a keen face and deep-set,
dark eye, liis hat set deep on liis head, the back part
sunk down to the collar of the coat and the back
Some Old Booksellers 67
brim somewhat turned upward. He was dressed in
threadbare black cloth, having the appearance of what
is known as shabby genteel. His countenance wore
a melancholy aspect, and liis whole appearance be-
tokened one dejected, forsaken, forgotten or cast
aside, and conscious of liis position. He was invari-
ably alone when I saw liim, except on a single occa-
sion: that was on the sidewalk in Broadway fronting
what is now the Astor House, where he was standing
talking very familiarly with a young woman whom
he held by one hand. His countenance on that
occasion was cheerful, lighted up and bland — alto-
gether different from what it appeared to me when I
saw him alone and in conversation with liimself.
Burr must have been a very exact man in liis business-
affairs. His receipt-book came into my possession.
I found there receipts for a load of wood, a carpenter's
work for one day, a pair of boots, milk for a certain
number of weeks, suit of clothes, besides numerous
other small transactions that but few would tliink of
taking a receipt for. The book was but a sorry,
cheap affair, and could not have cost when new more
than fifty cents."
Edwin Forrest he thus mentioned: "At the time
when Forrest was earning liis reputation on the board
of the Bowery Theatre I was connected with that
institution, and of course had an opportunity of seeing
him every night he performed. Mr, Forrest appeared
68 In Olde New York
to be possessed of the perfection of physical form,
more especially conspicuous when arrayed in some
peculiar costumes which tended to display it to the
best advantage. He had a stentorian voice, and must
have had lungs not less invulnerable than one of
Homer's heroes. He had a fine mascuUne face and
prepossessing countenance, much resembling many
of the notable Greeks and Romans whose portraits
have come down to our time, and a keen intellectual
eye. His countenance at times assumed an air of
hauteur wliich doubtless had become a habit, either
from personating characters of tliis stamp or from a
consciousness of his merited popularity. He left the
impression on the beholder of one intoxicated with
success and the repletion of human applause. He
kept aloof from all around liim, and condescended to
no social intercourse with any one on the stage, and
appeared to entertain a contempt for liis audience.
, . . He has now lost that mercurial, youthful appear-
ance which was then so conspicuous, and which doubt-
less aided in laying the foundation of his widespread
reputation. He was then straight as an arrow and
elastic as a circus-rider, the very beau-ideal of physical
perfection : now he bears the marks of decay, or rather,
as is said of grain just before harvest, he has a ripe
appearance. If he would consult his renown he
would retire from the stage, and never set foot upon
it again "
Some Old Booksellers 69
The reminiscences also touched on Bryant, Parton,
Mrs. Siddons and several eminent divines and jour-
nalists. Of the latter class the fullest related to James
Gordon Bennett, founder of the Herald, and his
coadjutor, William H. Attree. "I remember enter-
ing the subterranean office of IVIr. Bennett early in the
career of the Herald and purchasing a single copy of
the paper, for which I paid the sum of one cent only.
On this occasion the proprietor, editor, and vendor
was seated at his desk busily engaged in writing, and
appeared to pay httle or no attention to me as I entered.
On making known my object in coming in, he requested
me to put my money down on the counter and help
myself to a paper: all the time he continued his writing
operations. The office was a single, oblong, under-
ground room. Its furniture consisted of a counter,
which also served as a desk, constructed from two
flour-barrels, perhaps empty, standing apart from
each other about four feet, with a single plank cover-
ing both; a chair, placed in the center, upon which
sat the editor busy at his vocation, with an inkstand
by his right hand; on the end nearest the door were
placed the papers for sale. I attribute the success
of the Herald to a combination of circumstances —
to the peculiar fitness of its editor for his position, to
its cheapness, and its advertising patronage, which
was considerable. In the fourth place, it early secured
the assistance of William H. Attree, a man of uncom-
70 In Olde New York
mon abilities as a reporter and a concocter of pithy
as well as ludicrous chapters greatly calculated to
captivate many readers. In fact, this clever and
talented assistant in some respects never had his match.
He did not, as other reporters do, take down in short-
hand what the speaker or reader said, but sat and
heard the passing discourse like any other casual
spectator: when over he would go home to his room,
write out in full all that had been said on the occasion,
and that entirely from memory. On a certain occa-
sion I liinted to him my incredulity about his ability
to report as he had frequently informed me. To put
tlie matter beyond doubt, he requested me to accom-
pany him to Clinton Hall to hear some literary mag-
nate let off his intellectual steam. I accordingly
accompanied him as per arrangement. We were
seated together in the same pew. He placed his hands
in his pockets and continued in that position during
the delivery of the discourse, and when it was finished
he remarked to me that I would not only find the sub-
stance of this harangue in the Herald the next day,
but that I would find it word for word. On the follow-
ing morning I procured the paper, and read the report
of what I had heard the previous evening; and I must
say I was struck with astonishment at its perfect
accuracy. Before Mr. Attree's time reporting for the
press in New York was a mere outline or sketch of
what had been said or done, but he infused life and
Some Old Booksellers 71
soul into his department of journalism. His reports
were full, accurate, graphic; and, what is more, he
frequently flattered the vanity of the speaker by mak-
ing a much better speech for him than he possibly
could for himself. Poor Attree died in 1849, and is
entombed at Greenwood."
CHAPTER VII
A NEW YORK CURIOSITY SHOP
TT was kept by a descendant of one of the old island
â– â– â– families, and his stock was confined almost entirely
to relics, coats of arms, pedigrees, and other souvenirs
of the early Dutch families of Manhattan. The most
striking feature observed on entering was the array of
tall eight-day clocks extending around the four sides
of the room, in some places two ranks deep. The
cases were mostly of oak, beautifully inlaid, and
which bore on the base the coat of arms, and in some
instances the name, of the family for whom they were
made. Beekman, Kouwenhoven, Leiter, Van Wester-
velt, Brower, Van Hardenburgh, Weber, De Groot,
Prevoorst, Schermerhorn, and Van Wyck, were the
most prominent names noticed. There were thirty
of these clocks — two of great liistorical interest. All
were of heavy and elaborate workmanship, and, be-
sides the carving and inlaid work on the cases, were
prettily decorated on the arch above the face with vines
and flowers. Most had eight astronomical movements,
giving, in addition to the hour, minute, and second,
the day of the month and week, the phases of sun and
A New York Curiosity Shop 73
moon, and the sign of the zodiac. Some also gave the
evening and morning star, and nearly all had the
alarm movement.
The Moll or Maule clock by the door was the most
valuable of all the stock, liistorically considered. On
the 10th of July, 1680, John Moll, a Swede, received
from the Indians of Delaware a deed for much of the
land now comprising Delaware and Eastern Pennsyl-
vania. This he subsequently conveyed to William
Penn. From timber cut on tliis tract he made, or had
made, the case of this old clock, now standing so
modestly in the corner, and sent it to his relatives, the
Maule family in Holland, as a present from the New
World to the Old. They valued it so liighly that they
had the family arms inlaid in the sohd oak, and deco-
rated it very prettily with vines, leaves, and birds of
plumage; furthermore, to show its American origin,
they had impaled in the arms the names of the six
Indian chiefs from whom John Moll had made his
purchase. The shop-keeper who goes every year to
the cities of Holland and Germany to replenish his
stock chanced to catch sight of the arms on the clock
as he was mousing about a second-hand store in
Amsterdam and purchased it.
Another very notable clock was that on which
Christopher Huggins experimented in the invention
of the pendulum. Huggins, as the legend is, was an
ingenious clock-maker of Amsterdam in 1689, who
74 In Olde New York
gave so much time to evolving his idea of the pendulum
that he got into financial straits, and borrowed 600
guilders of Jacobus Van Wyck, a wealthy manufac-
turer of clocks and watches in that city. The inventor,
however, was never able to pay the debt, and so turned
the clock over to his creditor. To prove that this is
the identical clock the owner points to the letters " C.
H. to J. V. W." engraved on the metal frame. The
mechanism has but one hand, and is a quaint array
of wheels and chains.
There was much other furniture of rare and curious
interest — carved, stiff-backed chairs with figured
cushions, square and half-round tables, sideboards,
secretaries, all of sohd oak, quaintly carved and richly
inlaid. A wardrobe, the largest piece of furniture in
the room, seven feet high and as many wide, has a
curious history. Without and within it contains no
less than ten thousand pieces of inlaid work, and was
made by the Guild of Cabinet Workers of Amsterdam
and presented to Nicholas Oppermier, Burgomaster of
that city from 1681 to 1684. A writing-desk and bureau
combined was of interest from having once belonged
to the Coxe family, who came over with William Penn.
The family arms — a sheaf of wheat or, on a green
field — is inlaid on the lid. There was an ancient
looking-glass, too, with a carved frame and long arms
on either side, furnished at their extremities with candle-
sticks in order that the glass might be serviceable by
A New York Curiosity Shop 75
night as well as by day. Two groups of rare old china
on a shelf would attract the attention of collectors.
The first group is the identical teapot, milk pitcher,
and cup — plain, rather coarse ware — used by the
first Napoleon in liis campaigns — at least the merchant
who owns it was so assured by the old servant of
Joseph Bonaparte, King of Holland and brother of
Napoleon, of whom he bought them. The only
ornament is the initial N. on a blue ground surrounded
by a coronet. The companion group which belonged
to Joseph Bonaparte is much prettier; the ware is
finer, more delicate, and the white ground is reheved
by blue figures.
There were several notable portraits in the collection.
One of these was a very ancient portrait of Calvin,
picked up for a trifle in an old picture store, but which
the merchant, by comparison with several authentic
portraits in Europe, had established to be genuine.
Another was the only portrait in existence of Jan Jans,
father of the celebrated Aneke Jans, and the last sur-
vivor of the famous siege of Haarlem. There was
the picture too of a modest round-faced comely Quaker
lady, in a plain brown dress, with a white handkerchief
thrown carelessly over her head, the wife of William
Penn. "Penn was partly of Dutch extraction," the
merchant remarked, referring to the portrait, "his
father. Admiral Penn, having married a member of
the old Dutch family of Callowhill. Callowhill Street,
76 In Olde New York
in Philadelphia, is named after her." There was also
a portrait of De Groot, and a strong picture of an old
nude man by Barneveldt. The merchant showed
also the genealogical records of eighty-six thousand
Dutch and Belgian families, a part of his business
being the construction of family records.
CHAPTER Vin
THE OLD JUMEL MANSION^
VISITORS to High Bridge — the pretty Uttle
village which stands at the northern Hmit of
Manhattan Island — cannot have failed to observe
the stately, somewhat antiquated mansion standing
in the midst of a pretty park of some fifty acres, and
overlooking city and river and the varied Westchester
plains. It is the chief in point of interest as it is the
sole survivor of the many historic houses that once
graced the island, but is so environed with city en-
croachments and improvements that its destruction
seems likely to be but a question of time. Even now
the shrill whistle of the metropolitan locomotives is
heard beneath its eaves. Tenth Avenue passes but a
block away, and eager speculators have staked out city
lots at its very gates, so hardly is it pressed by the
great city in its eager outreacliing for new territory.
Few persons who pass the place know, perhaps,
the many points of historic and romantic interest that
it has: how it occupies liistoric ground, being built on
1 Written about 1880. The old mansion is now owned by the
Daughters of the Revolution and maintained as a Museiun.
78 In Olde New York
the far-famed Harlem Heights, within a mile of the
site of old Fort Washington; that it was built for the
dower of a lady of such beauty and grace that she was
able to win the heart of the Father of his Country
himself; that within its walls Washington established
his headquarters while the mastery of the island was
in dispute with the British, and that thither Washing-
ton came again in 1790 with all liis Cabinet, on his
return from a visit to the battlefield of Fort Washing-
ton; or that afterward, a once famous Vice-President
of the United States was married in its parlors. Yet
these and many other noteworthy incidents in its his-
tory are quite within the line of research of the indus-
trious investigator. It will not be time misspent, per-
haps, if we devote an idle hour to a more particular
narration of some of these events in its history.
In 1756 no belle in New York society was more
courted and caressed than Miss Mary PhilUpse. She
was the daughter of Frederick Phillipse, lord of the
manor of Phillipsburg (now Yonkers), and is admitted
to have been one of the most beautiful and charming
women of colonial times.
Washington, during one of his frequent visits to the
city, met her at the house of his friend Beverly Robin-
son, and was so deeply smitten with her charms that,
if the old traditions are correct, he became a suitor for
her hand.
A rival claimant for the hand of Miss Phillipse was
...pSs^J^^^^.
The Old Jumel Mansion 79
Roger Morris, a gallant captain in the British army
then garrisoning New York. The reader's sympa-
thies are with the young Virginian no doubt, but it was
remarked by the gossips of the day that he was a slow
wooer, and that the odds seemed in favor of his more
ardent rival, when, unfortunately, the exigencies of
Indian warfare called liim to the frontier, and he was
forced to depart, leaving the gallant captain in undis-
puted possession of the field. When he had been
absent some montlis a friend in New York (whether
in the confidence of the lady or not is not known)
wrote to him that " Morris was laying close siege to
Miss Phillipse," and that if he had any interests in that
quarter he could best serve them by a visit to the city
— a bit of friendly advice which was not accepted,
possibly because the recipient was too much occupied
with measures for the protection of the frontier, but
probably because liis chances of success seemed too
small to warrant the venture.
In the meantime, his rival out of the field. Captain
Morris, pressed his suit with military ardor, and so
successfully that in 1756 the polite society of the town
was pleasantly electrified by the news of the betrothal
of Captain Roger Morris to Mary Phillipse. The
match was evidently approved by the lady's father,
for he proceeded to bestow on her as a dowry five
hundred acres of land on Manhattan Island, which
included the site of the present dwelling.
80 • In Olde New York
The year 1776 found the colonists in arms against
the mother country, Roger Morris a colonel in the
British army, and George Washington commander-
in-chief of the forces of the colonies. Mrs. Morris
occupied her home until the attack of the British on
the city in August, 1776, when, finding that it was
likely to become the theater of war, she left it hastily
and found a refuge with the Tory people among the
Highlands. A few days later General Washington
arrived and made the house his headquarters dur-
ing his operations on the island, holding stern councils
of war in the drawing-room of the former mistress of
his heart, and devoting to the repose of martial thews
and sinews the downy beds and silken canopies that
had been intended for far daintier uses. But this
military occupation lasted only a short time, although
the mistress of the mansion never returned to her
charming retreat. At the close of the war her estates
were confiscated, and she went with her husband to
England, where she lived to a good old age.
Fourteen years later, in 1790, Washington, with a
goodly number of dames and cavaliers, paid a second
visit to the old dwelling. In his journal he has given
us a detailed account of the event. He says, under
date of July 10, 1790:
"Having formed a party consisting of the Vice-
President, his lady, son and Miss Smith; the Secre-
taries of State, Treasury and War and the ladies of
-a -
J'?
< J
i'l
SI
•= Oh
The Old Jumel Mansion 81
the two latter, with all the gentlemen of my family,
Mrs. Lear and the two cliildren, we visited the old
position of Fort Wasliington, and afterward dined on a
dinner provided by Mr. Mariner, at the house lately
Colonel Roger Morris's, but confiscated and now in
the possession of a common farmer,"
Tliis Captain Mariner was a noted character in the
Revolution, and was engaged with Captain Hyler in
the somewhat celebrated "whaleboat warfare," which
consisted chiefly in making night descents on the
enemy's coasts, and making prisoners of such promi-
nent persons as came in their way. After the war he
kept a tavern at Ward's Island and at Harlem, and
became a noted caterer; it was in this capacity that he
was employed to prepare the dinner for as imposing
a company of guests as the mansion ever entertained.
In 1803 Morris's was again in the market, and for
a time it seemed probable that Colonel Aaron Burr,
who was then living in splendor at Richmond Hill
would become its purchaser. In November of this
year he wrote to his daughter Theodosia in regard
to the exchange; her letter in reply, dated Chfton,
S. C, December 10, 1803, is interesting as showing
what one of the most charming and accomplished
women of her day thought of the house. She says:
"The exchange has employed my thoughts ever
since. Richmond Hill will, for a few years to come,
be more valuable than Morris's, and to you, who are
82 In Olde New York
so fond of town, a place so far from it would be use-
less; so much for my reasoning on one side; now for
the other. Richmond Hill has lost many of its beauties
and is daily losing more. If you mean it for a resi-
dence, what avails its intrinsic value .'* If you sell part
you deprive it of every beauty save the mere view.
Morris's has the most commanding view on the island;
it is reported to be indescribably beautiful. The
grounds, too, are pretty; how many delightful walks
can be made on one hundred and thirty acres; how
much of your taste displayed ! In ten or twenty years
hence one hundred and thirty acres on New York
Island will be a principality; and there is to me some-
thing stylish, elegant, respectable and suitable to you
in having a handsome country seat. So that, on the
whole, I vote for Morris's."
But Colonel Burr did not purchase the property at
this time, though tliirty years later he married its
mistress, and resided there for some time, and met a
class of law students in the room formerly occupied
by Washington as his sleeping apartment. The later
history of the mansion is both varied and interesting,
but is so near our own times that it is scarcely neces-
sary to repeat it here.
An account of a visit wliich the writer made to it
recently, in company with a gentleman familiar not
only with the place but with its history as well, will
no doubt prove more acceptable. The main hall,
The Old Jumel Mansion 83
which one enters from the pillared porch, is, with
its ancient portraits, its polished oaken floor and
great depth and roominess, the nearest approach
we have, perhaps, to that of an ancient baronial
castle. This hall opens by folding doors into the
drawing-room — the same that was used by Wash-
ington as a reception-room during liis military
occupancy. Here he received his visitors, listened to
his orderlies' reports and dictated his answers, and
here at the last was held the council of war which
decided that Manhattan Island should be relinquished.
The floor of tliis room, and indeed of every apartment
in the house, is of oak, and so highly polished that it
affords an insecure footing to one used to carpeted
rooms. The wall paper has a groundwork of green,
with raised figures of vine and leaf having the appear-
ance and texture of velvet, and its coloring is as fresh
and vivid as though nearly a century and a half had not
passed since it left the hand of the artisan. In this
room also hangs a beautiful chandelier, which was
formerly the property of the unfortunate French
General Moreau. A winding stairway at the right of
the hall leads the visitor to the suite of apartments
above, and ushers him first into a hall directly over the
one below, and of about the same dimensions. From
this hall one may step out upon a balcony wliich com-
mands a magnificent view of city, river, and Sound.
Washington's bed-chamber was on this floor, at the
84 In Olde New York
rear of the hall and directly over the drawing-room;
there is nothing noteworthy about it except that it con-
tains a number of secret doors and closets not all of
which are known to the present residents. Two small
ante-chambers, one on each side, were occupied by
his aids, one of whom was Alexander Hamilton. The
old oak bedstead on which Washington slept is still
preserved with other treasured relics in the attic of the
house.
Having seen all the objects of interest that the old
house contained (although but a very few of them
are included in this description) we were invited to a
walk in the grounds, which are extensive, comprising
about one hundred and tliirty acres. Even here the
antiquity of the place is apparent. The great locusts
that hne the main approach to the mansion are dead
at the top and hoary with age. A great Madeira-nut
tree, with gnarled trunk and wide-spreading branches,
and a huge cedar of Lebanon, which was brought
a tiny rootlet from its native mountain, could have
been nourished to their present proportions only by
a century of sun and showers; a hedge of slow-growing
trees brought from Andalusia in Spain, which surrounds
an ancient fountain's bed on the estate, also gives
evidence of extreme age. After passing some time in
the grounds and making pilgrimage to several points
where charming \aews may be obtained, we took our
leave, remarking on the striking contrast presented by
The Old Jumel Mansion 85
the old dwelling to the great city so near it, and specu-
lating as to how long it can be protected from the
grasp of the giant which each day is bringing nearer
its gates.
CHAPTER IX
TWO AMERICAN SHRINES
WE have a habit of observing each anniversary
of the death of Washington Irving by a pil-
grimage to Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, his last resting-
place. It is but an hour to Tarr}i;own by rail from
New York, and then a walk of a mile up the barrier
hills to the sunny " Hollow, " the bridge, and the church-
yard. The conservatism of wealth and of tradition
have united to preserve them as they were. Through
the dell flows the silvery Pocantico issuing out of a
deep glen to the eastward, and passing on under the
arch of the old bridge forever famous as the scene of
Ichabod Crane's nocturnal adventures. Near by is
the httle old Dutch church built of stone by the
mighty patroon of PliilHpburg half smothered in
vines, with wooden belfry, and making weather
cock and farm as uncanny as Alloway's Auld Haunted
Kirk. In the shadow of its tower are the quaint,
brown-stone tombs of the Van Warts, Van Tassels,
and other famous families. The churchyard is as
beautiful for situation as it is noteworthy in letters,
being laid out on the western and southern slope of
Two American Shrines 87
the hill that rises steeply up from the Pocantico. At
intervals on the hillside rocky crags protrude, veiled
by oak and hemlock, and in and out among these
curve the walks and drives. The summit is occupied
by more modern memorials in marble and granite,
some quite tasteful and elaborate in design. West of
these, perhaps half-way down the declivity, is the
Irving plot, characterized by a severe simphcity; it is
marked only by a low hedge of evergreens. Its ten
or twelve tombstones are equally classic in their sim-
plicity. That of the author is on the south side of the
enclosure, and is a small, plain slab of marble, bearing
only his name, and the date of birth and death. This
severe simplicity did not seem to us to be in good
taste; it was so incommensurate with the greatness of
the man, and the space he occupied in the literature
of his country, that it seemed incongruous. It is, how-
ever, according to the sleeper's own request. The
tomb is distinguished by one mark of public interest,
indicating that more than common dust sleeps be-
neath. Each of its three faces has been chipped and
cut away by relic hunters, who have carried away the
fragments as souvenirs of their pilgrimage.
We could but contrast it with another American
shrine we had visited a few months previous ^ — the
tomb of Cooper in Cooperstown, just where the Susque-
hanna breakes from Otsego, its parent lake. One can
1 This article was written in 1885.
88 In Olde New York
reach it from Richfield Springs by coach to the head
of the lake, and thence by steamer down its winding
shores, or he can drive over by private vehicle and not
consume a summer day. The village lies quiet and
peaceful in its deep cleft among the hills at the foot of
the lake. One easily finds the grave of the author in
the little Episcopal churchyard. It is almost in the
shadow of the sacred edifice, brooded over by somber
firs and pines, with the Susquehanna close by mur-
muring unceasing requiem! So strong a churchman
was Cooper, and attached to this little home church,
that I doubt if he could have rested quietly in stranger
ground. The novelist's grave is nearly in the center
of the plot, and that of the wife is beside her husband's;
both are marked by marble tablets resting on granite
pillars, and are without ornament save a simple cross
cut in the center of the stone. I had interest enough
to transcribe the inscription, as follows:
James Fenimore Cooper
born September 15th, 1789,
died September 14th, 1851.
Susan Augusta, wife of James Fenimore Cooper
and daughter of John Peter De Lancy
born January 28, 1792,
died January 20.
There is less popular appreciation of Cooper's tomb,
or is it that it is less accessible } it bears no marks of
Two American Shrines 89
the relic hunter's hammer, and the grass about it is
untrodden by pilgrim feet. Leaving the graves, we
strolled down the pleasant village street, in search of
the old Cooper Mansion, where the novelist hved
and in which much of his later work was done, but
learned that it had been burned to the ground some
thirty years before and its site made a waste. Some
strange fatality seems to attend American houses with
a history. The Hancock house in Boston, the tavern of
Israel Putnam in Brooklyn, Conn., the FrankKn House
in Philadelphia, Webster's house at Green Harbor,
with scores of others that might be named have been
destroyed or so transformed that their interest and
identity are lost. Sunnyside, the home of Irving,
almost alone remains intact. The pilgrim to Sleepy
Hollow cannot better conclude his day than by a visit
thither. Leaving the churchyard one passes down the
main street of Tarrytown, lined with gray-stone castles
and elegant country-seats, quaint Dutch cottages and
modern villas, for two miles, and then enters a road
turning from it at right angles and leading down to
the Hudson. Soon one is lost in a maze of wildwood
greenery planted in a little gorge worn by a hillside
stream. Fine dwellings, with lawn and copse and
hedge, rustic bridges and parks of forest trees, are on
either side, and continue until one reaches a plateau
separated from the river only by the railroad tracks.
On this plateau, sheltered by fine old forest trees, stands
90 In Olde New York
Sunnyside cottage. One realizes the felicity of its
builder's description — "a quaint picturesque little
pile." It is built of stone in ancient Dutch style, with
crow-step gables and an L, and a multitude of nooks,
crannies, and angles. The famous Melrose Abbey ivy,
honeysuckle, rose vines and eglantines cover it in wilder-
ing mass. The main entrance is on the south, but there
is a piazza on the west facing the river which, with its
view of the broad Tappan Zee, the farther meadows
of Tappan, and grim Palisades on the south, was the
favorite resort of the author and his family in the long
summer evenings. Though its clinging vines and
antique style convey the impression of age, the cottage
is comparatively modern, having been almost entirely
remodeled in 1835. The old Dutch farmhouse which
it originally was, is said to have been the Wolfe rts
Roost, from which the partisan armed with his great
goose gun stole out for his adventure with the ma-
rauders of the Tappan Zee. Later it came into the
hands of the Van Tassels, and within its walls is said to
have been held the merry-making from which Ichabod
Crane departed for liis terrible encounter with the
Headless Horseman on the bridge by Sleepy Hollow
Church.
Needless to add that the old house was the birth-
place of those charming tales and sketches which have
made the locahty classic.
CHAPTER X
THE STORY OF THE PALATINES
rriHE period of American colonization was pro-
-*â– ductive of many tragedies and romantic incidents,
few of which have been adequately sketched.
One of the most striking and least knowTi of these
was the settlement in New York, in 1709, by the bounty
of Queen Anne of England, of a large body of Germans,
victims of religious persecution. The original home
of these interesting people was in what is known in
liistory as the Lower Palatinate of the Rhine, compris-
ing two small states, which had been united previous
to 1620. It was a beautiful country of vineyards and
gardens, with a soft climate, under the mild govern-
ment of an herediary ruler styled the Palatine. Prior
to the Reformation its people lived in the utmost
plenty and content. But their ruler early espoused
the cause of Luther, and, in the fierce rehgious wars
that followed, the Palatinate was in many instances
the battle-ground of the contending parties. Yet the
people recovered quickly from every blow, and still
clung to their land and faith. At length, in 1689, the
armies of Louis XIV of France marched into the
92 In Olde New York
country and ravaged it utterly, the pretext being that
it was used as a haven of refuge for the king's Huguenot
subjects, whom he was then engaged in extirpating.
Everything was utterly destroyed except the bare soil,
— churches, houses, public buildings, cattle, fair iSelds,
pleasant vineyards. In that time of terror the Elector
from his castle at Mannheim beheld two cities and
twenty-five towns in flames. Lust and cruelty were
satiated. The people pleading for mercy on bended
knees were thrust forth into the fields. Three thou-
sand one hundred and fifty square miles of territory
were left a blackened waste, and the wretched in-
habitants driven into exile. Wandering homeless and
friendless through Europe for several years, the thoughts
of the more intelligent among them turned at length
to England as a possible haven. Good Queen Anne
had succeeded to the EngUsh throne : ties of blood con-
nected her with the hapless Count Palatine, she being
a cousin of the first degree: besides, she was known to
sympathize deeply with the persecuted Protestants of
Europe, of every nationality. And so it happened
that in the spring of 1708 a little band of Palatine
exiles landed at Whitehall and filed through the Lon-
don streets in search of friends among their co-religion-
ists. There were forty-one of them, — men, women,
and children, — natives of Neuberg on the Rhine, and
all bore certificates of good character and that they
had been stripped of everything by the army of France,
The Story of the Palatines 93
signed by the bailiffs of their native town. Their
leader was a grave, thoughtful man of mature years, —
their pastor, Joshua Kockerthal, "Evangelical minis-
ter," as he is called in the Lords of Trade Documents,
— a Great-heart who had led the little band in all
their wanderings and had now safely conducted them
to England. Pastor Kockerthal lost no time in pre-
senting to Queen Anne a petition, in which he asked
to be sent with his own company, and others of his
countrymen that might follow, to her majesty's colonies
in America.
Never did petition receive from authority a more
favorable hearing. Queen Anne's womanly heart was
moved to pity by the woes of the exiles. To her
ministers the petition seemed to open the way to a
master-stroke of pohcy in the settlement of the colonies.
The aggressions of the French in Canada were then
beginning to be felt along the whole northern frontiers
of New England and New York, and the planting of a
large body of Germans, natural enemies of France,
on the frontier was a pohcy to be pursued with spirit.
They heartily seconded, therefore, the queen's design
of sending the petitioners to her colony of New York.
The queen defrayed the cost of their transit, it is said,
from her own private purse. Sending for Pastor
Kockerthal, she questioned liim concerning his history
and that of his people, promised him free transporta-
tion with his company to their new homes, and agreed
94 In Olde New York
further to furnish them with seed, agricultural tools,
and furniture, lands free of tax and quit-rent, and to
support them for one year, or until their first harvest
could be reaped. To Pastor Kockerthal Queen Anne
was even more generous, granting liim five hundred
acres as a glebe for the support of liis wife and cliildren
besides a douceur of twenty pounds for the purchase
of books and clothing. The males were also nat-
uralized by the Crown before leaving. The ship
Lyon was got ready, and sailed early in August, 1708,
in company with Lord Lovelace, who had been ap-
pointed governor of New York. There were fifty-two
Palatines on board, — one a babe of two weeks, and
several others of tender age.
The majority of the adults were vinedressers and
husbandmen; but there were also a smith, a carpenter,
a weaver, and a stocking-maker among them. Few
particulars of the voyage have been preserved. They
had a long and stormy passage of more than four
months, reaching New York late in December, 1708.
Several of the passengers had died on the voyage,
nearly all were sick, and the whole company was
quarantined for some weeks on Staten Island before
being admitted to the city. As soon as possible. Lord
Lovelace set about selecting a site for their settlement.
On the west bank of the Hudson, just above the High-
lands, familiar now to travelers as the site of the city
of Newburgh, there was a tract of country that in soil
The Story of the Palatines 95
and natural scenery was thought as near an approach
to that of the Rhine as could be found in the New
World ; and here the little band of storm-tossed voyagers
was established.
The tract granted them comprised two thousand
one hundred and ninety acres, and was laid out in nine
lots leading back from the river, including a glebe of
five hundred acres for the minister. Here the wan-
derers made a clearing, erected houses, built roads and
bridges, and, in due time, added a church and school-
house, which Queen Anne furnished with a bell,* and
thus laid the foundations of an enterprising and flourish-
ing town.
Pastor Kockerthal remained only long enough to
estabhsh liis flock in their fold. The country pleased
him. The government had fulfilled its promises to
' This bell is still preserved in the city of Newburgh as a precious
relic. It is a small bell, of about twenty-five pounds' weight, very
sweet in tone, and bears the inscription "Una fecit Amsterdammi,
17 — ." Its \acissitudes have been many. When first given to the
Palatines, their church was not ready, and it was loaned for a season
to the Lutheran church in New York. On the abdication of their
grant by the Palatines, it became the property of the Church of Eng-
land, which succeeded to the glebe, and on the outbreak of the
Revolution was buried in a swamp to prevent its falling into the
hands of the Whigs. Later it called the village children to school
and then, in a few years superseded in this high office by a new bell,
it was hung in the stables of the village hotel to give the hour to the
workmen. When the wTiter first saw it, in the spring of 1882, it
hung in a grocery-store; and he understands that it has since been
removed to the Washington Head quarters for preservation.
96 In Olde New York
the letter, and he felt that he could not remain at ease
until his bruised and smitten countrymen in Germany
had been brought to this land of plenty and liberty.
In a few months he embarked, again made the tem-
pestuous voyage, appeared before the queen, and,
having gained her countenance for his project, set out
for Germany to collect his co-religionists and lead
them, a second Joshua, to the promised land. By the
fall of 1709 he had assembled three thousand exiles
at different points on the Rhine, eager for the enter-
prise, and late in the year they came to England,
touching on the way at Leyden.
The Enghsh government had encouraged Pastor
Kockerthal's mission, if it had not directly authorized
it: still, with a l;yTix-eyed opposition scanning its every
move, it hesitated at incurring the expense of trans-
porting this large body of emigrants to America and
subsisting them there for a twelvemonth, as it had
done their predecessors. There happened to be in
London at this juncture a gentleman — Colonel
Robert Hunter — who, having been recently appointed
governor of New York, took a great interest in the
affairs of the province, and who suggested a plan for
reheving the ministry of its difficulty. This plan was
to employ the Palatines after their arrival in the pro-
duction of naval stores until the expenses of their
transit had been fully met. In 1698 a commission had
been appointed to inquire into the capacity of the
The Story of the Palatines 97
American colonies for the production of naval stores,
and to survey the woods and forests for masts, oak
timber, pitch-pine, and land suitable for the produc-
tion of hemp, the sanguin6 ministers evidently beUev-
ing that American oak in English shipyards was some-
thing to be desired. A bounty had also been offered
for every barrel of tar or turpentine imported from
America. Colonel Hunter's reasonings on the sub-
ject, as subsequently adopted and reported by the
Lords of Trade to the queen, were novel and inter-
esting. "Your majesty," it was argued, "imports
four thousand seven hundred barrels of tar yearly
from the Baltic States. It has been found in America
that one man can make six tons of stores per year;
and several working together could make double that
in proportion. We suppose that six hundred men
employed in it will produce seven thousand tons a
year, which, if more than your majesty needs, could be
profitably employed in trade with Spain and Portugal."
The cost of production was estimated at five pounds
a ton, and that of transportation at four pounds, at
which figures it could be sold as low as Norway tar;
and calculations were made to show how easy it would
be in this way for the Palatines to refund the money
advanced them, while at the same time they could be
making their homes in the wilderness. The recom-
mendations of the Lords of Trade were adopted.
The Palatines signed a contract agreeing to settle
98 In Olde New York
on such lands as should be allotted them, not to leave
them without the governor's permission, not to en-
gage in woolen-manufacture, and to suffer the naval
stores produced to be devoted to the payment of the
money advanced. The queen, on her part, agreed
to transport them to New York, to subsist them for
one year after their arrival, to furnish them with seed
and implements, and to grant them, as soon as the
debt was paid, forty acres of land each, to be free of
tax or quit-rent for seven years. There was at this
time in the beautiful Mohawk Valley, on the site of
the present towns of Herkimer and German Flats,
a tract of ungranted land to which the Indians held
a quasi claim, although it was not occupied by them;
and tliis was selected as the site of the Palatine settle-
ment.
To Colonel Hunter was assigned the duty of plant-
ing the exiles in their new home. The instructions
given to this gentleman show that much macliinery
was set in motion by the enterprise. Mr. Bridger, her
majesty's Surveyor-General of America, was ordered
down from New England to instruct the people in the
art of making tar. Overseers were appointed to keep
them at work, at a salary of one hundred pounds per
annum, a commissary to receive the stores, at two
hundred pounds for himself and clerk, and a factor
in England to place the stores on the market there,
at the usual rate of commission. Ten vessels were
The Story of the Palatines 99
got ready to transport the colony. They rendezvoused
at Plymouth, the point of departure of so many pilgrim
companies, and here, early in the spring of 1710, the
company embarked. The scene must have been one
of unusual and pathetic interest, though no account
of it has come down to us. The voyage was to be the
complement of twenty years' wanderings, and its end
rest, competency, home. So large an hegira had never
been known before, at least in modern times, and was
not subsequently equaled. Three thousand people,
— men, women, children, babes in arms, — repre-
senting nearly all crafts, professions, and conditions,
gathered on the pier, all placed on a level by one hard
condition, — biting poverty. There were hand-shak-
ings and mutual farewells, then the heave-ho of the
sailors, the filling of sails, and the fleet moved slowly
out of the harbor. Tradition says that an event of
e\'il moment attended the departure: a boat passing
from one ship to another was capsized and all its pas-
sengers drowned; and almost before the land had sunk
from view a storm arose and scattered the fleet, one
vessel — the Berkeley Castle — being so disabled that
she was obliged to put into Portsmouth for repairs,
and reached New York several days beliind the other
vessels. The voyage was long and disastrous. Crowded
into small vessels, supplied probably with insufficient
food, tossed by the sea, and worn out by their pre-
vious sufferings, sickness broke out among the poor
100 In Olde New York
people, and death reaped a fearful harvest. Almost
the only details of the passage are given in two letters
from Governor Hunter to the Lords of Trade, dated
at New York, — the first, June 16, 1710, in which he
says that he had arrived there two days before, and
adds, " We want three of the Palatine ships, and those
arrived are in a desperately sickly condition." He
writes again July 24, "The Palatine ships are all safe,
except the Herbert frigate, with tents and arms, cast
away on the east end of Long Island, July 7. The
men are safe, the goods damaged. The Berkeley
Castle, left at Portsmouth, not in. The poor people
have been mighty sickly, but recover apace. We have
lost about four hundred and seventy of our number."
Four hundred and seventy out of a total of three
thousand !
The exiles once landed, Mr. Bridger was sent off
to the Mohawk lands to see if they were suited for the
purpose in view, and returned in due time with an un-
favorable report. The lands were undoubtedly good,
he admitted, but the entire absence of pines precluded
the idea of using them for the production of naval
stores; and even if pines were to be had, their remote-
ness from market was an insuperable objection : besides,
if the people were settled on these extreme frontiers
they could not be protected from the inroads of the
French and Indians, †” as if the government had not
designed planting them there as a check to those in-
The Story of the Palatines 101
roads. To get a correct idea of the animus of this
report, we must glance briefly at the state of the colony
of New York. After the conquest of India, it came to
be regarded as an asylum for bankrupt politicians and
impecunious younger sons of the English nobility,
who went out poor, and in a few years, by the simple
process of peculation in ofiice, returned rich. New
York at this time sustained much such a relation to
the mother country, though of course in lesser degree.
Pirates and smugglers in the ports, land-grabbers, tax-
collectors, and commissaries in the interior, offered
rare opportunities to officials with itching palms.
Most of the land then taken up was held in great
estates by certain patroons and lords of manors, who
held the rights of the commonalty in utter contempt.
These men had great influence with the colonial govern-
ment. There was what would be called now a "ring"
at Albany, that had already cast covetous eyes on the
beautiful Mohawk Valley and were not willing that it
should be given to a band of needy German emigrants.
While Mr. Bridger was making his survey. Gover-
nor Hunter had been approached on the subject by
one of these gentlemen, Robert Livingston. Mr.
Livingston was a native of Scotland, a man of ability
and great force of character, who, in several offices
had done the colony good service, but who was tainted
with the leprosy of covetousness. By means of these
oflBces and his interest with the royal governors he had
102 In Olde New York
become very wealthy, and was now the owner of a
manor of one hundred and sixty thousand acres. His
manor-house stood some six miles back from the
Hudson, on a knoll overlooking one of the intervales
of the river, and has been described as "a long, low,
rambhng dwelling of stone, with heavy roofs, stout
oaken doors, and windows so deeply set in the walls
that they looked like embrasures." Within it was fur-
nished with some approach to European elegance.
Over his wide domain Livingston ruled as an autocrat.
He had been endowed with all the rights enjoyed by
English lords of the manor, had many retainers in his
hall, many horses in his stalls, and the command of a
militia company formed of his followers, all of which
combined with his free hospitality to make him popular
at home and potent in affairs of state.
Mr. Livingston advanced the objections to the
Mohawk lands which have been stated, and proposed
instead a tract of six thousand acres on his own manor,
heavily timbered, contiguous to the river, and in every
way suited to the object. He would dispose of it for
such a purpose at a sacrifice, — four hundred pounds
sterling. Without entering into details, we may say
that the offer was accepted. In October, 1710, the
poor Palatines, robbed of the Canaan which had been
promised them, were planted in the gloomy pine
forest on the Livingston estate. Some refused the
hard conditions and remained in New York, founding
The Story of the Palatines 103
there the first Lutheran church in this country; others
joined their countrymen in Pennsylvania. Those that
went were settled in five villages, or "dorfs," — three
on the east bank, known as the East Camp, and two
on the west bank, directly opposite, on a tract of un-
granted land, called West Camp. Two thousand two
hundred and twenty-seven Palatines were settled here,
the remainder having died or been left at New York
and other points.
Queen Anne, it will be remembered, had agreed to
maintain the colonists for a year after their arrival.
The stated daily stipend had been fixed at sixpence
for adults and fourpence for children before leaving
England. The contract for supplying them was given
to Livingston. The rations furnished, according to
the terms of his contract, which is still in existence,
were a third of a loaf of bread a day, the loaves of such
size and sort as were sold in New York for fourpence
halfpenny, and a quart of beer from liis brew-house.
The first act of the settlers was to build rude log houses
for shelter; their next, to clear the ground. The homes
so long and ardently looked forward to were at last
theirs. How depressingly must they have compared
with the homes they had left! Instead of the smiling
fields and vineyards of the Fatherland, a gloomy pine
forest, extending far as the eye could reach; instead
of the Rhine, a sullen, forest-fringed river; in place of
busy city and romantically-perched castle, the log hut
104 In Olde New York
of the settler and the wigwam of the savage. Quite
different, too, from what they had been accustomed to
were the duties that awaited them here. Instead of
the reaping and sowing, dressing of the vine and
treading of the purple vintage, the hard, thankless
task of the pioneer, — forests to hew, houses to build,
lands to clear, roads to open, a dock to construct;
and to these was added the drudgery of a distasteful
occupation. The first winter they were employed in
building houses and making clearings. In the spring,
under harsh taskmasters, they began discharging their
obligations to the queen, and continued it, many of
them, for twelve long years of serAatude.
Their first act was to prepare the trees for tar-
making. In the spring, when the sap was up, they
barked the north side of the tree; in the fall, before
the sap was down, the south side; in the succeeding
spring, the east side, and in the fall again, the west side,
— the object being to retain the sap in the wood.
Two years were required by tliis process to prepare
the tree. Then, when it was fully dead, it was cut
into convenient lengths, and the tar extracted from it
by slow combustion in a rude kiln. Turpentine was
extracted by bleeding the trees, as is now practised.
So earnest were the overseers that the boys and girls
were set to gathering pine knots, from which alone,
Governor Hunter reported, sixty barrels of tar were
made during the first season.
The Story of the Palatines 105
It was not long before the poor Palatines discovered
that they had sold themselves into a virtual slavery.
The clause in their contract which granted them their
lands only when they should have repaid the cost of
their transportation was fatal to their liberty; for it
soon became apparent that naval stores could not be
produced on the Hudson so cheaply and of such
quality as the British ministry had predicted, that
when sold in open market they could not com-
pete with the Swedish article, and that after the
salaries of instructors, commissaries, overseers, agents,
and clerks were paid, very little was left to the
credit of the Palatines. The prospect of discharg-
ing their debt by these means in that century
seemed hopeless. The condition of the emigrants
soon became pitiable: they were looked upon as
paupers subsisting on the bounty of government, and
treated accordingly. The neighboring white settlers
regarded them as interlopers, and had little inter-
course with them, and then only to fan their discon-
tent. Nearly all the officials made a spoil of them;
but none aroused so many bitter complaints as did the
chief commissary, Robert Livingston. It was alleged
that the bread he furnished them was moldy and
lacked the stipulated weight, and that the beer was so
bad as to be undrinkable; furthermore, that by his
interest with the overseers they were oftener employed
in clearing the manor lauds than on their own reser-
106 In Olde New York
vation.^ More than once these complaints became so
bitter that Governor Hunter came in person to in-
vestigate them. He was accompained by his stafiF,
and was received with every mark of consideration
and respect at the manor-house. Samples of the
bread and beer furnished were shown him; he heard
the statements of the contractor; and the conclusion
of the matter was a speech to the disaffected, in which
he recounted the goodness of the queen and upbraided
them for a set of sturdy rogues who were making but
a poor return for the favors shown them.
They had, however, other grounds of complaint.
Sickness was rife among them, and they were without
medicines or physicians. Their children were bound
1 A caustic letter from the Earl of Clarendon to Lord Dartmouth,
Secretary of State, gives color to these charges. He says: "I think
it unhappy that Colonel Hunter at his first arrival in his government
has fallen into such ill hands, for this Livingston has been known
many years in that province for a very ill man. He formerly vict-
ualled the forces at Albany, in which he was guilty of most notorious
frauds by which he greatly improved his estate. He has a mill and
brew-house upon his land, and if he can get the victualling of the
Palatines, who are so conveniently posted for his purpose, he will make
a good addition to his estate. ... I am of opinion, if subsistence
be all, the conclusion will be that Livingston and some others will
get large estates, the Palatines will be none the richer, but will be
confirmed in that laziness they are already prone to." The earl,
however, was opposed to the emigration of the Palatines. It is just
to Livingston to say that a commissioner appointed to inquire Into
his accounts while quartermaster exonerated him from charges
of fraud.
The Story of the Palatines 107
out without their consent, and, under colonial law,
became the property of their masters as absolutely
as the cattle in their stalls. In 1711, in the war against
Canada, a requisition for soldiers had been served
upon them, and three hundred of their best men had
accompanied Colonel Nicholson in the campaign
against Montreal, — not all of whom returned. Their
chief grievance, however, lay in the fact that the beauti-
ful country which had been promised them, and which
was to furnish homes for themselves and their children,
was withheld, — that by a clause in the contract which
they had misunderstood they were held in bondage.
There was much discontent among them on these
grounds during the first winter, not allayed when
some bold spirits who had penetrated the wilderness
to the promised land returned with glowing accounts
of its beauty and fertility.
Good Pastor Kockerthal spent most of his time
with his afflicted brethren, leaving the little flock at
Newburgh to the care of local elders. He attended
the sick, and knelt at the bedside of the dying with
prayers and words of consolation. He counseled
patience and moderation, cheered them with the
h3nims of the Fatherland, and was until death the
guide and comforter of the people.^
* This unsung apostle died in 1719, and was buried in the midst
of the people he had loved so well. His grave is still to be seen in
West Camp, in the present town of Saugerties, — a sort of vault
108 In Olde New York
The pastor was powerless to allay all feeling of dis-
content, however, and in May, 1711, Governor Hunter
was hastily summoned to the manor to quell a mutiny
which had broken out among the Palatines. They
had risen against their overseers, he was told, declaring
that they would go to the lands at Schoharie which
the queen had given them. Hunter, with sixty soldiers
whom he had ordered down from the garrison at
Albany, marched into the midst of the villages and
summoned the chiefs to an account. They stated
their grievances, which have been enumerated.
The governor, in reply, reminded them of their
solemn contract, and of their obligations to the queen,
assured them that the Scoharie country was still
in a field near the Hudson, covered with a large flat stone, on which
is inscribed, in German, this mystical epitaph:
Wise Wanderer
Under this stone rests near his
Sybilla Charlotte
A True Wanderer
The Joshua
of the High Dutch in North America and the
same in the East and West
Hudson's River
Poor Lutheran Preacher
His first arrival was with Lord Lovelace 1707-8
January the 1st
His second was with Col. Hunter 1710
June the 14th
His voyage to England brought forth his heavenly
voyage on St. John's Day 1719.
The Story of the Palatines 109
occupied by Indians, and that if they were settled
there they could not be protected from the French.
They still continued rebellious, however, and he ended
the matter summarily by disarming them and putting
them under the care of captains or directors, as the
queen's hired servants. After this exploit he returned
to New York. For a year the Palatines, deprived of
their arms and under the eye of the miUtary, remained
passive.
Pastor Kockerthal, writing of them at this period,
says: "All are at work and busy, but manifestly with
repugnance and only temporarily. They think the
tract intended for them a Canaan, but dangerous to
settle now, so they have patience. But they will not
Hsten to tar-making." In the fall of 1712 the governor
informed them that they must depend upon themselves
for subsistence thereafter, as his funds were exhausted.
The winter passed in not very successful efforts to keep
the wolf from the door, and in laying plans for a re-
moval to Scoharie as soon as spring should open.
This region seems to have been the Canaan of the
wanderers. Roseate visions of it had been flitting
through their minds since their departure from Eng-
land. Hunters and trappers with whom they came in
contact gave glowing accounts of its beauty and fer-
tility. It lay in the valley of the Scoharie, near its
junction with the Mohawk, some thirty miles west of
Albany. It was a natural prairie of rich, deep soil.
110 In Olde New York
once used by the Indians for corn-lands, but which
in their retreat westward had been abandoned.
Early in May, 1713, a large body of the people,
some five hundred in number, proceeded by water to
Albany, with the purpose of entering the valley from
thence. Conrad Weiser, one of the seven captains,
was the leader, — Pastor Kockerthal remaining at the
Camps. There is no more beautiful drive to-day
than the old road from Albany to Scoharie, which
follows the hne of the Indian trail that led the emigrants
to their happy valley. The company journeyed on
foot: they had neither vehicle nor draft-animal of
any sort. The men carried their arms, seeds, im-
plements, and household effects on their backs; each
matron had a babe in arms, a group of Httle toddlers
beside her, and perhaps a sack of provisions or bundle
of clothing on her back. An Indian, in paint and
feathers, led the way. Thus accoutered, they were
three days making the journey. At night they camped
in the open air, building fires to keep away the wolves.
Up the heights of the Helderberg, one of the northern-
most spurs of the Catskills, they toiled, and on over
ridge and valley, until, on the tliird day, from the
foot-hills of Fox Creek they caught sight of the Scho-
harie intervale. It is dotted now with villages and
rich with broad, green fields surrounding farmhouses
where content and abundance reside, — one of the
garden-spots of the Empire State, — a valley so lovely
The Story of the Palatines 111
that when viewed on a June day from its encircling
hills the eye is loath to turn from the entrancing
sight. It was beautiful then, though art had done
nothing for it; and eagerly the wanderers thronged into
it and began the erection of their homes. They
established themselves in seven villages, each named
after its head man, and to each householder was
allotted forty acres of land to clear, fence, and till
as his own. The settlement soon grew into a thrifty
and prosperous community, and for sixty years nothing
occurred to disturb its serenity except the recurrence
of one question, that of the title to the lands.
At an early period, Nicholas Bayard, an agent of
the Crown, arrived, and sent word to the householders
that if they would describe to him the boundaries of
their land he would give them a free deed in the name
of the queen. But the people had grown suspicious
of government officials, and, looking on this as some
new device to deprive them of their lands, treated the
agent so roughly that he fled to Schenectady. From
that place he again offered to give to whoever would
appear there with a single ear of com and describe liis
boundaries a free deed and title in perpetuity. The
people, however, still suspicious, refused tliis offer;
and Bayard then repaired to Albany, where he sold
the title to the Scoharie lands to five landholders, —
one of them being Robert Livingston, Jr. These
gentlemen soon called on the settlers, either to pur-
112 In Olde New York
chase the lands they had cleared, take out loans, or be
evicted, and, no notice being taken of the summons,
sent the sheriff of Albany to dispossess them. It was a
general notion that the Palatines were a mild, inoffen-
sive, pusillanimous people, who would submit to any
injustice rather than break the peace: so the sheriff
proceeded on his mission unaccompanied by even a
deputy, and, putting up at the public house in Weiser's
dorf, made known his conditions to the villagers. It
is not recorded that the men made any objection to
these harsh terms; but the mob of women that soon
gathered at the door convinced him that he had made
a mistake. They were Amazons, these women, strong
daughters of the hoe and plough, bare-armed, scant
of skirt, strong-limbed from frequent journeys to
Schenectady bearing the bag of grain to be floured;
and it was but the work of a moment for two of them
to hustle the little sheriff from his retreat into their
midst. There he was knocked down, rolled in the
mire where the hogs wallowed, and then placed on a
rail and ridden " skimmington " through four villages,
— Hartman's, Bruna's, Smith's, and Fox's dorfs, —
in all, hissed and hooted at and pelted with mud as the
rogue who had come to deprive the people of their
homes. At length the poor wretch, more dead than
alive, was set down on the Mill bridge, seven miles
from his starting-point, and bidden to betake himself
to his masters, lest worse evils should befall him. Our
The Story of the Palatines 113
heroines, however, paid dearly for their sport on this
occasion. For a long time their liege-lords refused to
go to Albany to trade, sending their wives instead, well
knowing that they would be held responsible for the
sheriff's discomfiture. After a while, however, thinking
the storm had blown over, several of them ventured,
and were summarily seized by the proprietors and kept
in prison until they agreed to pay the price demanded
for their lands.
It is time, however, that we should return to glance
briefly at the history of their fellow-pioneers whom
we left on the Hudson. These as a body remained
where Governor Hunter had placed them until after
the death of the good pastor Kockerthal in 1719. In
1721 some of the more enterprising began agitating a
removal to the rich bottomlands of the Mohawk
promised by Queen Anne. Their agents were sent
out, and selected a tract of land at the confluence of
Canada Creek with the Mohawk, on which the pros-
perous towns of Herkimer and German Flats now
stand. Governor Burnett confirmed this tract to them
by a patent dated January 17, 1722, and a detachment
of ninety-two persons made a settlement here, proba-
bly in the spring of that year. To each head of a
family was allotted forty acres of land, and the indus-
try of the owners soon made every acre as productive
as a garden.
The long-coveted material for homes was at last
114 In Olde New York
secured to them, and hope made every muscle active
and enduring. For thirty-five years the settlers Uved
a sort of Acadian Hfe. Their Indian neighbors, the
Six Nations, through the influence of Sir William
Johnson, continued at peace with the English. Ques-
tions of title and boundaries which disturbed their
compatriots at Scoharie were never raised here.
Their lands were perhaps the richest ever tilled, and,
with their simple and economical habits, a generation
was sufficient to make them thrifty and comfortable
land-holders, with large framed dwellings, capacious
bams, schools, churches, and mills. This fair dream
of peace was rudely dispelled, however, in the autumn
of 1757, when a body of three hundred French and
Indians, under M. De Beletre, suddenly appeared
before the settlements on the north side of the Mohawk.
Part of the inhabitants fled to rude forts, or, rather,
block-houses, which had been constructed for such an
emergency, and from this retreat beheld the torch
appHed to their houses, barns, and ricks, their live-
stock herded for driving away, and such of their rela-
tives as had not been able to reach the fort captured
or inhumanly butchered. Next the enemy appeared
before the block-house and summoned the people to
surrender, threatening to show no mercy if compelled
to take it, and the captains, deeming discretion the
better part of valor, opened the gates. The command-
ing oflBcer then massed the prisoners, as he had the
The Story of the Palatines 115
plunder, and the long, weary march to Canada was
begun. The settlement was utterly laid waste. Sixty
buildings were burned, forty dead were left on the
ground unburied, and one hundred and fifty men,
women, and children were borne away into the wilder-
ness to suflFer the horrors of Indian captivity.
The settlements on the south side, directly opposite,
were untouched, the ravagers fearing to remain long
in the neighborhood, lest news of their exploits should
bring Sir Willaim and his Iroquois upon them. With
tliis single exception, however, the three principal
Palatine settlements — on the Mohawk, the Sco-
harie, and the Hudson — enjoyed, during the colonial
era, the blessings of peace. Sir William died early in
1774, some said by his own hand to avoid acting against
his friends in the struggle which he saw to be inevitable.
The struggle quickly followed his death, and it found
the unhappy Palatines on the border between the two
contending factions. Fate to this people must have
seemed inexorable. Considering the persecutions and
miseries they had suflfered in the Old World, the oppres-
sions and extortions that met them in the New, and
the horrors visited upon them in the Revolutionary
struggle, we must admit that there never Uved a people
more hardly used. At the beginning of hostiUties, it
will be remembered, the Six Nations renewed their
allegiance to the British cause, and the Crown at once
let them loose on the American settlements, stimulating
116 In Olde New York
their native ferocity by the offer of a bounty of eight
dollars for every scalp brought in.
The Palatine settlements, from their defenseless
condition, and the fact that the people were less skilful
in the use of arms than their Yankee neighbors, became
early a favorite hunting-ground for the red rangers.
The murders, burnings, torturings, and other atrocities
committed here during the war would be deemed in-
credible were they not so well authenticated. Wives
saw their husbands murdered, scalped, and impaled
on the pickets that fenced their gardens. Wives were
brained and scalped before the eyes of their husbands,
children in the presence of their parents; babes were
torn from their mothers' breasts to be dashed upon the
stones; and the hellish carnival generally ended with
the burning of all that the settler had gathered by
years of toil, and the carrying away into captivity of
such as savage fancy had spared.
These outrages were committed, not by large bodies
of men whose coming could be discovered and guarded
against, but by detached bands, whose approach was
as stealthy as the panther's and who sprang upon the
settlements in the secure hour when no danger was
apprehended. Their effect was to almost depopulate
the Mohawk Valley. In 1781 it was estimated that
fully one third of the inhabitants had been killed or
captured; and most of the remainder had fled within
the American lines for safety.
The Story of the Palatines 117
It is pleasant to know, however, that this was the last
severe affliction visited upon this long-suffering people.
After the war the survivors returned to their ruined
homes; the soil was left them, and returned generous
harvests, as if in pity for their misfortunes, and a gen-
eration later the visitor to the beautiful valley could
discover scarcely a trace of the ruthless hand of war.
CHAPTER XI
A DECAYED STRONGHOLD
LOITERING at Ticonderoga, through bright
autumn days, long after the stream of tourists
had run away, we made many voyages of discovery,
each so interesting that it might with profit occupy
a week of a summer sojourn. One should establish
himself at the pretty village of Ticonderoga, up the
outlet of Lake George, where one finds good hotels
and all the amenities. Lake George is three miles
away on the south, and Lake Champlain two miles
on the east, while at the door in the falls of the outlet is
almost every variety of form that falling water can
assume. This outlet, as it leaves Lake George, is a
considerable mill stream of clear cold water, sparkUng
and murmuring among meadows until reaching the
village it falls nearly 250 feet in as many yards, cover-
ing almost at a leap the difference in level between the
two lakes. In its natural state the cataract must have
been a romantic picture, but its waters are now ^ so
obstructed by dams and vexed by mill-wheels that
much of their beauty has vanished. Pulp mills en-
^This was written in 1886.
t 2
A Decayed Stronghold 119
gaged in making paper from the poplar which grows
along the lake shore, a woolen mill, and long, low
workshops, in which the graphite found in the neigh-
boring hills is prepared for market, are now clustered
beside the cataract, and about them lies the village
comprising some 1900 inhabitants. Below, the out-
let flows through a woody glen to Lake Champlain,
so deep and quiet that it is easily navigable by small
steamers ; and then comes the lake, — so narrow and
shallow here that the Vermont Central has thrown a
draw-bridge across it to connect its system with that
of the Delaware and Hudson, but lengthening itself
out like a ribbon to Whitehall, twenty-two miles south.
One might spend days rounding the fir-clad promon-
tories or skirting the gently-circling bay shores with-
out discovering one half its beauties.
The great feature of interest, however, is old Fort
Ticonderoga. As one glides from the outlet into the
lake he sees over a marsh on the left a gaunt, craggy
promontory rising abruptly out of the water and
stretching back into the forest a well-defined wall of
trap a hundred feet above the level of the lake. The
railway coming up from Whitehall pierces the barrier
by a tunnel. On the right, in the curve of the bay
formed partly by tliis promontory, is the dock where
the large lake steamers land their passengers for Lake
George. This promontory is Ticonderoga, one of the
most historic spots in America. Clambering up its
120 In Olde New York
ledges to the summit, one finds a green, slightly rolling
plateau, with black rocks outcropping here and there
among the grass, and in its center gaunt and ragged
walls of masonry. In some of them embrasures still
gape, and beside them moat and sally-port, north and
west bastions, parade, and barracks are still traceable.
A httle further east, where the cliff projects over the
water, may be defined the outlines of a redoubt.
Sheep are feeding now among the grim ruins, and one
may linger all day without being disturbed by any
chance passer. It is a strange, eventful history that
of this rock. When the French engineers of Baron
Dieskau first selected it, and raised here the walls of
their Fort Carillon, they did it to command the great
highway between the English colonies on the south
and their own Dominion of Canada, a highway which,
making use of the Hudson and the two lakes — George
and Champlain — gave almost uninterrupted water
communication between the St. Lawrence and the
Atlantic at New York. And so it came about that all
the wars between these French and EngHsh colonies
resolved themselves into a struggle for the possession
of this commanding rock. In Uke manner it became
the first point aimed at and won by the American
colonies in their later struggle against England for
independence. Strange memories cluster about the
gray old ruin, which a dreamy October day is apt to
revivify. First a thousand gay Frenchmen in blue
A Decayed Stronghold 121
coats, and half as many Iroquois in war paint and
feathers, march away up the outlet toward Lake George,
bound on the congenial errand of a midnight assault
on some unguarded fortress or sleeping settlement.
But in a few days they come streaming back broken,
defeated. They have met Johnson and his provin-
cials at Fort William Henry, at the head of the lake.
Next, Vaudreuil comes on the same errand, wading
through the March snows, but is broken on the same
sturdy barrier. But the Frenchmen still persist, and
five months later Montcalm, with pennons waving
over 8000 men in arms, comes up the lake bound to
sweep the English from Lake George. He does it,
but the year is hardly out ere Abercrombie, with 15,000
Englishmen, sits down before the fort and demands
its surrender. There is a heady fight, and the fort
holds out, but the English retreat only to reappear
the next year under an abler general, and overthrow
the French power in America.
Under English rule the old fort saw peaceful days.
The quiet lakes were no more the field of contending
nations. Iroquois and Mohawks went no more on
the warpath. A corporal's guard of forty men lounged
about the crumbling ramparts, watched the lizard
basking in the sally-port, drank King George's health,
and shuflfled cards on unused drumheads. Then came
the morning of the 10th of May, 1775, when in the
gray dawn a motley band of frontiersmen in backwoods
122 In Olde New York
garb, headed by one Ethan Allen, of Bennington,
swarmed over the parapets and drew up on the parade.
We should hke to have seen the expression of the old
red-faced martinet who commanded when confronted
by this band of farmers and ordered to surrender
" in the name of the great Jehovah and the Continental
Congress."
CHAPTER XII
THE ORISKANY MONUMENT
GLIDING swiftly eastward on the New York
Central Railroad and nearing the little village
of Oriskany, in Oneida County, a tall shaft on a
neighboring hilltop to the right flashed by. The
monument is to General Herkimer and the brave
patriots of 1777, and it marks the Oriskany battle-field
as well. The whole region is storied ground. We
left the train at the little station of Oriskany, and
walked back along the tow-path of the canal for the
first mile, thence across the latter by a bridge and
along a rural lane to the liighway which sldrts the
brow of the hill on which the monument stands. In
his cottage overlooking the battle-field, we found Mr.
Rolin M. Lewis, the custodian of the grounds, who
added much to the interest of our visit by personally
guiding us to the scenes of greatest interest, and
which, being unmarked, we would have found by our-
selves difficult to determine.
The monument stands where the battle was fought,
on the edge of a sharp bluff rearing itself above the
Mohawk Valley, on a plot of five acres of meadow
124 In Olde New York
purchased by the Association for the purpose. It is
of Maine granite, eighty-five feet liigh above the base,
which is of the valley limestone. On each side of the
die of the pedestal is a tablet of bronze sLx feet wide
and four and a half high. Two of the bronzes are
pictorial, and represent one. General Herkimer direct-
ing the fight after receiving his mortal wound, the
other a pioneer and Indian engaged in deadly struggle.
On one of the remaining tablets is the dedication, and
on the other a roster containing the names of those
patriots engaged in the fight, as far as they could be
learned — but 250 out of 800. The dedication was
written by Professor Edward North, of Hamilton
College, and is in excellent taste. It is as fol-
lows:
"Here was fought the battle of Oriskany on the
6th day of August, 1777. Here British invasion was
checked and thwarted. Here Gen. Nicholas Herkimer,
intrepid leader of the American forces, though mor-
tally wounded, kept command of the fight, till the
enemy had fled. The life blood of more than 200
patriot heroes made this battle-ground sacred for-
ever.
"This Monument was built a.d. 1883 in the year
of Independence 107, by grateful dwellers in the
Mohawk Valley, under the direction of the Oneida
Historical Society, aided by the National Government
and the State of New York."
The Oriskany Monument
The Oriskany Monument 125
The first mover in the matter of erecting this monu-
ment was the Continental Congress of 1777, which
passed the following resolution:
"That the Governor and Council of New York be
desired to erect a monument at Continental expense
of the value of $500 to the memory of the late Briga-
dier-General Herkimer, who commanded the militia
of Tryon County, in the State of New York, and was
killed fighting gallantly in defence of the Hberties of
these States."
But the people were too poor to give effect to this
praiseworthy resolution, and it slumbered until in
1876 the Oneida Historical Society was formed at
Utica, when it actively began the work so long delayed.
Public meetings were held, the press enhsted. Con-
gress was appealed to, and at length induced to vote
the original sum of $500, with interest amounting to
$4100, to which the Legislature of New York added
$3000 conditional to a like sum being raised by private
subscription. The monument was erected in 1883,
and dedicated with appropriate ceremonies, in the
presence of a large audience, on the 6th of August,
1884, the 107th anniversary of the battle.
The visitor can but be charmed with the outlook
from the spot. At his feet is the winding, gently un-
dulating valley of the Upper Mohawk, covered with
tilth and grange, the new-born river sparkling in its
midst. The Erie Canal runs at the foot of the bluff, and
126 In Olde New York
beside it the great national highway, the New York
Central, with its four roadways over which ten trains
every hour pass. Half-a-dozen boats are in sight on
the canal, moving sedately in such striking contrast
to the roar and rush of the train. Rome is but six
miles away on the west, Utica nine miles on the east.
Across the valley the hills rise gently in alternate farm
and forest, with the spire of more than one village
church pricking above the greenery.
"This battle of Oriskany," said our friend musingly,
" would be considered a mere skirmish in our day, but
it wrought ulterior results of the greatest importance.
Down there in the Mohawk Valley at Herkimer,
twenty-four miles distant, in 1725 a colony of German
Palatines from the Rhenish Palatinate had been settled.
As has been well said, because they were so well used
to fire, and sword, battle, siege, and massacre at home,
they could better stand the savage incursions to which
that frontier fort was then exposed.
"Among these Palatines was a certain John Jost
Herkimer, or properly Hercheimer, who had a son
Nicholas, who in 1776 had risen to be a leader among
his people, and for that reason had been appointed
Brigadier-General of the militia of Tryon County.
The British plan of battle directed Burgoyne to march
down Lake Champlain, and Colonel St. Leger with
an auxiliary force to enter the Mohawk Valley at its
head and move down it, swelling his column with the
The Oriskany Monument 127
Tories and Indians who were numerous then, and
gathering from its rich fields suppHes for the main
column, which he was to join at Albany. On the 16th
of July Herkimer heard that St. Leger had appeared
at Oswego with a large force bent on this expedition,
and he at once issued his proclamation calling for
volunteers to repel the invader. On the 4th of August
he set out with 800 men to meet the foe who had in-
vested Fort Stanwix, which stood yonder in the valley
near the present site of Rome. St. Leger, apprised of
his coming, sent forward his Tories and Indians to
form an ambush in yonder ravine, and in the heavy
timber which then covered this hill. Herkimer's van
guard came marching along the road yonder, httle
suspecting danger, when suddenly they were saluted
with a volley and the deafening yells of the savages.
Fortunately the German farmers were untrammeled
by discipline. They broke ranks at once, and fought
as their enemies fought, from tree to tree and from
rock to rock. For five long hours the battle continued.
Herkimer's wliite horse was early killed under him,
and he was mortally wounded; he directed his saddle
to be placed on a fallen tree and calmly sat on it, smok-
ing his pipe and commanding the battle. Two hun-
dred of the patriots lay dead, when suddenly the
savages lost heart and fled, giving the day to the brave
Herkimer and his followers. St. Leger's march was
stayed. Burgoyne, deprived of his ally, and of the
128 In Olde New York
expected provisions, surrendered, and Continental
affairs assumed an entirely new phase."
Mr. Lewis took us to a spot on the hillside near the
ravine and pointed out the site of the tree on which
Herkimer sat to direct the battle, and then into the
ravine to see a corduroy road hastily laid by General
Herkimer on the day of the battle for his troops to cross.
A ditch had recently been dug across it, cutting through
some of the logs which were seen to be still in good
heart. Several of them since the erection of the monu-
ment had been carried to the sawmill and sawn into
canes, which had been quickly disposed of as relics of
the fight. ^
* This article was written in 1883.
CHAPTER Xin
JOHNSON HALL'
A S I sit at my window in the village hotel of Johns-
-*^*- town, I see across green meadows a fine old
country seat set on a little elevation in a pretty park
of native trees. The villagers know it as Johnson
Hall, the former seat of Sir William Johnson, Baronet.
Perhaps no house in the land has seen stranger vicissi-
tudes. Council after council of red men has been
held within its walls; throngs of painted savages have
surrounded it, sometimes bent on merry-making,
sometimes on war. Settlers have fled to it for refuge.
In its old library for twelve long years centered all the
wires that directed the Indian affairs of the northern
colonies. Then spies were continually going out from
it into all the Indian country, and swift runners bear-
ing belts or messages from the Canada tribes, from
the Ottawas, Wyandots, Senecas, and Shawnees, and
from the outposts of Detroit and along the lakes, were
continually arriving. It has been the scene too of a
generous hospitality. An Indian princess once pre-
sided there as its mistress, and entertained at her
^ First appeared in the New York Evening Post in 1883.
130 In Olde New York
board with equal courtesy titled visitors from foreign
lands, grave colonial gentlemen in wigs and ruffles,
and the blanketed chieftains of her own nation.
Groups of merry children, showing the hneaments of
the Caucasian father and Indian mother, have played
about its doors. It has been the scene of bridals,
births, and deaths, of stirring incidents, romantic
episodes, and diplomatic triumphs without number,
and now in more peaceful days preserves the stateU-
ness and dignity befitting a mansion with a history.
The old house stands on a slight elevation, about a
mile from the village, in a park of some ten acres, with
meadows and green fields sloping from it in every
direction. The approach is by a private road set with
shade trees. The park is well kept and fragrant with
flowers and shrubbery. Four great, gaunt poplars
stand within it which are pointed out as having been
planted by the Baronet himself, a year after the house
was built. A row of gnarled old hlac trees set in the
form of an elhpse, and still blooming in their season,
were set out by the same hand.
The Hall itself is a square-roofed two-story and
attic structure, built of wood clapboarded in the form
of blocks of stone, and at its best estate had two wings
built of solid stone and pierced for musketry; but one
of these, however, is now standing. On entering the
house its soHdity and wide proportions at once mark
it as a product of the colonial era. Its timbers are
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Johnson Hall 131
massive. The hall running through the building is
forty feet long by fifteen wide, with a broad staircase
leading to a similar hall above. The rooms are high
and spacious and the sides are wainscoted with heavy
panels and carved work. On the roof is an observa-
tory from wliich one may look into four counties.
This, however, did not form a part of the original
structure. Bow- windows in parlor and dining-room
have also been added by the present owner. In other
respects it stands precisely as it was left by its titled
builder. It was built in 1763, and was then considered
one of the finest mansions in the colony outside of New
York.
Sir WilUam Johnson came of a good family in Ireland
and arrived in America in 1738, at the age of twenty-
three, to take charge of a large estate in the Mohawk
Valley which liis uncle. Captain Peter Warren, had
purchased some years before. Either through his
own address or the influence of his family the young
Irishman "got on" famously in the new world. He
cleared lands, invited settlers, opened a country store,
built a flouring mill, and drove a profitable trade with
the Indians, and in a few years became favorably
known not only in his own section but at Albany and
New York. In a few years we find him receiving
offices from the Crown, but that wliich secured him
the favor of his Government and brought him wealth
and honors was the unbounded influence which he
132 In Olde New York
soon acquired over his savage neighbors, the Six
Nations. Perhaps no other man ever studied the
Indian character, habits, and sympathies so thoroughly,
or possessed such tact and skill in making use of his
knowledge. To secure their friendship, he visited
them in their villages, dressed in their garb, sat in
their councils, seated them as guests at his own table,
took part in their ceremonies, and allied himself
domestically with one of their most powerful clans.
He early saw the importance to the colony and to Eng-
land of winning and holding this strong confederacy
to the EngHsh cause, and that the man who could do
this was sure of advancement and favor. He Uved
during the stirring period of the French and Indian
wars. Wily emissaries of the French were continually
appearing among the Six Nations, bribing them and
striving to arouse their prejudices against their neigh-
bors, the English; but during this entire period the
influence of this one man held the Indians to their
fealty and saved the colony from destruction. It was
natural that he should be rewarded for this. As early
as 1746 the chief management of Indian affairs was
entrusted to him and he was given the command of
several Indian expeditions against the French. In 1755
he was made a Major-General and given command
of one of the four armies raised that year for service
against the French, and after meeting and defeating
Baron Dieskau on Lake George the Crown created
Johnson Hall 133
him a Baronet, while Parliament voted him five thou-
sand pounds to support the honor. In addition he
had received at various times immense tracts of land.
In 1762 he was the owner, either by purchase or grant,
of nearly all the fertile region now included in the
county of Fulton, and about this time settled one
hundred families on the site of the present village of
Johnstown, and partly for their protection and partly
to maintain a better espionage over the Indians built
the old mansion which I have described. The scene
then was far different from that presented now. A
heavy forest covered the country, broken only by the
clearing about the Httle settlement, and bear and
panther, Mohawk, Delaware, and Seneca prowled in it.
The Hall was scarcely completed when it became
the scene of a notable Indian council. In the summer
of 1762 Pontiac, King of the great Ottawa Confederacy,
had formed a design of driving the English from the
country and had invited all the great interior tribes,
among them the Six Nations, to join with him in the
enterprise. The Senecas alone were seduced from
their allegiance, many of their braves being engaged
with Pontiac in the attacks which were made that year
on the English outposts in the West. The chiefs of
the five nations, unsolicited by Johnson, went to re-
monstrate with the offending tribe, but they found its
young men averse to remaining at peace with the Eng-
lish. A few of their clans, however, had not gone on
134 In Olde New York
the war path, and these desired the intercession of the
ambassadors that they might be spared in the chastise-
ment which they were sure the EngUsh would inflict
on their nation, and it was arranged that six of the
friendly Senecas should return with the embassy to
Johnson Hall and present their claims in person.
The conference was held on the 7th of September.
Three hundred and twenty delegates from the five
nations with the six friendly Senecas in all the bravery
of paint and feathers attended it. Johnson, attired
in the full uniform of Major-General, gave the head
chiefs an audience in the drawing-room of the old
mansion. The Onondaga chief opened the council
with a speech in which he graphically depicted the
whole course of the mission and the present hostile
attitude of the Senecas, introduced in fitting terms
the envoys of the peaceful clans, and dwelt eloquently
on the loyalty of the five nations to the English despite
the specious promises of Pontiac. Johnson's reply
showed the finesse of the accomplished diplomat. He
commended the loyalty of the five nations in their
efforts to bring the Senecas to reason, and reminded
them that the latter were not only enemies to the English
but traitors to the Confederacy, since they interrupted
its trade and disturbed its friendly relations with the
English. He might justly ask them to take up the
hatchet against the delinquents, but only desired them
to remain quiet and observe how the English punished
Johnson Hall 135
their enemies. Turning to the friendly Senecas, he
commended their individual loyalty, but gave them to
understand that, as their nation was in open rebelHon,
any clemency that might be sho\vn them would be due
to the intercession of their confederates. The council
broke up with the fealty of the five great nations during
Pontiac's war secured.
Close on the heels of this council came an embassy
from the Ganniagwaris, a people of the same stock as
the Mohawks, but now residing on the Saint Lawrence,
praying for redress from the Jesuits, who had seized
some of their richest lands by virtue of a patent from
Louis XIV. The Baronet promised to lay their
grievance before the King, and then began the task
of enhsting them on the English side in a war against
Pontiac. They replied figuratively, referring to their
disarmament by the EngUsh in the last French War.
"When you took the war axe from us you directed us
to pursue our hunting, so that we must now be still,
having no axe." In reply Sir William presented them
with an axe of the best English steel and directed them
to pass it around among their warriors with instruc-
tions to use it in cutting off all the bad links which had
sullied the chain of friendsliip. The embassy returned,
and in a few days their three hundred braves were on
the war path against Pontiac.
But the most notable council ever held here was that
of 1768, between the Six Nations and their ancient
136 In Olde New York
enemies, the Cherokees. In December, 1767, three
Cherokee chiefs arrived at Albany by sloop from New
York, and, accompanied by Colonel Philip Schuyler,
proceeded on horseback to Johnson Hall, their object
being to arrange a treaty of peace between their nation
and the Confederacy. The Baronet entertained them
in state, and at once despatched the belt by runners
to call a grand council of the tribes. On the third of
March a large body of the confederates and their allies
had been gathered at the Hall. They came out of the
dense forest singly and by twos and threes, Delawares,
Shawnees, Senecas, and Mohawks, with laggard steps
and lowering brows, and gathered about the Hall,
until seven hundred and sixty warriors had surrounded
it. No man ever had a more formidable task appointed
him than had the Baronet in moving tliis large assembly
to his will. The entire Confederacy was in a ferment
this time over the outrages committed upon it by the
Enghsh. Its lands had been seized, its members
jeered and insulted, and many of them murdered by
settlers. No notice had been taken of their offer to
cede all their lands east of the Ohio for a small con-
sideration, and the colonies were on the verge of another
terrible Indian war. The Baronet, however, held
several private interviews with the principal chiefs
before the grand council took place, at which he told
them among other things that he had received certain
intelligence that the King had decided to accept their
Johnson Hall 137
offer to sell the lands east of the Ohio, and so far won
them to good humor that at the council the treaty with
the Cherokees was concluded.
These were a few of the many councils and private
meetings of cliiefs of wliich the old Hall has been the
scene. Disputes and questions of various kinds, such
as were continually arising on the border, were also
brought here for settlement. Petty differences between
Indian and white man, land claims involving thousands
of acres, were here decided, and criminal actions con-
ducted.
Despite his public duties the Baronet found time
for a genial and generous hospitality. Few gentlemen
of the colony or foreign visitors of rank or note came
into the Mohawk Valley without being entertained
under his roof. Among the latter was Lord Adam
Gordon, who afterward became Commander-in-Chief
of the army in Scotland, and between whom and his
host a firm friendship was established. Another titled
\isitor was Lady Susan O'Brian, eldest daughter of
Stephen Fox, first Earl of Ilchester, and sister of Lady
Harriet Ackland.
The mistress of the mansion during these years was
an Indian princess, a sister of the celebrated Mohawk
chief Thayendanega. She first attracted the Baronet's
attention at a militia training, where, a beautiful,
sprightly girl of sixteen, she won the plaudits of the
multitude by leaping at the invitation of an oflBcer to
138 In Olde New York
the crupper of his horse and riding with him in a mad
gallop about the parade ground. About 1750 the
Baronet and she were married according to the Indian
custom, although it is not probable that the English
ceremony was ever performed. The lady is de-
scribed as being agreeable in person and as possess-
ing sound understanding. Lady O 'Brian speaks
of her in her letters as a well-bred and agreeable
lady, who in many rambles about the forests proved
herself a pleasant companion. Sir WiUiam's chief
object in the alliance, no doubt, was to secure
greater influence with the Indian chiefs, but the lady
seems to have made him a faithful wife, and the pair
lived together in the greatest harmony until the hus-
band's death.
This event occurred suddenly in the Hbrary of the
old house on the 9th of July, 1774. During the day
the Baronet had stood two hours in the burning July
sun, deUvering a speech to several hundred Indians
who had assembled to ask his aid in seeking redress
for encroachments on their lands. At the conclusion
of the address he was seized with a violent attack of
dysentery and conveyed to his library, where he died
in the arms of a faithful attendant almost before his
family could reach the scene. This was the last event
worthy of note in the history of the old mansion. In
the troubles wliich quickly followed, the Baronet's
family espoused the royal cause and the Hall became
Johnson Hall 139
an object of suspicion and dislike to the patriot leaders.
It, however, happily escaped the torch during the war,
and remains one of the few colonial houses with a
history saved to the student of to-day.
CHAPTER XIV
THOMAS PAINe's LAST HOME *
f 1 1HE thousands that daily whirl by New Rochelle
^ on the trains of the Consolidated Railroad see
little more than the earth and stone walls of a deep
cut, and up on the bank to the right a stone church
surrounded by an ancient churchyard. If one leaves
the train for a day's ramble, he finds beyond the stone
walls and the church a large town, with many fine old
country-seats, and as many modern villas, wide busi-
ness and residence streets, and as many narrow ones
lined with humbler dwellings.
A road stretches north away from the town eight
miles to the village of "White Plains and its ancient
battle-ground — a highway made smooth and hard by
its covering of broken stone, winding between ranks
of tall, ragged locusts, their tops dead and broken
off, through a beautiful and highly cultivated
region.
One passes here a country seat, there a new villa smart
with a coat of parti-colored paint; just beyond a little
cottage with stone walls and gables, low, antiquated
1 Written in 1885.
Thomas Paine's Last Home 141
porch, green wooden shutters, and huge chimney
that must have been built for one of the Huguenot
yeomen who settled New Rochelle over two centuries
ago.
At one place, on a bluff in thick woods, is an old,
deserted house that has been without human habitant
to care for it for generations, and where, in Revolu-
tionary days, when the cowboys and skinners harried
all this region, an old man and his daughter were tor-
tured and left for dead in the effort to make them re-
veal the depository of their secret hoards.
By all the rules of apparitions this house should be
haunted, but on inquiry the pilgrim could find no record
of so much as a ghostly light or footfall ever being seen
or heard there.
A mile of this road, and then the tourist pauses on
the side of a hill whose summit is crowned with hand-
some dwellings and fine farms, before a marble shaft
set in a space some twelve feet square, with an iron
fence in front and a solid wall of stone enclosing it
from the meadow behind, and from a lane that turns
in on the north side, and after dipping down to cross
a brook, ascends the hill to a modest, low-walled
farmhouse that with its outbuildings occupies the
summit.
On the western face of the monument, next the
road, is a medallion likeness of Thomas Paine, with
the inscription:
142 In Olde New York
"Thomas Paine,
Author of ' Common Sense.'
Bom in England, January 29, 1737,
Died in New York city, June 8, 1809.
'The palaces of kings are built upon the ruins of the
bowers of Paradise.' — Common Sense."
Above the medalhon is Paine 's motto:
" The world is my country.
To do good my religion."
The south side bears quotations from the Crisis
No. I. and from Crisis No. XV. The inscriptions on
the east and north sides are taken from the "Age of
Reason." Fertile meadows sweep away to the east-
ward, cut in twain by the farm-road mentioned. They
form part of the estate given to Paine in 1783 by the
State of New York for his services in the Revolution.
The history of both monument and farm is interest-
ing. Paine, as he lay on his dying bed, evinced con-
siderable anxiety as to the disposal of his body after
death, fearing, perhaps, that it would not meet with
proper respect. His father was a Quaker, and he
desired to be laid to rest in the burying-ground of that
people. He sent to Mr. Willet Hicks, a respectable
Quaker living near, and said that, as he was going to
leave one place, it was necessary to provide another,
and wished to be interred in the Quaker burying-
ground, adding that he might be interred in the Epis-
Thk Thomas Paine Ml.mohi
Thomas Paine 's Last Home 143
copal churchyard, but they were so arrogant, or in the
Presbyterian, but they were so hypocritical. The
Quakers, however, refused the desired permission.
In his last will and testament, dated January 18,
1809, Paine expressed a wish to be buried in the
Quaker burying-ground if they permitted it, but if
they would not allow it he wished to be buried on his
farm, "the place where I am to be buried to be a
square of twelve feet, to be enclosed with rows of trees
and a stone or post and rail fence, with a headstone
with my name and age engraved upon it, 'Author of
Common Sense.'" He was so buried in a plot in the
field a few yards south of the present monument. In
1819, however, William Cobbett, the great English
Liberal, while in this country dug up his bones and
carried them to England, but what disposition was
made of them is not known. In 1838-9 funds for the
present monument were raised by pubhc subscription,
and the marble was cut at Tuckahoe. When those
having the matter in charge came to erect it, they were
forbidden by the owner to cross his land to the grave,
the farm now having passed into strange lands, and
after some delay the present site was purchased and
the stone was erected there.
After a time the monument fell into neglect. Those
who had known Paine, or who remembered the facts
attending its erection, had died or removed. A few
years ago the stone was used as a bill-board, and was
144 In Olde New York
literally covered with handbills and posters. At
length a movement was set on foot in New York
and New Rochelle, funds were collected sufficient to
restore it, and in 1881 it was rededicated with appro-
priate ceremonies and the present inscriptions.
The farm in the days preceding the Revolution was
known as the "Devoe Farm," and was owned by
Frederick Devoe. "Yeoman," he is styled in the early
records. Frederick Devoe was a Tory, and according
to tradition piloted the British troops over the country
roads to White Plains in 1776, where they intrenched.
For tliis offense he was indicted for treason Novem-
ber 10, 1780, and judgment was declared against him
July 5, 1783, whereupon his farm was confiscated
under the Confiscation Act, and given by the State
of New York to Thomas Paine. Cheatham, in his
'Life of Paine,' says: "The farm contained more than
300 acres of land, and an elegant stone house 120 x
28 feet." In point of fact the farm lacked some
twenty acres of 300, and the house was far from
"elegant," being a small stone farmhouse of a story
and a half, such as sheltered the yeomen of that day.
The original structure, considerably modified and im-
proved, may be studied in the farmhouse which we
have mentioned as standing on the summit of the hill
to the eastward of the monument.
Calling on Mr. Wesley Lee, the then proprietor,
we were shown the parlor which Paine occupied, and
Thomas Paine 's Last Home 145
the Hbrary opening out of it in which he wrote. These
have been httle changed from the time of the author's
occupancy. "When I bought it," said Mr. Lee, "the
only rehcs of Paine remaining were the old Franklin
stove and andirons he used; the stove still set in the
brickwork in the library. These I let Mr. Walter Bell,
the stove-dealer in New Rochelle, have in exchange
for a modem stove and appurtenances. I presume
he still has them."
Returning to New Rochelle, we called on Mr. Bell,
and were shown the stove, which, if it had never be-
longed to Paine, would still possess interest as being
the first form that took shape in the inventor's mind.
It is composed of heavy upright and horizontal plates
of iron held in place by grooves, there not being a bolt
or rod in the whole fabric — a sort of iron box, in which,
on andirons, the fire was built. Mr. Bell has two
affidavits to prove that the stove was really Paine 's.
One is from Mr. Lee, stating that at the time he pur-
chased the property there was a Franklin stove set in
the brickwork of the room on the northeast corner of
the house, and a pair of andirons, and that he made
inquiry of the former owners, and also of old residents,
and from information thus obtained he believed them
to be the same as those formerly used by Thomas
Paine. The other is from Augustus Van Cortlandt,
M.D., a former resident of New Rochelle, who says
that "in the year 1841 he was taken by his father to
146 In Olde New York
the house formerly occupied by Thomas Paine,
author of the 'Age of Reason,' 'Common Sense,'
and the 'Rights of Man'; that while there he
was shown the old Franklin stove and andirons,
which his father stated were seen by him in the
year 1808, when he presented a letter to Thomas
Paine personally in the same room where said Frank-
lin stove and andirons were, and that from the
design and certain marks thereon he knows them
to be the articles shown him as aforesaid, and that
the same are now in possession of Messrs. Bell and
Harmer."
"My object in getting these affidavits," continued
Mr. Bell, "was to prove the authenticity of the relics,
and it was suggested to me by the fact that on my
way home with the stove I met a man, a citizen of New
Rochelle, who laughed at the very idea that I had
Paine 's stove in the wagon. Dr. Van Cortlandt was
a member of the old Van Cortlandt family, a learned
and respectable gentleman, who told me a great many
things about Paine. He said that when his father
called on the latter he was clad in a dressing-gown
that had evidently been made of a blanket, and with a
beard of three days' growth on his face. A deal table
stood in the room, without a cover, on which was a
part of a loaf of bread, a pitcher of milk, and a bowl
of molasses, from which his breakfast had evidently
been furnished. He said that there was valuable
Thomas Paine 's Last Home 147
furniture and bric-a-brac in the room, including a
fine French clock, medals given to Paine by various
societies, with bronzes and medallions. He said Paine
once made a model of an iron bridge to cross the
Harlem River at a single span, which w^as thought a
wonderful thing in those days. The only other relic
of Paine now in New Rochelle, so far as I know, is an
old armchair in which he sat during his frequent calls
on his neighbors, the Badeaus, who lived nearly oppo-
site the monument. Mrs. Badeau, who lived to be
quite aged, always spoke of Paine with the greatest
esteem and respect, though she did not share in his
religious views. He had a love for httle children, she
said, that almost amounted to a passion, and was in
turn a great favorite with them. She described him
as pleasant and social in familiar intercourse, with a
fund of anecdote and information, on which he was
always willing to draw for the entertainment of his
friends. The last years of this good old lady were
spent in protecting the grave and tombstone of her
friend from the attacks of curiosity and rehc-hunters.
Often has she raised her window and frightened off
men who were breaking chips from edges of the stone,
to be preserved as relics. She saw Cobbett's men when
they rifled the grave in 1819, and warned them away,
but they refused to go, saying they were acting under
Cobbett's orders.
"I know of but one person now Uving in the town
148 In Olde New York
who remembers Paine. That person is Mrs. Daven-
port, a very aged lady living on Davenport's Neck.
She says that Paine often patted her on the head when
she was a little girl."
CHAPTER XV
THE AMERICAN BARBISON
"DARBISON, the well-known resort of so many
'*-' French artists and art-students, where Millet and
a whole colony of painters have found inspiration and
subjects worthy of their pencils, lies in the heart of the
ancient forest of Fontainebleau, at an easy distance
from the great capital. Easthampton,^ which we
have ventured to call the American Barbison, is a
village of Puritan origin, situated at the southeastern
extremity of Long Island, in a little oasis of meadows
and wheat-fields, that owes some portion of its attract-
iveness to its surroundings of sand and scrub. Its
one wide main street is so prodigal of land that it
could only have been laid out by men with a continent
at their disposal. Great elms and willows overarch
it, and beyond their vistas the eye rests on the broad
bosom of the Atlantic, flecked by summer sails. North-
ward one looks on orchards and green fields. The
dwellings that line it for a mile please by their endless
variety. There is the quaint old Puritan cottage, with
^ Written in 1883. Easthampton is now a fashionable and ex-
clusive resort and the conditions here pictured no longer exist.
150 In Olde New York
its gables facing the street, and flanked by the wood-
shed and mossy well-sweep and bucket. There are
square, roomy, old-fashioned farmhouses, some newly
painted, some dingy and moss-covered, with low stoops
opening directly upon the street. There is a quaint
old village academy, the first opened in the State.
There are little shops that nobody knows the use of,
an inn, a few summer villas, a fine old country-seat
standing remote and grand behind a copse of maples
and cedars, and at either end of the village street a
windmill, — gaunt, weather-beaten structures, that at
the merest suspicion of a breeze throw their long arms
as wildly and creak and clatter as noisily as those that
Don Quixote attacked. The old church, built in 1717,
in whose turret hung a bell presented by Queen Anne,
— one of the historical churches of the land, — was
pulled down in 1872, its demolition marking an epoch
in the town's existence. The churchyard, once under
the wing of the church, is now set lonesomely in the
midst of the main street, its white tombstones looked
down upon by all the neighboring dwellings and con-
stantly reminding the villagers of the \drtues of their
ancestors. Still, it is an interesting spot, with its fence
of palings, its quaint old-fashioned stiles, and mossy
stones, whose legends tell of wrecks upon the coast,
and of brave young spirits drowned at sea, killed by
falling from the masthead, crushed in the whale's
jaws, or fever-stricken and buried in some tropical
im
The American Barbison 151
island. In a place so remote, it is natural that the
quaintness and pastoral simplicity of country life a
hundred years ago should still prevail. At sunset and
sunrise herds of sleek, matronly cows, with barefoot
boys in attendance, wind through the street; scythes
and sickles hang in the willows by the wayside; and
every morning the mail-coach rattles into the village
with a musical flourish of the driver's horn, stops at
the post-office for the mail-bag, calls all along the
street for bags, baskets, and parcels, and at last rumbles
away toward the railway station, seven miles distant.
Most truly rural are the orchard farmyards, which
abut upon the street without concealment, in front
perhaps set thickly with apple- and pear-trees, and
behind these showing open spaces covered with a deep
greensward, with cart, plow, stack, wood-pile, sheep,
and poultry disposed in picturesque confusion.
Our village, in its two hundred years of existence,
has gathered about it an atmosphere of legend and
romance, and one may still see with the mind's eye
some of the quaint figures and striking scenes of its
early history. One can easily call up Parson James, the
first minister ("Gent." he is styled in the old records),
walking to church in wig and gown, — or Mistress
Abigail Hedges riding down on her wedding-day to
Sagg, four miles distant, and on the way counting
thirteen whales sporting in the surf. An excited
throng in the streets, and Parson James led away
152 In Olde New York
under arrest to New York for denouncing in the
pulpit the exorbitant tax levied on "whale's oyle and
fins" by the governor of the colony; a detaclunent of
British troops in possession of the towTi, and Sir William
Erskine, Governor Tryon, Lord Percy, Lord Cathcart,
Major Andre, in brilliant uniforms, pacing under the
village elms; the old Hunting tavern, in wliich the
young officers made merry with the wits and roysterers
of the village, even old "Sharper" the slave being
admitted to add his shrewd pleasantries and unequaled
powers of mimicry to the general hilarity; a drawing-
room in the old Gardiner mansion, with Sir Henry
Clinton present, and Andre at his request entertaining
the company with a recital of his sparkling ballad of
"Chevy Chase"; Parson Beecher on a Friday hiemg
away to the beaches for a day's shooting, forgetting
the preparatory lecture, and, when reminded by the
bell, hurrying to the church, setting down his gun in
the porch, and preaching in his hunting-suit with an
unction that never attended his written sermons; the
old parsonage, and the parson in liis study drawing
strains from his beloved violin; Madam Beecher 's
pretty girl-pupils in the schoolroom above tapping
their little feet in unison with the music, and at last
breaking into the forbidden dancing step, causing the
violin to cease with a doleful screech; a low-ceiled
kitchen, with deep fireplace and smoky walls, in which
John Howard Payne composed the song that has
The American Barbison 153
excelled all others in popularity, and wrote love-letters
to one of the village maidens, — letters still preserved
in rose and lavender; President Tyler riding in a grand
sort of way up the street to woo and win a maiden in
one of the village mansions : — these are but a few
of the old-time scenes that pass in review before the
eyes of the dreamer under the village elms. This
charm of old associations combined with pastoral sim-
plicity is evanescent, and will soon be gone. Already
the railroad, rude iconoclast, is approaching, to destroy
the relics of the past and change the whole aspect
of the place. The limner, therefore, who succeeds in
depicting such features as are best worth preserving
will not have performed an unappreciated task.
The summer phase of the village is almost entirely
artistic. What painter first discovered it is a subject
for speculation; but when discovered its possibilities
in the way of art rapidly became known, and it has
been for several years the summer home of many
favorites of the public. Last season the little colony
of artists had become fairly domiciled by the 1st of
July: T in a cottage on the main street, whose
interior and antique furniture were to peld inspiration
for several studies of the olden time; "Dante" and his
young wife in the old village academy, which had long
ceased to be an academic haunt; "the Count" and
"the Doctor" in sweet proximity to a confectioner's
shop; "Mozart" at the inn; and the others scattered
154 In Olde New York
about in the boarding-houses of the village. Two
sketching-classes added a progressive feature, — one
comprising several ladies of the Art Students' League
of New York, who were domiciled at first in a cottage
by the sea, and, later, in the village inn; while the
other, also composed of ladies, met three times weekly
in the former schoolroom of the academy. Dante
alone achieved a studio. It was on the upper floor
of the academy, and presented a medley of "studies,"
nets, rusty anchors, spoils of the sea, flowers, birds'
nests, and trophies won from the village houses, —
poke bonnets, stocks, perukes, faded gowns, arm-
chairs, spinning-wheels, and other ancient furniture.
This became a favorite gathering-place with members
of the craft, and, during the summer, witnessed the
reunions of many long-sundered friends. Besides the
artists, a score or so of quiet families made the place
their summer quarters; but its characteristic features
remained the same, — in every quiet nook and coigne
of vantage an artist with his easel, fair maidens trudg-
ing afield ^^ith the attendant small boy bearing easel,
color-box, and other impedimenta, sketching-classes
setting out in great farm-wagons carpeted with straw,
white-aproned nurse-maids, rosy babies, and pleasure-
vehicles in the streets.
The routine for the summer was tolerably uniform.
Out-door work was usually done in the soft light and
shade of early morning or evening. In-door work
The American Barbison 155
occupied a part of the intervening hours if the artist
was industrious. At eleven there was a gathering on
the bathing-beach, and an hour's wild sporting with
the surges of the Atlantic. There was tennis for those
who cared for it, straw-parties and sailing-parties,
moonlight rides to the beach, excursions to Sagg,
Hardscrabble, Pantago, and Amagansett. The students
of the sketching-classes were the most industrious,
wandering about the village, selecting their sub-
jects, sketching, painting, and returning to the inn at
night with their spoils. Sometimes the great carryall
carried them out to Tyler's for a day's sketching.
Arrived there, one drew the quaint old dilapidated
bam, another the farmyard, a third the mossy well-
sweep, a fourth the crooked-necked duck leading her
brood to water, a fifth the grain-fields, and so on, till
all were supplied with subjects. At intervals the
grave professor came to the inn and passed on the
students' work with his pungent criticisms. There
was a large wheat-field on the southern rim of the town,
near the sea, that attracted many visitors and gave
rise to more day-dreams than any palace of the genii.
Its black mold closed on the white sand of the beach,
and there was Uttle interval between the bearded
wheat and the coarse bunchgrass of the dunes. It
seemed a novel sight, this. strong young daughter of
the West drawing life and nourishment from the
grizzled ocean. Such points of similarity as should
156 In Olde New York
exist between sire and daughter were often noted by
imaginative visitors. When the wind blew, there were
waves in the wheat as well as in the sea; argosies of
cloud-shadows sailed over it, and it never lost a low,
soft murmur, that seemed a faint refrain of the vast
monotone of the sea. What weird imaginations and
startling effects, to be elaborated in the studio on the
return to the city, were suggested by it, cannot be told.
The beach, with its broad reaches of sand and foaming
surges, its wrecks, sand-storms, mirages, soft colors,
and long line of sand dunes cut into every variety of
fantastic shape by the winds, was equally prolific of
wild fancies.
If this routine became at all prosaic or commonplace,
it was soon broken by some ludicrous incident while
at the easel, — the unearthing of a new character, or
subjugation of a refractory model: all of which was
sure to be related with gusto at the post-prandial
re-unions in the "bird's-nest."
Wonderfully numerous and varied are the "charac-
ters" of the village; and tliis adds largely to its artistic
value. Old farmers with their homely saws, grizzled
whalemen, fishermen, and wreckers and life-saving
men, may all be met here. There are "originals,"
indigenous to the soil. No one who has ever sum-
mered in Barbison will forget the Remuslike face of
Uncle Pete, the childlike and bland countenance of
"Old Zeb," the sly twinkle in the eye of Sam Green,
The American Barbison 157
the village joker, or the grim smile that rests on the
face of " Old Hominy " in the midst of his cutest trick.
To give a perfect idea of the artistic features of our
village, one must speak somewhat in detail of the
relations of the artists with these characters. Uncle
Pete, the village octogenarian, is the favorite and
most troublesome model. The old man lives alone,
in a little bunk of a cottage, on the outskirts of Free-
town, — a settlement of colored people about a mile
north of the village. Having made five whaling-
voyages in his youth, Uncle Pete has acquired a store
of reminiscences, which he has a Remuslike fondness
for retailing to his numerous callers. His tall, almost
majestic figure, and black, shrewd, quizzical face
looking out from a mass of snow-white wool, tickle the
artistic fancy, and his lineaments have been preserved
on more canvases than those of the most popular
model in the Latin quarter. This popularity has made
him extremely coy and uncertain; and the artist who
would engage him, in addition to the offer of golden
shekels, must often have recourse to personal blandish-
ments. The old man generally prefers to pose in the
doorway of his little cottage: for ten minutes he sits
quietly, and his outlines begin to appear under the
pencil; then he grows restless, and begins to fidget,
whereupon his employer, scenting trouble, blandly
asks for a story. Uncle Pete readily complies, enter-
taining his auditor with a graphic account of his
158 In Olde New York
descent into the whale's jaws once upon a time in
Delagoa Bay, his countenance meanwhile assuming
an animated and expressive cast. The tale concluded
the sitter again becomes restless, and is asked for
another story, which he readily narrates. A third or
fourth perhaps will be required before the sitting is
finished. Old Zeb, another model, is what the villagers
call a "natural,'"' although he has wit enough to gain a
hving without much labor. He is a great favorite with
the ladies, and, being quite susceptible, has made
several propositions of a matrimonial nature to engag-
ing damsels visiting the village, which are understood
to be under consideration. At sunset on pleasant
evenings, when his fair friends are sure to be found
on the front porches, Zeb is seen wending his way
through the street with a rose in his button-hole, roses
in his hand, and a basket on his arm. The ladies
greet him graciously, and in their sweetest tones beg
for a song. Zeb complies, seated on the ground,
nursing his knees mth his hands, and chanting in a
weird monotone some hymn or ballad of the olden time.
The song ended, his fair patrons bestow small coins,
and, murmuring his thanks in a fine feminine voice,
he moves on to another coterie. It generally happens,
however, that, while the song is in progress, some
deft knight of the brush has transferred his lineaments
to the sketch-book for future use. Often a party goes
down to Zeb's cottage at the "Harbor" to sketch him
The American Barbison 159
at his weekly "shave." The old fellow is very proud
of his smoothly-shaven face, and takes great pride in
its preservation. His Saturaday "shave" is a marvel
of the tonsorial art. While it is in progress he is seated
in the doorway of his cottage, with a little hand look-
ing-glass before him, and a great Mambrino's helmet
of a wash-hand-basin filled with hot water by his side.
His razor, " borrerd " for the occasion, has been through
se /eral whaling- voyages. Having honed it on the door-
sill, he assaults his stubby beard vigorously, grubbing
and grubbing with an expression on his face that con-
vulses the spectators. He explains "that it don't
take hold well, somehow," and stops to sharpen his
instrument on the grindstone. The entire operation
is enlivened by a running fire of comments and queries
from the spectators, to which Zeb returns the most
amusing and innocent replies. Pat's "childers" are
desirable but most refractory models. There are
several of them running wild about the street, little
Patseys and Bridgets, red-haired, freckled, snub-
nosed, barefooted, so humorously and grimly defiant that
they tickle the artistic fancy and are much coveted as
models. Mrs. Pat, however, when approached on the
subject, discovers a feminine quality which has time
and again brought the artist into difficulties. "Be-
gorra," she declares, " ef yez artises are after the childer,
it's not in thim dirty clothes they'll be tooken. If the'r
picters are tooken at all, it must be in the'r Sundays
160 In Olde New York
best." This is entirely inadmissible, and the painter
is obliged to waylay his models as they run, and induce
them to sit by a liberal supply of taffy and pop-corn.
An old weather-beaten dwelling at the upper end
of the village street has been so often sketched and
painted that it is a witticism of the guild when a new
artist comes to town that Dominy's is going onto the
canvas. Its clapboards are warped by over a century's
exposure, a few bricks are missing from the chimney,
some of the window-panes are gone, but all such dis-
figurements are hidden by a luxuriant growth of climb-
ing plants. Two workshops, one flanking each side
of the cottage, present curious interiors, — low ceilings,
dusty, cobwebbed windows, tools of various callings
disposed on the walls or in cribs in the ceiling, and a
medley of articles scattered about, — old-fashioned
clocks in long cases, a photographer's camera, a Da-
mascus blade, ^ath gold-inlaid hilt, fashioned into a
chisel, nets, spears, lances, harpoons, and similar
paraphernalia. In this dwelhng lives one of the
marked characters of the village, a universal genius,
a master of all trades. He is the village miller, a farmer,
a carpenter, a shipwright, a clock-maker, a tooth-
puller, a photographer, a whaleman, a fisherman, and
an office-holder. With the artists he is a prime favorite,
and generally accompanies them as courier and guide
in their sketching-excursions, whether by land or
water. His shop is a favorite lounging-place of the
The American Barbison 161
guild. The old man receives his visitors with a queer
mixture of fatherly kindness, assumed carelessness,
and "chafiF." "You fellers," he observes, "git a thou-
sand dollars in York for a picter of my back door, and
I git nothin'." To the modest request for leave to
paint his shop he replies that "there's been paint
enough wasted on it a'ready to ha' painted it inside
end out," but gives a grudging permission. Some-
times he "fixes it up" for the artist. Sometimes he
poses; again it is his dog Jack, the ugliest of canines,
or his boy Zi, that is in request. A thousand tales of
our hero's adventures and eccentricities are current in
the studios, in not a few of which the narrators were
the actors, and in some the victims. To turn the
laugh on his proteges is the height of the old man's
ambition: not infrequently the artist, sketching his
shop, on returning from dinner finds every article in
it removed to a different position, and some even hung
outside. His fishing-trip to Napeague last summer
with a party of artists is embalmed among the traditions
of the colony. Question the old man on the subject,
and his only reply is a chuckle. The victims when
approached manifest extreme reticence: it is known,
however, that they caught no fish, that they rowed
instead of sailing, owing to a dead calm, and that re-
turning they reached the inn at one in the morn-
ing and forced a surreptitious entry through one
of its windows, the grand finale discovering the
162 In Olde New York
hungry tramps in a fierce attack on the pies of the
pantry.
A town meeting is sure to bring a rich harvest of
"studies" into the village, especially if the questions
to be discussed are of a broad pubUc interest, such,
for instance, as the pasturage of cattle in the village
streets, or the extension of farmlands into the wide
highway; these questions concern the commonalty,
and there is a general hegira of the male portion of the
outlying districts to the village. They come on foot,
on horseback and muleback, in buckboards and in
great farm-wagons with a capacity of ten or more.
Some are barefoot, some attired only in check shirt
and corduroys, with heavy sombreros for head-gear.
At these gatherings, as in all popular assemblies, the
two great orders — patrician and plebeian — are repre-
sented; and while the leaders gather in the old town-
hall to discuss the matter, the rank and file are deposed
about on the church steps, under the elms, in the stores,
smoking, spitting, lounging in a thousand picturesque
attitudes. From tliis repose they are routed by their
respective leaders and hurried into the hall whenever
a vote is to be taken.
The annual spring meet on Montauk was the occa-
sion of another influx of strangers into the town.
This "meet" was held usually on the 20th of June,
to enable the owners to select from the herds the cattle
intended for fattening, which were then turned into
The American Barbison 163
the fattening-fields. Barbison was the rendezvous for
the "proprietors" of all the districts to the westward,
and, as they came riding in in detachments, but for
the diverse regimentals one might have fancied that
Andre's regulars had reappeared to storm the town.
No features of Barbison the past season were more
pleasant than the impromptu receptions — artistic
stances in the best sense of the word — held in Dante's
studio. Artists, scholars, and journalists met here on
common ground. The discussions, however, were
brilliant rather than profound, and the reminiscences
generally of a light and humorous character. Many
of them detailed the ludicrous incidents and adventures
met with on sketching-excursions. H had a truly
bucolic experience. He was in a wide field, putting
in the sheep, daisies, and a particularly fine clump of
maples, when, as he had nearly finished his work, he
was suddenly prostrated by the old ram of the flock,
who had evidently tired of the artist's presence in his
demesnes. H picked himself up, and, seeing the
ram still warlike, made a quick retreat to the fence,
which he succeeded in reaching only to witness Aries
march back to the easel and trample painting, brushes,
and etceteras into the dust. C , while walking
along a country lane with his color-box in hand, had
met a native who took him for a spectacle-vender and
inquired the price of his wares. "I am out of spec-
tacles," replied the artist, and went his way. Next
164 In Olde New York
day, returning to finish his sketch, he met the same
man, and was again asked the price of "glasses."
"The fact is, friend," said he, "I don't sell spectacles."
— " What dew yeou sell, then ? " queried the rustic.
By way of reply, the artist opened his box and showed
the neatly-ranged vials of color. The querist gave
but a look, and exclaimed, in inimitable tones of dis-
gust, "Homepathy doctor, by thunder!" D
called at a farmhouse one morning and asked per-
mission to make a picture in the yard. "Yes, sir,"
replied the farmer; "go in. The's fifteen in there
a'ready; but I tell 'em all I keer for is a drift- way."
G claimed the honor of having sketched a queen.
She was scrubbing the floor of the village grocery at
the time, and as the sketch was completed a negro
lounged in with the news that King Pharaoh of the
Montauk tribe was dead. "That makes me queen!"
exclaimed the woman, who proved to be the old king's
widow; and, straightening up, she discarded mop and
brush and at once set out for her new kingdom amid
the wastes of Montauk.
Such is Barbison in summer. As the season ad-
vances, however, its aspect rapidly changes. Visitors
depart with the first chill winds of autumn. The
forests of scrub take on their autumnal tints, the grass
withers, loads of golden com and rich-yellow pumpkins
rattle up to the farmhouse doors. The life-saving
men leave their snug homes in the village and take
The American Barbison 165
their places in the stations, which are opened, warmed,
and furnished in readiness for the possible shipwrecked
mariner. Every night the patrols keep their lonely
vigils along shore. By and by it is seen that a storm
is imminent : the sun sets beliind a mass of gray, watery
vi.por, the ocean chafes, a strong wind, damp and
rheumy, comes murmuring up from the southeast.
At midnight, perhaps, the tempest breaks, howling
down the cliimneys, rattling the panes, swaying the
little willows till they snap like a farmer's whip, and
sending great waves up the beach to the base of the
sand-dunes. Not infrequently on such nights the
villagers are startled by the booming of a gun, telling
that a wreck is on the bar.
In old times this was a signal for the most active
preparations. The church bell was rung and a great
horn blown to rally the surfmen to the beach. The
housewives built fires, made coffee, and prepared
stores of lint, comfortables, and flannels. If the surf
permitted, the men rowed out to the ship and rescued
the shipwrecked seamen, who were brought half dead
to the village homes and tenderly cared for; but too
often this was impossible, and windrows of dead bodies
were gathered on the beach in the morning and laid
stark and stiff in the coroner's ofiice to be prepared for
burial. As might be expected, some grewsome tales
.of the sea are to be heard in the village. A storm or
wreck brings out a flood of such reminiscences. There
166 In Olde New York
are stories of similar incidents, of pirates and hidden
treasures, of false lights set on the headlands ; but quite
as often the tales turn on wreckage and the flotsam
and jetsam of the sea, — how a stately East-Indiaman
would lay her ribs on the beach and spill her precious
cargo of silks, cashmeres, pearls, teas, spices, and
sandal-wood in the surf, a part of it, at least, to be
gathered up by the daring wreckers. When a full-
freighted whaleman came ashore, great cakes of pure
white spermaceti were thrown far up the strand, and
the whole country-side hurried to the scene with carts,
wagons, sledges, and hand-barrows, to remove the
precious product before it should melt. Sometimes
it was coals from a lumbering colUer that the men
gathered up, sometimes lumber from a Maine bark,
and again the ivory and gold-dust of Africa.
^ CHAPTER XVI
AN EASTHAMPTON CHURCHYARD IN THE EIGHTIES
/'^NE who has had occasion to visit many rural
^-^ churchyards must surely have been impressed
by the great number of eminent Americans entombed
in them. In the old world one seeks the tombs of the
great beneath the most magnificent fanes, but our
great men seem to have preferred rural solitudes for
their last long sleep. There is an old unpretentious
burial-ground in Litchfield, Connecticut, filled with
quaint tombstsones of slate or sandstone so mossy and
old that one with difficulty deciphers the names in-
scribed upon them; yet to write the biographies of the
sleepers beneath them would be to write the history of
the American nation itself. There is another at Leba-
non, Connecticut, one at Quincy, Massachusetts, a
fourth at Northampton, Massachusetts.
This old churchyard at Easthampton may be cited
in support of the argument. It lies at the foot of the
broad village main street, an arm of which encompasses
either side. Its older stones date back to 1696 or
earlier, and were imported from England, as the flying
168 In Olde New York
cherub, or death's head and scroll sculptured at the
head attest.
Without doubt the oldest grave here is that of Lyon
Gardiner, first lord of the manor of Gardiner's Island.
His tomb, however, is new, having been erected a few
years ago by his descendants. It is of pleasing and
impressive design, a knight in complete armor laid
upon a sarcophagus that rests in a httle gothic temple
of white marble. The inscription, covering all four
sides of the tomb, will serve to show the flavor of an-
tiquity possessed by our churchyard:
"In memory of Lion Gardiner, an officer of the
English army, and an engineer and master of Works
of Fortification in ye Leaguers of ye Prince of Orange
in ye Low Countries in 1635. He came to New Eng-
land in ye service of ye Company of Lords and Gentle-
men. He builded and commanded ye Saybrook Forte.
After accomplishing his term of service he removed in
1663, to liis island of which he was sole owner and
ruler. Born in 1599 he died in this town in 1663
venerated and honored."
A Httle south of the Gardiner tomb, and near the
center of the churchyard, is a stone facing a different
way from its neighbors and bearing this inscription:
"Mr. Thomas James dyed ye 6th day of June in
ye yeare 1696. He was Minister of the Gospel and
Pastore of the Church of Christ."
Parson James was the first pastor of the church at
Easthampton Churchyard 169
Easthampton and served in that capacity over fifty
years. Tradition represents him as having been small
in stature, sprightly and undaunted in step and bear-
ing, and very conscientious in the discharge of his
pastoral duties. That he might the better convert
the Indians who formed part of his parish, it is said
that he learned their language.
The fiber of the man is shown by his dying injunc-
tion, which was that he should be buried in a difFerent
direction from his congregation, that on the resurrec-
tion morn he might arise facing his accusers (should
any impeach him as a pastor), as well as those who
had laughed to scorn his warnings and entreaties.
His last wish was complied with, as is seen by the
position of the grave.
His neighbor is the Rev. Samuel Buell, D.D., also
pastor of the Easthampton church for over half a cen-
tury. The inscription on the heavy, brown-stone slab
above his grave is so similar in style to that written
by President Dwight for the tomb of General Israel
Putnam that I hazard the conjecture that they were
written by the same hand. Perhaps some of your
readers can speak definitely on the subject. It is as
follows : " Reader, behold this tomb with reverence and
regret. Here lie the remains of that eminent servant
of Christ, the Rev. Samuel Buell, D.D., fifty-three
years pastor of the church in this place. He was a
faithful and successful minister of the gospel, a kind
170 In Olde New York
relative, a true friend, a good patriot, an honest cian
and an exemplary Christian, was born Sept. 1, 1716,
died in peace July 19, 1798, aged eighty-two years.
"They that turn many to righteousness shall shine
as the brightness of the firmament and the stars for-
ever and ever.
"Remember them who have spoken unto you the
word of God, whose faith follow, considering the end
of their conversation."
Dr. Buell's term covered the perilous times of the
revolution, and not a little of the immunity his parish-
ioners enjoyed during the British occupancy of the
island they owed to the doctor's influence over the
Enghsh commander. Sir William Erskine, with whom
he was a great favorite. Tradition says that on one
occasion Sir William ordered a number of the farmers
of Easthampton to go to Southampton to perform a
certain work on the Sabbath.
In the interim he met the divine and told him that
he had ordered out his parishioners on Sunday.
"I am aware of it," said the doctor, "but am myself
commander-in-chief on that day, and have counter-
manded the order." It is said that Erskine, with a
good-humored laugh, yielded the point.
Another anecdote is thus related: The young officers
of Erskine's staff were fond of the chase, and Dr.
Buell, who was something of a Nimrod, not infre-
quently joined them. On one occasion he was late.
Easthampton Churchyard 171
and the party had mounted when he arrived, but Sir
William asked them to dismount and receive his
guest. Lord Percy, Erskine's aide, later Duke of
Northumberland, was impatiently pacing the floor
when he was introduced to the doctor, who asked him
civilly what part of his majesty's forces he had the
honor to command.
"A legion of devils fresh from hell," replied Percy,
who was nettled at the delay. "Then," said the
doctor with his most stately bow, "I suppose I have
the honor of addressing Beelzebub, prince of devils."
Percy laid his hand on his sword but was checked
by Erskine, and during the ride that followed the divine
paid such marked attention to the young officer and
was so witty and agreeable that he won his regard and
admiration.
The Mulford family gravestone reminds us that
Easthampton was a pure republic for some years
after its settlement, perhaps the purest ever known.
We may be pardoned for dwelling on the fact since,
unless we are greatly mistaken, it has wholly escaped
the notice of political students.
Government was by town meeting — the general
court — and by an inferior court called the " court of
the three men." The town meeting was the supreme
body: it constituted courts, tried important causes,
heard appeals, chose the minister and schoolmaster,
fixed their salaries, made poUce regulations, admitted
172 In Olde New York
or excluded settlers, licensed taverns, opened high-
ways, chose military officers and the whale watch, and
did what our lawmakers ought at once to do, fined all
freemen who refused or neglected to vote, to attend
town meeting, or to hold office when elected.
The court of the three men heard minor cases and
executed the laws, and in general carried on the affairs
of the town when the general court was not in session.
The executive officer was the constable who presided
at the town meetings and executed the commands of
both courts. The inferior court met at 8 a.m., on the
second day of the first week of every month for the
trial of cases.
Easthampton maintained this independent condition
for seven years, or until 1657, when she united with
the Connecticut colony.
One of the first justices of the inferior court was John
Mulford, who hes buried in the old churchyard. His
eldest son, Samuel Mulford, also rests here, a man
well worthy to rank with those whose iron wills and
stern courage gained their country's liberties. He was
the leader of the people's party in the Ninth Assembly
of New York during Governor Burnet's contest with
that body from 1715 to 1722.
For one of his speeches Burnet had him indicted
and prosecuted for sedition. Mulford, however, was
nowise daunted by this experience. Burnet had laid
a tax of one tenth on all the oil taken by the whaling
Easthampton Churchyard 173
crews of Easthampton and Southampton — Mulford's
constituents — which he claimed as a perquisite.
Mulford determined to go to England and memo-
rialize Parliament for the removal of this tax. He
sailed to Newport secretly, walked to Boston and
took ship for England, and read his memorial before
the House of Commons, which ordered the tax dis-
continued.
Returning in triumph, he was greeted with songs
and rejoicings by his constituents, and was promptly
returned by them to the Assembly. Expelled by that
body, which was wholly subservient to the Governor,
he was reelected and in the autumn of 1717 took his
seat in the House, being then seventy-three years of
age.
In 1720 he refused to act with the House of that
year, which he claimed had been illegally elected and
organized, and was again expelled. This ended his
public service. He died at Easthampton, August 21,
1725, aged nearly eighty-one years.
Another stone commemorates Reuben Bromley, a
successful sea captain who retired from the sea in
middle life to " actively engage in Christian and benevo-
lent effort for promoting the welfare of seamen." He
was an officer of the Seamen's Bank for Sa%angs from
its founding in 1829 to his death, and was also, it is
said, one of the founders of the Sailor's Snug Harbor
on Staten Island.
174 In Olde New York
A plain dark monument in the Gardiner plot tells
its own story in these words:
" David Gardiner, bom May 29, 1784.
Died February 28, 1844."
"In the vigor of life, adorned by eminent virtues,
solid abilities and rare accompHshments, beloved and
venerated, he was stricken with instant death by the
bursting of the great gun on board of the steam frigate
Princeton in the River Potomac. A national calamity
which wrung men's hearts and deprived the country
of some of its most distinguished and valuable citizens."
His daughter, Julia, afterward married President
John Tyler, and became the mother of several children,
one of whom sleeps near his grandfather after crowding
into his brief span of forty years such perils, hardships,
vicissitudes, and misfortunes as few are called upon to
undergo. His epitaph reads:
"Here lyeth John Alexander Tyler, son of John
Tyler, President of the United States, and of Julia
Gardiner, his wife, born at Sherwood Forest, James
River, Virginia, April 7, 1848, died at Santa Fe, New
Mexico, September 1, 1888."
"Alexander Tyler while a mere youth joined the
fortunes of his native State, and became a member of
the First Virginia Battalion of Artillery under General
Robert Lee. Although enduring great privation and
hardship, which he bore with uncomplaining fortitude.
Easthampton Churchyard 175
he served until the close of the Civil War, and was then
paroled at Appomattox Court House in 1865. He
went to Europe where he remained for eight years,
first as a student at Carlsruhe, Baden, afterwards at
Freiburg, Saxony, where he graduated as a mining
and civil engineer. Wliile at the latter place he entered
the German army by special permit as a volunteer in
the First Uhlan regiment under the command of
Prince John of Saxony, and was actively engaged
during the French and Prussian wars of 1870-71, re-
ceiving at the close a decoration from the hands of the
Emperor William I, for gallant and distinguished
services."
This gentleman, after serving with honor through
two sanguinary wars, returned to his native country
only to die suddenly of a fever contracted in New
Mexico while performing the duties of his profession
as a mining and civil engineer.
A mild literary interest attaches to a row of six or
eight mossy headstones near the center of the yard,
those of the Isaacs family, father, mother, brothers
and sisters of John Howard Payne.
What might be called the wreck annals of the church-
yard are interesting. Here lie the remains of those
who perished in the off-shore whale fishery, which was
prosecuted with vigor by the townsmen for years.
"On February 24, 1719," we read, "a whaleboat being
alone the men struck a whale, and she coming under
176 In Olde New York
the boat in passing, stoved it, and though ye men were
not hurt with ye whale, yet before any help came to
them four men tired and chilled and fell off ye boat
and oars to which they hung and were drowned."
Here also repose the hundreds who have been
wrecked upon this dangerous coast since commerce
began in these waters nearly three hundred years ago.
CHAPTER XVII
THE WRECK OF THE JOHN MILTON
A LTHOUGH the Milton struck on Montauk,
-^^*' data of the tragedy can only be gained in the old
churchyard of Easthampton, and in the village itself.^
Entering the yard from the north, the first memorial
introduces one of its peculiar offices — that of custodian
of the ocean's trophies. This is a shaft of marble in
the center of a large square mound, bearing this in-
scription :
"This stone was erected by individual subscriptions
from various places to mark the spot where, with pecul-
iar solemnity, were deposited the mortal remains of
the three mates and eighteen of the crew of the ship,
John Milton, of New Bedford, wrecked on the coast
of Montauk, while returning from the Chincha Islands,
on the 20th February, 1858, where, together with those
who rest beneath, Ephraim Harding, the captain, and
four others of the mariners, being the whole ship's
company, were drowned in the waves. 'Thy way,
O God, is in the sea.'"
After searching during three summers up and
^ From New York Evening Post, 1890.
178 In Olde New York
down the town, I succeeded in finding an old wrecker
who had been first at the wreck of the Milton, who
gave me a vivid account of it, and of the pathetic scenes
attending the burial of the drowned seamen. "That
was the worst wreck on the coast in later years," he
began, "that of the Milton. She struck on a rock at
Montauk, a quarter of a mile from shore, in a heavy
snow storm. She was flying before a gale at the time
and the shock was terrible. The vessel melted under
it like a lump of sugar. I was one of the first on the
spot. The shore looked like a wrecked shipyard.
But for the breakers you could have walked for rods
on the broken masts, spars, and timbers. There was
the mainmast, four foot through, snapped off like a
pipestem, every plank made into kindling wood, and
every timber torn out of her. Only a part of the bow
was left tossin' and crunchin' on the rock where she
struck. The shock, you see, threw the anchors over-
board and they held this fragment in place. But the
sight of all was the dead bodies of the crew stretched
out on the beach all frozen stiff, some covered with
snow, or thrusting up a hand or arm above the drifts.
Not a man was saved. One negro must have come
ashore alive, for he had dragged himself some distance
up the sands, but he had soon frozen. The ship's
log-book came ashore, some trinkets and furniture,
and that was all."
I did not need the words of my informant to picture
The Wreck of the John Milton 179
the excitement caused by this disaster through all the
eastern hamlets of the island. It was then much more
than now a maritime community. The large whaling
marine of Sag Harbor had been largely laid aside,
but the captains and crews who had manned it were
still living. Scores of wagons streamed out over
Montauk to the scene of the wreck, returning by twos
and threes, with the ghastly burdens wliich the sea had
relinquished. Then came the funeral. It is evident
from the impression made that no more solemn event
ever occurred in the village. The generous tars gathered
from far and near to perform the last sad rites to their
comrades. Bluff, hearty old sea captains, heroes of a
score of voyages, old salts tanned by the suns of every
clime, youngsters home from the first voyage, farmers,
merchants, sympathetic women, came from all the
Hamptons and all the Harbors — from Sagg and
Jericho, from Egypt, Pantago, the Springs, the Fire-
place — as far west as to Quogue and the Manor,
quite filling the old church, about whose altar the
coffins had been disposed. They preserve old things
in Easthampton, and so I succeeded in finding the
sermon wliich the Rev. Stephen L. Mershon preached
on the occasion. His text was Job xxvii. 20, 21.
Then in the presence of the dead and the awestruck
living he enunciated these sentences:
" It is a solemn providence that has called us together.
We have come to pay our last tribute of respect to the
180 In Olde New York
dead. But how unlike our usual assembling to cele-
brate these sad rites. It is not the member of our
community whose name has often sounded in our
ears; it is not the long-known friend, it is not the
relative, not the dear member of our domestic circle
that we have come to bury. No, we have come to bury
the stranger. No father, no mother, no wife, no sister
attends this burial to moisten the grave's cold earth
with their tears. . . . But strange as it may appear,
singular as are the circumstances that now surround
us, it must be admitted that truly does a peculiar
solemnity become this hour. Each one must feel that
God is speaking the language that tells of our mortality
in terms not to be mistaken. For it is not only one,
it is a congregation of the dead whom we now carry
to the grave. . . .
"In adverting to the circumstances that have called
us together let us not anticipate. On the morning of
December 6, 1856, we learn that the John Milton was
lying, a noble vessel of 1445 tons, in the harbor of New
York. That day was her broad canvas spread, that
like a winged bird of the ocean she might speed her
course to distant seas. . . . Five months from that
day her anchor was cast in the harbor of San Francisco.
Here, because of mutiny, thirteen of her crew were put
ashore, and as many more were shipped. But soon
again was the noble cHpper released, and the day dawn
of August 10, 1857, brought them into the port of
The Wreck of the Jolin Milton 181
Callao. Not long did she rest, for in about two weeks
we find her moored at the Chincha Islands. From
thence her course was homeward. On the 14th of the
present month (February) she anchored in Hampton
Roads, waiting orders from her owners. On the 16th,
but twelve short days since, the crew again spread the
canvas of their gallant vessel. With light and favor-
able breezes they put to sea, hoping soon to be in the
harbor of their home. Bright visions of home, of hap-
piness, of friends, were doubtless flitting across the
brain and playing sportively with them in their dreams.
Homeward they were bound. But no; a hand that
now lies powerless soon recorded, on the 17th, on
Wednesday morning, 'strong winds, double reef top-
sails, latter part strong winds and thick snow storm.'
From that hour they rode upon the sea where the storm-
king was in the ascendant. Dark and gloomy must
have been the nights that followed. All clouded was
the sky. They knew not where they were. No eye,
no glass could pierce the atmosphere; for on the morn-
ing of the 18th, on Thursday, the last entry but one in
the log-book tells us that strong gales are still prevail-
ing and thick snow. The last entry is on that same
day: 'Latter part more moderate, and turned reefs
out'; when by observation they found themselves in
the latitude of 36 deg. 56 min. — in the exact latitude
of Cape May, at the southern extremity of the State
of New Jersey. . . .
182 In Olde New York
" No longer have we any witness to tell their course,
other than the gale that came with them upon the
land. From Wednesday afternoon till Saturday we
know that they rode upon the waves of the storm
enveloped with falling snow. . . Friday was a day of
terror. Such fear and terror were in the crew that the
log-book was forgotten. The night that followed was
the night of the landward tempest that burst upon our
shore at the opening of day from the sea. Our ship
was flying before its first and heaviest gale. The wind
of that tempest was the east wind. By it they were
carried away, by it they had departed from those deep
channels of the ocean where the strong oak-timbered
vessel could long have safely defied the fury of the
gale. As the morning of Saturday opened upon them,
and as all eyes were straining to catch some glimpses
of the sun, the hand that moved in the storm hurled
them upon the rocks of our shore. The work was
done. It was but the deed of a moment. Masts,
spars, sails, officers, and crew were all in one confused
mass. The John Milton was no longer a monarch
upon the sea. The ruins of her crown lay in wild
confusion at the feet of her throne."
The bodies of the drowned were deposited in a com-
mon grave in the old churchyard here, and the people
of the various towns contributed funds for the erection
of this monument to their memory.
The above is only one of the many like tragedies
The Wreck of the John Milton 183
that the old churchyard covers. At the foot of the
shaft to the Milton's crew, on the west, are thirteen
grassy graves, all, save one, marked by wooden head-
boards. They cover the victims of the wreck of the
Circassian in 1877, not members of the ship's com-
pany, but of the wrecking crew who were engaged at
the time upon her, and who were overwhelmed with
the vessel by a sudden storm. There is a possible
romance in this group of graves. One of them is
distinguished from its companions by a fine marble
headstone which bears this description: "In loving
remembrance of Andrew Allan Nodder, se. seventeen
years, son of Richard and Mary Nodder, of Wanstree,
near Liverpool, England. His young life was lost at
the wreck of the Circassian, December 29, 1877."
The dreamer among the graves is apt to query why
this son of wealthy well-born parents came to end his
life as a member of a coast-wrecking crew.^
1 Nodder, we have since been informed, was an apprentice belong-
ing to the ship's crew.
CHAPTER XVIII
KING PHARAOH S WIDOW
TT^ROM the green hilltop where I write, July 25,
â– â– â– 1882, can be seen across the downs two brown
weather-beaten cottages, nestled at the base of a range
of hills which skirt the blue line of the Sound. These
cottages shelter eleven souls, the last remnants of the
once proud tribe of Montaukett. In one dwells Queen
Maria, widow of the last King, David Pharaoh, with
her seven children, and in the other Charles Fowler,
with his wife and child. Enter these dwellings and
you find them bare and cheerless, with no carpets on
the floor and only the rudest articles in the way of furni-
ture. The inmates are idle, ignorant, dissipated, none
of them pure Indian, there being a liberal intermixture
of negro blood. They Uve from hand to mouth by
hunting, fishing, doing odd jobs for the proprietor,
and on the proceeds of a small interest in the land of
the nature of a usufruct. Between Wyandanch, the
first King of Montauk known to Europeans, and David
Pharaoh, the last, a period of two hundred and fifty
years intervened. The early history of the Montauketts
has been told in the books and need not be dwelt on at
King Pharaoh's Widow 185
length here. They were the ruling tribe of Long
Island and dwelt in a fortified village on Montauk.
Wyandanch, their king, espoused the cause of the
English, and was for this reason hated by Ninicraft,
the powerful sachem of the Narragansetts, who de-
clared war against him. About 1656 Ninicraft made
a descent on the Montauketts while they were cele-
brating the nuptials of the chief's daughter, burned
their villages, slew many of their people, and took
others captive. Two years later, in 1658, a great
pestilence carried off many of the remainder, and
Wyandanch was himself slain by poison administered
by a follower. This is no doubt familiar to the reader.
A subject little touched upon, however, is their later
history and the various efforts that were made, under
authority of the London Society for the Propagation
of the Christian Religion in New England, to educate
and Christianize them. The spiritual care of these
Indians was at first entrusted to the ministers of the
church at Easthampton, who met with little success
in their efforts. In 1741 the Society appointed the
Rev. Azariah Hortonas a missionary to the Montauketts.
This devoted clergyman resided among them for several
years, learned their language to some extent, opened
schools, and was so successful that he led them to re-
nounce their idolatry and adopt the Christian religion.
After Mr. Horton's departure the Society pursued the
plan of sending teachers and preachers of their own
186 In Olde New York
race among them. Several are mentioned in the
records as having labored here with more or less suc-
cess. By far the most distinguished was Sampson
Occum, a member of the Mohegan tribe of Connecti-
cut. Occum was born in 1723, and in his youth
attracted the attention of Dr. Eleazer Wheelock, of
Lebanon, who placed him at "Moor's Indian Charity-
School" at Lebanon, an institution under the patron-
age of the Earl of Dartmouth, and which was later
removed to Hanover and incorporated as Dartmouth
College, where he received a good education and be-
came a Christian. In 1755 Occum opened a school
on Montauk, and preached and taught there until
1761. At this time the tribe numbered 182 souls.
After him came several Indian teachers and preachers,
the last, Paul CufFee, a Shinnecock half-breed, acting
as their spiritual teacher until a comparatively recent
period. They also were cared for by the church at
Easthampton during this period. Dr. Lyman Beecher,
while pastor there, frequently riding across the wastes
to preach to the Indians at Montauk. The result of
these efforts was discouraging. A competent observer,
the late Mr. David Gardiner, of East Hampton, thus
epitomizes it : " Some of them learned to read and write,
but their progress in knowledge neither ameliorated
their condition, nor divested them of their natural
improvidence. Their thirst for the liquid fire of the
white man continued, with scarcely an exception, as
King Pharaoh's Widow 187
ardent as when they first became acquainted with
civilized Hfe, and the domestic comforts of the hearth
were Httle enhanced beyond the savage state, not-
withstanding all the advantages of intercourse with a
moral and religious people, disposed to treat them with
sobriety and friendship. The efforts in this case for
regenerating the Indian character were certainly a
decided failure, and may be added to the thousand
others which have disappointed the hopes of the
philanthropist."
Not the least interesting feature of Montauk are the
relics of this unfortunate people that still exist. On a
high hill on the east side of Fort Pond Bay are the
well-defined lines of a fort built by Wyandanch after
the descent of the Narragansetts. It was about 100
feet square, with rampart and parapet of earth, a ditch
at the foot of the glacis, and, tradition says, was pali-
saded — in all, a quite creditable piece of miUtary
engineering. About half a mile southeast there is an
ancient Indian burial-ground, and near this the most
celebrated of the relics of Montauk — a granite stone
on whose smooth surface is the deep imprint of a hu-
man foot. Had some wandering Indian stepped upon
the granite in a plastic state, the impression could not
have been more perfect and distinct. Two other
similar prints have been found on the plateau, and
one has been removed, my informant thought, by
some historical society. In all the heel of the foot is
188 In Olde New York
toward the east and the toes to the west — prophetic,
perhaps, of the westward march of the poor Indian.
There is no legend current as to their origin except
the one mentioned below, that they were made by the
foot of the evil spirit in his flight. The Indians held
them in superstitious awe, and frequent pow-wows
were held in their vicinity. Another curious stone is
encountered as one enters upon Montauk — a granite
rock, smooth and flat, upon which are several red
marks as of blood. The Indian legend says that they
were made by the blood of a chief who was killed there
by an enemy's arrow. One frequently meets little
cavities in the ground in his rambles, which were
once deep pits where Indian corn was stored. In the
old records these are called "Indian bams." In high
places on the north shore, where the wind has re-
moved the sand, chippings of white flint mark the site
of Indian workshops where arrows, spears, and toma-
hawks were chipped into form. Heaps of shells still
mark their ancient feasting places, and their weapons
and domestic utensils are quite frequently picked up
on the shores of Fort Pond and Great Pond. Per-
haps the most thrilling legend that haunts Montauk
is that of the raising of Mutcheshesumetook, the Evil
One. The great event of the Indian year was the
stranding of a whale on the beach. Its flesh furnished
food, its oil light, its hide thongs, its bones points for
weapons, and its tail or fin, roasted in the fire, was the
King Pharaoh's Widow 189
most acceptable offering that could be made to Saw-
wonnuntoh, their deity. The sacrifice was offered
amid the whole concourse of the people, with feasts,
dances, yells, and incantations on the part of the
medicine-men to drive off the Evil One, who was also
known to regard it as a choice tid-bit. Now, it so
happened that at one of these pow-wows the incanta-
tions were so powerful that Mutcheshesumetook
appeared in visible form and was pursued westward
by the whole body of people. In his flight he stepped
on the granite rock of which I have spoken, and left
the impress of his foot, which time cannot efface.
CHAPTER XIX
AN ISLAND MANOR
XT EARLY opposite Easthampton at the entrance
-^ ^ to the Sound Hes a small island as peculiar in its
social and political liistory as in its physical conforma-
tion. It is known as Gardiner's Island. Once it was
a long tongue of land jutting out from the main body
of the island, but the strong currents of the Atlantic
have eaten away the connecting portion, leaving an
oval-shaped mass of gravelly hills and dales, some
seven miles in circumference and containing some
thirty-three hundred acres. Its history is curious.
Lion Gardiner, a soldier of fortune from the Low
Countries, bought it of the Indian owners in 1639.
Shortly afterward he received a patent of it from Lord
Stirling, for which he paid "a little more," and agreed
to give a yearly annuity of five pounds, if demanded.
In 1640 he removed to the island with his young wife
and child, and, dying in 1663, bequeathed it to his
eldest son, and this example being followed by those
who succeeded him, the estate has remained in the
family name unbroken for ten generations.^
* 1885.
An Island Manor 191
The social order on the island is quite patriarchal.
The proprietor is the social and political head of the
domain. Though grazing is the chief business of the
estate, large quantities of hay, grain, and roots are
raised, and this necessitates the employment of some
thirty farm hands, nearly all of whom were bom on
the island. Some have grown gray in the ser^^ce
without ever having left the island except for brief
visits to the mainland. Many have married there,
and have families of their own, so that there is a little
community of between fifty and sixty souls for whom
the proprietor must provide food, clothing, shelter,
school, and chapel.
A personal visit to the island is attended with some
difficulty. The nearest point on the Long Island
shore is a sand pit, known as "The Fireplace," some
four miles distant. The nearest settlement is "The
Springs," a little hamlet of two stores, a post-office,
and several weather-beaten houses. Boats from the
island generally come to this place every Saturday for
supplies, and if one has the proper credentials he may
secure a passage on their return trip and will be sure
of a welcome at his journey's end. There is no harbor
on the island, the boats landing on the western shore
at a little boathouse built high up on the open beach
for their protection. From this point a gravelly path
winds through open grounds to the mansion house
of the estate, perhaps an eighth of a mile inland. This
192 In Olde New York
is a long, roomy country seat, painted white, with wide
gables and dormer windows, a deep porch in front
extending the whole length of the building, and is
shaded by fine old forest trees. The present structure
only dates back to a few years before the Revolution,
but in its treasures of relics and priceless heirlooms it
is surpassed by none. In the library are more hunting
trophies, some rare old books and documents, land
grants, patents, commissions, and the like, on paper
and parchment discolored with age. One of the rare
books is the family Bible of Lion Gardiner, in which
is inscribed in his own hand this quaint bit of history:
"In the year of our Lord 1635, July 10, came I,
Lion Gardiner, and Mary, my wife, from Woredon,
a town in Holland, where my wife was bom, being
daughter of one Dirike Wilamson. . . . We came
from Woredon to London and thence to New England,
and dwelt at Saybrook fort four years, of which I was
Commander, and there was born unto me a son named
David in 1636, April the 29th, the first bom in that
place, and in 1638 a daughter was bom called Mary,
August the 30th, and then I went to an island of mine
own which I bought of the Indians, called by them
Manchonoke and by me Isle of Wight, and there was
born another daughter named EHzabeth, Sept. 14,
1641, she being the first child bom there of English
parents."
Rare old china and bric-a-brac, glossy perukes,
An Island Manor 193
wonderful frills, and dainty silken robes odorous of
camphor and lavender, are only a few of the treasured
relics which the old mansion boasts. Among them
was until recently a diamond from Captain Kidd's
stores, and a cradle quilt of cloth of gold presented by
that freebooter to the wife of the third proprietor in
return for a dinner of roast pig at which he was a self-
invited guest. Contiguous to the house is a fine
garden, and beyond it a dairy house, an old-fashioned
windmill propelled by sails for grinding grain, several
bams, cottages for the workmen, and a race-course
for training blooded colts, the raising of which has
become of late a leading industry on the farm.
One September morning, mounted on a spirited
steed, I set out for an unrestricted gallop over the island.
Turning into a rough wagon road leading southward,
I cantered along past the race-course, green meadows,
and yellow cornfields, and fields where the brood
mares and their foals were quietly feeding, through
several bars and gates, and at last emerged on the
wide sheep pastures that occupy the entire southern
portion of the island. Nearly a thousand acres in
area, these pastures present every variety of landscape
— steep bluffs, scarred hills, wide downs gay with
golden-rod, little green hollows, patches of deep wood,
marshes, and sea beaches. Some twenty-five hundred
white, fleecy innocents were cropping the tender grass
here, and at sight of the horseman scampered toward
194 In Olde New York
him with a chorus of " baas," so that he was soon
surrounded by hundreds of the pretty creatures all
eager for the salt that is liberally showered upon them
by the herdsman in his visits. He had none, to his
sorrow, and, unable to withstand their appealing
glances, spurred his horse to the top of the highest
bluff on the eastern shore for a glance at his surround-
ings. From this point one looks out over the entire
island upon a weird, strange scene — a mass of tumbled
hills, gray downs, and delightful little hollows, much
resembling in some features the neighboring peninsula
of Montauk, although, unlike that, it supports here
and there patches of deep forest. At our feet the
Atlantic thundered. Northward we could see the gray
coastline of Connecticut; westward the hills sloped
gently down to the mansion house two miles away,
and on the south, stretching far out to sea, was the
long tongue of land known as Montauk, with the white
tower of the lighthouse marking its eastern extremity.
The cattle pastures, equal in extent to the sheep range,
occupy the northern side of the island, and are sepa-
rated from the latter by fences of rail or stones. They
are capable of carrying a herd of four hundred head.
Leaving the shore, I went for a gallop inland through
these wastes. My horse leaped the watercourses and
tussocks, curved round the little circular pond holes
that dot the island, and threaded the patches of
forest with the skill of an old campaigner. Occasion-
An Island Manor 195
ally we were met by a wild steer, in the wood we startled
whole colonies of crows, that circled above us with
vociferous cawings, and on every dry tree of any size
was perched an immense fishhawk's nest, seemingly
placed with an eye to the picturesque. An unwritten
law severe as Draco's protects these birds on the island,
and they are comparatively tame. No more favorable
place for a study of their habits could be found. I
learned from an old gray-haired workman, evidently
a keen observer of nature, that they invariably leave
the island on the same day in autumn — the 20th of
October — and return as regularly on the 20th of
May. Their nests are great conglomerations of sticks,
straw, mud, and fish bones, fully six feet in diameter,
and ludicrously large compared with the size of the
bird. Their dexterity in taking their prey is some-
thing wonderful. My friend the laborer assured me
that he had often seen them strike flatfish, proverbially
quick of movement, eleven feet beneath the surface,
and bear them in triumph to their nests. On my
return after completing the circuit of the island I
passed the cemetery of the estate, a lonely little place of
graves, separated from the waste by a fence of white
palings, and with a great boulder in the center covered
with a thick growth of vines. Here the several pro-
prietors of the island are laid, except one, who died
and was buried at Hartford.
One might make a chapter of the wild tales and
196 In Olde New York
traditions of Kidd and his doings that haunt the island.
Gardiner's Bay and its shores are said to have been a
favorite resort of the pirate and others of his ilk. I
saw the identical spot — on the border of a dense
swamp in what was then a thick wood — where he
buried the famous chest of treasure referred to by our
friend, and heard many tales of pirate daring and
enormities. Kidd often came to the mansion house
in the days of the third proprietor, was a self-invited
guest at his table, and took forcibly such provisions
as his ships needed, although he always paid prodigally
for them. The reputation of the island as a depository
of hidden treasure was for a long time a source of
annoyance to the owners from the hordes of treasure-
seekers that it attracted thither, but the guild has now
become nearly extinct.
CHAPTER XX
THE WHALEMEN OF SAG HARBOR
TN 1845 Sag Harbor had a population of 2700 souls;
-'â– the last census gives it but 1996.^ The grand list
of the town shows a more startling decrease, all attrib-
utable to the loss of the whaling interest, which forty
years ago lined its docks with ships and made the town
a familiar name in every Old World port, and in the
islands of the sea as well. This decadence is made
more manifest by a stroll through the village. You
walk through streets where a slumberous quiet prevails,
and whose dust rests undisturbed by traffic. You
pass fine old country seats gained by adventurous
voyages in the Atlantic and Pacific, from the Arctic
to the Antarctic, but whose occupants are rarely to be
tempted now from their snug harborage. Along the
water front are ruins of oil-cellar, warehouse, cooper-
shop and sail-loft, covering acres; two or three old
hulks, foundered and rotting on the shallows, and a
long dock, untenanted save by fishing smacks, with
perhaps two or three old whalemen lounging Hstlessly
^ This figure has increased considerably since 1882, the time
this was written.
198 In Olde New York
upon it, and a single cart loading with cord wood, sole
representative of the hurry and bustle that once charac-
terized it. To gain a vivid idea of the town at its best
estate, however, one must win the confidence of one of
the old ship captains who still remain snugly moored
in the port, or, better still, get an inter\'iew with some
member of the old shipping firms, who once had their
score of vessels out in as many seas, and handled
products to the value of millions annually. In his
former shipping-oflfice, I met recently a gentleman of
the latter class, who favored me not only with many
interesting facts concerning the prosecution of the
business in former days, but with much agreeable
reminiscence besides. The shipping-office was in itself
a study; a small room, with bare floors, fitted with a
stove, desk, armchairs, and a quaint old secretary,
in which was stored a variety of books and documents
— ledgers filled with long columns of figures, musty
log-books, records of long-forgotten voyages, invoices,
manifests, clearances, contracts, advances, outfits,
leases of vessels, and the like, with samples of oil,
whaling relics, and curiosities from foreign cUmes.
Quite frequently during the conversation my informant
refreshed his memory by a reference to this store of
documents.
It is a fact not generally known, perhaps, that the
first vessel to make a long-distance whaling voyage
sailed from Sag Harbor. She was gone but a few
The Whalemen of Sag Harbor 199
months, running down into the South Atlantic, and
returned unsuccessful. Nothing daunted, her owners
fitted out other vessels, which returned with full holds,
netting them a handsome profit. New London,
Stonington, New Bedford, and Nantucket — all nearly
opposite — were quick to perceive the possibilities of
the whale fishery assured by this successful voyage,
and engaged in the business with ardor. The palmy
days of the town and of the whaling industry cul-
minated in 1845. At this time the village had sixty-
four ships scattered over the globe in pursuit of whales ;
and my informant had counted as many as fourteen
ships lying in the harbor at one time waiting to unload
cargo. He gave a vivid picture of the "high days"
witnessed in the village then. Ships lay three abreast
at the long dock. Eight hundred riggers, coopers,
sailmakers, and stevedores went on and off the wharves
daily. Thousands of barrels of oil lay in the oil
cellars, piled tier above tier and covered with seaweed.
Great warehouses, three stories high, the upper stories
filled with whalebone and spermaceti, the lower used
as sail and rigging lofts, alternated along the water
front with rows of long cooper shops. Lighters were
coming and going from the ships in the bay, hundreds
of carts moving oil and bone from the docks, the adze
of the cooper and hammer of blacksmith and outfitter
rang all day long, and the streets were filled with
crews of outgoing or incoming vessels, attended by
200 In Olde New York
their wives, daughters, and sweethearts, mingling wel-
comes and farewells, weeping and laughter. Four
firms in the village at this time were among the heaviest
owners in the trade — Howell Brothers & Hunting,
Mulford & Slate, Charles T. Deering, and H. & S.
French. The majority of the ships, however, were
owned by a number of stockholders who formed
regularly organized companies.
The vessels employed were rarely new, more often
packet ships whose defective sailing qualities unfitted
them for passenger traffic, or old craft that had out-
lived their usefulness. Of the latter class some notable
vessels came into the hands of the shipmasters, among
them the Thames, famous in missionary annals, and
the Cadmus, the ship that brought Lafayette to this
country in 1824. These were purchased or leased by
the shipping firms, refitted, and sent out on voyages of
from one to three years' duration. Whaling cruises
were at first limited to the North and South Atlantic,
but as the whales became less and less plentiful there,
they were extended until they embraced the entire
circuit of the globe. A favorite three years' voyage
in 1845 was to the Azores, thence to St. Helena, and
down the West Coast, around the Cape of Good Hope,
through the Indian Ocean to Australia, thence to the
North Pacific, thence south through the Polynesian
Islands, around Cape Horn and home.
It was no light matter to fit out a vessel for one of
The Whalemen of Sag Harbor 201
these voyages. The sails, running rigging, cables,
and boats were inspected with the utmost care. From
a paper containing instructions to the outfitter of the
bark Pacific, bound on a three years' voyage, I find
he was to "have yards all up to topmast heads, spare
spars, if any, on deck, jib-boom rigged in, anchors on
bows, both chains on deck and forward to windlass,
or between windlass and bow; rigging all overhauled,
mizzen rigging all new, including backstays; all head
rigging new, also fore topmast and topgallant stays."
This done, a crew of twenty-two picked men was to
be provided, with three boats and their complement of
harpoons, lances, lines, and hatchets, together with
2000 or 3000 well-seasoned barrels and a great variety
of provisions and miscellaneous stores. A little book
containing the list of articles furnished the bark Pacific
above mentioned in 1852 lies before me, and to satisfy
the reader's curiosity I subjoin a list of the most im-
portant. Under the head of provisions and cabin
stores were: 1 barrel kiln-dried meal, 500 pounds pork
hams, 100 gallons vinegar, 2 quintals codfish, 500
pounds sugar, 400 pounds coffee, 400 pounds dried
apples, 2 boxes raisins, 30 barrels beans, 20 bushels
corn, 100 bushels potatoes, 200 gallons lamp oil, 1 box
sperm candles, 3 boxes hard soap, \^ chests of tea,
50 pounds crushed sugar, 6 pounds mustard, 25 pounds
black pepper, 20 pounds ginger, 28 pounds spices, 30
pounds saleratus, 1 box pepper sauce, 3 bags table salt.
202 In Olde New York
6 packages preserved meats. In her medicine chest
she carried 1 case Holland gin, 1 gallon brandy, 1 of
port wine, and 10 of whiskey. Under the head of
" miscellaneous " articles were tar, 20 cords of oak wood,
chains, head straps, old junk, white oak butts, boat
knees, stems and timbers, 15 pounds sand, 1 cask
sawdust, 1 cask hme, 3 whaling guns, 50 bomb lances,
lance powder, 1 spun yarn winch, and 1 mincing
machine. As "ship chandlery" she carried scrubbing
brushes, chopping knives, lamp wicks, coflPee mills,
Bristol brick, sieves, 4 sets knives, beeswax, tacks,
brass and iron screws, shovels, hoes, rigging leather,
pump leather, matches, and ensigns, 29 varieties of
cooper's tools, and quite an assortment of crockery and
tinware. Under the head of "cordage" there were
20 manila lines, 2 tarred, 1 coil lance line, 1 coil mar-
line, 4 coils spun yam, 12 coils ratlines, ropes for jib-
stay, and 8 coils manilla rope. Under head of " slops,"
tobacco, reefing jackets, duck trousers, and denims,
Guernsey frocks, twilled kersey shirts, tarpaulin hats,
southwesters, mounted palms, shoes, and brogans are
enumerated. ^
Captain, mates, and seamen all sailed on the "lay,"
that is, for a certain percentage of the cargo secured.
This percentage varied with the different owners and
captains. Usually a captain received one sixteenth,
a mate one twenty-fourth, a boat-steerer one ninetieth,
and ordinary seamen one one-hundred-and-tenth of the
The Whalemen of Sag Harbor 203
catch. The remainder fell to the owners, who bore
all the expenses of the voyage. This system gave
every man an interest in securing a " big lay," and
worked admirably. An outcome of this plan, which
entailed no end of loss and vexation on the owners, was
the system of "advances," by which they advanced
to the men tobacco, clothes, and money, often
to the full value of their share in the prospective
cargo.
The return of a vessel from a three years' voyage
was an event in the village. Keen eyes were generally
on the watch, and as soon as she was sighted a pilot-
boat, filled with the owners and friends of the ship's
officers, sailed down the harbor to welcome her. Mean-
while news of the arrival spread through the village,
and with marvelous rapidity to the outlying hamlets,
Bridgehampton, Easthampton, etc., whence the crews
were largely recruited, and as the vessel drew up to the
dock a throng of friends and relatives of the crew
were gathered to greet them. The scene that ensued
may be imagined; it was not without its more somber
aspects, however, for often it could only be said of
some one that he had been crushed in the whale's
jaws, or by a fall from the masthead, or had perished
of fever and been buried on some island of the sea.
The men ashore, the owners and skipper made an
inspection of the cargo; vials were filled with samples
of oil to be forwarded to the commission houses in New
204 In Olde New York
York through whom the cargo was sold, and the
vessel was ordered unloaded.
Traditions of wonderfully lucrative voyages made
by soide of these vessels still linger in the port. The
Thomas Jefferson, after a year's voyage, returned with
$132,000 worth of oil and bone. She cost her owners
$17,000, and netted them that year $40,000. The ship
Hudson, absent from her dock just seven months,
thirteen and one-half days, without sighting land in
the interim, brought back 2400 barrels of oil. The
ship Cadmus made as good a voyage. The bark
Pacific was most unfortunate at first. At Pernambuco,
on her first voyage, she lost her captain, and was
obliged to return. On a second venture to the Pacific
she was dismasted by a typhoon, and again returned
empty. On her third voyage she netted her owners
$7000. Loss and risk were incident to the business,
however, as in the case of the ship Flying Cloud,
owTied in Sag Harbor, but sent to New Bedford with a
full cargo for a market. There her owners were
offered seventy-two cents per gallon for their ojl, but
preferred to ship it to England, where they secured,
after nearly a year's delay, twenty-six cents per gallon.
I was curious to learn the cause for the decline of
this once lucrative business, and was surprised to find
it attributed almost solely to the California excitement
of 1849. Whalemen, from their life of adventure, were
at once attracted by tales of the richness of the new
The Whalemen of Sag Harbor 205
El Dorado, and removed thither by hundreds. Whole
crews deserted from whale ships lying in San Francisco,
and made for the diggings, so that, with none to man
them, the vessels were laid up at the wharfs. A great
fire in 1845, which destroyed docks, warehouses, and
other appliances, also contributed to this end.
CHAPTER XXI
TALES OF SOUTHAMPTON
r I "iHE best story-teller at Southampton one season
^ years ago was a little old man in saffron-colored
nankeens such as the beaux of fifty years ago were
wont to wear. He rarely lacked an audience, and many
a strange yam he spun with quaint earnestness that
seemed to bolster up the weak points in the story with
strange effect.
"This beach is the real treasure island, don't you
know," he said, one day as he sat on the shore and
waved his hand out to the shining stretch of sand.
" Not only has it received the wrecks of the great fleets,
entering the bay of the Western metropolis for nearly
three hundred years, but it was Captain ICidd's great
bank of deposit, as well as that of his illustrious com-
peers. Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearls,
inestimable stones and pretty much everything else
poor Clarence saw are here if only one knew where
to look. If I have not dug and handled some of
Kidd's treasure myself I have seen and handled the
gross integument which once incased it; and as my
previous tales have been legendary — although having
Tales of Southampton 207
the stamp of truth — in this case I can produce the
ancient record itself. I was rummaging in a south side
garret recently and there found an iron pot of peculiar
shape, more 'pot bellied,' if you will excuse the term,
and much heavier than those now in use, covered with
a deep coat of rust.
"'Ah,' said my hostess, when I reported the find,
'that is the Captain Kidd pot. It was dug up yonder
by my grandfather over a hundred years ago. Here
is a paper,' she added, 'that will tell you all about it.'
"It was a very old paper, indeed, yellow with time,
and almost ready to fall to pieces, dated ' New London,
Connecticut, June 28, 1790,' but the name had been
torn or had fallen off, to my vexation. However, she
pointed to a letter from a correspondent in Southamp-
ton which read as follows: 'Yesterday a young man in
this place dug up a stone and a pot under it full of
dollars. He called in his neighbors and digging deeper
they found another and much larger pot. The stone
and inscription I have seen. It appears to be a ballast
stone. The engraving on it is much blurred. We
think it was buried by Kidd. It was dug up within a
quarter of a mile of our south shore, on a flat piece of
land. The engraver must have been ilhterate and the
inscription cannot be imitated by printed types.'
"My hostess did not remember how many dollars
were in the pot, but thought the sum a comfortable
one. Not long afterward, in a garret in Easthampton,
208 In Olde New York
I discovered Captain Kidd's old treasure chest, a heavy
oaken box with great brass clasps and locks, that bore
great store of precious stones, silver bars and cloth of
gold when it was dug up on Gardiner's Island by order
of the commissioners sent there by the royal governor
for this special purpose. Kidd was on trial in Boston
at the time for his crimes and told where he had buried
several chests of treasure on Gardiner's Island in the
hope of purchasing pardon. He was sent to England,
however, tried and hanged in chains at Newgate.
The woman who o^^Tled the chest was a descendant
of the Gardiners of Gardiner's Island, and vouched
for its genuineness as the treasure chest of Captain
Kidd.
"But really, the greatest find ever made on this
beach was that of my young friend and relative. Jack
Belyea. Jack didn't say much about it for obvious
reasons. He was here five sumpers ago. A shy,
sensitive fellow naturally, but his great trouble that
summer rendered him more so. You see, he wanted
to marry Bertha, and Bertha confided to me that she
was awfully in love with Jack, but unfortunately his
bank account wasn't at all satisfactory to her parents
and they forbade the union. So Jack had but a sorry
summer of it, paced the sands revolving plans for in-
creasing his worldly gear, and was often tempted to
end it all by one plunge into the breakers. In one of
these evil moments his foot struck a little ball of yam,
Tales of Southampton 209
as he thought, and sent it spinning along the beach
before him. Then, because he felt a spite against
everything animate and inanimate, I suppose, he
began kicking it on before liim like a football. Pres-
ently he saw something strange about it and picked it
up to examine it more closely. It was woven instead
of wound, in a very curious and intricate way. Jack
said this aroused his curiosity and, taking out his
knife, he cut one by one the strands of strong Indian
hemp of which it was composed. The last layer dis-
closed one of those horribly ugly and grotesque Indian
idols, with which travelers to the Orient are familiar.
One feature of it struck Jack as very unusual — its
stomach was very large and protruded in an unnatural
way. A few strokes of his knife opened it when, lo,
out fell six of the largest and most beautiful diamonds
ever seen outside of kings' regalia.
"How they rolled and sparkled on the hard sand!
Jack stood dazed for a moment, then scrambled to
pick them up and hide them in his pocket. After this
he peered farther into the cavity whence they came
and found there a coiled ribbon of rice paper on which
was written in Hindustan:
'"The gems have been my curse, therefore commit
I them to the sea. Whosoever thou be that findest,
keep not, but sell; if rich, give to the poor: if poor, enjoy
thy wealth and give Allah thanks.'
"When Jack took his bank book to Bertha's father
210 In Olde New York
a month later, the old gentleman was vastly surprised
but could not gainsay the figures. He could only
murmur a blessmg. So Jack and Bertha were
married."
Another day when we had gathered round the Uttle
old man at the base of Sand Hill Crane dune, he told
this strange story of Captain Topping:
" I stood here last Michaelmas toward sunset watch-
ing the top hamper of a big East Indiaman sink beneath
the waves, when suddenly a shadow enveloped me, cool,
hke a cloud, and looking up I beheld an odd figure
a few yards off — a man of giant frame, leaning on an
eel spear and regarding me not unkindly. His cos-
tume, sou'wester, pea jacket and heavy sea boots, be-
spoke the seafaring man of an earlier day, and his
skin was so tanned and wrinkled by time and exposure
that it hung in folds about his shrewd face and twink-
ling black eyes.
"As I looked up he turned his head in a hstening
attitude and then cried with startling energy: 'Fourth
squadron, ahoy! ahoy!' There was no response, how-
ever, and after peering up and down the sands he
turned to me.
" ' Methought I heard our old cry — the weft ! the
weft! But I see it not. Old eyes are dim and old
ears dull I find.'
"The weft; ah, yes, I remembered; the fisher's coat
waved from a staff on the dunes, the signal to the
Tales of Southampton 211
whaling crews two hundred years ago that a whale
was off shore — and then looking more closely I per-
ceived that it was not an eel spear but a harpoon, that
my strange visitor leaned upon.
"'And this is ?' I queried.
" ' Cap'n Thomas Topping at your service,' he
replied with dignity.
" The name startled me. I had been nosing through
the old records in the town clerk's office and recognized
the name as that of one of the leading spirits in the
settlement of the town, a famous Indian fighter and
captain of the whaling crew, withal an ancestor of
mine several generations back. I could only stare at
him in wide mouthed wonder.
'"I've come back,' he continued in a thin, cracked,
quavering voice, 'to see what these moderns are a
doin', an' I confess I don't altogether admire the
goin's on, I vow I can't fathom 'em. The place is far
prettier than in my day. Oceans o' money must have
been spent on the houses, lawns an' gardens, to say
nothin' of the houses, kerridges and sich, but, fer all
that, life ain't as well worth livin' here as it was in
my day leastways not ter me.
'"Fust place I visited was my old windmill on
Fortune Hill that Cap'n Eben Parsons leased of me an'
run for nigh fifty year. Ef you had all the grain
Cap'n Eben has seen run through them hoppers o'
his, you'd be richer than you are, or like to be. Well,
212 In Olde New York
the old mill was there just the same outwardly to
appearance, but inside — why, I found on openin'
the door and walkin' in that two likely lookin' wimmen
from Boston, or up that way, had bought it an' turned
it into a dwellin' hus. Think of livin' in a windmill;
an' they had fitted it up inside with all sort o' city
knicknacks an' furnishens, an' I must say had e very-
thin' as snug an' cozy as could be.
'"I introduced myself as Cap'n Eben, who was
runnin' the mill when their fathers and mothers was
children, an' they appeared real glad to see me, asked
me to stay to tea. Naturally we fell to talkin' 'bout
their takin' up with an old mill fer a house. I tole 'em
that when Cap'n Eben an' Sabella Hand that was
a sparkin', arter they was promised, Cap'n Eben
wanted to be jined to onct, an' go to housekeepin' on
the ground floor o' his old mill, not bein' forehanded
enough to provide a house; but Sabella turned up her
nose at the idee; she said she guessed she wan't goin'
to be married to live in a mill; an' she waited sLx years
afore Cap'n Eben could provide a house to her notion.
The women marveled at Sabella's conduct, said they
didn't admire it a bit; for their part they delighted to
live in the old mill; and they asked me a heap o' ques-
tions — how I ground com and wheat, and if the rats
and mice was so bold an' numerous then, and if the
wind moaned so ghost like through the vans o' nights
when a storm was brewin'.
Tales of Southampton 213
"'I next went a lookin' fer the old meetin' house
where Parson Hunting preached the pure gospel for
goin' on fifty years; but dear me, there was a biUiard
room and bowling alley on the site; an' out where the
horse sheds stood there was a space rolled smooth
and young men and women in parti-colored raiment
was a batting balls agin a net in the center. There
was a woman on the stoop of a fine new house across
the way watcliin' em, an' I made bold to ask her where
the meetin' 'us was moved to.
"'Law,' says she, 'you're a stranger here I guess.
They moved it down agin the sand hills yonder, an'
made a bran new buildin' of it, an' brought up a sex-
tant from New York to take care of it.'
"'I was meandering peacefully down the street in
search of the meetin' 'us, when of a suddint some-
thin' shot by me with a swish, a cretur like a man
balanced on a frame hung between two wheels placed
tandem — but what kept the thing up I couldn't see
unless it was the power of the evil one. I thought it
was one of them winged creturs, or wheels within
wheels foretold by the prophet Elijah for the last days,
an' I asked a boy if it was, and he said, "It's a bysickle,
you old fool."
"'In my day children were taught to respect their
elders.
"'The sextant took great pride in his meeting 'us
an' showed me all over it. It was a queer, low, mouse-
214 In Olde New York
like building, with a many towers and ells and angles
and no steeple, and was built mostly of wreck timber
gathered on the beach — so different from the stately
churches of my day with lofty steeples and pillared
porticos. I asked the sexton why they changed.
"Well," sez he, "they wanted somethin' different.
Them old-fashioned meetin' houses with tall steeples
an' four pillars in front was so famihar an' common-
place, they got to be an eyesore, so our trustees told
the architect to git 'em up somethin' novel an' un-
heard of. An' he done it."
"'The fact is,' said the old warrior, slightly chang-
ing his position, 'I don't understand these mod-
ems. They cum here an' build houses, costin' fifty
thousan' dollars apiece — that would a bought the
hull township in my day, includin' the whalin' out-
fit — an' only occupy 'em tew or three months in
the year, or not at all. An' then the trumpery! they
fill 'em up with spinnin' wheels, hatchets, and old
irons, trammels, arm cheers, pots and kittles; what
we used they keep for ornaments. I hed ter laugh
when I see at one place Deacon 'Siah Howell's ole
arm cheer of EngUsh oak he bro't with him from
Suffolk a standin' on the front stoop, tied all over
with blue ribbons.'
"While speaking, my strange visitor had kept his
weather eye to seaward and his huge fingers gripped
the harpoon staff.
Tales of Southampton 215
"Suddenly there came a distant cry: 'The weft!
The weft! Weft! Weft!'
"'There she blows! There she blows!' and with a
shout of glee my venerable ancestor made oflF amid
the sand hills and I never saw him again."
CHAPTER XXII
THE SHINNECOCKS'
\ MILE and a half from Southampton lie the
'^*- wide reservation and rude dwellings of the Shinne-
cock Indians — with the possible exception of the
Mashpees on Cape Cod, the most numerous and re-
spectable of existing Eastern tribes. One finds their
history and the story of their connection with the
whites, as contained in the quaint old Southampton
records, exceedingly interesting. When the first
settlers of Southampton came here from Massachusetts
in 1640, they were, next to the Montaukets, the domi-
nant tribe on the island, with a territory extending from
Canoe Place on the west to Easthampton on the east,
including the whole south shore of Peconic Bay, and
their warriors, according to tradition, reaching when
arranged in Indian file from "Shinnecock gate to the
town " — about two miles — and numbering 2000 men.
Southampton was purchased of the Shinnecocks.
^ Written for the Evening Post in 1886. The Shinnecocks still
retain their tribal autonomy and reservation and have about held
their own in numbers, but it is said there is scarcely a full-blood
Shinnecock among them.
The Shinnecocks 217
The deed is still preserved in the town records, an in-
strument dating back to 1640, and setting forth, in the
old terminology, that Pomatuck, Manduck, and seven
others, " native Indians and true owners of the eastern
part of Long Island, for the consideration of sixteen
coats and threescore bushels of com, and in further
consideration that the English should defend the said
Indians from the unjust violence of whatever Indians
should illegally assail them," conveyed to the whites
" the lands commonly known by the name of the place
where the Indians bayle over their canoes out of the
North Bay (Peconic) to the south side of the island,
all the lands lying eastward of that point." The pur-
chase also included all the planted land "eastward
from the first creek at the westermore end of Shinne-
cock plain." For more than sixty years Indian and
white continued to dwell in the greatest harmony —
the energies of the former, as their hunting privileges
grew less, being absorbed in the off-shore whale fishery.
Some curious entries in the town records pertaining
to this matter are interesting as showing the relations
existing between the parties. In 1670 Paquanang and
other Indians agreed with a Southampton company
" to whale for the next three years the same way as the
last three years, and in addition a pot such as John
Cooper gives his Indians." By an instrument of 1671
Atingquoin agreed to whale for the next season "for
one coat before it commenced, one when the season
218 In Olde New York
was half over, and a third when it ended," or "for a
pot, a pair of shoes and stockings, one-half of a pound
of powder, and three pounds of shot." In other cases
they were employed in trying out the blubber, for a
certain share in the oil. By 1703, however, their hunt-
ing lands had nearly all slipped away, and they became
restless and dissatisfied, whereupon a grand convention
of whites and Indians was held at Southampton and the
matter amicably settled, the town giving the Indians a
lease of Shinnecock Hills at a nominal rental of one ear
of corn, paid annually — the meadows, marshes, grass,
herbage, feeding, pasturage, timber, stone, and con-
venient highways excepted; the Indians, however, to
have the privilege of ploughing and planting certain
portions of it. They were also given liberty to cut
flags, bulrushes, and such grass as they made their
baskets of, and to dig ground-nuts, "mowing lands
excepted."
Shinnecock Hills is the beautiful tract of rolling
country, comprising pastures only, occupying the
narrow neck between Peconic and Shinnecock Bays.
It was held by the Indians under the lease of 1703 until
1859, when, by special act of the Legislature, they
conveyed their right in it to the proprietors of Southamp-
ampton, receiving in return the fee of their present
reserv^ation on Shinnecock Neck. The proprietors con-
tinued to hold the hills in common until 1861, when
they were sold at public auction for $6250, the pur-
The Shinnecocks 219
chasers being a company of Southampton farmers,
who proposed to hold it for grazing purposes, as had
been done for centuries by their ancestors. The tract
has recently been purchased by a company of Brooklyn
capitalists, who propose, it is said, converting it into a
summer resort. Since the exchange the Indians have
continued to reside quietly on their reservation of
some 600 acres on Shinnecock Neck. The writer's
visit to them was in company with Mr. Edward Foster,
of Southampton, one of the editors of its records, and a
gentleman well versed in the affairs of the Indians.
We drove into the country perhaps a mile beyond the
last of the straggling village houses, and at the foot of
a little depression in the plain crossed a brook just
where it fell into an arm of Shinnecock Bay. On the
left, curving around the shore of the bay, and bounded
on the west by a similar arm, with Shinnecock Hills
beyond, lay a wide plain, burdened near us with grow-
ing corn and wheat, but showing further in the rear
untilled fields covered with weeds and brush, groves
of forest trees, and, scattered here and there, a score
of brown, mossy, one-story cottages. This was the
reservation. We drove through the corn-fields, past
the cottages to the south end, and returned along the
western shore, making the circuit of the tract.
"Very few of the Indians till their lands," remarked
my companion; "they are let out by the trustees to
outside parties. The government of the reservation is
220 In Olde New York
a little peculiar. It is vested entirely in three trustees,
members of the community, who are elected annually
by the tribe in the room where our town meetings are
held. These men, with the consent of three of our
justices of the peace, have full power over the land on
the reservation. They cannot sell it, for it is held only
in fee; but they can lease it for a limited period, not
exceeding three years, and then perform the ordinary
duties of overseers. The land is excellent, giving good
crops of wheat and corn, as good as any in this vicinity,
but two thirds of it is gone to waste through the in-
dolence of the Indians in not cultivating it. There
are some twenty-five houses on the reservation, which,
allowing five persons to each house, would give a total
of 125 inhabitants; but probably not two thirds of the
tribe remain at home, the others leading a roving ex-
istence — whaling, fishing, wrecking, and as farm
laborers. They have a good school, kept by a colored
master, two churches — Congregational and Millerite
— but no resident pastor, the office being filled some-
times by the Presbyterian minister at Southampton,
sometimes by itinerant clergy, and again by members
of the Young Men's Christian Association."*
By this time we had passed several cottages, and
* What was the Congregational Chirrch or body has now been
taken under the care of the Long Island Presbytery and a resident
minister is supplied by the Presbyterian Church and its friends.
The Millerite Church still lacks a resident pastor.
The Shinnecocks 221
had arrived at one which bore a neater, more inviting
appearance than its neighbors.
" This was the former home of Priest Lee," remarked
my friend, "father of a somewhat remarkable family,
and a characteristic one. He is dead, but Mrs. Lee
is living. Suppose we call."
As we drew up before the open doorway an elderly
woman, tall, straight, showing strong traces of Indian
blood, came and framed herself in the doorway.
"We wished to ask about your husband," said my
companion. " He was a colored man, I think, a native
of Maryland.?"
"Yes," she replied.
"And you have had five sons, every one a seaman,
and several rising to be masters ? "
"Yes, sir."
" My friend would like to hear about the boys, some
of their exploits, the ships they sailed in, and the like."
Here the old lady hesitated. Her memory was
too poor, she said : " But there is Garrison in the truck
patch," she continued, brightening; "he could tell you
all about it." Garrison was the youngest son, a stal-
wart fellow of over six feet, showing the Indian charac-
teristics as plainly as his mother; and leaning on his
plough handles, he gave us his family annals modestly,
but without hesitation.
"There were five brothers of us," he began —
"Milton, Ferdinand, Notely, Robert, and myself,
222 In Olde New York
William Garrison, Milton went to sea young, followed
whaling sixteen or seventeen years, and died. Ferdi-
nand rose to be mate, and then captain of the ship
Callao, and made a good voyage of four years in her
to the South Pacific about 1871. Notely shipped in
the Phillip the First, of Sag Harbor, and we have not
heard from him in ten years. Report says that he
deserted his ship, reached the Kingsmill group of
islands in the Pacific, married the chief's daughter,
and is now king there. Robert followed the sea eight
years, then took to wrecking, and was drowned in the
Circassian disaster. As for myself, 1 shipped at six-
teen in the Pioneer, of New London, and made my
first voyage of seventeen months to Greenland, being
frozen in ten months. My next voyage of eighteen
months was to the Arctic, in returning from which
we were captured and burned by the pirate Shenan-
doah. In 1870 I shipped as mate of the ship Florida,
of San Francisco, for the Arctic, and next voyage as
mate of the Abbie Bradford, of New Bedford. We left
that port in 1880 for Greenland. Eight months out
the captain died of consumption, and I took command
of the ship, and after completing the voyage brought
the vessel into port."
These brothers, I further learned, became accom-
plished navigators, with no other education than that
afforded by the tribal school. The pretty Congrega-
tional chapel Mr. Foster made the basis of some in-
The Shinnecocks 223
teresting remarks on the moral and religious status of
the tribe.
"Some among them have lived and died in the
odor of sanctity," he remarked; "but their general
spiritual condition is not encouraging, considering the
efforts made for their conversion and enlightenment.
Love of firewater, as with their fathers, is still their
greatest failing. They are not industrious, despising
the tilling of the soil, allowing their fine lands here
to go to waste, as you see, but no better surfmen or
sailors, especially whalemen, can be found. They are
wandering and erratic in their habits, usually not more
than half the tribe being on the reservation at any one
time. Little attention is paid to preserving the purity
of the family, negro and white blood being so inter-
mixed that there is not a pure-blood Indian in the
tribe."
As before remarked, there are two churches, each
with quite a membership, and a school numbering
some fifty scholars, the latter being supported by and
under the direct control of the State. From the church
we drove down to the southern end of the reservation
near the sea to a little graveyard, entirely covered with
weeds and bushes, where the ten Shinnecocks who
perished in the wreck of the Circassian were interred,
and regained the highway by a series of paths on the
west, seeing there several pretty groves with mossy
cottages embowered in them — the former often util-
224 In Olde New York
ized by the young people of Southampton for picnics.
The future of the reservation is an interesting question.
Its lands are now quite valuable, adjoining plots sell-
ing as high as $200 or $300 per acre, and are each year
increasing in value. If the Indians could sell, the land
would probably long ago have been sold. They, how-
ever, only hold it for themselves and their children,
the title being vested in the state for the tribe ; if par-
titioned the proceeds would be divided among the
Indians, as their individual interests might appear;
and so long as a Shinnecock remains it would be
difficult for a purchaser to secure a good title.
CHAPTER XXIII
PORT JEFFERSON AND THE WHALEBOAT
PRIVATEERSMEN ^
J30RT JEFFERSON lies at the head of Setauket
-*- Harbor, and, although containing (in 1880) nearly
2000 inhabitants, is so embowered in trees that one
coming in from sea would scarcely suspect its existence.
Its streets follow primitive cart-paths winding up the
hillsides from the hollow in which the business portion
of the town lies. Ship- building is the chief, almost the
sole industry. As our ship drew up to the dock
we heard the clamor of a hundred saws, planes,
and hammers, and counted four large brigs on the
stocks in process of construction. More than one
hundred years ago, we learned. Captain John Wilsie
built the first ship here, and the business, although not
as good as before the war, is still in a flourishing con-
dition. There are three yards in operation, and a vet-
eran shipwright of eighty told us that he had known ten
vessels on the stocks at once. When asked how they
could afford to build ships so remote from market, he
replied that they put in better material, worked on a
^ Written in 1887.
226 In Olde New York
better model, and did better work at Port Jefferson
than in other places; hence secured better prices.
"Besides," he continued, "many of the ships built
here are owned by the townspeople. We are thrifty,
build our own ships, furnish the men to man them,
and charter them for cargoes; our vessels are chiefly
engaged in the Southern trade, plying between New
York and Charleston or Savannah." Two steamers,
I learned, besides sailing vessels, were built here one
year, and some eighty yachts are laid up each winter,
their furbishing and refitting in the spring giving
additional animation to the yards. The tourist finds
little to attract in the village aside from its quaintness,
but unless very difficult to please will be charmed by
a sail through its harbor and the waters adjacent.
Setauket Harbor and its tributary. Old Field Bay,
have a common inlet from the Sound and extend west
several miles, forming a labyrinth of straits and bays
lying between wooded points and islands.
To the student of old men and days the whole region
is storied, having been the scene of some of the most
gallant deeds of the whale-boat privateersmen of the
Revolution. It is singular that no more of these men
has been told in history. Many readers are unaware
of their existence; yet they formed an efficient arm of
the Continental service, especially in the transmission
of intelligence, and may be regarded as the germ of
the American navy. Long before Connecticut's war
Port Jefferson 227
governor had placed on the Sound the Spy, the Crom-
well, the Trumbull, and other audacious privateers to
capture the British storeships, the whaleboat crews
were abroad, anticipating them in the matter of taking
stores, and making reprisals on the Tories who swarmed
on the Sound shore of Long Island. The war found
them already organized for the capture of the whale
and, leaving leviathan, they turned their attention to
nobler game. Companies seem to have existed at this
time at Stamford, Norwalk, Fairfield, Stratford, Derby,
and New Haven, although Fairfield, a leader in the
Whig movement, was the center of operations.
Their whale-boats were well adapted to a predatory
warfare. They were about thirty-five feet long and
were propelled by eight rowers. Each boat carried a
large swivel as armament. Their operations were con-
ducted swiftly and silently, usually at night. Some-
times a British fort or magazine on the island was the
objective point; sometimes a Tory murder or outrage
was to be avenged, or a prominent leader captured in
reprisal; again, a supply-ship or armed vessel was the
object — two of the latter having been captured and
towed into Fairfield during the war. In all cases the
leader mustered his men secretly, the boats pushed off
at nightfall, rowed swiftly and silently across the
Sound, struck their blow, and were out of reach
of pursuit when morning broke. Setauket Harbor,
directly opposite Fairfield, and but sixteen miles
228 In Olde New York
distant, was the landing point of most of these ex-
peditions.
Some of the exploits were not equaled in daring and
romance by any feats of the border. In 1777 a large
body of the British and Tories had seized the Presby-
terian Church at Setauket and converted it into a
fortress, using it as a stronghold from which to send
out marauding parties. On the 14th of August of that
year Colonel Parsons with 150 men embarked at Fair-
field in whale-boats, crossed the Sound, and about day-
break made an attack on the fort. The firing had
scarcely begun, however, when a messenger came from
the boats with the news that several British men-of-war
were coming down the Sound, and, fearing that their
return might be cut off, the gallant band was forced
to retreat.
A second expedition, organized three years later
with another object in view, was much more successful.
At Mastic, on a point projecting into Great South Bay,
the British had erected a formidable fort, encircled by
a deep ditch and wall, the whole surrounded by an
abattis of sharpened pickets. Several supply vessels
and 300 tons of forage were protected by the fort.
Hearing through his spies that the fort was garrisoned
by but fifty- four men, Colonel Tallmadge determined
to capture it, and left Fairfield on the 21st of November,
1780, with eight whale-boats, carrying in all but eighty
men. They reached Old Mans — a harbor three miles
Port JefiFerson 229
east of Port Jefferson, at nine o'clock in the evening,
and disembarked ; but a heavy rain setting in, they were
forced to lie all that night and the next day concealed
in the bushes. On the second night the rain ceased,
and the troops marched across the island — here
some twenty miles wide — captured the fort by sur-
prise, dismantled it, burned the vessels, stores, and
forage, marched back to their boats with their prisoners,
and were in Fairfield by eleven o'clock the next morn-
ing, without the loss of a man. Congress passed a
resolution highly complimenting the officers and men
engaged, and Washington wrote to the commander from
Morristown to thank him for his "judicious planning
and spirited execution of this business."
A still bolder feat of the whale-boatmen had been
executed the year previous. In 1779 the house of
General Silliman, in Fairfield, had been surrounded
by a body of Tories from Long Island, and the General
and his young son were borne away captives. The
Americans had no prisoner of equal rank to offer in
exchange and decided to procure one. The Hon.
Thomas Jones, of Fort Neck, a Justice of the Supreme
Court of New York, was selected, and a volunteer
company of twenty-five men, commanded by Captain
Hawley, set out from Newfield Harbor (now Bridge-
port) to capture him. They landed at Stony Brook
on the morning of the 4th of November, and began
their march to the Judge's residence, more than thirty
230 In Olde New York
miles distant, arriving there at 9 o'clock on the evening
of the 6th. No man could have been more unsuspicious
of danger than he. There was a gay party of young
people in the house, and the dance was proceeding
merrily, when Captain Hawley and his body of grim
retainers appeared at the door. The Judge was found
in the hall, and was taken with scant ceremony, a
young gentleman named Hewlett being forced to
accompany him as a makeweight for the General's
son. The party met with many adventures before
reaching their boats, being forced to hide in the forest
by day, and narrowly escaping capture on two occa-
sions by the light horse, which were soon scouring the
country in pursuit. Six laggards were taken, but the
others succeeded in regaining their boats, and reached
Fairfield on the 8th with their prisoners. It was not,
however, until the succeeding May that their exchange
was effected.
Quite equal to these in dash and courage were the
exploits of Capt. Caleb Brewster, one of the most noted
leaders of the service. He was a native of Setauket,
but a resident of Fairfield during the war, and accom-
panied both the expeditions of Colonel Parsons and
Major Tallmadge as a volunteer. In 1781 with his
whale-boats he boldly attacked a British armed vessel
in the Sound, and after a sharp action brought her a
prize into Fairfield. Again, on the 7th of December,
1782, from his post at Fairfield he discovered a number
Port Jefferson 231
of armed boats in the Sound, evidently bent on some
predatory excursion, and gave chase. The forces were
about equal, and a desperate encounter ensued, nearly
every man on both sides being killed or wounded;
but the enemy at last escaped with the loss of two of his
boats, which were borne into Fairfield in triumph.
Brewster himself was shot through the body in this
action, but recovered from the wound. The next year,
on the 9th of March, 1783, he took the British armed
vessel Fox in an action lasting but two minutes, and
without the loss of a man. In addition to these duties,
from the beginning to the end of the struggle he was
the confidential agent of Washington in securing in-
formation of the enemy's movements.
CHAPTER XXIV
harvard's first graduate
the rev. nathaniel brewster of setauket
/^^N a gentle elevation that slopes down to Setauket
^-^ Harbor on the east, its steeple facing the west,
with the village schoolhouse on the right and the Clark
Memorial Library on the left, stands the Presbjierian
Church of Setauket, a church which has as much
history connected with it and of as interesting a charac-
ter as any of the famous churches of New England.
Its early records have been lost, but we know that it
was founded in 1660, five years after the Independents
of Connecticut had come over and settled Setauket.
What is of more general interest is the fact that its first
pastor, the Rev. Nathaniel Brewster, a grandson of
the famous Elder Brewster of the Mayflower, was
the first native graduate of Harvard College. Mr.
Brewster died during his pastorate here and was buried,
according to the present pastor, the Rev. WiUiam
Littell, who has held his post for thirty years and is
a careful student of his church's history, near a comer
of the church, though nothing to-day marks the spot.
It would be a graceful tribute for the alumni of Har-
Harvard's First Graduate 233
vard to erect a simple shaft above his grave in memory
of the first of the long line of able and brilliant men
who have reflected luster on their alma mater.
The second minister, the Rev. George Phillip, also
a graduate of Harvard, was sleeping quietly in the
churchyard which surrounds the sacred edifice, when
the differences of opinion between Britain and her
American colonies culminated in the Revolution. The
British soon overran Long Island and maintained a
strong garrison here at Setauket, no doubt to overawe
the Independents at New Haven, Fairfield, and other
points on the "Christian shore," as the patriots called
Connecticut. They seized the Presbyterian church
and turned it into a barracks for their soldiers, as they
did in many other towns of the island, in some cases
using them for stables.
"They built a fort around the church," wrote a
quaint chronicler of the day, "and cast up the bones
of many of the dead. They destroyed the pulpit and
the whole inside work of the church, and the tomb-
stone of Parson Phillips was among those destroyed.
The minister in charge through all the troublous days
of the Revolution was the Rev. Benjamin Tallmadge,
whose pastorate lasted from 1754 to 1786. It did not
endear him to the British that his son, Benjamin Tall-
madge, Jr., who had settled in Litchfield, Conn., was
one of the boldest, most dashing and most successful
partisan colonels in the Continental service.
234 In Olde New York
In 1797 there came here as pastor the Rev. Zachariah
Greene, a man of marked individuaUty, of whom
many good stories are told. When the war broke out,
Greene, then a lad of sixteen threw aside his books and
entered the patriotic army, doing good service, it is
said, in more than one pitched battle; but at last a
wound in the shoulder and another in the back dis-
abled him for further military service, and he returned
to his books. He was one of Parson's men in the
attack on the church at Setauket in 1777, and on
assuming the pastorate here made a note of the fact
that where formerly he had fought the forces of evil
with carnal weapons, he had now come to combat them
with spiritual. For fifty years he was acting pastor
here, and then for ten years longer pastor emeritus,
residing with friends at Hempstead. The older men
in the church remember him to this day. Old Father
Greene they call him, in speaking of him. He had
five fingers on his left hand, and the Presbytery in
calling him stipulated that he should keep that hand
gloved. He was a good preacher and faithful pastor,
the chief founder of the Long Island Bible Society.
During the last years of his pastorate he was assisted
by the Rev. John Gile, a young man of much promise.
On the very same day that Father Greene started to
go to his friends in Hempstead, leaving Mr. Gile in
charge of the church, the latter went to Stony Brook
Harbor, three miles west, to bring home a sailboat
Harvard's First Graduate 235
that had been given him. He sailed out of that har-
bor into the Sound to bring her around into Setauket
Bay, and neither man nor boat was ever again heard of.
The present church succeeded in 1812 the one
riddled in the Revolution, and is not, therefore, of
hoary antiquity.
There are some very old and quaint tombstones in
the churchyard. Two very heavy tables of sandstones
resting horizontally on piers have a square stone of
different color let into the center, on which the in-
scription is cut. That on the north reads:
" Richard Floyd, Esq., late Colonel of this
County and a Judge of the Court of Common
Pleas, who deceased February 23, 1737, in ye
73d yr. of his age."
The other stone, without doubt from its position
that of his wife, once bore an inscription, but it has
been effaced. Why was this done?
CHAPTER XXV
FIRE ISLAND
OFFSPRING of ocean and air, fruitful of nothing
but beach grass, hop-toads, snakes, and mos-
quitoes, Fire Island Beach when I visited it in 1885,
still attracted the summer visitor, and held its own
bravely with newer and more widely advertised resorts.
A strange bit of earth this beach is, to be sure — a
barren, wind-swept, desolate sand-bar, interposed
between the Atlantic and the quiet waters of Great
South Bay, pushed out nine miles into the ocean, so
low and flat that it would seem the first winter storm
must blot it out, yet increasing year by year rather
than diminishing. It is easy to read its genesis.
Ages ago a sand-bar rose out of the waves nine miles
off the mainland of Long Island; built up by waves
and winds, it grew and lengthened eastward and west-
ward, and in process of time formed a wide smooth
beach from Coney Island to Southampton, eighty-one
miles, broken at intervals by inlets through which the
tides rushed to fill the bays formed by the barrier
within. The first glance of the beach shows that man
has come over and captured it. Here is the brick
Fire Island 237
tower of the lighthouse 185 feet high, the quaint cottage
of Life-Saving Station No. 25, and the square signal
tower of the Western Union Company. There is also
a great hotel,* unique in its way, and a model for all
seaside hotels, with rows of cottages attached to it,
and a mile or more of covered board walks leading to
the ocean strand on the south, and to the bayside and
steamboat wharf on the north.
As you approach from Babylon across the bay, the
hotel looms up like the line of barracks at some great
army post, for it is long and low, with three rows of
windows like the portholes in a three-decker. The
host, Mr. Sammis, is a landlord of the old-fashioned
sort, said to be the third oldest inn-keeper on Long
Island. After a business career in town as druggist
and hotel-keeper, Mr. Sammis came to Fire Island
and opened a hotel on the sands. That was in 1855.
The first year his hotel was a chowder-house — a sort
of day resort for parties from the mainland. It was
very successful, and the next year he added 100 feet,
and opened the present Surf Hotel. It has grown
modestly and safely since then, and is now 625 feet
long, with accommodations for 400 guests.
In its old registers may be found the names of
some of the best known people of New York and the
country. The attractions are mostly such as nature
* The Surf Hotel was burned some years ago, and conditions
on Fire Island have materialiy changed since this was written.
238 In Olde New York
oflfers. A dip in the surf before the eight o'clock
breakfast begins your day. After breakfast you will
find half-a-dozen bronzed bay skippers waiting to
take you to the fishing-grounds. Fine sport has
been had this year in the waters of both bay and
inlet, the gamy bluefish being the special quarry just
now. Trolling is the favorite form of sport with the
guests, but "chumming" is practised, I can see
from my windows now a long line of boats anchored
in the bay, with their lines down in the water, taking
bluefish that have been attracted there by throwing
out bait for days beforehand. The fishermen are
back in time for a plunge in the surf or bay before
dinner. After dinner sailing parties are in order, or
excursions to explore the island — an interesting diver-
sion. The lighthouse and the life-saving station He
southeast of the hotel, not ten minutes' walk, and
have many visitors.
The old keeper, who has the true nautical flavor
about him, leads the way up the one hundred and
ninety-five steps of the tower to the platform that
runs around the outside just below the huge Fresnel
lens. He is very proud of his light, which is the first
that the great ocean liners sight in approaching
New York from sea, and therefore one of the most
important on the coast. It is a first-order light, with
a lamp of 500-candle power, which pilots have
seen in good weather at a distance of thirty miles,
Fire Island 239
but whose usual range is twenty-five miles. To feed
the flame of this lamp requires two quarts of the best
kerosene oil every hour. We very much desire to
visit the light after dark, but the keeper is proof against
all blandishments — he points to the regulations of
the Lighthouse Board forbidding visitors to the tower
after sunset, and says the inspector assured him that
it would be as much as his place was worth to disobey
the order. It must be an eerie place up here in a
nor'easter on a winter night, when the tower rocks
under the fury of the gale, and sand, and spray, and
snow clouds the windows. On such nights the keeper
often hears the crash of some heavy objects striking
the glass, and finds next morning beneath his windows
the dead bodies of wild geese and duck which have
struck the tower in the night.
Life-Saving Station No. 25, as before remarked, lies
a little to the southwest, almost within hailing distance.
Its doors have been closed whenever the writer has
passed that way, but a flock of contented chickens gave
evidence that it was inhabited, as is the fact, the keeper
being sole custodian during the summer months, but
with power to summon assistance if it should be re-
quired. The Signal Station, or more properly the
reporting station of the Western Union Company,
is the third of the structures which go to make this
barren strip of sand an important commercial center
— although innocent of ships, except those unfortu-
240 In Olde New York
nates whose barnacled ribs may be seen protruding
above the sands or swaying in the surf. The Signal
Station is a large square tower on the sands, midway
between the Surf Hotel and the ocean strand. Fire
Island, as before remarked, is the first point of land
sighted by the great ocean racers westward bound, and
so the Western Union Company maintains here one
of its most expert operators, who reports the arrival
of steamers not only to their owners, but to those who
may have friends on board, several hours before they
are due at their docks in New York. The operator is
Mr. Peter Keegan, a specialist in his calling and a
most interesting man to talk with. If to learn the
names of passing ships by reading the signals displayed
by them were all he had to do, his work would be mere
routine, but to distinguish scores of passing vessels
daily by the cut of their jibs or the color of their smoke-
stacks, some of them perhaps when only four or five
feet of their topmasts are \asible, a keenness of vision
and wide knowledge of ships and shipping is required.
He is a man whose place cannot be filled. Summer
and winter since the service was organized in 1878, he
has been at his post, with only one day in the year that
he can call his own. The room in which he spends
most of his time is in the extreme top of the building,
and by means of windows and portholes commands
a view of the ocean, the inlet, the bay, and the long line
of beach. In one corner is a well-selected library, in
Fire Island 241
another the electric key which keeps the vigilant
watcher in communication with the outside world, a
reclining chair, a cozy rocker, and inviting seats
scattered around to complete the furniture. In a third
corner is a package of books, tied with a string, that
were recovered from the wreck of the Oregon, which
foundered a few miles off the station. There are two
portholes in the southeast corner of the room, and
through one a long and powerful telescope is thrust.
The little instrument in the comer keeps up a merry
clicking — in winter when the hotel is closed, and all
the summer visitors departed, the only sound from
the outer world that reaches the lonely watcher. "So
long as the instrument is in order," says Mr. Keegan,
"I don't feel so isolated, for I know that by a few
touches I can talk with my most distant friends, or
summon aid if needed ; but when the cable breaks and
the clicking stops, the silence becomes almost un-
bearable." It is no uncommon thing for the wires to
get out of order in the terrible winter storms.
The uninitiated reader no doubt supposes that ships
are reported by their signals; if this were the case, the
operator's duties would be much simplified, as he
would only need to be master of the signal code; but
in these days of fierce competition and record-break-
ing trips, very few of the great ocean-racers run in
suflSciently near to display signals — to do so would de-
lay them an hour or more — but keep a straight course
242 In Olde New York
for Sandy Hook Light, thus passing from fifteen to
twenty-five miles out to sea. To the visitor it is a
standing wonder how steamers can be distinguished
and accurately reported at that distance. Mr. Keegan
explains it. "In the first place I know just when to
expect the steamers. The name and hour of sailing
from the other side of each vessel is reported to me,
and I am so famiUar with their runs that I know the
very hour that they should pass my station. For
instance, the new French steamer Bretagne, one of
four new steamers built for the Havre Line within the
last three years, left Havre on the 20th, and is due here
to-day — the 29th, at this hour — and there are her
topmasts already rising above the horizon. Wednes-
day I shall look for the fast steamer City of Paris,
which left Queenstown at 1.30 p.m. on Thursday, and
will be due here at 8 a.m. on Wednesday. Then,
with my glass, I can see a vessel very distinctly twenty
miles distant, and am enabled to distinguish them by
my special knowledge of their characteristic marks.
Masts and smoke-stacks are the chief distinguishing
features. I have reported vessels when but four or
five feet of their masts were visible."
"Do you never make mistakes.?" is asked.
" But one in four years," he rephed, " and this is how
it happened: I was expecting a certain steamer, a slow
boat, due to pass some time in the night. Steamers
passing at night display no signals by which I can tell
Fire Island 243
their names, but simply burn a signal indicating the
line to which they belong. At midnight a steamer
passed and showed the signal of the line to which the
expected boat belonged, and I naturally inferred it
was she, and so reported, but as it turned out the com-
pany had sent a second boat immediately after the
first, and she was the one that displayed the signal."
"Are mistakes attended with serious results.-^"
"They would cause great confusion and expense,"
is the reply. "For instance. La Bretagne, which you
see just coming into view out there, and which I have
just reported, has, say, 300 cabin passengers on board
That means that 200 messages announcing her arrival
are now being sent out to friends of persons on board,
and of course if the wrong vessel is reported, no end
of annoyance and loss would be caused."
"You must have had some thrilling and exciting
experiences while keeping your lonely vigils."
"In the matter of shipwrecks and loss of life," he
replied, "yes; I suppose I saw the last signal of the
gallant fellows on the pilot boat Columbia, which dis-
appeared so mysteriously off Fire Island one dark
night, leaving not a trace. That night I sighted the
Alaska and reported her; a few minutes later I saw a
pilot boat setting her signal ; then suddenly the latter 's
lights went out, and I saw the steamer lying to and
cruising about as if searching for something. She did
not leave until daylight, and reported being in colHsion
244 In Olde New York
with some vessel. The most singular part of it was
that not a trace of the Columbia or of her crew was ever
discovered.- That famous disaster, the sinking of the
Oregon, was first reported by me. It was the morning
of March 14, 1887 — Sunday; I had scheduled her to
pass about sunrise, and at 5.30, sweeping the horizon
with my glass, I saw a trail of smoke rising above
the sea. 'It is the Oregon coming up,' I said, and
waited for her to come nearer. As her smoke-stacks
came into view I saw that something was wrong, but
what, I could not make out, as she showed no signals
of distress. At once I sent the main office this tele-
gram:
"'Steamer Oregon, southeast bound in, apparently
in trouble. Keegan.'
"An hour later she changed her course and headed
for the beach, flying the British ensign union down at
masthead — a signal showing great extremity, and I
knew she needed assistance at once. Looking about
for some one to go to her aid, I saw pilot boat No. 11
and the schooner Fanny Gorham in the offing and
signaled both. The sea was quite smooth, and both
at once headed for the disabled Oregon. All were so
far down the horizon that I could not see the boats
which transferred the steamer's passengers to the
schooner, but all were got safely on board. The
Oregon kept dropping below the sea line all the morn-
ing, but whether she was sinking or only drifting I
Fire Island 245
could not tell. Later I saw the steamer Fulda come
up and take off the rescued passengers from the
schooner. As she passed me she signaled, ' Oregon
sunk; passengers all saved and on board,' which I at
once reported to the office at New York — the first
announcement of the disaster given the public. Pilot
boat No. 11 — the Phantom — foundered at sea in the
blizzard just a year later, and all on board were lost.
I also sent her owners the first news of the stranding
of the Scotia, which struck on a shelving bar fifteen
miles east of here while nearly at full speed. I first
saw her headed for the beach about five o'clock in the
morning, with both masts gone. Later I made out
her name from her signal flag, which was suspended
from between her smoke-stacks, and at once reported
her plight to her owners, who sent tugs of the Merritt
Wrecking Company to pull her off."
" The Hilton Castle foundered off here, did she not ? "
"Yes. I saw her the night before, but being only a
freight boat I paid no attention to her. She went
down during the night. I saw our life-saving crew
go out next morning through the surf and bring in one
of her boats with eight men in it, and a little later saw
a schooner pick up the other boat. These facts I also
reported."
Sometimes the operator's duties are of a more grisly
character, as when he jots down and flashes over the
wires descriptions of dead bodies thrown upon the
246 In Olde New York
beach by the sea. The other Sunday Capt. John
Wicks of the Life-Saving Station came in and reported
finding the body of a man on the beach about a mile
east of the station, clad in only a shirt and trousers,
which had been in the water some eight days. "A
clerk, evidently," said the operator, "for he had in his
pockets two elastic bands and an eraser such as are
used in offices — a well-dressed man, stout, with fea-
tures unrecognizable. We cannot tell where he came
from, unless from a passing ship — not from New
York, certainly, for the prevailing winds of late have
been from eastward. There was nothing else in his
pockets except part of a copy of the New York World
of July 20. We at first thought the body might be
that of Hogan, the missing aeronaut, but as the latter
made his ascent on the 16th, the paper of the 20th
proved that it was not he."
INDEX
INDEX
PAGE
PAGE
Bromley, Capt. Reuben 173
A
Brower 72
A. D. O. (artist) 37
Adams, Alderman
33
John I. (artist) 36 et seq.
John, Bust of
33
Buell, Rev. Samuel, Sketch
John Q., Bust of
37
of 169
Allen
29
Bullus 29
Ethan
122
Commodore 35
America, Young (clipper)
13
Burr, Col. Aaron 51, 53, 66, 81
Anthony
29
82
Attree, Wm. H.
69
Theodosia 81
Bancker
29
Cadmus (ship)
200
Ebert A.
30
California Gold excitement
7
Barnum, P. T.
53
Callowhill, Family of
75
Battersby, Col. J. C.
9, 11
Calvin, Portrait of
75
Bayard, Nicholas
111
Carroll, Chas., Bust of
38
Beecher, Dr. Lyman
152, 186
Celestial (clipper)
13
Beekman
72
Christian shore (Conn.)
233
Bennett, Jas. Gordon
69
Church
29
Bergh
29
Circassian, Wreck of
183
Bloodgood
29
Clay, Henry, Bust of
37
Bogardus
29
Clinton. De Witt, Bust of
37
Bonaparte, Joseph
75
Clipper ships
Cobbett, Wm.
6
Napoleon
75
143
Booksellers, Old
54
Columbia, Wreck of
243
Booraem,
29
Contest (clipper)
Cooper, Jas. Fenimore,
14
Brewster, Capt. Caleb
230
Rev. Nathaniel
232
Tomb of
88
Bridgeport
229
Cooperstown (a visit to)
87
Briggs, J. I, N. (merchant) 10
Coxe Family
74
250
Index
Cuffee, Rev. Paul 186
Curiosity Shop, A New York 72
Gordon, Lord Adam
Gouvemeur Family
Gouverneur, Sam'l L.
137
32, 33
De Groot
Portrait of
Deering, Chas. T.
Devoe, Fred
Dock, Old City
Duiilap (artist)
E
72
76
200
144
1
39
34
Eagle, Commodore
Easthampton, L. I., Sketch
of 149 et seq.
Easthampton Churchyard 167
Eclipse (race horse) 50
Erskine, Sir Wm. 170
Eternal (clipper) 13
Fire Island 236
Fish Family 29
Floyd, Col. Richard 235
Flying Clond (clipper) 15
Forrest, Edwin, Bust of 37, 43, 67
Franklin, Benjamin 22, 23
French, H. & S. (merchants) 200
Greeley, Horace (quoted) 55
Greene, Rev. Zacbariah 234
Greenwood & Sous (ship-
builders) 13
Griswold 29
Gross 29
H
Halleck, Fitzgreene 63
Hamilton, Alex., Bust of 42
Harding, Ephraim, Capt. 127
Henry, Sir (race horse) 50
Herald, N. Y., founded 69
Herkimer 98
Herkimer, John Jost 126
Gen. Nicholas 123, 124,127
Hicks, Willet 142
Hilton Castle, Wreck of 245
Hoffman 29
Hollywood Cemetery 33
Holt 29
"Hook" Ferry 50
Hot Corn Venders 47
Howell Bros. & Hunting 200
Howland 29
Huggins, Christopher (clock-
maker) 73
Hunter, Col. Robert 96
Hyler Capt. 81
Gallatm 29
Gardiner, Da^ad, Sketch of 174
Lion, Bible of 192
Grave of 168, 190
Gardiner's Island, Sketch of 190
Gile, Rev. John 234
Inman, Henry
44
James, Rev. Thomas, Sketch
of 168
Index
251
PAGE
Jans, Aneke 75
Jan (portrait) 75
Jefferson, Thos., Bust of 37, 42
Johnson Hall 129 etseq.
Johnson, John, hanged 45, 46
Sir WiUiam, Death of 115
His wife 137
House of 129
Sketch of 131
Jones, John Paul 21 et seq.
Thos., captured 229
Jumel Mansion 77 et seq.
Keegan, Peter 240
Kevan 29
Kidd, Capt. 208
Kidd, Capt., Relics of 193
Kimball, E. W. & Co. (mer-
chants) 10
King, Alderman 41
Kip 29
Klyn, De 29
Kneeland 29
Kockerthal, Joshua 93
Tomb and epitaph 108
Kouwenhoven 72
M
Madison, Jas., Bust of 37
ISIallory, Chas. (ship-builder) 13
Marble Cemetery, The 29
Mariner, Capt. 81
Mastic, Fight at 228
McCready, N. L. & Co.
(merchants) 10
McKay, Donald (ship-buil-
der) 13
Mershon, Rev. Stephen L.,
Sermon of 179
Milton, John, Wreck of 177 etseq.
Minthorn, Phillip, Farm 30
Mitchell, Prof. Sam'l L. 38
Moll, John 73
Monroe, Col. Jas. 33
Pres., James, Burial of 31
Montauketts, The 185
Moor's Indian Charity School 186
Morris, Capt. Roger 79
Morton 29
Gen. Jacob 31, 34
Midford, John, Justice 172
& Slate 200
Sam'l, Sketch of 172
Mumford 33
Murphy, Dr. N. S. 9
Museum, American 51
Lafayette, Marquis de 21
Bust of 37 to 41
Landais, Pierre de 18, 21, 23
et seq.
Lee, Arthur 24
Priest 221
Wesley 144
Leiter 72
Lenox 29
Littell, Rev. William 233
Livingston, Robert 101
Low
N
New Rochelle 141
New York City (in 1827) 45
Nichols, Percy 30
Nodder, Andrew A. 183
North, Prof. Edward 124
Nortfiern Light (clipper) 14
O
29 O'Brian, Lady Susan
137
252
Index
PAGE
Ockershausen 29
Occum, Rev. Sampson 18d
Ogden 29
Old Field Bay 226
Old Man's Harbor 228
Oneida Historical Society 124
Oppermier, Nicholas 74
Oregon, Wreck of 241
Oriskany Monument 123
Battle of 127
Palatines, Story of 91 et seq.
Made prisoners by
French 114
Settle in Mohawk Val-
ley 113
Padfic (bark). Outfit of 201
Paez, Gen. 34
Paff, Michael 52
Paine, Thomas, Last home
141 et seq.
Parkinson, J. W. 43
Paulding, Bust of 39
Payne, John Howard 152, 174
Pell, Alfred 52
Penn, Admiral 75
Mrs. Wm. 75
Percy, Lord 171
Pharaoh's, King, Widow 184
Phillip, Rev. George 133
Phillipse, Mary 78
Pierson, C. H. & W. (mer-
chants) 10
Pirates 4
Poe, Edgar A. 60
Port Jefferson 225
Porter, Sir Robert 52
Prevoorst 72
Privateersmen, Whaleboat 225
Q
Quackenbos
29
Race Horse (clipper) 14
Reid, Lyman 52
Ridabock 29
Richards, E. & Co. (mer-
chants) 10
Richmond Hill 81
Robertson, Archibald (ar-
tist) 36
Robinson, Beverly 78
Roosevelt 29
Russell, Samuel (clipper) 13
Sag Harbor, Whalemen of 197
Sailor's Snug Harbor
founded 173
Salters 29
Sandman, The 48
Schermerhom 72
Schuyler, Col. Philip 136
Scoharie, Valley of 109
Scotia, Wreck of 245
Setauket 232
Setauket Harbor 227
Seventh Regiment 33
Shinnecock Hills 218
Shinnecock Lidians 216 et seq.
Simms, Wm. Gilmore 62
Six Nations, Council of 136
Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, a
visit to 86
Smith, Jas. (merchant) 10
Southampton, L. I., Tales of
206 etseq.
Sovereign of the Seas (cUpper) 13
Index
253
PAGE
13
127
229
126
45
17
Staghound (clipper)
Stanwix, Fort
Stony Brook
St. Leger, Col.
St. Mark's Church
St. Patrick's Churchyard
Storm 29
Sunnyside (home of Irving)
^^sited 89
Surf Hotel 237
Surprise (clipper) 13
Sutton, E. B. (merchant) 10
Tallmadge, Col. Benj. 228, 233
Rev. Benj. 233
Tammany Hall 53
Tappan 29
Temple, Charlotte 46
Thames (ship) 200
Ticonderoga, Fort at 118
Tier 29
Tilden, Sam'l J. 39
Tillotson 29
Topping, Capt. Thomas 211
Tyler, President John 153, 174
John A., Sketch of 174
Van Antw^erp 29
Van Cortlandt, Dr. Augus-
tus 145
Vanderlyn, John (artist) 51
Van Hardenburgh 72
Van Time 30
Van Wart, Bust of 39
Van Westervelt 72
Van Wyck 72, 74
W
Wardle, Thomas (merchant) 10
Warren, Capt. Peter 131
Washington, George 78
Webb 30
W. H. (ship-builder) 13
Weber 72
Webster, Geo. E. (clipper) 14
Weiser, Capt. Conrad 110
Westervelt Jacob (ship-buil-
der) 13
Willett 30
Wilsie, Capt. John 225
William Henry, Fort 121
Williams, Bust of 39
Wimans 30
Wise, O. Jennings 33
W^oodworth, Samuel 42
Wynkoop 30
Van Alen
29
The Building of a Book
With an introduction by
THEODORE L. DeVINNE
Edited by FREDERICK H. HITCHCOCK
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our publishing department in giving a wide pubhcity to the
genealogies printed by us without extra charge to the author.
The sales are largely increased by proper methods in bring-
ing the books to the attention of reviewers, the book trade,
libraries and societies, special collectors, and other buyers in
America and abroad known to us.
It is a great pleasure to us to offer genealogists the full
benefit of these advantages.
The Grafton Press, Genealogical Editors and
Publishers, 70 Fifth Avenue, New York
^ M /^ f^
