Rambles in colonial byways

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

Wlu.iV, LINOUW HuBi»N,

Rambles in
Colonial Byways

BY

RUFUS ROCKWELL WILSON

Illustrated from draivings

By William Lincoln Hudson

and front photographs

Vol. II.

Philadelphia C®T London

J. B. Lippincott Company

1901

Copyright, 1900
By J. B. Lippincott Company

Electrotyped and Printed by
/. B. Lippincott Company , Philadelphia, U.S.A.

Contents
*

CHAPTER PAGE

VIII. ALONG THE EASTERN SHORE ... 9

IX. THE CITY OF THE FRIENDS ... 42

X. PENNS MANOR AND BEYOND 75

XL GOD'S PECULIAR PEOPLE ... 107

XII. BETHLEHEM AND AROUND THERE . . 139

XIII. THREE GROUPS OF GERMAN MYSTICS . 173

XIV. THROUGH WASHINGTON'S COUNTRY . . 206

XV. YORKTOWN AND HER NEIGHBORS . . 239

M123160

Illustrations

PAGE

OLD CHURCH, ECONOMY, PENNSYLVANIA Frontispiece

MOUNT CUSTIS, AN EASTERN SHORE HOMESTEAD . 18

OLD SWEDES' CHURCH, PHILADELPHIA . . 44

OLD ST. DAVID'S, RADNOR, PENNSYLVANIA . . 86

SAAL AND SARON, EPHRATA, PENNSYLVANIA . 122

SISTERS' HOUSE, BETHLEHEM, PENNSYLVANIA . 144

MOUNT VERNON, HOME OF WASHINGTON . . 222

RUINED TOWER OF JAMESTOWN CHURCH . . 252

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

9¥
CHAPTER VIII

ALONG THE EASTERN SHORE

IT was a wise friend who counselled us
to begin our tour of the Eastern Shore at
Eastville. By the Eastern Shore is meant
the peninsula bounded on the north and east
by Delaware Bay, on the south and east by
the Atlantic, and on the west by the Chesa
peake, a quaint and venerable region con
taining about one-third of Maryland and
two counties of Virginia. Bountifully en
dowed by nature, it is also, for the man
who loves the past, a land of delight. When
New York was yet a wilderness and Plym
outh a virgin forest, men of English birth
were growing tobacco, dredging oysters, and
shooting wild fowl on the Eastern Shore.
The descendants of these first settlers still
follow the same pursuits. Moreover, locked
away for the better part of three hundred
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years in this neglected nook, they cling with
affectionate tenacity to the manners and cus
toms, the traditions and modes of life, of
their forefathers, so that one finds on the
peninsula the indolent old-time existence and
the broad hospitality of an earlier age, along
with the careless air of ancient gentility,
tempered and made piquant by an aristo
cratic exclusiveness.

And sleepy Eastville, near its southern
end, is the Eastern Shore in miniature.
Only during the last dozen years has it had
easy connection with the outer world, and
even now it feels but dubiously the intestine
stir of modern ideas. Rows of white, low-
roofed houses line its single dusty street,
with two or three country stores and a couple
of roomy taverns dropped in between, while
a court-house and clerk's office bear witness
to the fact that it is the shire town of the
ancient county of Northampton. Eastville
is the centre of a land overflowing with
milk and honey, and above it and below it
are the homes of people who in the golden
days before the Civil War counted their
slaves by hundreds and their acres by thou-
10

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sands, — old families whose ancestors date
far back into the seventeenth century as
men of importance and power.

Beside the inlets and rivers that deeply
indent the shores of the peninsula stand the
roomy dwellings of these old families out-
looking over the bay, with lawns in front
smooth as green velvet, dipping down to the
water's edge. Such is the old Parker man
sion, standing at the junction of two creeks,
a fine old house surrounded by a thick clus
ter of trees, with large porches front and
back, paved with marble slabs, and a long
colonnade running from the kitchen to the
main building. In these old dwellings the
kitchen is almost always separated from the
house, connected with it only by this cov
ered way, thus securing coolness to the
house, at the same time providing shelter
from the rain for the dainty dishes, delicate
yet simple, such as only the negro cook of
the South can compound. Erstwhile the
cook held absolute sway in her quarters,
with a parcel of jolly, grinning little negro
boys as pages. The mistress might rule the
household and the master the fields, but in
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her own dominions, portly Dinah, with white
teeth showing beneath her red turban, reigned
supreme.

The name of Parker is repeated on every
page of the early history of the lower East
ern Shore ; and so is that of the well-known
Custis family, high in social position and
pride of birth, one of the later descendants
of which was the first husband of Martha
Washington. Arlington, the whilom seat of
the Custises, faces the Chesapeake a dozen
miles below Eastville, and is reached by a
drive along a grass-grown road that never
carries one out of sight of the placid waters
of the bay. No vestige of the mansion re
mains ; but near its former site are a couple
of crumbling and weather-beaten tombstones
that once stood, as is customary throughout
Virginia, close to the old homestead. The
inscription on the most elaborate of the two
tells the visitor that beneath it lies the body
of John Custis, who died " aged seventy-
one years and yet lived but seven years which
was the space of time he kept a bachelor's
house at Arlington on the Eastern shore
of Virginia." On another side of the tomb

12

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is the statement, duly chiselled in the mar
ble, that " the foregoing inscription was
placed on this stone by the direction of the
deceased." The father-in-law of Mrs.
Washington, if not an unhappy husband,
was surely one of the most eccentric of men.

John Custis's tomb and its companion
grave are the only visible reminders of the
glory of Arlington, but it is an easy and
pleasant task to recreate the vanished era
in which it had its place. A hard-swearing,
hard-drinking, hard-driving, — ay, and a
hard-working lot, when the humor was on
them, — were these men of the Eastern Shore,
of a period when " the planter who had the
most hoes at work was the best man/' — to
every hoe a slave or a convict; when to
bacco stood for all that was notable and
characteristic in life and manners; when
every large proprietor was in direct com
munication with England; when the ships
of Bristol and London brought supplies di
rectly to the planter's own wharf, and his
eldest son, as well as his tobacco, was often
shipped across in return.

The wives, sisters, and sweethearts of
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these dead and gone worthies were their
comrades and competitors in the saddle or
the dugout. Though they delighted to gos
sip of Chinese silks, brocades, lutestring,
taffeta, sarsenet, ginghams, and camlets, —
not forgetting pyramids and turbans, jew
elled stomachers, breast-knots, and high-
heeled shoes for the minuet, — they were also
at home on the bridle-path and comfortable
on the pillion; they rode to hounds, and
were clever in the handling of a tiller or the
trimming of a sail. Irving describes them
as going to balls on their side-saddles, with
the scarlet riding-habit drawn over the white
satin gown. " In the flashing canoe, tick
lish and fascinating, they maintained," we
are told, " the equilibrium of their bodies
and their tempers with an expertness that
was not ungraceful, and with a graciousness
in which long training had made them ex
pert. The dugout, dancing in the creek,
waited upon their freaks and caprices with
uses as frequent and familiar as those which
pertained to the wagon or the gig, — to race
in a ladies' regatta, or to run out to the old-
country ship in the offing, with its pulse-

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

stirring news of fashions and revolutions,
battles and brocades, cloaks, cardinals, and
convicts, sultana plumes, French falls, and
the fate of nations."

The spirit of the age was knightly, and
the sword, not the purse, the symbol of dis
tinction. When the Revolution came, the
Maryland section of the Eastern Shore was
warmly attached to the patriot cause; but
in the Virginia counties of Northampton and
Accomac the Loyalists were numerous ; and
one of the earlier episodes of the seven years'
struggle was a small civil war on the penin
sula. Dunmore, expelled from the main
land of Virginia, took refuge in Accomac,
and soon had some hundreds of Tories under
arms. The situation looked grave; but
Matthew Ward Tilghman, chairman of the
Maryland Committee of Safety, and his
seven Eastern Shore colleagues proved equal
to it. They promptly called out two com
panies of militia and suppressed the rising
before the worst came of it. Afterwards the
two victorious companies, with a third from
the Eastern Shore, were embodied in Small-
wood's regiment, the famous First of the
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Maryland line. Perhaps the most brilliant
exploit of the Revolution was the stand
made by four hundred of this regiment, un
der Lord Stirling, on the fatal day of Long
Island. In six successive charges they beat
back the greatly superior pursuing force of
Cornwallis, and were on the point of dis
lodging him entirely when Grant, with nine
fresh regiments, overwhelmed them by a rear
attack.

The Second Maryland Regiment was
wholly recruited on the Eastern Shore, while
Pulaski's legion and Baylor's cavalry, be
sides several other organizations, also drew
largely from the peninsula. It sent, more
over, seven hundred militiamen, under Gist,
to the battles of Brandywine and German-
town ; furnished Washington with one of his
most valued staff officers, Lieutenant-Col
onel Tench Tilghman, and at the same time
gave to the councils of the State and nation
Caesar Rodney, Matthew Ward, and his kins
man Edward Tilghman, William Paca,
Thomas Ringgold, and other men of high
character and unusual ability.

Though the War of 1812 revived the old
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military traditions, the golden age of the
Eastern Shore went out with the Revolution.
Slipshod and sluttish husbandry, that counted
it cheaper to take up new land than to foster
and restore the old, bore speedy fruit in
mortgaged crops and acres, while the grad
ual substitution of wheat and corn for to
bacco marked the increasing poverty of a
soil worn out in its youth, and which sank
from good to bad and from bad to worse.
So things went on till sixty years ago.
Since then they have changed for the better,
and, though checked for a time by the loss
of slaves and the turmoil of civil war, the
upward movement is still in progress. Fer
tilizers have been introduced and improved
breeds of stock. Machinery has taken the
place of hand-labor in farm-work; and
worthless fields have been limed and drained
into fertility.

In other respects, however, the Eastern
Shore remains unchanged, — a severed frag
ment of colonial America. The new-comer
from over the seas has gone on to the
cheaper and freer lands of the West, and the
busy Northern man, as he hurries by, barely
II.— 2 17

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pauses to knock at its doors. And so the
years, as they wax and wane, find the same
population on the same soil, — a population
composed, now as of old, of three classes, —
the "gentleman born," the "plain people,"
and the negroes. Each class, save in ex
ceptional cases, marries strictly within its
own limits ; and half a dozen surnames will
frequently include nearly the whole gentry
of a county, the appellations of present-day
bride and bridegroom tallying exactly with
those on the century-old tombstones of their
common ancestors. Again, for the upper
classes there is still but one church, the An
glican. They have listened in the same seats
to the same service for generations, and,
more often than not, they take the commun
ion service from a chalice that was new in
the days of the Restoration. Some of them
can show ancestral souvenirs of the Martyr
King. Easter and Whitsuntide remain uni
versally recognized holidays, and antique ob
servances still cluster around the minor fes
tivals. Thus, freedom from change has
made the Eastern Shore a land of serenity
and dignity; but its confines are too nar-
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row for youthful enterprises. It has no im
perial possibilities, and must ever be a nook.

Proof of many of these things was before
us as we drove to and from Arlington, and a
little later set out from Eastville for a fur
ther exploration of the Eastern Shore. Our
destination was the island of Chincoteague,
on the Atlantic side of the peninsula, and
the road led through the hamlet of Anan-
cock and the sound of the same name, the
latter a loop or skein of salt coves widening
up between green mounds and golden bluffs,
and terminating at an exquisite landing,
where several creeks pour into the cove from
the estates of well-to-do planters. Drum-
mondtown, the county-seat of Accomac, was
also passed on the way. Three miles be
yond we halted for a half-hour's rest at
Mount Custis, a roomy, rambling old house
standing close to the shores of a creek, which,
as its name indicates, once belonged to the
masters of Arlington, and in the late after
noon found ourselves on board the tiny
steamer " Widgeon" with Chincoteague in
the eastern offing.

Outlying along the Atlantic coast and ex-
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tending southward for more than fifty miles
from the mouth of Delaware Bay is a
narrow strip of sandy beach, its western side
washed by the waters of a landlocked sound
and its eastern beat upon by the surges of
the ocean. Its southern end, called Assa-
teague, is separated from the mainland by
Chincoteague Sound, and lying within this
sound is the island of the same name, only
its southern extremity being thrust out from
its snug hiding-place behind Assateague and
exposed to the Atlantic. Yet at every turn
the visitor to Chincoteague, with its gray-
green waters and its far horizons, feels the
majesty and pervasive presence of the sea.
The air has a salty, pungent quality; all
along the shore lie craft of one sort or
another, and every grown man carries in
his face the mellow marks of sun and wind,
for the people of Chincoteague get their
living from the sea, which affords them,
directly or indirectly, not only food and
drink, but clothing and shelter. Nobody
asks alms, and want and theft are unknown.
At the island's feet lie oyster-beds of won
drous richness, and any skilled worker can

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earn a living wage during nine months of
the year. Winter, however, is the season
of greatest activity, and then Chincoteague's
fleet of oyster-boats is busy from sunrise to
sunset. Early morning finds the oystermen
hoisting sail; all day long they can be seen
on the western horizon groping for the hid
den treasure ; and when twilight falls, scores
of their little craft, beating homeward, make
the harbor, facing the mainland, a snow
storm of canvas.

Truth is that Chincoteague is merely a
standing-place and lodging-house for its in
habitants. The visitor discovers, to his sur
prise and delight, that it is also the breed
ing-place of a race of ponies unlike any other
in the world. Some are watched and tended
on private lands, but most of them, to the
number of half a thousand, inhabit the com
mon pastures at the south end of the island,
whence, when the weather is bad and the
waves high, scores of the little fellows are
sometimes swept away and lost. Skirting
the coast in a boat, one sees them feeding
together on the pastures or standing knee-
deep in the salt water, the breeze scattering

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their tangled manes. They are about thir
teen hands high, nearly all sorrels or bays,
and are fine-bodied and neatly limbed. The
yearlings, which are never gelded, come
through the winter with shaggy coats that
are in rags and shreds before the summer
is old, and still show tattered remnants at
the yearly penning and branding in August.
No one knows whence they came or how long
they have inhabited the island, but as they
have the head and eyes of the Arabian, the
supposition is that the ancestors of the pres
ent generation came ashore from a wreck in
colony times.

When we left Chincoteague and its con
tented fisher folk it was to journey, by way
of Berlin and Snow Hill, to Crisfield on the
hither side of the peninsula. That intrepid
sailor, Stephen Decatur, was born near Ber
lin, and Snow Hill has a peaceful history
dating back to the seventeenth century,
while Crisfield, facing the beautiful waters
of Tangier Sound, has been aptly described
as a town of oysters reared on oyster-shells.
A man on building bent buys a lot at the
bottom of the harbor, encloses it with piles,

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and then purchases enough oyster-shells to
raise it above high-water mark. The pro
duct of this singular practice is a village
which stands, as it were, up to its knees in
the water of a little harbor that cuts jaw-
like into the end of a small peninsula thickly
flecked with the homes of fishermen and
oystermen. Moreover, the railroad that
runs through the length of the town, ter
minating at the water's edge, rests on a road
bed of oyster-shells as firm and solid as
broken granite. Along the harbor front,
and all built upon shells, are the huge, barn-
like packing-houses in which centres the
chief interest of Crisfield, — the shucking and
packing of oysters for the Northern market.
These come mainly from the beds of Tan
gier Sound, perhaps the finest in the world;
dredging for them gives constant employ
ment to a fleet of several hundred sloops and
schooners, and the annual returns from the
trade mount into the millions. In winter
thousands of bushels of oysters are sent off
from Crisfield simply shelled, drained, and
pressed into kegs or cans ; but later in the
season they are canned in hermetically sealed
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tins, in which condition they will keep for
years.

Crisfield and its oyster trade belong to the
present. Tangier Island, across the Sound,
is part and parcel of the past. Much homely
matter anent this sequestered nook is to
be found in "The Parson of the Islands," a
book dealing with the life story of a humble
fisherman evangelist who labored with such
effect in an unpromising field that to this
day, when a flag is raised on the little island
chapels, signifying " Preacher amongst us
from the mainland," the waters fill with
canoes scudding down from every point of
the compass. The island parson kept a
canoe, called "The Methodist," to haul the
preachers to and fro, and in the second war
with England, when the whole British army
established a permanent camp on Tangier
Island, and thence ravaged the shores of
the Chesapeake, burnt Washington, and
sought to capture Baltimore, this unpretend
ing gospeller preached to them, and prevailed
upon them to respect the immemorial camp-
meeting groves.

Tangier, like Chincoteague, is a land of
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far horizons, of restless gray-green water,
of vivid marsh grass, and of sweet salt air.
Like Chincoteague, it is the home of a hardy,
primitive people, who fear God and find
no fault with their lot. The benevolent bay
yields a living to all who are able and willing
to work, and it is the boast of the islanders
that there are neither drunkards, paupers,
nor criminals among them. Less could be
said of a more favored community.

From Crisfield a railroad — its route a
giant interrogation point — runs by way of
Westover, the centre of the berry culture of
the Eastern Shore, to Cambridge on the
Choptank. This stream is the noblest water
course of the peninsula, — at its mouth, a
superb sound, curtained with islands, several
miles wide; farther inland a net-work of
coves and deep creeks, to whose beachy mar
gins slope the lawns and orchards of many
fine old homesteads; and Cambridge is a
gem worthy of so exquisite a setting. A
salt creek, bordered with snug old mansions
of wood and brick, creeps up behind the
tree-embowered town; and a clear spring
rises under an open dome in the village
25

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square, which faces an ivy-covered court
house, while a little way removed from the
business centre stands an old Episcopal
church, garbed in living green and sur
rounded with mouldering gravestones carved
with crests, shields, and ciphers.

There are a score of other objects in Cam
bridge to please an artist's eye, and another
quaint and beautiful hamlet is Oxford, on
the northern shore of the Choptank, where
Robert Morris, the financier of the Revolu
tion, passed the greater part of his boyhood.
Threadhaven Creek — a perfect fiord, unex
celled by any low-lying Danish or Swedish
marine landscapes — enters the Choptank at
Oxford, and a few miles away, at the head
of the same stream, nestles the quiet town of
Easton. The road from Oxford to Easton
leads past Whitemarsh Church, a dilapidated
but picturesque structure dating back to the
seventeenth century, and in an oak-shaded
dell about a quarter of a mile from the latter
place stands another house of worship which
was already old when the republic was born.
This is a Quaker meeting-house of antique
design, which, according to tradition, once
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numbered William Penn among its wor
shippers. His followers still meet within
its walls on First and Fifth Days.

Easton suggests in more ways than one
the stately affectations of a bygone time;
and nearby St. Michael's, at the mouth of
Miles River, though now the chief depot of
the oyster trade of the Middle Chesapeake,
boasts intimate association with the great
men and stirring events of the Revolution
ary period. The ship-builders of St. Mich
ael's have plied their craft for two hundred
and fifty years, and when the eighteenth cen
tury was still young, vessels launched from
their yards controlled the coastwise com
merce from New England to the West In
dies. The country bottoms of the Chesa
peake traded with Liverpool and Bristol;
smuggled for Holland and France, and when
the Revolution came, turned to privateering
and became as hornets and wasps in the face
of the foe. The records show that in less
than six years two hundred and forty-eight
vessels sailed out of the bay — " and this with
a British fleet at Hampton Roads and inside
the capes all the time" — to fight and capture
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ships and small craft at the very gates of
the enemy's ports, in the British and Irish
Channels, off the North Cape, on the coasts
of Spain and Portugal, in the East and West
Indies, and in the Pacific Ocean. This
record was repeated in 1812, when at least
one Chesapeake privateer, the " Chasseur,'*
made a true viking's record. Armed with
twelve guns, manned by men from the East
ern Shore, and commanded by Captain
Thomas Boyle, she captured eighty vessels,
thirty-two of equal force and eighteen her
superior in guns and men. Boyle was born
at Marblehead in 1 776, married in Baltimore
in 1794, and died at sea in 1825. He com
manded a ship at sixteen, was a husband
two years later, and made a dramatic end
of a romantic and glorious career at forty-
nine.

From either Easton or St. Michael's it is
an easy and inviting detour to Wye House
and Wye Island, — two storied shrines of the
Eastern Shore. Called after the little river
which rises in the Cambrian Hills, and
mingling its waters with those of the Severn,
flows out through Bristol Channel to the At-
28

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lantic, there are few American water-ways
more lovely than the Wye. Its banks are
free from the sombre borders of marsh which
fringes most of its sister streams, and its
channel, from head to mouth, sweeps be
tween bold bluffs of woodland and smiling
fields, dotted by the manor-houses of men
and women whose ancestors dispensed stately
hospitalities in these same homes more than
a century ago. And nowhere, in those days
of pleasantness and peace, had the stranger
more generous welcome than was sure
to be given him by the master of Wye
House.

This sturdy domicile, built of bricks
brought over from England, was burned in
1781, when a British marauding party looted
the plantation and the mansion; but near
its site stands another spacious structure,
which invites the present-day wayfarer in
the name of all the generations of gentle,
kindly folk who have dwelt there since Ed
ward Lloyd, in 1668, set up his son Phile
mon to be lord of the manor of Wye and
master of Wye House. The main building
of two lofty stories is connected by corridors
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with one-storied wings, presenting a fagade
of two hundred feet, looking out upon a
noble, tree-strewn lawn, and over engirdling
woods to Wye River and the island beyond.
Behind the mansion is a flower-garden, and
in the rear of that the family burial-ground,
where is gathered the dust of many worthies
and dames of the blood of the Lloyds. Here
beneath a battered shield supported by mor
tuary emblems sleeps that Henrietta Maria
Lloyd who had the hapless wife of Charles
I. for her godmother; and here, without a
stone or a stake to mark the spot, rests all
that was mortal of William Paca, thrice
member of Congress, twice governor of
Maryland, and signer of the Declaration of
Independence.

Moving memories also color the later his
tory of Wye House, whose present gracious
mistress is the granddaughter of Colonel
John Eager Howard of Revolutionary
fame and of Francis Scott Key, author of
' The Star-Spangled Banner." Eighty-odd
years ago the steward or bailiff of the Lloyd
estate was a certain Captain Anthony, of
St. Michael's. This man was the owner of
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a negro boy who escaped from bondage, and
became before middle age the foremost fig
ure of his race. In 1881, Frederick Doug
lass, white-haired and honored of men, was
moved to revisit the scenes of his childhood
and his thrall, and one day found himself at
the door of Wye House. The son of its
master gave him welcome, and when he had
made known the motive of his visit, he was
conducted over the estate. Each spot he
remembered and described with all its child
ish associations, — here a spring, there a
hedge, a lane, a field, a tree, — and the whole
heart of the man seemed to go out to the
place as he passed from ghost to ghost as
in a dream.

Then befell a strange thing. Standing
mute and musing for a while, he said softly
and low, as one who communes with him
self, " Over in them woods was whar me
and Marse Dan uster trap rabbits/' Marse
Dan was the son of the whilom master of
Wye House and Douglass's playmate in
childhood. Thus, humor blending with
pathos, was the ennobling lesson of an un
usual life compacted into the homely re-
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flection and phrase of a barefoot slave boy.
Afterwards Douglass plucked flowers from
the graves of the dead Lloyds he had known,
and at the table drank to the health of the
master of the old house and his children,
" that they and their descendants may
worthily maintain the character and the fame
of their ancestors."

Philemon Lloyd, first master of Wye
House, at his death left to his only daughter
thousands of fertile acres on the Wye. This
daughter, by her marriage to Samuel Chew,
a planter of ancient lineage and great wealth,
who early left her a widow, added to her
already large possessions; and one of her
bequests to her son Philemon, when her time
came to die, was the island of three thousand
acres which faces both Wye House and the
mouth of the Wye, and which he passed on
to his two sisters.

Mary Chew became the wife of William
Paca, and Margaret was wooed and won by
John Beale Bordley, the descendant of an old
Yorkshire family, the last of the admiralty
judges of Maryland under the provincial
government, and an earnest supporter of the
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patriot cause in the Revolution. No trace
remains of the many-roomed house at the
lower end of Wye Island, built by Samuel
Chew of material brought from England,
and long occupied by Judge Bordley and his
family; but the mansion which Paca's son
erected is still standing at the island's upper
end, and promises to outlast another cen
tury. The Paca homestead crowns a com
manding eminence, whence it looks down
upon the narrows separating it from Wye
House, .and controls a view of long reaches
of rich acres once the inheritance of the
Lloyds and Chews, and still owned, to a
great extent, by their descendants. The land
naturally slopes downward from the river-
bluff, but has been terraced up until it forms
a broad plateau, sufficient to accommodate
not only the house, but the garden which
surrounded it, and which, with its extensive
conservatories, was once a gayer paradise of
shrubs and flowers.

Wye Hall, though fallen from its former
state, gives ample evidence of its early gran
deur. The building is in the Doric style,
the central portion square, with spacious,

H.-3 33

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

lofty columned porticoes, and stretching
away on either side are covered arcades,
terminating, the one in the kitchen and
offices, the other in the grand parlor or
ball-room. This grand parlor is a beautiful
and stately room, the high ceiling orna
mented with handsome stucco-work and the
walls hung with family portraits by the
fathers of our native art. Among them is
a full-length picture of Governor Paca.
Painted by the elder Peale, and in his best
manner, it shows a man of commanding
presence and strikingly handsome features.
The rich dress and easy carriage betoken
high birth and breeding, the dark eye and
well-chiselled mouth character and firmness.
The entrance-hall and corridors of Wye
House are, likewise, noble apartments, and
here, also, one wanders in the past. The
Signer's solid and substantial bookcase, on
the shelves of which yet stand the volumes
of his law library, and the tables where he
played short whist with his Revolutionary
associates are still used by his descendants.
Here, too, are the antique chairs which
graced the executive mansion at Annapolis

34

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

when Paca was governor, and which were
loaned for use when Washington resigned
his commission. The career of William
Paca has been briefly sketched in another
place. His last days were spent in delightful
retirement on Wye Island, than which there
can be imagined no more charming retreat
for a man of wealth and culture wearied with
the burdens of public life in trying times,
and there he died in October, 1799. During
his last illness " he conversed with perfect
resignation on his approaching dissolution,
and cheerfully submitted to sickness and
death under a deep conviction of the unerring
wisdom and goodness of his heavenly Father,
and of the redemption of the world by our
Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ. To the
faith and charity of a Christian he added the
civil virtues of a gentleman, — fond as a hus
band, indulgent as a father, constant as a
friend, and kind as a master." Such is the
testimony of some appreciative friend, whose
manuscript, without date or name to lead to
the identification of its author, is preserved
among the family archives at Wye Hall.
When we left Wye Island it was to board
35

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

one of the steamboats trading to Baltimore,
which, weekly visit the bays and creeks of
the Eastern Shore, and which carried us,
during the early hours of a sunny afternoon,
down the Wye and west across Eastern Bay
to the lower end of Kent Island, where was
established the first colony of white men on
the Maryland shores of the Chesapeake.
Kent Island belies its name, for it is, in
fact, a peninsula connected with the mainland
by a short and narrow isthmus, and in shape
very like the hammer of an old-fashioned
musket; and it has no ruins and no town;
yet at every stage of the northward drive,
past pleasant farms and fishing beaches to
the mouth of the Chester, one is made to feel
that he is riding over historic ground.

About a year after the landing at Plym
outh Rock William Claiborne established a
trading post at the southern end of Kent
Island. This Claiborne, a man of enterprise
and daring, was secretary to Sir John Har
vey, then governor of Virginia. Obtaining a
grant from Harvey, he claimed Kent Island
and the bay for the colony of Virginia, and
when theCalverts founded the Catholic settle-
36

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

ment of St. Mary's, he disputed their jurisdic
tion over the Eastern Shore, and carried the
question through the colonial and English
courts. Defeated at every point, Claiborne
resolutely maintained his ground, and when
Sir Leonard Calvert came with an armed
force, met him in the bay and completely
routed him off Kent Point in what was prob
ably the first naval battle fought in American
waters. Then, taking the offensive in his
turn, Claiborne marched into Western Mary
land and swept Calvert across the Potomac
into Virginia. In the seesaw of factions
neither could long keep uppermost, for in
1646 Lord Baltimore's authority was rees
tablished on the Western Shore, the Eastern
submitting to him at the end of another year.
Still, Claiborne's defeat was not final, for
in 1653 he returned from England with a
commission from the Puritan government
then in power to reduce the royalist provinces
about the Chesapeake. Lord Baltimore's
rule was overturned, Kent Island restored
to Claiborne, and a government selected by
him established on the Western Shore. It
retained control until Charles II., on his ac-
37

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

cession, reinstated the Calverts, with full
power over the whole colony. Then Clai-
borne, deeming the contest hopeless, with
drew to Virginia. There he founded the
county of New Kent, in memory of the isle
he had struggled for half a lifetime to re
tain; represented his new home in the colo
nial Legislature, and ended by a gallant
death at the Indian battle of Moncock a
career that reads like a romance in even the
barest statement.

In one respect, however, Claiborne's in
fluence still abides on the Eastern Shore.
When he first colonized Kent Island he
brought with him from Jamestown the Rev.
Richard James, a clergyman of the Church
of England, who became the founder of the
first Christian church on the soil of Mary
land. This episode of Claiborne's Virginia
chaplain gave the Anglican Church a per
manent foothold on the Eastern Shore, for
as the colony of the Isle of Kent spread
gradually to the mainland, wherever it fixed
itself the parish was organized, the church
was built, and the magistrate's duties de
volved upon the vestrymen and church-
38

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

wardens. All traces of the structure in
which James officiated have been long since
lost, but more than one of the ancient
churches that issued therefrom lie within
the reach of a drive from Kent, by way of
Queenstown and Centreville, to Chestertown,
near the head of the beautiful river from
which it takes its name.

The first churches built upon the mainland
of the Eastern Shore were those of Chester
and Wye. The ruins of the former, which
was of extraordinary size, may still be seen
near Centreville, while the latter, more
gently dealt with by the years and the ele
ments, occupies its original site on the Wye,
its black-glazed bricks continually telling the
story of its age to the worshippers who yet
gather within its walls. Both churches were
built between the years 1640 and 1650.
Most of the old parish churches of the East
ern Shore, however, were erected between
1693 and 1700. The oldest of these later
edifices which preserves its original shape
and construction is that of St. Luke's, which
tops a low hill, a few miles south of Chester-
town, a square edifice, with apsidal chancel,
39

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

heavy galleries, and spireless roof. The
vestry-room is a detached building, with brick
floor and huge fireplace at either end, sug
gestive of the dignified, ease-loving lords of
the manor, who of old time administered the
discipline of church and state.

Our zigzag tour of the Eastern Shore
ended at Chestertown, an old place with a
decayed college overlooking it, a loamy coun
try round, and a broad and placid river
laving its feet, but not before we had made
visits to The Hermitage, a historic home
stead facing one of the loveliest reaches of
the Chester, which from the year 1660 to
that of 1 88 1 never passed out of the hands
of a Richard Tilghman, and to the old church
of St. Paul's, in the county of Kent. This
noble relic of bygone days flanks the ancient
thoroughfare which was, in Revolutionary
days, the main line of travel between An
napolis and Philadelphia, and has counted
seven generations among its worshippers.

A bold and curving stream sweeps close

up under the shadows of the giant oaks

which shade the church, and which must

have been sturdy trees when it was built in

40

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

1693. The church itself is of the type be
fore described, and around it lies a quiet
God's Acre, kept bright with flowers and
fresh with verdure by loving hands. The
ground is sacred with forgotten graves, and
the sexton's spade, when hollowing a bed
for some new sleeper, seldom fails to turn
out relics of the unknown dead. In such a
church-yard might Gray have wandered as
he framed the stanzas of his " Elegy," and
sight of this lovely resting-place, where, as
the sun sweeps around his daily course, the
shadows of the old church falls successively
on every sodded bed, remains one of the
lasting mellow memories of ten days of de
lightful strolling along the Eastern Shore.

CHAPTER IX

THE CITY OF THE FRIENDS

TIME and change have touched Philadel
phia with gentle hand. The Friends are, in
the great essentials, still its dominant class,
and this fact appears not only in its asylums,
its hospitals, and its practical . methods of
helping men to help themselves, but in a
prudence of thought and action that is ever
reluctant to prefer the new to the old. Thus
it is that no New World city harbors more
numerous or more eloquent reminders of
the past, or in ancient buildings and land
marks bound up with great names and great
events offers to the wayfarer a richer or
more varied store of historic associations.

Not to the coming of Penn, but to the
issue of a dream cherished by Gustavus
Adolphus, attaches the oldest authentic le
gend of Philadelphia. A score of years
before the Quaker leader was born the
heroic and generous Swede, moved thereto
42

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

by the bigotry and poverty of the age
in which he lived, conceived the idea of
founding in America a city " where every
man should have enough to eat and tolera
tion to worship God as he chose." Gus-
tavus's life ended before his dream could be
fulfilled, but eleven years later the girl Queen
Christina and her chancellor despatched an
expedition in the dead king's name. This
colony of " New Sweden," as it was called,
effected a lodging-place along the banks of
the Schuylkill and Delaware, in that part of
Philadelphia now known as Southwark.

The narrow strip of ground on which the
Swedes made their homes is given over in
these latter days to ship stores, junk-shops,
and salty, tarry smells, while a long line of
ships, come and to go, walls in the view of
the river ; but if one might be frisked by the
mere magic of a wish back to the middle years
of the seventeenth century, he would find in
stead the low huts of the Norseland pioneers
dotting green banks on the edge of a gloomy,
unbroken forest, with hemlocks and nut trees
nodding atop. Here dwelt, in peace and
plenty, and " great idleness/' if an old chron-
43

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

icle is to be believed, the long forgotten
Swansons, Keens, Bensons, Kocks, and
Rambos, some of them mighty hunters when
the deer came close up to the little settle
ment and nightly could be heard the cry of
panthers or bark of wolves. At Passajungh
was the humble white-nut dwelling of Com
mander Sven Schute, whom Christina called
her "brave and fearless lieutenant," and at
" Manajungh on the Skorkihl" there was a
stout fort of logs filled in with sand and
stones.

Descendants on the female side of these
first settlers are still to be found in the city,
but Philadelphia's only relic in stone and
mortar of the men who were once lords of
all the land on which it was built is Gloria
Dei, better known as Old Swedes' Church.
Each successive sovereign of Sweden, loyal
to the favorite idea of Gustavus, kept af
fectionate watch over the tiny settlement on
the Delaware, and when the colonists begged
"that godly men might be sent to them to
instruct their children, and help themselves
to lead lives well pleasing to God," two
clergymen, Rudmari and Bjork, were de-

44

OLD SWRDKS' CHURCH, PHILADKLPH1A.

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

spatched by Charles XII. in answer to their
prayer. These missionaries reached the col
ony in June, 1697, and were received, as
the ancient record states, " with astonish
ment and tears of joy." Soon after their
arrival Gloria Dei was built in a fervor of
pious zeal, carpenters and masons giving
their work, and the good pastor daily carry
ing the hod. When it was finished Swedes,
Quakers, and Indians came to wonder at its
grandeur, and it long remained the most im
portant structure in the little hamlet.

Old Swedes' holds its original site in
Southwark, banked in by the sunken graves
of its early worshippers. The main body of
the building is unaltered to the present day.
The carvings inside, the bell, and the com
munion service were sent out from the
motherland, given by the king " to his faith
ful subjects in the far western wilderness;"
and from Sweden came also the chubby gilt
cherubs in the choir which still sustain the
open Bible, with the speaking inscription,
" The people who sat in darkness have seen
a great light." Tablets in the chancel record
the sacrifices and sufferings of the early
45

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

pastors of the church who sleep within its
walls. The last of these was Nicholas Col-
lin, whose period of zealous service covered
the better part of fifty years, and who with
his devoted wife Hannah is buried just be
low the little altar. Another familiar face
in Gloria Dei in the opening years of the cen
tury was that of Collin's friend, Alexander
Wilson, then the half-starved, ill-paid master
of a little school at nearby Kingsessing. The
great ornithologist is buried in the grave
yard of the church in which he asked that
he should be laid to rest, as it was " a silent,
shady place, where the birds would be apt to
come and sing over his grave."

When Old Swedes' was built the only
house nearby was that of Swan Swanson,
from whose three sons Penn, when he came,
bought the land to lay out his town of
Philadelphia. That was in 1682. A small
band of pioneers had preceded the Pro
prietor, and he was followed by three-and-
twenty ships, filled with Quakers of all
classes. The city, speedily laid out by
Thomas Holme, extended from river to
river, and appeared magnificent — on paper;
46

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

but, truth to tell, most of the new-comers
following the example of the Swedes, who
gave them kindly welcome, built their homes
in the corner by the Delaware; and for
nearly a hundred years the town consisted
of but three or four streets, running paral
lel with that stream. Back of these streets
lay a gloomy forest, drained by creeks, which
cut the town into three or four parts before
emptying into the Delaware. As late as
the opening year of the Revolution Phila
delphia extended only from Christian to Cal-
lowhill Streets, north and south, and until
well on in the present century Frankford,
Roxborough, and Germantown were reck
oned distant hamlets, being seldom visited
by the people of the town.

On a " pleasant hill" overlooking the river,
and with a noble sweep of forest land be
tween, the Proprietor reserved a lot for
himself, on which he had built the house,
which he gave to his daughter Lsetitia. The
brick and other material for this house were
brought from England, and within its walls
Penn passed most of the busy and fruitful
days of his first visit, preferring it to the
47

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

costly and imposing pile he had reared at
Pennsbury. The searcher after the site of
the Laetitia House finds it in Laetitia Court,
between Chestnut and Market, Second and
Front Streets, — a narrow, dirty alley, cut
off from the sunlight by the backs of the
great importing houses which now cover
the wooded glades where, in the Proprietor's
time, deer ranged at will. Elsewhere in
Philadelphia there are few traces of the
reign of the Penns. One of the few is what
is known as Lansdowne, now included in
Fairmount Park, which was once owned
and occupied by John Penn, governor of the
colony in its last days of submission to the
British crown.

The Laetitia House was the first brick
building erected in Philadelphia. Most of
the dwellings built during the earlier years
of the Quaker occupancy, some of which are
still standing within the precincts of the
" old town," were of black and red English
brick, or of mortar mixed with broken stone
and mica. They were, as a rule, small,
hipped-roofed, two-storied structures, infe
rior in every way to those now occupied by
48

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

people of moderate incomes. Gradually,
however, as time went on, the more shrewd
or fortunate among the Quakers acquired
large means, while the steady growth of the
town attracted to it a number of men, not
followers of Penn, who brought with them
or soon became possessed of much solid
wealth. From these changed conditions re
sulted a division into two classes of the
social life of the town, and the building of
many splendid houses, the grandeur of
which is reflected in more than one diary
and chronicle of the period. Among these
were the Wharton House, in Southwark;
Wilton, the estate of Joseph Turner, in the
Neck; Woodlands, Governor Hamilton's
great house at Blockley Hill ; the Carpenter
mansion, which stood at Seventh and Chest
nut Streets, surrounded by magnificent
grounds ; the spacious home of Isaac Norris
on Third Street; the Pemberton country-
seat, on the present site of the Naval Asy
lum; and, chief of all, Stenton, on the city
ward site of Germantown.

Stenton, " a palace in its day," according
to old Watson, was built in 1731 by James
II.— 4 49

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

Logan, a keen-witted Scotchman turned
Quaker, who, as agent of the Proprietor,
stood between Penn and his debts on one
hand and an impatient, grasping colonial
Assembly on the other, serving both with
fidelity and to good purpose. He was gen
erous as well as shrewd, and at his death
left the residue of a large estate to the public,
including the splendid bequest of the Logan-
ian Library, a literary treasure-house at any
time, but invaluable a century and a half
ago, when books were luxuries only for the
wealthy. Logan was also the trusted friend
of the Indians, who came in large deputa
tions to visit him, and pitched their wig
wams on the great lawn at Stenton. Logan,
the famous Mingo chief, was the namesake
of the good Quaker, and, in youth, was often
numbered among the latter's savage guests.
Stenton, in its builder's time, was the seat
of a sober but large hospitality, and the cen
tre of the social life of the Quakers. Here
gathered the grave, mild-mannered men and
the quiet, sweet-faced women, who look down
upon us from old family portraits, and whose
rare and admirable traits included a perfect
50

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

simplicity and that repose which can belong
only to people who have never doubted their
own social position. " The men and women
who met at Stenton," writes one of Logan's
descendants, " talked no scandal and spoke
not of money." Logan's home was the re
sort of the colonial governors, not only of
Pennsylvania but other of the provinces;
and among his frequent guests were William
Allen, Isaac Norris, the three Pembertons,
and that Nicholas Wain who, educated for
the bar, after long practice in the courts, so
took to heart the moral short-comings of his
fellow-lawyers that he fell into a dangerous
illness. He rose from his bed a changed
man, went into the meeting and became a
weighty and powerful preacher.

However, not all of the guests at Stenton
were as serious-minded as Wain. The men
could laugh and jest on occasion; and their
wives and daughters were pretty sure to
display a woman's love of finery, setting off
their beauty by white satin petticoats, worked
in flowers, pearl satin gowns, gold chains,
and seals engraven with their arms. Nor
are lacking stray hints of love and courtship
51

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

which lend a winsome interest to the old
house, for pretty Hannah Logan's lover, re
turning with her from a summer day's fish
ing in the Wissahickon, writes in his diary
that when they " came home there was so
large a company for tea, that Hannah and
I were set at a side table, and there we
supped — on nectar and ambrosia." Another
of Stenton's daughters was Deborah Logan,
a fair and gracious woman in youth and old
age, who in the " Penn and Logan Corre
spondence," compiled by her and by her
given to the world, has given us a faithful
and winning picture of the age in which
she lived, an age marked by a lack of self-
assertion and an inborn hatred of brag,
whose influence abides in the Philadelphia
of to-day.

Different in religion, tastes, and habits
from the Friends were the men of wealth
and their families who constituted a not in
considerable portion of Philadelphia's polite
society during its first century of existence.
These were the merchants and ship-owners,
who, though not followers of Penn, had been
attracted to his town by its successful
52

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

growth, and who, opening a trade to the
West Indies and England, from small ven
tures quickly amassed colossal fortunes.
The wives and daughters of these merchant
princes, most of whom could show ancestral
bearings, followed afar off the reports of
English fashions. They rode on horseback
or went in sedan-chairs to pay visits; their
kitchens swarmed with slaves and white re-
demptionists ; they dined and danced, and
—gambled ; and they worshipped of a Sun
day in a church dedicated to the Anglican
creed.

The parish of Christ Church was thirty-
two years old when the present building was
commenced in 1727. William of Orange
was an active promoter of the parish, and the
service of plate now in use in the church
was a gift from Anne. Designed by the
architect of Independence Hall, Christ
Church presents many points of similarity
to that historic structure, and is likewise
closely identified with the struggle for in
dependence. Here worshipped General and
Lady Washington, Samuel and John Adams,
Patrick Henry, James Madison, John Han-

53

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

cock, and Richard Henry Lee. Under its
roof the Episcopal Church in America was
organized, in 1785, and within its walls is
now housed a rare and interesting collection
of ancient volumes, furniture, pictures, and
tablets, each of interest to the student and
lover of the past.

One of the first rectors of Christ Church
was a Rev. Mr. Coombe. He was a Loyal
ist, and during the early days of the Revo
lution returned to England, where he finally
became chaplain to George III. It is prob
ably from him or one of his family that an
alley, a short distance above Christ Church,
and running eastward, takes its name. Here
it was that the namesake and heir of Wil
liam Penn, when he came over to play the
prince in the colony, once got into a brawl.
He was spending an evening in Enoch
Story's inn, when he fell to quarrelling with
some of his fellow-citizens who were act
ing as the watch. The sober Friends, who
had little patience with princely debauchees,
arrested the young fellow for this affray,
.whereupon he incontinently forsook the So
ciety for the Church of England, in which

54

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

faith the descendants of Penn have ever since
remained.

Coombe's Alley, in the younger Penn's
time, was a prosperous quarter, and it still
bears traces of better days. In 1795 it had
a very large population for such narrow
limits, — boasting its half-dozen boarding-
houses, its merchants and laborers, its sol
diers and mariners, its bakers and hucksters.
Nor was it without its cares and troubles;
for during the famous epidemic of 1793
thirty-two people died in the course of a
year in this one small street. The old houses
still standing in it are built of the red and
black bricks so plentiful in the city's youth.
In most cases curious wooden projections,
like unfinished roofs, divide the first story
from the second, making the latter look as
though they had been an after-thought.

The chimes of Christ Church, which on
July 4, 1776, proclaimed the tidings of in
dependence, were paid for by the proceeds
of a lottery conducted by Benjamin Franklin.
The printer-patriot takes his rest under a
flat marble slab in the crowded burial-ground
at the corner of Fifth and Arch Streets, but
55

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

his life and works are still vital influences in
the city of his adoption. In truth, his ad
vent into the town at the age of seventeen
marks the date of the birth of the intellectual
life of Philadelphia. Blending shrewd com
mon sense with keen, fine humor, and a ca
pacity for winning and holding friends, the
young printer, in a space of time signally
brief, gained recognition as a leader in the
town. Its old respectabilities eyed him
askance, but following where he led, made
him clerk of Assembly, postmaster, and agent
to England, or looked on with grudging as
sent as, out of the unlikely material of his
fellow-workmen, he established his Junto,
or philosophic club, and founded the first sub
scription library in the country, the first fire
and military companies in the colony, and
the first academy in the town, just as, in
after-years, they held aloof while he, with
two or three other Philadelphia radicals,
united with Southerners and New Eng-
landers in signing the papers which gave free
dom to the country and immortality to its
makers.

Though every effort for the improvement
56

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

of colonial Philadelphia can be traced to
Franklin, one comes closest to him, perhaps,
in the old library which grew out of his
Junto club, and which, guarded by an effigy
of its founder, long stood close beside the
State-House, just out of Chestnut Street,
but has now been removed to Park Avenue
and Locust Street. Inside are dusky re
cesses filled with dusty time-worn folios, and
from one of the galleries the great Minerva
which presided over the deliberations of
the Continental Congress looks down upon
a desk and clock once owned and used by
William Penn. The noise and hurry of the
modern world never reach this cloistered
recess, crowded with the shades of scholars
dead generations ago, and an hour spent
therein is a page from the past that will
linger long in the memory.

A quaint hipped-roofed house standing on
Front Street, a few doors above Dock, re
calls another significant incident in the life
of Franklin. To this house, erstwhile oc
cupied by one generation after another of
Quakers, he was conducted upon his return
from England, just before the opening of
57

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

the Revolution. Philadelphia had for some
time presented the spectacle of an exception
ally temperate and prudent community slowly
rousing to temperate, prudent resistance to
injustice. The Friends, prompted by mo
tives for which we can scarcely blame
them, were opposed to armed rebellion;
so were the great merchants, to whom a
war with England threatened financial ruin.
Facing the other way were a numerous
body of citizens eager for the moment of
conflict. Loyalist and patriot alike waited
anxiously for Franklin and his first words
of counsel. The Friends in a body met
him as he landed, and without a word, in
solemn procession, escorted him to the Front
Street house. Entering, they all seated
themselves, still silent, waiting for the Spirit
of God first to speak through some of
them, when, as we are told, Franklin stood
up and cried out with power, " To arms,
my friends, to arms !" That his warning
fell on reluctant if unheeding ears is known
to all. The sudden influx of the leaders of
the Revolution, in the stormy days that fol
lowed, pushed the Quaker class and the
58

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

Tory families for the moment to the wall;
and during the most glorious period of the
city's history her old rulers, with few ex
ceptions, yielded their places to strangers.

Still another reminder of the Philadelphia
that Franklin knew is the house of his long
time friend, John Bartram, which yet stands
near the Schuylkill, on the Gray's Ferry
Road. The former home of the Quaker
botanist is of graystone, hewn from the solid
rock and put in place in 1734 by Bartram's
own hands; for among his other accom
plishments he reckoned that of practical
stonemason. A dense mat of ivy, out of
which peep two windows, cover its northern
end. The south end, nearly free from vines,
is also pierced with two large windows, the
sills thereof curiously carved in stone-work.
Between these two windows, upper and
lower, a smooth, square block of stone has
been carved with this inscription :

'Tis God alone, Almighty Lord,
The Holy One by me adored.

John Bartram, 1770.

Dormer-windows jut out from the roof
of the old house, and between its two pro-
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jecting wings runs a wooden porch, sup
ported by a massive stone pillar, the front
covered by an aged but still lusty Virginia
creeper. Time has worked small change in
the ancient structure. The great fireplace
in its central room has been filled up, and
the old Franklin stove, a present, mayhap,
from Benjamin himself, has been removed
from the sitting-room, but beyond this every
thing stands as it did in its first owner's
time. Back of the sitting-room, in the wing
looking towards the south, is an airy apart
ment that once did duty as a conservatory.
Beside this room is the botanist's study, with
windows facing the south and east. It was
here in later years that Alexander Wilson
wrote the opening pages of his great work
on ornithology, under the patronage and
aided by the suggestions of William Bar-
tram, the successor of his father John, and
himself a naturalist of learning and repute.
Against the front of the house grows a
Jerusalem " Christ's-thorn," and on one side
of it a gnarled and tangled yew-tree, both
planted by the elder Bartram's hands.
Thence the famous botanic garden, the first
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one on this continent, which the good Quaker
constructed untaught, planting it with trees
and shrubs gathered by himself in count
less journeys through the wilderness, slopes
gently downward to the banks of the Schuyl-
kill. When Charles Kingsley visited Phila
delphia, some years ago, his first request was
to be taken to this old garden, which has
now become a grove of trees, rare and
various, of native and foreign growth, —
deciduous trees and evergreens of many
varieties, blossoming shrubs, white and red
cedars, spruce, pines, and firs, thick with
shade and spicy with odor. At the gar
den's lower edge and close to the river once
stood a cider-mill, of which all that remains
is a great embedded rock, hewn flat, with a
circular groove in it, in which a stone
dragged by horses revolved, crushing the
apples to pulp. A channel cut through the
rock leading from the groove served to con
vey the juice from the mill. It was a piece of
Bartram's own handiwork, another example
of the combining of the practical and ideal
in his sturdy nature. Not far from this old
cider-mill stands a stone marking the grave
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of one of Bartram's servants, an aged black,
one time a slave, for even the Quakers held
slaves in colony times. At the time of the
old negro's death, however, he was a free
man, and had been for years, for Bartram
was one of the earliest emancipators of
slaves in America.

All that Bartram, whom Linnaeus pro
nounced " the greatest of living botanists,"
was enabled to achieve he owed, in the main,
to his own efforts. His life was of the sim
plest character; and to the last he retained
the habits and customs of the plain farmer
folk, of whom he accounted himself one.
Touching also in its modesty and simplicity
is his own account of how he became a
botanist. " One day," he wrote in his later
years, " I was busy in holding my plough,
and being aweary I sat me beneath the shade
of a tree to rest myself. I cast mine eyes
upon a daisy. I plucked the pretty flower,
and viewing it with more closeness than
common farmers are wont to bestow upon a
weed, I observed therein many curious and
distinct parts, each perfect in itself, and each
in its way tending to enhance the beauty of
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the flower. ' What a shame/ said some
thing within my mind, ' that thou hast spent
so many years in the ruthless destroying of
that which the Lord in His infinite goodness
hath made so perfect in its humble place
without thy trying to understand one of the
simplest leaves P This thought awakened
my curiosity, for these are not the thoughts
to which I had been accustomed. I re
turned to my plough once more; but this
new desire for inquiry into the perfections
the Lord hath granted to all about us did
not quit my mind; nor hath it since."

The path upon which he thus set forth
made the Quaker farmer the peer and fellow
of the greatest naturalists of his time, and
in his later days royal botanist for the prov
inces. Bartram lived to the age of eighty,
hale and strong to the last, his only trouble
being his dread that the ravages of the
Revolution might reach his peaceful gar
den. His fear was groundless, for all alike
reverenced and loved the gentle old man.
His death occurred on the morrow of the
battle of Brandywine.

Philadelphia, in 1774, had grown to be a
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thriving, well-conditioned, prosperous city
of thirty thousand inhabitants, the largest
in the colonies, and, thanks to the genius of
Franklin, paved, lighted, and ordered in a
way almost unknown in any other town of
that period. It was, also, as nearly as pos
sible, the central point of the colonies. Thus
both its position and its condition drew to
it the strangers from the North and the
South, who began to appear in the streets
and public places in the late summer of 1774.
Few of these strangers were commonplace;
most of them gave evidence of distinction,
and all were prompt in setting about the
work that had brought them from their
widely-scattered homes.

The members of the first colonial Con
gress having found, on reaching Philadel
phia, that the State-House was already oc
cupied by the Provincial Assembly, deter
mined to hold their meetings in the hall, on
Chestnut Street above Third, built by the
Honorable Society of Carpenters, and still
used by them. Accordingly, on the morn
ing of September 5 they assembled at the
City Tavern, where most of them were quar-
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tered, and went thence together to this little
hall. We are told that the Quakers watched
the little procession gloomily, but it was
made up of men who have assumed for us
heroic proportions. There were John and
Samuel Adams, of Massachusetts, the latter
with stern, set face of the Puritan type; the
venerable Stephen Hopkins, of Rhode Island ;
Roger Sherman, of Connecticut, tall and
grave; John Jay, of New York, with birth
and breeding written in his clean-cut feat
ures; Thomas McKean, of Pennsylvania,
an Anak among patriots, and lank Caesar
Rodney, of Delaware. There, too, were
Christopher Gadsden and the two Rutledges,
from South Carolina, while Peyton Ran
dolph, full of years and honors, headed a
delegation from Virginia which included
Patrick Henry, Richard Henry Lee, and
another better known than any of them,
with his soldier's fame won on hard-fought
fields, — George Washington, of Mount Ver-
non. What the grave, silent Virginia col
onel had done was known to every onlooker.
What he was yet to do no one dreamed, but
we may easily believe that the people who
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lined the streets that sunny September morn
ing felt dumbly what Henry said for those
who met him in the Congress, " Washing
ton is unquestionably the greatest of them
all."

The work done in the assembly-room of
the hall of the Carpenters in the autumn days
of 1774 cleared the way for the call to arms.
When the Congress met again, in May of the
following year, it held its deliberations in
the State-House, and thenceforward the his
tory of the country takes this long, old-
fashioned structure of red brick, with its
white marble facings and thick window-
sashes, as its central point of interest. In
the little square before it gathered excited
groups of patriots and Loyalists on the mem
orable days and still more memorable nights
when within its walls, behind closed doors,
the delegates of thirteen colonies were de
bating a resolution to declare them inde
pendent. On July 2, 1776, the resolution
was passed. "A greater question," says
Adams, " perhaps never was decided among
men."

The Declaration was signed by John Han-
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cock and Charles Thomson, president and
secretary of the Congress, on the Fourth
of July, this act taking place in the east
room of the State-House on the lower floor,
where during the next four weeks the other
members of the Congress also affixed their
signatures. The Declaration had been
written by Thomas Jefferson in his lodging-
house, which stood until recently at the south_
west corner of Market and Seventh Streets.
It was made public on the morrow of the
Fourth, but was not officially given to the
people until noonday on the 8th of July,
when it was read to a great crowd in the
State-House yard. The stage on which the
reader stood was a rough platform, built
some years before by David Rittenhouse,
the astronomer, as an observatory from
which to note certain important movements
of the planets.

The use to which its builder had put it
had resulted in the first determination of the
dimensions of the solar system; and now
serving a not less noble purpose, it heralded
a platform of human rights broad enough
for the whole world to stand upon. Cheers
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rent the welkin when the reading of the
Declaration was finished; bonfires were
lighted; the chimes of Christ Church rang
until nightfall, and the old bell in the State-
House tower gave a new and noisy meaning
to the words inscribed on its side a quarter
of a century before, — " Proclaim liberty
throughout the land and to all the inhabitants
thereof."

Thus the Republic was born. The story
of the days of storm and stress that fol
lowed has been written again and again, and
ever finds new chroniclers; but over one
act of the great Congress that adopted the
Declaration the pen must always linger with
affectionate touch. On June 14, 1777, it
was resolved by the Congress " that the flag
of the United States be thirteen stripes al
ternately red and white, and that the union
be thirteen white stars, in a blue field, rep
resenting a new constellation." The first
flag was modelled under the personal super
vision of Washington, who was then in Phil
adelphia, and a committee from the Con
gress. They called upon Mrs. Elizabeth
Ross, who conducted an upholstery shop in
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the little house yet standing at 239 Arch
Street; and from a rough draft which
Washington had made she prepared the first
flag. The general's design contained stars
of six points, but Mrs. Ross thought that
five points would make them more sym
metrical. She completed the flag in twenty-
four hours, and at Fort Schuyler, New York,
a few weeks later, it received its baptism of
fire. " Betsy" Ross was appointed by Con
gress to be the manufacturer of the govern
ment flags, and she followed this occupation
for many years, being succeeded by her
children.

In September, 1777, the British entered
Philadelphia, and it was not reoccupied by
the patriot army till 1779. Meantime in
its northern suburbs was fought the desper
ate and luckless battle of Germantown.
About many of the old houses of that village
hang pulse-moving legends of the one event
ful day in its history. Chief among these is
the Chew House, built in 1763, about which
the fight raged furiously for hours. This
house was held by Colonel Musgrave and
six companies so long that a gallant lad, the
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Chevalier de Manduit, with Colonel Laurens,
crept up to fire it with a wisp of straw.
They escaped under a shower of balls, while
a young man who had followed them fell
dead at the first shot.

Another old house at the corner of Main
Street and West Walnut Lane was used as
a hospital and amputating-room, while the
Wistar House, built in 1744, was occupied
by some of the British officers, one of whom
was General Agnew, " a cheerful and heart-
some young man," according to tradition.
As he passed out to join his command he
encountered the old servant Justinia at work
in the garden, and bade her hide in the cel
lar until the fighting was at an end. But
Justinia refused to obey, and had not fin
ished hoeing her cabbages when Agnew was
carried in wounded unto death, a decoration
which he wore on his breast having offered
a mark for a patriot rifleman. A quaint
room of the Wistar House, now filled with
relics of early times, is the one in which the
heartsome young officer breathed out his life.
His blood still stains the floor.

Yet another reminder of the Revolution
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is to be encountered in a stroll about Ger-
mantown, for in the yard of St. Michael's
Lutheran Church sleeps one who played a
useful if humble part in the struggle. Chris.
Ludwick was a Dutch baker of Germantown,
who had saved a comfortable fortune before
the commencement of the seven years' war.
Half of this property he offered to the ser
vice of his country, swearing at the same
time never to shave until her freedom was
accomplished. Washington gave him charge
of the ovens of the army, and Baker-General
Ludwick, with his great grizzled beard and
big voice, was a familiar and not unheroic
figure in the camp. He died an old man
of eighty, in 1801, leaving his entire fortune
for the education of the poor.

After the Revolution came the making of
the Constitution and the setting afoot of the
Union, with Philadelphia as the national
capital. The city's condition during the
years in which it was controlled by Wash
ington's simple high-bred court is known to
every reader of history. In the great house
once occupied by Richard Penn, afterwards
owned by Robert Morris, and gone long
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since from the south side of Market Street,
Washington had his home from 1791 to
1797. It was deemed the fittest dwelling in
the city for the President of the new nation,
and must have well deserved to be called a
mansion. There are many pleasing pictures
of the life led there by Washington and his
family, but none half so winsome and de
lightful as that of a girl friend of Nelly
Custis, who spent a night in the President's
house. " When ten o'clock came," she tells
us, " Mrs. Washington retired, and her
granddaughter accompanied her, and read
a chapter and psalm from the old family
Bible. All then knelt together in prayer,
and when Mrs. Washington's maid had pre
pared her for bed Nelly sang a soothing
hymn, and, leaning over her, received from
her some words of counsel and her kiss and
blessing."

One other picture, and the last, of the
Philadelphia of a century ago. The time
was March 4, 1797, and a vast crowd had
assembled in the State-House to witness the
inauguration of John Adams as Washington's
successor. Few in the throng, however,
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gave heed to the entrance of the new chief
executive. Instead, every eye was bent upon
Washington, for the people knew it was to
be the last public appearance of their idol.
"He wore," writes an eye-witness, "a full
suit of black velvet, his hair powdered and
in a bag, diamond knee-buckles, and a light
sword with gray scabbard." Beside him
was the new Vice-President, Jefferson, awk
ward and ungainly; and nearby was the
boyish Madison and the burly Knox. When
Adams had read his inaugural and left the
room the crowd cheered, but did not move.
Jefferson, after some courteous parley, took
precedence of Washington, and went out.
Still the people remained motionless, watch
ing the noble figure in black; nor did any
one stir until Washington descended from
the platform and left the hall to follow and
pay his respects to the new President. Then
they and all the crowd in the streets moved
after him, but in silence. Upon the thresh
old of the President's lodgings he turned and
faced this multitude of nameless friends.
" No man ever saw him so moved." The tears
rolled unchecked down his cheeks. Then

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he bowed slowly and low and went within.
After he had gone a smothered sound, not
unlike a sob, went up from the crowd, for
they knew that their hero had passed away
to be seen of them no more.

74

CHAPTER X

ONE of a dozen delightful outings lying
in the way of the sojourner in Philadelphia
or its suburbs takes one to the ancient bor
ough of Bristol. Set down on the western
bank of the Delaware, midway between
Trenton and Philadelphia, Bristol has seen
more than two centuries sweep by since the
beginning of its settlement, and all about
the town there are traces remaining of the
birth years of the republic, and even of
colonial times, in narrow and irregular
streets, and olden houses with chimneys at
the gable ends, and in family heirlooms
treasured in these antique dwellings by de
scendants of the first settlers. A large part
of Bristol is built of brick, giving the town
a substantial and comfortable appearance;
Mill Street, the main thoroughfare, has many
old business houses on it, and RadclifTe
Street, stretching through its vista of shade-
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trees, for a long distance along the river's
bank, is lined with fine mansions, most of
them set in spacious grounds, and all com
manding views of the Delaware, creeping
seaward between grassy and wooded banks.
Peace and rest dwell the twelvemonth
through in Bristol, and it is fitting that they
do, for the town is the eastern gateway to
the Perm's Wood of other days, and six
miles to the north of it, up the Delaware,
is Pennsbury Manor, the spot where stood
the mansion erected and occupied by Wil
liam Penn. The estate originally consisted
of above six thousand acres, bounded by
Welcome Creek and Governor's Creek. A
tract of three hundred acres, including the
site of the homestead, is now owned as a
farm by William Penn Crozer. Many years
ago a visitor to the place noted the fact that
nine gnarled cherry-trees were then stand
ing as the remains of Penn's cherry hedge
along the lane. One poor stump is all that
is now left, and this relic is fast crumbling
into dust, but the well that belonged to the
old mansion still gives its pure water to
the thirsty or curious wayfarer.
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The manor-house was of brick, and might
possibly have been preserved till now had
not a neglected water-tank on the roof helped
by its leakage the process of decay. The
only vestiges of the building remaining are
the old bricks, which pave the cellar floor
of the present farm-house. The ancient
house was sixty feet long and forty feet
deep, with offices and adjoining buildings.
It was begun in 1682, immediately upon
Penn's arrival, and was constructed in the
best style of the day, costing some thousands
of pounds and consuming four or five years
in its erection. With its stately porch in
front and rear, and wide hall running
through it, and spacious apartments, it must
have presented an appearance of elegance
unusual to the New World. There was
Stabling for twelve horses, and it was not
forgotten to provide a brew-house in which
to brew ale for the household.

A beautiful garden was laid out between
the house and the river, and a broad shady
walk added to the grace of these elegant
grounds. In the years 1700 and 1701 the
founder lived here in the style usual to
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men of his rank in colonial times, enter
taining frequent guests with liberal hos
pitality. The Indians here held conference
with the distinguished Friend, and on one
occasion he gave a feast under the poplars
at the manor to his Indian visitors, at which
time one hundred turkeys were served up,
" besides venison and other meats." In at
tending to his extensive plantations Penn
was often away, so that he frequently passed
in his barge from Philadelphia, then be
ginning its history, to this manor home on
the Delaware, which was then wooded to its
very edge with stately forest-trees. But he
was not permitted long to enjoy his rural
tastes. Interests imperilled by political
changes called him to England, and though
he hoped soon to return and spend the even
ing of his life in this chosen home, his wish
was never gratified.

The country about and beyond Pennsbury
Manor is classic ground. Not far away is
the site of the house in which Moreau, Na
poleon's old marshal and the victor of
Hohenlinden, led the life of an American
country gentleman until, in an evil hour,
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he listened to the proposals of the Emperors
of Austria and Russia, and went back to
Europe to have his legs shot off at Dresden ;
a short distance to the north Washington
made his famous " crossing of the Dela
ware" on the Christmas Eve of 1776, a few
miles to the south is Trappe, long the home
of Muhlenberg, and an easy morning's jour
ney through Bucks and Montgomery into
Chester takes one to historic Valley Forge,
where was passed the gloomiest and saddest
period of the war for independence.

Trappe, which lies near the lower edge of
Montgomery County, is a small place and
modest, but it has played its part in history,
for it was here, in 1733, that the first Lu
theran place of worship in America was
erected, and it was here that Muhlenberg
began his great work of establishing the
doctrine of his church in this country. He
came from Germany to the settlement of
Trappe in 1742, and found a structure of
logs that the primitive Lutherans had built
to worship in. In 1743 he built a stone
church to take the place of the rude log
sanctuary, and it stands to-day just as it
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was finished a century and a half ago. It
has not been used for church service for
many years, but is sacredly preserved for its
historic associations.

The walls of this ancient church are moss-
grown and worn by wind and storm, but they
are firm, and able to defy decay and ruin for
another century. Its odd and angular ar
chitecture is striking. There is no steeple,
and from the peak the roof slopes gradually
for a few feet, and then drops at a sharp
angle to the eaves. The heavy arched ves
tibule door is fastened by a ponderous lock,
the great key that unlocks it being yellow
and eaten with rust.

The interior of the church is as it was
the day services were first held in it by
Muhlenberg, except that the high, straight-
backed pewS show the marks of occupancy
by generations of worshippers. The curious
oaken pulpit, hanging high against the wall
at one end of the room, and reached by a
long flight of steps, is the same from which
Muhlenberg preached. Above the pulpit is
the sounding-board that aided in making the
preacher's words more distinct to his hearers.
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A gallery of hewn oak timbers, with quaint
wrought-iron braces to support it, extends
around three sides of the room. Paint
never stained the interior of the old church,
and it was never heated, even in the coldest
weather. Over the door on the outside a
Latin inscription could once be read, but the
rude letters have been so obliterated by time
that they can no longer be deciphered.

The burial-ground of this ancient edifice
contains the graves of the pioneers of Lu-
theranism in this country, and here repose
the remains of Father Muhlenberg himself.
Beside his lie those of his distinguished son,
Peter, who was preacher, soldier, and states
man. It was this son who, at the breaking
out of the Revolutionary War, appeared in
the pulpit dressed in the uniform of a col
onel, and telling his people that there was
a time to preach and a time to fight, and
the time had come to fight, proceeded to
enlist men for the patriot army on the spot.

From Trappe, which promises to long re
main one of the most delightful of New
World nooks, a tree-embowered road winds
southward between low hills to the site of
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Washington's camp at Valley Forge. This
covers some two thousand acres of rolling
meadow-land, broken here and there with
abrupt wooded hills. The old stone man
sion occupied as head-quarters by Washing
ton and his staff fronts the station of the
Philadelphia and Reading Railroad. South
ward, at a distance of a quarter of a mile,
is the spot where Washington's original
head-quarters stood, the building, now re
moved, which he occupied in December,
1777. A stone's throw from there is the
bubbling spring known as " Washington's
Spring," on the right bank of Valley Creek.
On the farther side of that stream, a step
below, is the site of the old Valley Forge,
from which the locality takes its name, built
in 1757. To the southeast a few hundred
yards, extending in a zigzag line north and
south for a quarter of a mile, are the re
mains of the old entrenchments thrown up
by the patriot troops, and still easily dis
tinguished by the irregular and scattered
heaps of stones and the uneven elevation of
the greensward. To the right of these re
mains are the foundation-stones and de-
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cayed timbers of Fort Washington, which
served as the eastern bulwark of the camp.
Southwest of this, a quarter of a mile far
ther, is the site of the head-quarters used
by Knox and the officers of his command,
and a short distance below, on the other
side of Valley Creek, is the site of Lafay
ette's head-quarters, a two-and-a-half story
house which still stands, little changed by
the years.

It was after the disastrous battles of the
Brandywine and Germantown that the Con
tinental army went into camp at Valley
Forge. The enlisted men and their field
and line officers dwelt in cabins, each built
to accommodate twelve men. Six months
of terrible suffering were spent in these
dreary huts. The patriot troopers, ragged
and half starved, without shoes or blankets
or proper clothing, slept at night during the
whole dreadful winter of 1777-78 on the
bare earth, and in the daytime, in providing
firewood for their comfortless cabins, left
foot-tracks of blood on the frozen ground,
hallowing the very soil by the severity and
heroism of their sufferings. Disease added
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its terrors to those of famine and cold, and
smallpox wrought fearful havoc in the camp.
Facilities of transportation were scarce, and
such supplies as could be procured were car
ried upon the backs of the men and hauled
in improvised hand-carts. By the middle of
January, 1/78, things were so desperate that
General Varnum wrote to General Greene,
" In all human probability the army must
dissolve."

The prospect for American independence
was dark indeed, but in the character of
Washington was something which enabled
him, notwithstanding the discordant mate
rials of which his army was composed, and
in spite of the hardships and privations his
men endured, to so attach both officers and
soldiers to his person that no distress could
weaken their affections nor impair the re
spect and veneration in which he was held
by them. When that army, after its trying
ordeal, left Valley Forge, it started upon a
career of victory, and never again knew the
sting and bitterness of defeat. The battle
of the Brandywine was the high-water mark
of British success, and after June 18, 1777,
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until the surrender at Yorktown the army
of the invader constantly met with re
verses.

The passage of sixscore years has made
few changes at Valley Forge. Trees have
been cut down and the woods which shel
tered Washington's soldiers have disap
peared, but the generals' head-quarters, with
one or two exceptions, are still standing,
and the Potts mansion, which housed Wash
ington and his staff and is now the property
of the Sons of America, appears inside and
out almost precisely as it was when occupied
by the patriot captain.

A plain, somewhat contracted-looking
house is this Valley Forge shrine, after the
usual type of ancient Pennsylvania home
steads, with a queer roof over the door and
narrow, small-paned windows that end in
low, deep window-seats. Interest in the
house centres in the back room used by
Washington as a private office and fur
nished with articles gathered here and there
of the date of Washington's residence, but
the dwelling as a whole strikes the visitor
as a bare-looking and somewhat dreary
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place, and when its few relics have been
inspected one is not unwilling to leave it
for the drive over quiet country roads to
the church built in 1715 and known as " Old
St. David's at Radnor."

This little temple in the wilderness, of
which Longfellow wrote in one of his last
poems, —

"What an image of peace and rest

Is this little church among its graves !
All is so quiet ; the troubled breast,
The wounded spirit, the heart oppressed,
Here may find the repose it craves.

" See how the ivy climbs and expands

Over this humble hermitage,
And seems to caress with its little hands
The rough gray stones as a child that stands

Caressing the wrinkled cheeks of age.

" You cross the threshold, and dim and small

Is the space that serves for the Shepherd's fold ;
The narrow aisle, the bare, white wall,
The pews and the pulpit, quaint and tall,
Whisper and say : * Alas ! we are old !' "

stands in a secluded spot, among sloping
fields and wooded hills, and wears an air of
antiquity so marked that one might almost
imagine himself transported to another age
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and country. The ivy-clad structure is of
rough graystone, in the old Pennsylvania
style. The walls are thick, the shingled roof
low, the windows arched, and the shutters
iron-barred. Within the church an oaken
table serves for an altar, and the pews are
square and provided with doors. A high
gallery extends across the end, and this is
reached by a flight of stone steps from the
outside, — a peculiarity that forms one of
its distinguishing features.

The little church stands in a forest of
gravestones, and even its door-step covers
the dust of one of the forefathers of Rad
nor, a certain William Moore, who, dying
in 1781, was, it is said, buried beneath the
step as a mark of dishonor, on account of
his being a Tory. Another tale has it that
this was a token of respect. He requested
that his remains might be interred under the
pulpit, and as the vestry were unwilling to
place them within the church, it was decided
that the suppliant's bones should be deposited
in the next best location, — before the door.
Be this as it may, Moore's memorial stone
has been trodden upon for a hundred years,
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so that his epitaph has become a blur, — little
of him to-day can be read but his name.

The most interesting spot in this fruitful
God's Acre is the grave of that fearless sol
dier of the Revolution, General Anthony
Wayne, who here takes his rest with his
wife and kindred beside him. A stately
monument marks the spot where his bones
were interred, in 1809, having been brought,
a dozen years after his death, from their
original resting-place at Erie to be deposited
amid the familiar scenes of his youth and
manhood. This second funeral was a great
event in the neighborhood. " The remains
of General Wayne," says the historian of
Old St. David's, " were removed from the
fortress at Presqu' Isle to Radnor church
yard by his son, Colonel Isaac Wayne, and
at the same time (July 4, 1809) the Penn
sylvania State Society of the Cincinnati, with
due ritual ceremonies, placed over the grave
of the illustrious dead the present monument.
The wonders of that day are still fresh in
the minds of some of our church-members;
the First City Troop, of Philadelphia, under
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out to Radnor, and performed the honors of
war over the grave of the general, but so
excessively hot was the day that one of the
officers is said to have fainted while coming
down the hill near which the present par
sonage stands. The hearse proceeded from
Mr. Wayne's house to the church, and an
old soldier named Samuel Smiley is said
to have marched before it all the way, re
fusing to ride, and mourning the loss of
his old commander."

There is another noble reminder of Wayne
in the land which holds his dust. Just over
the hills from Old St. David's is the house
in which he was born, and where he spent
most of his life when not engaged in mili
tary campaigns, — a grand old homestead,
still owned and occupied by his descendants.
The house is filled with relics of Wayne,
and the parlor is furnished exactly as it was
in the general's time. It has an antique
fireplace, with brass andirons and fender,
and on the mantel are two pairs of china
vases with handles that have survived with
out a crack, and a pair of silver candlesticks
and snuffers. A beautiful old mirror fills
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the space between the windows, the stiff
draperies of the period that cross it from the
window almost concealing its beauty. These
draperies are looped with gilt pins, and har
monize thoroughly with the ancient-looking
sofa and chairs and the stiff neutral-hued
carpet. The chairs, of course, are high-
backed and broad-seated, after the fashion
of a century ago, and the room as a whole is
an admirable relic of that olden time.

A leisurely half-hour's stroll from the
Wayne homestead is Paoli, scene of the
massacre of a hundred and fifty American
soldiers on the night of September 20, 1777,
— nine days after the battle of the Brandy-
wine. The Americans, pursued by the Brit
ish, had fallen back to Warwick Furnace,
in Chester County, and General Wayne,
whose command numbered some fifteen hun
dred men, had been ordered by Washington
to cut off the enemy's baggage-train and
halt his advance towards Schuylkill valley,
thus affording the Continentals time to cross
the river and march down the other side.

Wayne moved quickly, and the afternoon
of September 20 found him encamped near
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the spot now marked by the Paoli monu
ment, some four miles in the rear of the
British army. It was his purpose to attack
the enemy's rear whenever they should re
sume their march towards the Schuylkill,
but he did not take into account the treach
ery of his old friends and neighbors. Late
that night, under cover of darkness and
guided by Tory residents of the country
side, the British general, Grey, massed his
troops as near the camp of Wayne as pos
sible without betraying a knowledge of his
approach through the woods, and made a
deadly charge upon the American corps.

Although cleverly executed, the surprise
was not complete. The assailants were re
ceived with several close and destructive vol
leys which must have done great execution;
but the Americans were greatly outnum
bered, and, in the end, were obliged to re
treat in haste and disorder. Many victims
were massacred after resistance on their part
had ceased; the cry for quarter was un
heeded, and the British bayonet did its work
with unpitying ferocity. Of the American
dead, fifty-three were laid in one grave. A
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pile of stones marked their burial-spot until
1817, when a monument was placed above
it by the people of Chester. The present
monument, a handsome granite shaft, with
inscriptions on the four sides, was unveiled
on the centennial of the massacre in 1877.

Paoli, which borrows its name from the
Corsican general Pasquale di Paoli, leader
of the revolt against the Genoese, is an old,
old place in the midst of charming scenery;
and, indeed, full of legend and story, as are
nearly all the beautiful nooks and hamlets
of Southeastern Pennsylvania. There is
Swarthmore, with its memories of Benjamin
West; and there are the Quaker villages of
Kennett Square, Oxford, and Calvert ; Rob
ert Fulton's birthplace among the Cono-
wingo Hills, and sleepy Manheim, on the
hitherside of Lancaster, with its stories of
Baron Stiegel and its yearly " Feast of the
Roses," — all within compass of a day's jour
ney by rail or wheel from Philadelphia.

Swarthmore, the Springfield of other

days, was founded by Thomas Pierson, the

friend and comrade of William Penn.

Thomas Pierson's daughter married John

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West, and one of the children of this union
was Benjamin West, the painter. West left
America when he was twenty-two years old
never to return, but the house in which he
was born, a stone structure with dormer-
windows set squarely in the sloping roof,
still stands inside the college grounds at
Swarthmore very like it was in the painter's
youth. Here, with no guide save native
love for the beautiful, West began to draw
and paint, and the first expression of his
talent was in the picture of a sleeping child,
drawn in this old house. It is commonly
told that it was his sleeping sister who in
spired him; but Benjamin was the youngest
of his father's children. The mother of the
baby was Benjamin's sister. She had come
with the infant to spend a few days with her
parents. When the child was asleep, Mrs.
West invited the mother to gather flowers
in the garden, giving the little boy a fan
with which to flap away the flies while he
watched the baby in their absence.

The child smiled in its sleep. Seizing
pen and paper, and having fortunately both
red and black ink on a table near by, he drew
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a picture which he endeavored to conceal
when his mother and sister entered. The
mother, noticing his confusion, requested
him to show what he was hiding. Mrs.
West looked at the drawing with pleasure,
and said to her daughter, " I declare, he has
made a likeness of little Sally," and kissed
him with fondness and satisfaction. This
is chronicled in Gait's " Life of Benjamin
West" as " the birth of fine art in the New
World."

The old house at Swarthmore also brings
to mind the piquant romance of which West
was the hero. Elizabeth Shewell was an
orphan girl residing with her brother in
Philadelphia. This brother, an ambitious
man, urged her to marry a wealthy suitor,
but she refused, having already pledged her
vows to West. Thereafter a close watch
was kept upon the girl, and orders given
to the servants to refuse admittance to West
if he ever came to the door. For five
years Elizabeth waited; then assisted by
friends, watching within and without, —
Benjamin Franklin was one of them, — she
descended a rope-ladder from the window
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of her room, and was hurried into a waiting
carriage and driven rapidly to the wharf,
where a ship was ready to sail. The father
of West received her, cared for her during
the voyage, and delivered her to the eager
lover, who came aboard the ship at Liver
pool and embraced her rapturously.

" Hast thou no welcome for thy old father,
Benjamin?" asked the aged Quaker, who
stood, smiling, to behold their joyful meet
ing.

" That I have, father !" cried the son, and
the father never after felt a moment's neg
lect.

The lovers, upon their arrival in London,
went at once to St. Martin's-in-the-Fields, a
favorite church for weddings to this day,
and marriage sealed a union which never
knew discord or sorrow. West, in after-
years, sent a portrait of his wife as a peace-
offering to her brother, who never looked at
it, but had it stowed away in the garret of
his house. One of his grandchildren remem
bers having beaten with a switch the portrait
of his " naughty aunty" who smiled upon
the children playing in the attic, where she
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had gone to weep, a lovelorn maiden, —
smiled upon them from her calm estate of
wedded bliss in England.

Swarthmore lies midway between Paoli
and the Delaware, and from it a railroad
runs to Kennett Square, another quaint
Quaker village, now indissolubly bound up
with the name and fame of Bayard Taylor.
This poet was born and spent his early youth
in or near Kennett Square, and when he had
won fame and fortune he realized a dream
that had haunted him in his travels and, in
1859, built Cedarcraft, a dignified mansion
placed in the midst of a broad domain about
a mile from the town of Kennett and facing
the home of his youth. Nearing it from the
village, one catches a glimpse of the house
through the trees that cluster about it, but,
as one drives or walks on, it is soon shut from
view by a grove of oaks and chestnuts that
rise like a wall on the hither side of the es
tate. A low hill ascended, one comes to a
wide rustic gate, which opens into a short
woodland drive, at the end of which stands
the house, kept in excellent condition by its
present owner.

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A substantial, two-storied structure of red
brick, with corners of gray granite, Cedar-
craft has a spacious and a cosy look, such as
a poet's home ought to have. Taylor loved
it as he did no other spot on earth, and within
its walls he did the greater part of his best
work, for it was at Cedarcraft that he wrote
" The Poet's Journal," " The Masque of the
Gods," "Home Pastorals," and " Deuka-
lion," his two novels, " Joseph and his
Friends" and " The Story of Kennett," and
the major portion of his translation of
" Faust," — the crowning literary effort of
his life.

Taylor left Cedarcraft for the last time in
the summer of 1877. He died a few months
later in Berlin, whither he had gone as
United States minister. In March, 1879,
his body was brought back to America and
laid to rest in Longwood Cemetery, a few
miles from Kennett, where a modest monu
ment marks the graves of the poet and of his
first wife, Mary Agnew. But it is Cedarcraft
that is and will long remain Taylor's most
speaking memorial. Its owner should count
himself a fortunate man, for in possessing
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it he possesses more than his house and his
grounds, — the home in which a famous and
gifted poet once lived, and which will always
be associated with his memory, — a shrine to
which reverent pilgrimages will be made in
the years to come.

Kennett Square, a handful of houses lying
along clean roadways, remains as in Tay
lor's time a distinctively Quaker community,
and Oxford and Calvert, to the west and
south of it, are still given over in the main
to members of the Society of Friends. Cal
vert, settled in 1701, and known until very
recently as Brick Meeting-House, is the
oldest of the three, and most of its people
dwell on lands given to their forefathers by
William Penn. Thrift rules in Calvert, and
abstinence and prudence regulate its morals.
The inhabitants under protest pay tribute to
the State and Federal governments and a
subsidy to support a national army. More
over, there is the tradition of a long-gone
day, what time the whole country thrilled
with martial music and the tread of .soldiers
marching to the battles of the Civil War,
that came freighted with dire import for
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peaceful Calvert, whose simple souls as yet
realized but dimly that war had the nation
by its throat.

On the day noted, however, a government
tax-gatherer invaded the community in the
interest of his duty to lay a war tax there,
and a tranquil-minded patriarch, the wealthi
est and most influential citizen of the village,
impelled by his resolute scruples against war
fare, persistently refused to pay his individ
ual assessment. He placidly accompanied
an officer of the law to the shire town and
was lodged in the county jail, where, sus
tained by his conscience, he bore imprison
ment with meekness and fortitude. After
he had been confined there a week or more
a wealthy citizen of another faith paid the
Quaker's war tax, and the old man went back
to his home and hill-side acres.

Since then Calvert has been a hamlet with
out a history, a domain given over to peace,
where Time's course is as smooth as a June
breeze in the meadows. Peaceful and benig
nant, yet retiring and self-contained, the
Quakers of Calvert seldom, if ever, seek con
verts among the people about them, but on
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each First Day they faithfully gather at
the Old Brick Meeting-House, one of the
Friends' most widely known landmarks,
within the walls of which seven generations
have worshipped after the fashion taught by
Fox and Penn, and attendance at one of
their meetings proves an experience not
likely to be soon forgotten. When all the
seats are filled there is stillness for a time,
and then the voice of some Friend " moved
by the spirit" will be heard. Beginning in
ordinary tones, the utterance soon rises to
the peculiar sing-song of the sect, — fasci
nating and appropriate when used by some
sweet-voiced woman Friend, but grating
not a little on worldly ears when in the nasal
twang of some fervent male exhorter. This
finished, perhaps some one will offer prayer.
Now and then a member whom the spirit has
never moved before will get up, speak a few
words, and sit down. It is seldom that more
than two or three speak. A clasp of hands
across the low partition, which divides the
meeting-room into two parts, by the man
and woman nearest each other on the front
seat ends the service, and with the rustle of

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the women's dresses and the noisier footfalls
of the worshippers follows the quick empty
ing of the house.

Calvert was settled, as I have said, in 1701,
and the burial-ground around the Old Brick
Meeting-House is now thickly sown with
the graves of the hamlet's dead. One of
these mounds covers the dust of a woman
whose career offers a tempting theme for
the story-teller. Elizabeth Maxwell was a
comely and spirited English maiden, born in
the opening year of the eighteenth century.
Her mother and her uncle, Daniel Defoe, —
the same Daniel Defoe who wrote " Rob
inson Crusoe" and " The Plague in London,"
— frowned upon the attentions paid her by
a young man in London, and eighteen-year-
old Elizabeth, angered by their treatment,
left home secretly and suddenly and took
passage on a vessel for the New World.

The wilful girl, having no money with
which to pay her passage, agreed with the
captain, as was common in those days, to be
sold for a term of years on reaching Amer
ica. The sale occurred in Philadelphia in
the fall of 1718, a number of other persons
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who came across the sea in like manner being
offered at the same time. Andrew Job, of
Calvert, attended the sale, purchased Eliz
abeth for a period of years, and took
her to his home, where Thomas Job, his
kinsman, fell in love with and married
her. After her marriage she wrote her
relatives in London of her circumstances and
surroundings. Her uncle, Daniel Defoe, re
plied that her mother had died and left prop
erty by will to her. A list of the property
came with the letter, and her uncle was de
sirous that she should take especial care of
articles he had used in his study, " as they
had descended to the family from their Flem
ish ancestors, who sought refuge under the
banner of Queen Elizabeth from the tyranny
of Philippe." Among the goods sent over
were two chairs he had used in his study,
and which are still in the keeping of his
niece's descendants. Mrs. Job dwelt happily
in Calvert until her death in 1782.

Fulton's birthplace is a few miles west of

Oxford, in what was formerly Little Britain

township, — now Fulton, — in Lancaster

County. The house in which the inventor

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was born is of stone, plastered outside, two
stories high, and one end of the long, low
structure is higher than the other. At the
east end is a small porch set under the over
hanging roof. The side of the house, which
is, perhaps, fifty feet long, is near the foot
of a sunny hill-slope, and through the hollow
runs the Conowingo Creek, which empties
into the Susquehanna. A large white
modest barn is behind the dwelling, and
a rusty, narrow-gauge railroad runs before
the side yard, at the crossing of a dusty
clay road.

When Fulton was born in 1765, the house
was used as a tavern, and it is said that his
father, an Irishman from Kilkenny, was the
proprietor of it for a number of years. The
elder Fulton fell into financial straits, and, in
1772, his home passed to the ownership of
Joseph Swift, of Philadelphia, in the posses
sion of whose descendants it has remained
to this day. This corner of Lancaster
County has produced many eminent men.
David Ramsay, the historian of South Caro
lina, was born in Drumore township, near
Fulton House, and Oliver Evans, who is
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said to have made the first traction engine
for common roads, came into life on the Red
Clay Creek, which flows only a few miles
from Fulton's birthplace.

Before he was twenty Fulton left Lancas
ter County never to return, but as a child
playing about the doorway of his father's
tavern he no doubt often saw Baron Stiegel
sweep by on the way from Philadelphia to
his country-seats at Manheim and Shaeffers-
town. Stiegel was the hero of an excep
tional career. Descended from a wealthy and
titled German family, he came to America in
1750 and became one of the pioneer iron
masters and glass manufacturers in the colo
nies. His furnace was at Elizabeth and his
glass factory at Manheim. The baron re
sided in Philadelphia, where he had married
an American wife, and his frequent journeys
to his iron- and glass-works were imposing
affairs. The coach in which he rode was
drawn by four, and sometimes eight, horses.
Postilions were ever at hand, and hounds
ran ahead of the horses.

The reception accorded the baron on these
visits by his workmen and retainers was a
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lordly one. At the first sight of his ap
proach the watchman in the cupola of the
mansion he had erected at Manheim fired a
cannon, which told the inhabitants their
master was coming. The citizens and a
band of musicians moved to the residence.
Into town the baron swept, and was wel
comed with cheers, music, and cannon. The
cannon at Manheim was heard at Elizabeth
Furnace, twelve miles away, and prepara
tions were made to receive him. On leaving
Manheim a salute was fired, and the furnace
people knew he was on his way. Near Eliza
beth there was a high hill, on which a cannon
was placed, and at the first sight of the
baron's carriage a shot was fired. The work
men in the furnace ceased their labors and,
taking up their music, prepared to receive
their master. From the furnace he would
drive to Shaefferstown, where he had erected
a large tower, on which was a cannon. This
tower, since destroyed, was erected for the
purpose of entertaining therein his intimate
friends, and contained several apartments.

For the better part of a generation Stiegel
was the wealthiest resident of the colony, ex-
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cept the Penns. But his wealth was not un
limited nor his business foresight altogether
perfect. He lived quite beyond his means
and failed. He even was imprisoned for
debt. Before the Revolution cut off his re
sources in Europe a special act was passed
for his relief. But he never recovered. His
towers stood as the castles of folly, and his
former luxury mocked him. He died in ob
scurity when he filled no higher position than
that of a village schoolmaster.

However, his memory is kept alive at
Manheim by his former residence, which
now forms a part of one of the business
houses of the town, and by a yearly function
as unique as it is beautiful. When, in 1772,
the baron gave the Lutherans of Manheim
land on which to build a church, he stipu
lated that the annual rent should be " one red
rose in the month of June forever." Every
year this rental rose is paid to the oldest of
Stiegel's descendants, and the ceremony at
tending its payment has come to be known as
the " Feast of the Roses." Until its observ
ance lapses the name and fame of the eccen
tric baron will remain unforgotten.
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CHAPTER XI

IMAGINE a dingy, straggling, unpaved
town, shut in by surrounding hills and by a
low line of mountains, a town which stopped
growing early in the century, and whose
weather-beaten dwellings and other build
ings show that it has been many a day since
there has been work for the carpenter and
painter to do, and one will have a fair idea
of the Dunker village of Ephrata, which lies
twenty miles by rail from Lancaster, Penn
sylvania, and impresses one with the singu
lar sense of being a place in which something
is always about to happen, but nothing ever
does happen in it, or ever will. Quieter it
could not be, unless it were absolutely dead.
The stranger let down by chance in Ephrata
might easily imagine himself in a peasant
village of South Germany, for its founders
came from Witsgenstein, and although it is
more than one hundred and fifty years since
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they built their huts of log and stone and took
up the hard, laborious lives of New World
pioneers, their descendants are still faithful
to the traditions and customs, and in many
instances to the vernacular of the fatherland.
The founders of the curious sect, whose
members now own and till the fertile acres
about Ephrata, were first heard of in Ger
many early in the eighteenth century. Only
three confessions, the Catholics, the Luther
ans, and the Calvinists, under the laws of the
empire, were then allowed free exercise of
their religious worship; all others being
counted unsound, erratic, and dangerous, yet
in a few secluded and scattered nooks the
Separatists found not only an asylum but,
through the sympathy of the rulers, a cordial
welcome. This was the case in the territories
of the Counts of Isenberg and Wittgenstein,
where in 1708 a little group of Separatists
under the lead of Alexander Mack, a miller
of Schriesheim, resolved " to establish a cove
nant of conscience, and to accept the teach
ings of Christ as a gentle yoke," solemnizing
their union by immersion in the river Eder,
near Schwarzenau. Such was the origin
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of the Bunkers, whose founders numbered
less than half a score, but soon received con
siderable accessions from the Palatinate,
Wiirtemberg, and Switzerland. Prompted
by this increase in numbers, a branch was
established at Marienborn, in the principal
ity of Isenberg, but the halcyon days of the
infant sect were followed by scattering
storms.

In 1715 the members of the Marienborn
society removed to Crefeld, and four years
later to the number of two hundred sought
an asylum in Pennsylvania, settling mainly
at Germantown near Philadelphia, where
they organized a congregation in 1723. In
1729 the members of the present society at
Schwarzenau followed the example of their
brethren and emigrated to America. With
the lapse of the years the Bunkers spread into
the interior counties of Pennsylvania, and
the yearly conference, dealing with the com
mon concerns of the sect, was, in the course
of time, alternately held east and west of the
Susquehanna River. Gradually they found
their way into Maryland, Virginia, North
Carolina, and the Western States of Ohio
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and Indiana, and now in every second year
the conference is held west of the Ohio,
while Kansas, Nebraska, the Dakotas, Colo
rado, Idaho, California, Oregon, and Wash
ington have their Dunker congregations. At
the present time God's Peculiar People, as
the Dunkers delight to call themselves, num
ber in the United States — for they also have
missions in Europe — about two hundred
thousand souls, with some two thousand
ministers to attend to their spiritual wants,
none of whom receives a salary.

The creed of the Dunkards is a naif and
simple one. " Be it known unto all men,"
writes one of its exponents and defenders,
"that there is a people who, as little chil
dren, accept the word of the New Testament
as a message from heaven and teach it in
full. They baptize believers by triune im
mersion, with a forward action, and for the
remission of sins, and lay hands on those
baptized, asking upon them the gift of God's
spirit. They follow the command and ex
ample of washing one another's feet. They
take the Lord's Supper at night at one and
the same time, tarrying one for another.
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They greet one another with a holy kiss.
They teach all the doctrines of Christ, peace,
love, unity, both faith and works. They
labor for nonconformity to the world in its
vain and wicked customs. They advocate
non-swearing, anti-secretism, opposition to
war, and doing good to all men. Theyi
anoint and lay hands on the sick. They give
the bread of life, the message of the com
mon salvation, unto all men without money
or price. For the above we contend ear
nestly, and all men are entreated to hear,
examine, and accept it as the word which
began to be spoken by the Lord, and the
faith that was delivered to the saints."

The dress and customs of the Bunkers
are as primitive as their creed. The men let
their beards grow and part their flowing hair
in the middle, and wear slouch hats and the
plainest of clothes. The garb of the women
is equally plain and severe. There are no
milliners among them, for each woman
makes her own hat, a simple matter, since
no feathers or other ornamentation is al
lowed, while the wearing of jewelry is
strictly forbidden. However, the Dunker
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women are seldom wanting in comeliness.
Their faces are nearly always sweet and
gentle, while an air of almost saintly sim
plicity is given them by the clear-starched
cap, the handkerchief crossed on the breast,
the white apron, and the plain gray or drab
stuff of their dresses. The Bunkers live in
peace one with another, and never have re
course to law to redress an injury done to
them. Disputes among themselves are set
tled by the elders, whose decision is final,
and only in exceptional cases do they insti
tute lawsuits against the people of the world.
They are averse to accepting public office,
and rarely, if ever, exercise the right of
franchise. However, the Dunker ideal of
personal conduct is a high one. They are
temperate to abstemiousness, industrious and
economical, and Carlyle's gospel of work is
theirs. They allow no public money to be
expended for their poor or helpless, but pro
vide for them among themselves, and their
two hundred thousand members do not in
clude any one who suffers from want. Even
those who fail in business are aided to make
a new effort, and such assistance may be lent

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three times. After the third failure, they
accept it as the will of God that the unfor
tunate brother shall not succeed, and thence
forth the aid given him takes another form.
Naifly primitive is the Dunker celebration
of the Lord's Supper. It is observed in the
evening, and is always preceded in the after
noon by a love-feast. This commemorates
the supper which Jesus took with His disci
ples, and is a solemn religious festivity, each
Dunker church having its kitchen provided
with great kettles and plain dishes for its
proper observance. When the occasion is
at hand, after a day of preaching, a lamb is
killed and a clear soup is made, into which
bread is broken, and then served in great
bowls placed on long and very narrow tables,
at each side of which sit the participants,
four persons eating from each bowl. After
the eating of the broth comes the ceremony
known as the washing of feet, each sex per
forming this duty for its own. Those who
are to engage in the ordinance presently enter
the meeting, carrying tubs of lukewarm
water, and each member on the front benches
removes his or her shoes and stockings. A
II.-8 113

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man on the men's side and a woman on the
women's side then wash the feet one by one,
taking the right hand of each individual as
they finish the washing, and giving the kiss
of peace. As one benchful has the ceremony
performed, it gives place to another, the min
ister or teachers meanwhile making a brief
speech or reading appropriate portions of
Scripture relating to the subject.

Following this ceremony comes the supper
itself. Each third bench is so arranged that
the back can be turned upon a pivot at each
end, so as to form the top of a long table.
This is covered with a white cloth, and pres
ently brothers and sisters enter, bearing large
bowls of soup, plates of bread and meat, and
pies and coffee. Three or four people help
themselves out of the same dish, and the cere
mony known as the salutation of the holy
kiss concludes the supper. Each brother im
parts a hearty kiss on the bearded lips of his
neighbor at table, and in the same manner
each sister kisses her sister companion sitting
nearest to her. The communion service
which follows consists in the breaking of
unleavened bread and the drinking of unfer-
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mented wine, the whole ceremony being con
cluded by the singing of hymns and preach
ing. This the Bunkers contend is the only
true method of administering the ordinance
of the Last Supper, and also hold that it is
an exact and faithful copy of that ceremony
as celebrated in the earliest Christian Church.
Not less interesting than the foregoing is
the Dunker ordinance of anointing the sick
with oil. The sick one calls upon the elders
of the meeting, and at a settled time the cere
mony is performed. It consists of pouring
oil upon the head of the sick person, and of
laying hands upon and praying over him.

Dunker or Tunker comes from the Ger
man tunker, which means to dip, and
rigid adherence is still given to the doctrine
laid down by Mack, that no soul can hope to
enter the realms of the blest unless the body
has been plunged three times face downward
into the water. Nor is the method ever mod
ified by stress of weather. It is not uncom
mon in the winter to see a party of stalwart
Bunkers chopping through six or eight
inches of ice in order to clear a space in which
to immerse the faithful, who piously pray
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God to " write their names in the Book of
Life," and I shall long remember a Dunker
dipping of which I was a witness on a bitter
January day several years ago. It occurred
at a spring on the farm of a Dunker named
Hostetter, who lives not far from Ephrata.
There was little delay after those who were
expected had arrived, and soon the demure
procession left the farm-house for the spring.
The three men who were about to make pub
lic profession of their faith by dipping in the
icy water wore only their shirts, trousers,
and shoes, and were closely muffled up in
buffalo-robes. The four women — three of
them were buxom maidens and the other a
gray-haired matron — were clad in loose
gowns of some coarse material, and were
also muffled in blankets, shawls, and robes.

When the spring was reached the Dunker
faithful formed a circle on the edge of the
stream and Preacher Amos Holtenstein of
fered a prayer, invoking the Divine blessing
upon the water. Then the preacher, who had
a long stick in his hand, waded into the
water. He felt around with his cane until
he came to what appeared to be a favorable
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spot, when he indicated that he was ready
to receive the first candidate for dipping.
Preacher Jesse Sonan led a young man to
the edge of the brook. His bronzed cheeks
seemed to have a heightened color and a
bright light shone in his eye, but his evident
determination did not prevent the shiver that
passed over him as his legs came in contact
with the cold water, and his teeth chattered
as he returned his replies to the solemn ques
tions of the preacher. The first thing the
latter did was to throw water over the shoul
ders, neck, and that part of the young man's
body not covered by the stream, in order that
no portion should remain untouched. Then
the questions were asked and answered in
Pennsylvania Dutch, and the supreme mo
ment came when Preacher Holtenstein pro
nounced the solemn formula, " In namen der
Dreinichte, Fader, Sohn und Heilichen
Geist." At each mention of the name of the
Deity the preacher plunged the head of the
young man beneath the water face down
ward. Then, while the man knelt in the
water, the preacher prayed that his name
might be written in the Book of Life, a kiss
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upon the cheek concluding the ceremony.
Exactly the same form was observed with
the six other candidates, save that whereas
the preacher kissed the men, he did not kiss
the women.

A singular feature of the occasion was the
seeming insensibility to the cold shown by
Preacher Holtenstein, who though in the
water for upward of an hour appeared to
suffer no discomfort. In answer to a ques
tion, he said reverently that he knew the
Lord gave him strength and upheld those
who were thus baptized in winter weather,
quaintly adding, " I have baptized more than
three hundred in just such weather as this
and not one died." Preacher Holtenstein,
it may be observed in passing, is an admi
rable example of the Dunker minister, who
is chosen from the laity by the members
of the church, he who receives the largest
number of votes being pronounced elected.
These elections are summoned by the elders
of the church, who preside over them and
receive the votes of the people, either viva
voce, in whispers, or by closed ballots. The
successful candidate is expected to support
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himself, — he is usually a prosperous farmer,
— and, as already stated, receives nothing
for his labors as a shepherd to his flock.
Under these conditions, as might be ex
pected, a man loses something of effective
ness in the pulpit, and the Bunker preacher's
sermons are usually expositions of the pecu
liar doctrines of his sect. They seem, how
ever, to be a means of grace to those who
listen to them and to breed an enviable fibre
of endurance.

There have been from time to time more
or less important secessions from the Bunker
Church, and of the strangest, most remark
able of these Ephrata boasts the mute yet elo
quent reminders in a curious pile of buildings
of odd, old-fashioned architecture, which
were once the home and habitat of Conrad
Beissel's singular Order of the Solitary.
Beissel, who learned the trade of weaver
under Peter Becker, the first Bunker
preacher in this country, was a man of intel
ligence and education. Accepting the idea
of primitive Christianity inculcated by the
Bunkers^ he saw no reason why they should
stop short of complete reformation and re-
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turn to the principles of apostolic times in
respect to observing the seventh instead of
the first day of the week as the Sabbath.
Upon this subject he wrote a tract, which
he published in 1728. This created great
disturbance among the Dunkers and led to
numerous withdrawals from the society,
Beissel himself retiring to a cave at the
future site of Ephrata on the banks of the
Cocalico and taking up the life of a recluse.
Here he was joined by many of his old
friends, together with others who, made con
verts by his tracts, settled in the neighbor
hood of his once solitary habitation.

At the end of four years this recluse life
was changed to a monastic one, and in 1735
the first cenobitic building, called Kedar, was
put up in the centre of the village, to which
Beissel, in allusion to the I32d Psalm, had
given the name of Ephrata. It contained
a large room for religious exercise, halls for
love-feasts and feet-washing, and several
cells for solitary brethren and sisters, the
latter occupying the second story. Monastic
names were given to all who entered it, the
prior, Israel Echerlin, taking the name of

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Onesimus, and Beissel, who steadily refused
to accept any position of influence, that of
Friedsam, together with the title of Spiritual
Father of the community. No vows of celi
bacy were exacted or taken, but the idea was
considerably inculcated, while the habit of
the Capuchins, or White Friars, was early
adopted by the members of the new society.
The brothers wore shirt, trousers, and vests,
with a long white gown and cowl, and the
costume of the sisters was the same, with the
exception of a coarse flannel petticoat sub
stituted for the trousers and the addition of
a large veil reaching front and back to the
girdle, and resembling a scapulary. The gar
ments used in winter were of wool, and in
summer of linen and cotton. Both sexes
went barefooted during the warm season.

From time to time other buildings, de
signed to serve religious, residential, or in
dustrial purposes, were added to the Kloster.
In 1738 a large house, called Zion, was
built; another, Peniel, went up in 1741, and
in 1745 Saron, one of the buildings still
standing, was erected as a convent for self-
divorced couples, the men and the women

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living in different parts of the house. The
plan, however, would not work. The letters
of divorce were torn up by mutual consent;
the couples returned to their homesteads, and
Saron was assigned to the sisters. New
quarters being required for the monks, Beth-
ania was built in 1746, with accommodations
for one hundred solitary brethren. The
Kloster, which now included some three
hundred persons, had been from the first a
hive of industry. There were no idlers,
and work was found for all on the farm,
where at first the brethren themselves took
the place of horses and oxen at the plough;
in the mills, at a trade, in the copying-room,
in the printing-office or the bindery. There
was no end of building, and all the labor was
done by members of the society, which thus
made itself independent of the outside world.
Its mills were for many years the most exten
sive in the colony, embracing flour-, paper-,
saw-, and fulling-mills, of which few traces
now remain, while at Ephrata was erected in
1742 one of the first printing-presses set up
in Pennsylvania, on it being printed most of
the books and tracts of the society, which are

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now eagerly sought after by bibliophiles. Its
wealth was for many years the common
stock of the society, the income being de
voted to the common support, and those who
applied for membership being compelled to
surrender all they had, absolutely and with
out reserve. Thus, more than a century
before Proudhon ventured upon the bold
paradox that property is theft, his doctrine
had been taught and practised by Beissel
and his followers.

Not the least singular among the singular
customs of the Kloster were the love-feasts
and the night services. The former were
held now and then at the houses of affiliated
brethren, but most often in the halls of the
convent, sometimes for one sex, at other
times for both. The night services were
held whenever Beissel, or Father Friedsam,
as he was called by his followers, gave the
summons. This he occasionally did without
previous announcement by pulling at a bell-
cord that stretched from his dwelling to the
male and female cloisters, whereupon, no
matter what the hour, all had to dress and
hasten to the meeting-place. Like the Dun-
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kers from whom they had seceded, Beissel
and his adherents regarded the strict and
literal interpretation of the Bible as the only
rule of faith. They administered apostolic
baptism with triune immersion, laying on
hands and praying while the recipient still
knelt in the water, and they celebrated the
Lord's Supper at night, greeting one an
other with a kiss and washing each other's
feet.

Conventual life at Ephrata was of the se
verest kind. The cells wrere only twenty
inches wide and five feet high, and a bench,
with a billet of wood for the head, was the
couch of each inmate, while the corridors
were so narrow that two persons could not
pass, and if a chance meeting occurred, one
had to back to the opening of a cell and stand
in the niche until the other had passed. The
fare of the inmates was fruit and vegetables,
and they ate from wooden plates and drank
from wooden goblets. Beissel, who was an
accomplished musician, composed all the
hymns sung at the gatherings of the society
and trained several female choirs, whose
singing is described by those who heard it as
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being exceptionally sweet and tender. " The
performers," writes one visitor in a letter to
Governor Penn, " sat with their heads re
clined, their countenances solemn and de
jected, their faces pale and emaciated from
their manner of living, the clothing exceed
ing white and quite picturesque, and their
music such as thrilled the very soul. I al
most began to think myself in the world
of spirits." Many of Beissel's manuscript
hymns — he is said to have composed upward
of four hundred airs — are still preserved in
and about Ephrata. Some of them are mar
vels of beauty and artistic penmanship, the
result of months, mayhap years, of toil by
those who copied them, and would be a prize
for the antiquarian, could access be gained
to them.

Tradition has it that the copyist most skil
ful in transcribing Beissel's manuscripts was
Sister Tabea, a Swiss girl of beautiful face
and figure, who before she joined the Society
of the Solitary had been known to the world
as Margaret Thome. There were those who
said that she was of too lively a disposition
to end her days in nun's garb. At any rate,
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when Daniel Scheible began to send her love-
letters she failed to inform those in authority
of this breach of rule, for who ever knew of
a maid displeased with proofs of the affection
of a personable youth ? The parents of Sis
ter Tabea's lover had been Bunkers who had
sought an asylum in America by taking ship
for Philadelphia, agreeing to be sold for a
term of years to pay for the fare. They
died on the passage, and their son was sold
for the rest of his minority to cancel their
unpaid debt. As a promising boy he had
been bought by the Ephrata brotherhood
and bred into the fraternity, where, with the
audacity of youth, he conceived a great pas
sion for Sister Tabea, sending her any num
ber of surreptitious notes, in which he set
forth the golden future within their reach
provided she would marry and go away with
him to Philadelphia, where he was planning,
now that his apprenticeship was about to ex
pire, to seek his fortune.

At first Sister Tabea paid no heed to these
tender missives ; then she sent an answer to
one of them, and in the end, after many fluc
tuations in mind, she promised Scheible to
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forsake the convent for the joys of a home.
The day of the wedding was fixed by means
of the notes which she continued to secretly
exchange with Scheible, and she prepared to
leave Saron and Ephrata for good and all.
But when she went to take leave of Beissel
her resolution failed her. Deep in the in
most recesses of her heart she had all along
loved Brother Friedsam more fondly than
she did all other men, and now bursting into
tears, she declared that she had denied the
Lord, and begged for permission to renew
her vows to the society. This was given
her, and Scheible, after vainly trying to per
suade her to redeem the pledge she had given
to him, took solitary and sorrowful leave of
Ephrata, nor did the little village ever see
him more. The next Saturday, for the sev
enth day was the Ephrata Sabbath, Tabea
took a new, solemn, and irrevocable vow;
and from that hour until the day of her
death she was called Sister Anastasia, — the
name signifying that she had been reestab
lished. What source of consolation she had
her companions never divined, for how
should they guess that alongside her relig-
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ions fervor grew a tender and self -nurtured
human love. And I doubt if Brother Fried-
sam ever suspected the truth.

He died in 1768, and his spiritual leader
ship devolved upon Peter Miller, who for
many years had been prior of the order, and
was a man of great learning and saintly life.
He was, moreover, an ardent patriot, and
during the Revolution won and held the
friendship of many of the leaders, including
Washington. The story of one of Miller's
meetings with the latter demands a place in
this chronicle. One Michael Widman, an
innkeeper of the countryside and a stanch
.member of the Bunker Church, had con
ceived a spiteful feeling against Miller be
cause he had renounced the Dunker creed
to join the Ephrata brotherhood. When
abusive language failed to ruffle Miller's
temper, Widman went so far as to spit in
his face without provoking to anger the
meek and gentle head of the Order of the
Solitary. Time, however, brought an op
portunity for revenge: during the Revolu
tion Widman acted as a spy for the British,
an offence that when he fell into the hands
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of the Americans brought him under a sen
tence of death. News of his impending fate
soon reached Ephrata, and was received with
unanimous approval. Not quite unanimous,
for there was one voice raised on Widman's
behalf, that of Peter Miller, who not content
with mere words set out at once for Valley
Forge, where, aided by General Lee, who in
more peaceful times had been a frequent
visitor at Ephrata, he secured a prompt au
dience with Washington.

Brother Jabez, as Miller was known
among the brethren, begged long and ear
nestly for the life of the innkeeper, but the
patriot commander refused to interfere,
pleading the urgent need for severity in such
cases. " Otherwise," he added, " I would
cheerfully release your friend." " Friend !"
was Miller's astonished reply, " he is my
worst enemy, my unwearied reviler. And
being such, my creed commands me to pray
for those who despitefully use me, and as
such, I pray and beseech you in his behalf."
Washington could not resist this noble
prayer for a bitter enemy. ' The pardon
is granted," runs the chronicle, " and the
II. — 9 129

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prior, with anxious heart lest he should be
too late, fares forth on a second errand of
mercy. After a weary day's journey he
reaches the block-house where Widman is
confined. He finds a hollow square drawn
up before it, a gibbet in the centre, and the
innkeeper, with the rope around his neck,
addressing the crowd. Peter Miller pushes
his way through the throng and hands his
papers to the commanding officer. The cul
prit sees him and his pale face is covered
with blushes. Once more he raises his voice
and tries to excuse his conduct, appealing
to Peter Miller to forgive him now that he
stands on the brink of eternity, but the officer
curtly interrupts him with, ' Your life is
spared, and here is your deliverer.' ' The
colonial records show that Widman did not
escape all punishment, for his property, con
sisting of several farms and houses, was
confiscated and sold in March, 1780.

The inscription on the stone above Miller's
grave in the burial-ground at Ephrata, where
the brethren and sisters lie in long rows
under the soft green turf, tells the visitor
that he " fell asleep September nth, 1796."
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But long before his death the fortunes of
the Order of the Solitary began to decline,
since with each passing year the world's
people trespassed more boldly on the wilder
ness refuge of the brotherhood. Thus, time
came when only a few aged monks and nuns
lingered in the desolate convents, and in
1814, with the consent and at the request
of the few surviving members, the Seventh-
Day Baptists of Ephrata were incorporated
to succeed to the property rights of the dying
fraternity, since which time the land and
buildings of the Solitary have been held in
trust for " religious, charitable, and literary
objects."

In these latter days Ephrata has become a
popular summer resort, but the follower in
the footsteps of Beissel, when he alights in
the quaint old town, will travel in another
direction than that taken by the modern
pleasure-seeker. A half-mile walk from the
railroad station brings one to an old wooden
bridge, spanning the Cocalico, on the farther
side of which a footpath, winding to the left
past an ancient grist-mill, leads to Bethania
and Saron, where once dwelt the monks and
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nuns of Ephrata. Entering Bethania's low
and narrow door, — outside, a high gable
roof, small windows, and shingled walls,
blackened by time and the elements, give the
huge structure a strange and outlandish ap
pearance, — one finds one's self in a dimly
lighted hallway running the entire length
of the building. No sound breaks the still
ness and the place seems wholly deserted.
Tiny cells, bare of furnishing, flank both
sides of the hallway just referred to, and
the upper stories, reached by dark and nar
row stairways, are arranged in much the
same way. Time was, as I have shown,
when Bethania housed many score of soli
tary brethren, but its only occupants at the
present day are a few families of Seventh-
Day Baptists.

Saron, or the Sisters' House, stands at the
other end of a well-kept meadow. In cross
ing to it two small buildings are passed, one
of which was long occupied by Beissel, the
founder of Ephrata and the cloister. Both
of these are now fallen into sad decay.
Saron, the present home of a number of
widows and spinsters, all members of the
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Seventh-Day Baptist Church, in outward
appearance bears a close resemblance to its
mate, Bethania, but its interior has been
greatly altered, probably to meet modern
needs and demands. In one room, devoted
to the purpose, are displayed a number of
rare and beautiful manuscripts and a goodly
collection of the books printed on the famous
press of Ephrata, the specimens of orna
mental penmanship shown clearly evidencing
the skill and adeptness in this field of comely
Anastasia and her pious sisters. After
Bethania and Saron the most interesting
relic of Beissel's society is Saal, which from
Ephrata's infancy until the present time has
been used as a place of worship. Charts
and allegorical pictures, the latter portraying
the life and destiny of the inmates of the
cloister, cover the walls of the main room,
and above its entrance hangs a tablet on
which is inscribed, —

" The house is entered through this door
By peaceful souls that dwell within.
Those that have come will part no more,
For God protects them here from sin,
Their bliss is found in forms of love,
That springs from loving God above."
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The Order of the Solitary had at least one
singular offspring. I have said that that
which was most remarkable at Ephrata
was the music. About the year 1800 it
attracted the attention and evoked the admi
ration of one Peter Lehman, — and thus the
nunnery of Snow Hill had its origin, for,
when, a little later, he became the pastor of
a Seventh-Day Baptist church near Waynes-'
boro, in the southern portion of Franklin
County, Pennsylvania, then a comparative
wilderness, he at once introduced the
Ephrata church music there, and on a farm
belonging to one of his followers laid the
foundations of a religious institution pat
terned after the Order of the Solitary. At
first there were only four inmates of the
Snow Hill nunnery, single men and women,
who agreed to become members, to work for
their board and clothing, and to abide by the
rules of the society. However, others soon
joined the original members, and for many
years the average number of persons living
at the nunnery was fifty. Any Seventh-
Day Baptist in good standing was eligible
to membership in the " Monastical Society
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of Snow Hill" provided he or she was will
ing to come out from the world and be sepa
rate; to give up all worldly goods to the
society and to lead a life of celibacy. The
vows were not necessarily for life, but very
few of those who entered ever returned to
the world. No one having a husband or
wife living was admitted, but widows and
widowers could become members. All new
comers were obliged to serve a novitiate of
one year, after which, if satisfactory, they
were admitted to full membership and re
ceived a new name. Those who desired to
marry or to see more of the world were free
to leave and carry with them everything
they had brought in, but nothing they had
acquired while members of the order.

The brothers at Snow Hill raised stock,
tilled a large farm, and operated a flouring-
mill, while the sisters sowed and spun flax,
wove and made linen and woollen cloth, and
gathered herbs for their own use. The sis
ters who cooked one week made butter the
next, and the millers of one seven days
tended sheep the following half fortnight.
Idleness was not permitted, neither was over-

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

work, and an abundance of wholesome food
robbed the life of the monastics of severity.
The whole society ate their meals in one
dining-room, the male members by them
selves at one long table and the females at
another. Prayers were attended twice a
day, at five o'clock in the morning and at
sunset, the brothers and sisters again sit
ting apart from each other. The observance
of the Seventh Day began with services on
Friday evening, and continued all of Satur
day, but, of course, on the First Day, or
Sunday, ordinary vocations were pursued.
Interspersed with the secular duties at the
nunnery were classes in history, music, and
theology, to the study of which all applied
themselves diligently, under the administra
tion of Peter Lehman, who acted as prior
or father. As was to be expected, its music
was the most attractive feature of the Snow
Hill society, and the singing of its choir,
after years of study and practice, is described
as exceedingly sweet and beautiful. The
evening service of song was held in the small,
low-roofed chapel, indented in the walls of
which are copies in ancient German text of
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the Lord's Prayer and other inscriptions,
now almost obliterated by the ravages of the
years, and travellers often journeyed many
miles to listen to it. Nor did the brothers fail
to carry on an active and successful propa
ganda among the people of the countryside.
Hundreds of converts were baptized in the
brook which runs through the society's farm,
and the affiliated members of the order soon
spread through the surrounding country, be
coming prosperous farmers and artisans, and
building for themselves a church on the nun
nery farm. Annual meetings are still held
in this old building, and to them come from
the adjacent country and from Ohio and
Kentucky the numerous descendants of the
builders, who cling with pious, single-minded
zeal to the faith of their forbears.

The home of the Snow Hill devotees was,
in most respects, a fitting one, a group of
buildings erected at different periods, low
and rambling in appearance, with quaint
dormer-windows and a belfry of antique pat
tern surmounting the roof of the main struc
ture, the interior of which consists of a maze
of rooms through which it is almost im-
i37

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possible for the stranger to find his way.
The original cloister was erected in 1814,
the chapel in 1836, a brothers' house in 1839,
and a sisters' house four years later. Shops
were also erected all over the place, each half
a century ago a hive of industry. Now,
however, all is changed at Snow Hill. The
causes which worked for the decline and
fall of the Order of the Solitary have also
brought about the eclipse of its offspring.
The tokens of ruin and decay are everywhere
apparent about the buildings at Snow Hill,
and for more than three decades the waning
of the fortunes of the society has been rapid
and continuous, old age and disease fast
filling the graveyard in the meadow, while
no new members came to take the places
made vacant by death. The last brother and
sister died several years ago, and Snow Hill,
like Ephrata, now belongs to the past.

138

CHAPTER XII

BETHLEHEM AND AROUND THERE

TIME has wrought many changes, but the
spirit of Zinzendorf still hovers over Beth
lehem and Nazareth, and the Moravians of
to-day remain faithful to the beautiful creed
and the tender and gracious traditions of
their fathers. Bethlehem nestles among the
hills of Pennsylvania's beautiful Lehigh val
ley, and its ancient buildings, elbowed by
snug modern houses, silently recount a
peaceful history, dating back to the time
when, threescore years more than a century
ago, a small Moravian missionary band took
shelter by Lehigh' s stream, and founded
there, amid forest hills and on land bought
from William Penn, a wilderness home.

It was in the early winter of 1740 that the

founders of Bethlehem cut down the first

trees and built the log hut which sheltered

themselves and their animals until the re-

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turn of spring. Previous to that time a
handful of Moravians had settled in Georgia,
but when England began war against Spain
and demanded that the peace-loving Mora
vians should perform military service, they
concluded to remove to Pennsylvania. Count
Zinzendorf, their leader, arrived from Ger
many before the second house in the new
settlement was completed, and celebrated the
Christmas Eve of 1741 with his followers.
The latter had intended to call their new
home Beth Leschem, — house upon the Le-
high, — but towards midnight of the Christ
mas Eve in question Zinzendorf, deeply
moved by the spirit of the occasion, seized
a blazing torch, and marching around the
room, began singing a German hymn :

" Not from Jerusalem, but from Bethlehem, comes that
which benefits my soul. ' '

And thus it was that the infant settlement
came to be called Bethlehem. A very re
markable man was the one who gave the
town its name. The descendants of the fol
lowers of the Protestant reformer and mar
tyr John Huss, the Moravians, driven like
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chaff before the wind, for three centuries
endured persecutions as bitter as they were
unrelenting, but with the birth of Zinzendorf
in 1700 the hour of their deliverance struck.
Descended from an ancient and noble Aus
trian family, Zinzendorf was one of the
truly great men of his time, combining in
signal and rare degree the qualities of the
statesman, the administrator, the poet, the
preacher, and the missionary. Carefully
educated and with a brilliant public career
at his command, when in 1722 a small band
of Moravians, fleeing from Bohemia, found
refuge on his estate at Berthelsdorf, he saw
in their coming the hand of God, and there
after and until his death was the wise leader
and loving protector of the persecuted sect.
Ordained a bishop of the Moravian Church
in 1737, Zinzendorf proved a marvel of un
tiring endeavor, travelling constantly and
preaching and writing almost without ces
sation. His missionary zeal was absorbing
and persistent, and he was never so happy as
when making converts to his faith. Elo
quent, resolute, and forceful, he builded bet
ter than he knew, and before he died his fol-
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lowers had carried their faith to the utter
most parts of the earth.

Nowhere was it planted more firmly than
at Bethlehem. The first settlement in Cen
tral Pennsylvania, then the freest and most
tolerant country in the world, for upward of
a hundred years the little town by the Lehigh
was an exclusive church settlement, offering
a unique example of the union of church and
municipal order and authority. No one was
permitted to engage in business pursuits or
handicrafts within its corporate limits un
less he was a member of the Moravian
Church; and its secularities were adminis
tered by a board of overseers appointed by
the congregation council. Still, the colony
prospered from the first. Thriving mercan
tile and manufacturing enterprises were
speedily set on foot; the settlement soon
contained skilled operatives in almost every
trade that could be mentioned, and during
the Revolutionary period Bethlehem became
one of the most important manufacturing
centres on the continent, its shops and fac
tories rendering invaluable aid to the patriot

cause.

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Moreover, during the first years of its ex
istence the Bethlehem community presented
almost a counterpart of the early Christian
community of Jerusalem, who " had all
things in common." In this missionary
economy the products of the labor of the
entire community were held in common, for
the providing of a livelihood for all, the
members carrying on a general housekeep
ing, in order to secure the necessary support
of the men and women chosen to give up
all their time to missionary labors among
the scattered settlers along the Atlantic coast,
and especially among the Indians of Connec
ticut, New York, and Pennsylvania. Mar
vellous was the success of the Moravian
evangelists among the aborigines. Villages
of Christianized and civilized Indians sprang
up in the heart of the wilderness, and made
it to blossom as the rose with the fruits of
industry and peace. Mysterious seems the
Providence which permitted these Indian
settlements, one by one, to be blotted out
in fire and blood at the murderous hands
of allied white and red foes; and the
tragedies of the two Gnadenhuttens (Tents
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of Grace) — the one in 1755, on the Maho-
ning Creek, in Eastern Pennsylvania; the
other in 1788, on the Muskingum River,
in Northern Ohio — mark pages in earlier
American history as dark as they are in
scrutable.

The " economy" which the church organi
zation of the Moravians devised for the
Bethlehem community lasted only thirty
years, — having served its purpose it was dis
continued, — but until 1844 the town and its
environs remained under the absolute con
trol of the Moravian Church. In the year
named the exclusive system was abandoned
by vote of the church council, — before that
time only those who affirmed allegiance to
the Moravian faith could hold property in
the town, — and since then great changes
have been wrought in Bethlehem. New ele
ments, business and social, have made them
selves felt in the town, which has become
an active business community, but the Mo
ravian Church, strong in the sustaining
power of a heroic and consecrated past, still
dominates Bethlehem, and its schools, edi
fices, and institutions are the most conspicu-
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ous objects to be seen in a walk about the
city.

Such a walk is pretty sure to lead one past
the old Sun Inn, built by the Moravians in
1758, and the shelter in its early days of
Washington, Lafayette, and many other
famous men ; the Moravian Theological Col
lege and Female Seminary, the latter the first
boarding-school for girls established in the
colonies, and the several houses wherein
dwelt respectively the members of the differ
ent choirs or divisions of the congregation.
Thus, the unmarried women lived in what
is still known and used as the Sisters' House,
— the dwelling of the Single Sisters' Choir.
It must not be supposed, however, that these
sisters were nuns and recluses, as their name
and mode of life might at first suggest. On
the contrary, like the members of the Single
Brethren's Choir, they simply occupied a
common dwelling apart from the other
choirs, mingling freely with the rest of the
community in daily intercourse. Even this
primitive manner of living has now been dis
continued, nor are the members of the differ
ent choirs longer distinguished by the slight
II.— 10 145

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differences in dress, as was customary in
bygone years, when the choir to which a
woman belonged was known by the color
of the ribbon in her cap : the Single Sisters
wearing pink, the Married Sisters blue, and
the Widows white, while the young mem
bers of the Great Girls' Choir had their caps
trimmed with red ribbons.

Memory of these neglected customs, how
ever, serves to recall the somewhat rigid
regulations in reference to age and sex which
in old times governed every Moravian com
munity. There was no courtship, and it was
unusual for the bride to have seen her in
tended husband previous to the betrothal.
Both ministers and laymen submitted the
decision of their connubial choice to lot, dis
covering in this now discarded practice
proof of a higher order of Christianity,
in which all things were submitted to the
supreme will and direction. Still, confes
sion must be made that, in cases where the
affections were already placed, the decision
by lot was often evaded. In such cases the
romance of courtship usually led to a sus
pension from the rights and privileges of
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the particular congregation where the in
fringing parties resided. They were asked
to remove without its pale, and were no
longer considered members.

Adjoining the Sisters' House at Bethle
hem and connecting it with the Congregation
House — the abode of the ministers and their
families — is the old Bell House, now occu
pied by members of the congregation, but
formerly serving for the occupation of the
female seminary. On the opposite side of
the street is located the Widows' House, still
occupied by members of the Widows' Choir ;
and close to this group of buildings is a little
chapel, used even to this day for the holding
of German services, and a larger church edi
fice, with odd open-belfry steeple, which
overlooks an ancient cemetery. This Mo
ravian God's Acre is, strange as it may seem,
one of the most cheerful spots in Bethlehem.
The townspeople find it pleasant to sit in,
and in the summer-time women and children
spend entire afternoons there. Nearly three
score of the Indian converts to the Moravian
faith are buried in this field. One of them
is Tschoop, believed to be the father of
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Cooper's Uncas. Tschoop was a Mohican
chief, famed for his bravery and eloquence.
In 1741 Christian Rauch, a Moravian mis
sionary, went to Tschoop's hut and asked
him if he did not want to save his soul.
" We all want to do that," was the chiefs
reply. Rauch explained the Christian re
ligion to him, and prayed and pleaded with
him even with tears, but apparently in vain.
He remained for months near the Indian.
Tschoop was a fierce, gigantic savage, the
terror of the whites, and Rauch was small
in build and mild of temper. The chief at
last professed Christianity, and was baptized
under the name of John. In a letter which
he sent to the Delawares he says, " I have
been a heathen. A preacher came to preach
to me that there is a God. I said, ' Do I
not know that? Go back whence thou
earnest/ Another came and preached that
it was ruin for me to lie and get drunk. I
said, ' Do I not know that ? Am I a fool ?'
Then Christian Rauch came into my hut and
sat down beside me day after day, and told
me of my sins and of Jesus who died to save
me from them. I said, ' I will kill you/
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But he said, ' I trust in Jesus.' So one day,
being weary, he lay down in my hut and fell
asleep. And I said, ' What kind of man is
this little fellow? I might kill him, and
throw him into the woods, and no man would
regard it. Yet there he sleeps, because Jesus
will take care of him. Who is this Jesus?
I, too, will find the man.' '

Succeeding in his quest, the great chief
preached the Christian religion with the
same fiery eloquence which had given him
power among his people, and for many years
went up and down among the tribes in the
Western wilderness. The inscription on the
stone above Tschoop's grave says that he
was " one of the first-fruits of the mission
at Shekomo, and a remarkable instance of
the power of divine grace." Beside the
grave some one has planted a white rose
bush, — the only one among them all on
which a flower grows.

After Bethlehem the most important Mo
ravian villages in America are Nazareth and
Lititz. Nazareth is in Northampton County,
Pennsylvania, not far from Bethlehem, and
is one of the quaintest of New World towns.
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Perched high among the mountains, its old-
fashioned houses, well-shaded streets, and
slow-moving people seem to belong to
another age. The founding of Nazareth
antedated that of Bethlehem. In 1740,
Whitefield, the great field preacher, bought
the land upon which the town stands, de
signing to build in the wilderness of Penn
sylvania an orphanage for colored children.
In the erection of the buildings included
in his project Whitefield had recourse to
the Moravian craftsmen who had lately
fled from Georgia to Pennsylvania. The
preacher and his workmen soon quarrelled
over religious matters, and the former's
funds becoming exhausted about that time,
his landed holdings were purchased by Span-
genberg, the Moravian bishop and, after Zin-
zendorf, the most heroic figure in Moravian
history. Spangenberg at once took up his
residence in the new settlement, which was
given the name of Nazareth, and for many
years directed its affairs with vigor and
wisdom.

The " economy" plan was followed at the
outset, and the Nazareth colony prospered
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from the first. The " economy of Nazareth"
was dissolved in 1764, and seven years later
the present town of Nazareth was laid out.
In August, 1858, it was incorporated into
a borough, but it is still in every particular
a Moravian village, with characteristics not
to be found in any other town of the United
States. Its most famous institution is Naz
areth Hall, a boarding-school for boys.
Erected in 1755, it was originally designed
as a home for Count Zinzendorf, who ex
pected to become a resident of Nazareth, but
the Moravian leader, after his visit in 1741,
never returned to America, and the house
was devoted to other uses. For some years
it was used by Bishop Spangenberg as a
residence, but in October, 1775, was opened
as a boarding-school for boys, and from that
date to this it has been used for educational
purposes, being noted far and wide for the
sound mental and moral training imparted
by its teachers, under whom many of the
makers of Moravian history have begun
their education.

Pleasant and profitable was the life led
by the Nazareth Hall school-boys in the old
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days. In the summer season there were
swimming excursions, eagerly looked for
ward to and keenly enjoyed by all the boys.
In the autumn there were nutting parties,
and in the winter sledding and skating. It
was the custom after the first deep fall of
snow to go out among the neighboring far
mers and engage a convoy of sleighs suffi
cient for the accommodation of the entire
school. The departure was always attended
by the music of bells, the cheers of the
boys, and the shouts of the spectators, and
for a stopping-place some inn was usually
selected wrhere the cooking stood in fair re
pute, and where due notice of the party and
of the hour of its arrival had been sent the
day before. Another pleasurable custom,
now fallen into disuse, was the celebration
with feasting and social intercourse of each
teacher and pupil's birthday. Then as now
life at Nazareth Hall was a charming and
happy one, and " no boy," says one who was
once a pupil, " ever passed a portion of his
youth there without being the wiser and
better for it."

Lititz, the third of the Moravian villages
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I have named, lies in Lancaster County, and
owes its origin to a vision which in 1 742 ap
peared to George Klein, one of the leaders
of a Lutheran colony which had been estab
lished at Warwick, in Lancaster County, not
far from the Bunker village of Ephrata. In
the year just named Count Zinzendorf vis
ited Warwick and preached to its inhabitants.
Klein was the only person in the settlement
who refused to attend the meeting, and was
loud in denunciation of all Lutherans who
were present. That night a vision appeared
to Klein. He saw the Lord face to face,
and received evidence of His displeasure at
the faithful Lutheran's bitterness and de
nunciation of the Moravian disciple and
missionary. Count Zinzendorf proceeded to
Lancaster from Lititz, where he was to
preach in the court-house. George Klein
was so deeply impressed with the vision
which had appeared to him that he followed
the missionary to Lancaster, heard him
preach, and was there and then converted
to the Moravian faith. He became an ar
dent and self-sacrificing worker in his new
field. Through him one of the best Mora-
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vian preachers and instructors the Bethlehem
colony could supply was sent to Warwick,
and in 1744 every German settler there had
been converted to the Moravian doctrine.

In that year George Klein built the first
Moravian place of worship in the settlement,
a portion of which still stands in the lower
part of Lititz village. In that ancient struc
ture, which was built of logs and called St.
James's Church, the Indian missionary,
Christian Rauch, began his career as a
preacher. In 1754, George Klein gave to
the church six hundred acres of land and
erected a stone building two stories high for
a place of worship. In 1787 the present
church was built, but as early as 1760 one
of the buildings that stand near the church
was erected for a sisters' house, and another
quaint structure belonging to the church was
built in 1770. These are now included in
the famous Moravian Female Seminary of
Lititz, known as Linden Hall. It is the old
est young ladies' seminary in the State, its
use as a school dating from 1794. The sim
ple but imposing architecture of these old
buildings stands in striking contrast to the
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ornate style of the Memorial Chapel erected
in 1883 by George W. Dixon, of Bethlehem,
in memory of his daughter Mary, who died
soon after graduation at Linden Hall.

In 1756 the name of Lititz was given to
the new Moravian settlement, the christen
ing being by Count Zinzendorf himself, and
the name that of an ancient town in Bo
hemia, where, in 1456, the persecuted Mo
ravian Church found refuge. Lititz saw
many stirring events during the Revolution.
In 1778 it was converted into a temporary
hospital for the sick and wounded of the
patriot army, and in a field to the east of
the town sleep more than a hundred of
Washington's soldiers who died of camp
fever at that time. However, until 1855,
only professors of the Moravian creed were
permitted to settle in Lititz, and even at the
present time the church is all-powerful in
the conduct of its affairs.

One object of peculiar interest which
peaceful Lititz holds for the visitor is a
solitary grave in the corner of the village
cemetery. A large slab covers it entirely,
and the inscription tells that he who sleeps
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beneath it was born in 1803 and died in 1880.
Between these two dates runs the long story
of an eventful life, for it is the grave of
General John A. Sutter, whose mill-race on
the bank of the Sacramento was the source
of the mighty stream of gold that has flowed
from California. Sutter was always a wan
derer. Born in Baden in 1803, he graduated
from the military school at Berne at the age
of twenty, and enlisted in the Swiss Guard
of the French army, the successors of that
famous band of mercenaries who died so
bravely in the marble halls of Versailles
thirty years before. After seven years'
service he changed his colors and entered
the army of Switzerland, in which he served
until 1834. Then he put off his uniform,
and shortly afterwards came to this coun
try. In 1838, with six companions, he
went across the plains to Oregon, and down
the Columbia River to Vancouver, whence
he sailed to the Sandwich Islands. There
he got an interest in a trading vessel, with
which he sailed to Sitka and the seal islands
towards Behring Strait. Turning south
ward, after some profitable trading, he ar-
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rived at the bay of San Francisco July 2,
1839. The appearance of the country
pleased him and he decided to remain.

Sutter made a settlement some distance
up the Sacramento River, built a grist-mill,
a tannery, and a fort, founded a colony, and
called it New Helvetia. He took a commis
sion as captain in the Mexican service, and
afterwards served as a magistrate under the
same government. He played no active part
in the war against this country, and after the
annexation he was alcalde, Indian commis
sioner, and delegate to the constitutional con
vention of California. In 1848 came the
discovery that enriched the world and im
poverished him. Marshall, a laborer, dig
ging out the race to Sutter's mill, picked up
a rough lump of something yellow, and Sut
ter said at once that it was gold. The mill-
race was never finished. The laborer turned
his pick in another direction and set to work
to dig a fortune for himself. The miller
bought a shovel and went to take toll of the
yellow sand. The stream that was to turn
the mill became suddenly worth more than
any grist that it could grind. The sequel

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is well known. The rushing tide of emi
grants overwhelmed the little colony of Hel
vetia, and wiped out Sutter's imperfect title
to his land.

Sutter made a brave fight and a long one.
He laid claim to thirty-three square leagues
of land, including that on which the cities
of Sacramento and Marysville now stand.
After long delay the Commissioner of Public
Lands allowed the claim, and after more
delay the Supreme Court of the United
States reversed the decision. Then General
Sutter carried his claim before Congress, to
go through the tedious experience of most
people who take claims there. He was still
prosecuting it in 1871, when he happened
to come to Lititz to drink the wholesome
waters of its spring. The quiet of the place
and the peaceful life of its people appealed
to the restless old man, who was beginning
to get tired of his long battle, and he made
his home there " until I get my claim
through," he said. He was at Washington
still getting his claim through when he died,
in 1880, and was brought back to Lititz to
be buried, his Moravian neighbors making
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room for him in the corner of their cemetery.
Grass grows thick about his resting-place,
while overhead, on sunny summer after
noons, rustle the leaves of the lithesome elm ;
and one turns from the quiet spot knowing
that here the time-worn wanderer sleeps
more soundly than ever he did in life, and
that with the dead all is well.

The creed of the Moravians has ever been
a brief and simple one. They accept the
Holy Scripture as the Word of God, the only
authoritative rule of religious faith and prac
tice. ''' The great theme of our preaching,"
says one of their writers, " is Jesus Christ,
in whom we have the grace of the Son,
the law of the Father, and the communion
of the Holy Ghost. The word of the cross,
which bears testimony to Christ's voluntary
offering of himself to suffer and to die, and
of the rich treasure of divine grace thus
purchased is the beginning, middle, and end
of our preaching."

The Moravians eschew dogmatizing and

avoid controversy. Quiet earnestness and

cheerful piety mark their daily life wherever

found, and even death itself is met by them

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with sweet and cheerful resignation. When
one of their number dies, the fact is an
nounced by four trumpeters, who mount to
the church tower, and, one standing at each
corner, facing north, south, east, and west,
play a solemn dirge. Immediately after
death the body is taken from the home and
is placed in the dead-house, which is a small
stone building in the rear of the church.
There it is kept three days. On the third
day the body is brought from the dead-house
to the lawn nearby, where the coffin is cov
ered with a white pall, on which is embroi
dered in blue silk, " Jesus, my Redeemer,
Liveth." The dead person is never referred
to as being dead, but as having " gone
home." After an ordinary funeral service
over the coffin the procession starts for the
cemetery, which is but a few rods in the rear
of the church. The procession moves in the
following order : Children lead the line,
moving two by two, with their teachers.
A brass band, with soft instruments, follows,
playing solemn music, which is always that
of some hymn expressive of a hope of eternal
life and a glorious resurrection. Then come
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the clergy, the bier, and the relatives, who
are followed, if the dead person is a brother
in the church, by the brethren, and if a sister,
by the sisters of the church. The coffin is
lowered in the grave while hymns are sung,
and the procession returns in the same order
to the church. Here coffee and buns are
served, and over this simple repast the
friends discuss the good qualities of the
departed spirit. The Moravian idea of
death is an easy transition from this to the
better world, and they only allude after the
services to the bright future on the sunny
side of the life which has ended only to be
renewed in a more beautiful world. There
fore they wear white rather than black at
all funerals.

Music, as I have just inferred, plays a
leading part in the social and religious life
of the Moravians. A love of melody is in
herent in them, and in the old days at Beth
lehem concerts were regularly given by an
orchestra of amateur musicians, aided by
the voices of the Sisters' Choir, all of whose
members receive a careful vocal training.
The most charming of them all was that on
II.— ii 161

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the anniversary of Whit-Monday. This en
tertainment was called the Musical Festival,
and lasted the whole day, during which, in
addition to a well-selected programme, an
oratorio was usually presented. Again, in
the Moravian village of Nazareth the citi
zens were wont in other years to assemble in
the evenings and rehearse many of the sym
phonies of Haydn and other composers. A
favorite at these gatherings was the " Fare
well," signalized by the successive disap
pearance of the lights. One performer after
another, each as he closed his part, blew out
his taper, the music meanwhile growing
fainter and falling gradually to a pensive
andante, until the last survivor of the gay
symphony was left alone, seeming, as the
notes of his violin died away and he
quenched his own taper, to close the scene
and drop the curtain on some fine dramatic
act.

The most characteristic of all music
among the Moravians is that of the trom
bone, played mostly in the open air, — on
the belfry, in the graveyard, or at the church
door. Here the Moravian hymn is drawn
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out with wonderful expression, and I have
never heard music more weirdly beautiful
than is evoked from these pensive wind in
struments by Moravian players on Easter
morning, added reason for this being found,
perhaps, in the statement that among this
devout people the anniversary of Christ's
resurrection is the most reverently cher
ished, the most impressively observed of
all church days.

Let me describe the Moravian celebration
of Easter as it is to be witnessed each re
turning spring in the little village of Salem,
North Carolina. Throughout the entire
year this queen of the festivals is antici
pated with sober pleasure by the elders, and
creates visions of happiness in the minds
of the young people of the secluded South
ern hamlet. Even the observance of Christ
mas pales before the splendors of a Moravian
Easter at old Salem, a fact which may in
part be attributed to the balmy weather,
which usually favors the Easter period, and
helps Moravian maidens to ornament their
house of God with the fresh sweet flowers
and foliage of the early spring. These
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floral decorations are artistic in conception
and arrangement, and so profuse that the
church interior becomes a veritable firma
ment of evergreens and flowers.

In addition to the products of forest and
garden many rare exotics are imported for the
occasion or grown within the greenhouses of
the town. Festoons of cedar, ivy, and holly
hang in ornate curves from oaken rafters,
and gracefully converge towards the gar
nished chandeliers, whose crystal pendants
sparkle with the play of every prismatic
color. The galleries are embowered, and
the tones of the great organ seem almost
muffled amid so lavish an orniture of fra
grant exotics. The pulpit -and the rostrum
are also generously decorated; the fresco
on the wall behind is concealed by elaborate
decorations, and in the centre, deftly fash
ioned with white hyacinths and roses, shine
forth in large letters the words, " Christ is
Risen."

The celebration begins on Palm-Sunday,
when liturgical services are held, accom
panied by a sermon appropriate to the com
memoration of Christ's entry into Jerusa-
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lem, the exercises presenting a foretaste of
the musical feast yet to come. During the
Passion Week (between Palm-Sunday and
Easter) a number of interesting services are
held both morning and evening, and attract
a very general attendance. Of these the
most solemn and impressive take place on
Good-Friday. The following day (Satur
day) is called "the Great Sabbath/' on
which the Love-Feast, in imitation of the
apostolical agapae, is celebrated. This ob
servance is one of the most original and
distinctive features of the Moravian Church,
and every member of the congregation is
present, save the sick and infirm, even the
mothers carrying babes being assigned seats
in the room adjoining the main auditorium,
where prattle and cries may not disturb the
services. The specially distinctive feature
of this day's worship is the novel service of
coffee and sweetened bread. To the air
already laden with the scent of flowers is
added the delightful aroma of the best Java,
distilled in huge urns in the basement below.
At the proper moment as fixed by the pro
gramme, the doors facing each aisle on either
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side of the pulpit are thrown open, and
through them file two processions, one of
men and one of women, all bearing huge
wooden trays containing cakes of sweetened
bread. The women, who wear dainty white
aprons and snowy mull caps, pass down the
right aisle and serve each female member
of the congregation with cake; while the
men, dressed in conventional black, wait
similarly upon their own sex seated on the
opposite side of the church. When all are
served with sweetened bread, the waiters
pass out and return with their trays full of
huge porcelain mugs of hot, steaming coffee ;
these are likewise served the congregation,
who, led by the choir, sing through the whole
distribution. The choir pauses when the
bread and coffee have been passed around;
and the minister arises, makes a few re
marks, and finally, after asking the bless
ing of God upon the service, breaks the
bread and begins to eat. This is a signal
to the congregation to do likewise, after
which the choir continues the anthem, which
the minister reads out stanza by stanza. The
cups and remnants of bread later on are
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borne out by the same waiters, and after
more singing, interspersed by words from
the preacher, the congregation rises to re
ceive the benediction, and departs amid so
norous peals from the organ.

To the visitor at Salem during the Easter
festivities the early morning services on Sun
day in the graveyard are the most solemn
and impressive of the entire week. Long
before the faint streaks of dawn are seen
in the eastern horizon the church band as
cends to the belfry in the steeple, high above
the roofs of the tallest houses, and there in
the deepest darkness that precedes the dawn
the sweet, solemn music of a Moravian hymn
floats out from the trombones upon the cool,
quiet air of early morning, — soft and low at
first, each succeeding note swelling in vol
ume, evoking countless echoes that are
wafted back from distant vale and hill-side
until all the air seems filled with the sweet,
joyous strains announcing " Christ is
risen."

Soon lights here and there indicate the
awakening of the households, increasing in
number until no dwelling can be seen with-
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out a gleaming casement. All is activity
within each home, and sounds of merry
voices and ripples of youthful laughter are
heard on every side.

Already people are on the streets wending
their way to the church, before whose mas
sive doors the congregation is quickly as
sembling. The old clock in the steeple peals
forth the hour of five ; the pastor comes out
from the church and pauses upon the broad
stone steps beneath the light of a gas-jet.
He reads a litany and a hymn, — which is
sung by the multitude, with whose voices
sound the clear, mellow notes of the cornets.
A procession is formed in twos, and, with
the band at its head playing a sacred hymn,
marches slowly past the church into an ave
nue lined on either side with majestic cedars
a century old, and then proceeds to the
burial-ground.

Strangely impressive, almost weird, is this
early morning pilgrimage to the city of the
dead. The sombre shadows of the night
are beginning to disappear, as in long line
delicately defined silhouettes wend their
way. At regular intervals, on either side
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of the white gravelled walk, sentinel-like,
stand venerable mossy cedars, and the brac
ing air is sweet with the perfume of the
first flowers of spring. Clearly and slowly
the band plays its measured march, while
echoing footfalls keep perfect time to the
cadence of the plaintive yet joyous melody.
Arriving at the cemetery the band ceases
playing, and with head bared the man of
God reads in slow and solemn tones the
Easter morning litany. Silence, solemn and
profound, broods over the gathered throng,
seeming to stay the breathing of the thou
sand souls whose faith sheds a radiance of
sanctity and heavenly grandeur upon their
humble and devout expectancy, as on this
balmy morning of the early spring they await,
in spiritual communion with their departed
loved ones, the Resurrection hour. Above
the hill the dawn appears, awaking into life
the sleeping earth, while darkling clouds,
born of the night, flee the presence of coming
day. Then from the voices of the assem
bled host there bursts a melody of joyous
song, and, mingling with the full, resound
ing strains of trumpets and trombones, arises
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in glad hosannas to the splendent sky, where
now shines the sun, — God's symbol of the
resurrected life; and earth and heaven peal
forth in glad accord, " The Lord is risen !
Hallelujah, praise the Lord !"

After this the throng of participants and
spectators disperse, but later in the morning,
and again in the evening, sermons appro
priate to the day are preached, the one deliv
ered at night concluding the formal cere
monies of the Moravian Easter. The music
during these services is grander, if possible,
than that which accompanies any of the other
exercises of Passion Week, and partakes of
a more joyous nature.

Though the forms are different the same
deeply reverential spirit animates and colors
the Moravian celebration of Christmas,
which at Bethlehem and in the other Mora
vian villages of this country on Christmas
Eve is solemnly ushered in with a service of
song and praise, held in the church appro
priately decorated for the occasion, and
usually opened with St. Luke's poetic chron
icle of the Nativity : "And there were in the
same country shepherds abiding in the field
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keeping watch over their flocks by night.
And lo! the angel of the Lord came upon
them, and the glory of the Lord shone round
about them: and they were sore afraid.
And the angel said unto them, Fear not;
for, behold, I bring you good tidings of
great joy, which shall be to all people. For
unto you is born this day in the city of
David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord."
After this simple recital there is a short
discourse and a service of song, followed
by a love-feast, consisting of cakes and
coffee, which are distributed among all pres
ent, the congregation and guests often num
bering at Bethlehem between one and two
thousand souls. During this collation a
portion of Beethoven's mass is performed,
and the German words are sung. Simul
taneous with the singing large trays of
lighted tapers are brought in and distributed
among the children, this as a prelude to the
most moving feature of and a dramatic close
to the services, for as the singing proceeds
the tapers are extinguished in gradual suc
cession; the mugs are gathered up and car
ried away; the music wanes slowly into
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silence, and the last tones of the organ fall
gently upon the ears of the hushed and rever
ent multitude as its members emerge into
the starry December night. Once more a
king and Saviour has been born to men!

172

CHAPTER XIII

THREE GROUPS OF GERMAN MYSTICS

IT is a roundabout journey, though one
well worth the making, from Economy by
way of Zoar to Amana, the three religio-
communistic societies which German mysti
cism has given to America. Economy, old
est of the three, was founded by George
Rapp, a Wiirtemberg vine-planter, who,
despite the depressing surroundings of his
earlier years, was in many respects a remark
able personality. Rapp while still a young
man became an ardent student of the history
of primitive Christianity, and a teacher of
much the same doctrines expounded in recent
years by Count Leo Tolstoi, save that with
the former the speedy second coming of
Christ became an absorbing, passionate con
viction.

Rapp's followers gradually increased until
they numbered three hundred families, sim
ple, credulous souls, who, readily accepting
i73

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the mysticism of their leader, were given the
name of Pietists and made objects of de
risive hostility on the part of the regular
clergy. In fact, so galling and vexatious
did the persecutions to which they were sub
jected become that they at last decided to
seek in America the freedom of conscience
and worship denied them in the land of their
birth, and to build there a home where they
could peacefully await the great change
which they believed to be at hand. Six hun
dred of them, having made the long ocean
voyage in safety, purchased five thousand
acres of land and built a town at Butler,
Pennsylvania, and on February 15, 1805,
with Rapp as their leader, formally organ
ized the Harmony Society. Its founders
believing that the community of goods prac
tised by the first Christians was not one of
the temporary phases of a new religious
movement, but rather a fundamental prin
ciple intended to endure eternally, made it
the basis of their organization ; and all, fol
lowing Rapp's example, threw their posses
sions into a common stock, and agreed in the
future to share all things in common.
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The little colony remained in Butler ten
years, when, in 1815, it removed to Posey
County, Indiana, where it purchased twenty-
five thousand acres of land. But before this
fresh migration a radical change had taken
place in the government of the society. In
1807, as the result of a great religious awak
ening and the growing conviction that the
marriage state did not tend to perfect purity
of life and heart, celibacy was made one of
the articles of faith and an indispensable
requisite to admission to the society. As in
the matter of community of goods, so in
the new departure Rapp and his son set an
example for the others by cheerfully putting
away their wives. Husband and wife were
not required to live in different houses, but
occupied as before the same dwelling with
their family, having separate sleeping apart
ments, the husband's in the upper story and
the wife's in the lower, and treating each
other as brother and sister in Christ. Both in
Butler and Indiana the Harmonists, who, de
spite their singular creed, were frugal, indus
trious, and shrewd, Rapp himself being a man
of signal foresight and executive ability,
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prospered greatly, but the malarial climate
of Indiana proved fatal to so many of them
that in 1825 they returned to Pennsylvania,
and, purchasing thirty-five thousand acres
of land, built the town of Economy. Here
their long wanderings ended, and here, at
the source of the Ohio, their scrupulous self-
denial and wise division of labor caused their
wealth to increase like magic. The silks,
blankets, broadcloths, flannels, and whiskey
made at Economy — deserted mills and fac
tories show what a hive of industry the town
once was — became famous, while their great
farms, not a foot of which is even now per
mitted to lie idle, yielded abundant harvests,
the membership of the society increasing in
the mean time to over one thousand souls,
to every one of whom the word of Father
Rapp was law.

But in 1831 dissensions arose which for
a time threatened the existence of the so
ciety; and the story of their origin and
final settlement forms, perhaps, the strangest
chapter in the history of Economy. From
the first Rapp's policy was one of exclusion,
and he sought by every means at his com-
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mand to prevent intercourse between his
followers and the outer world. Members
of the society were not allowed to learn
English or to have communication with those
who spoke it, and could not walk outside the
lands of the society unless their business re
quired it. Thus Rapp raised a wall around
his followers over which they might not
pass, and held them docile and content
within the magic enclosure, and to-day the
stranger who visits Economy meets native
Americans of threescore-and-ten to whom
the language of the country, wherein their
long lives have been spent, is wholly un
known. Only once did Rapp depart from
this policy of exclusion, and then, as I have
hinted, the result was disastrous.

In 1820 one Bernard Miller startled the
citizens of Frankfort-on-the-Main by claim
ing that he had received a commission from
God to announce the speedy reappearance
of His Son; and in circulars spread broad
cast over Europe he called upon the devout
of life and thought to assemble in one place
to await the second coming of the Redeemer,
soon gathering about him a small band of
II. — 12 177

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enthusiasts, who looked upon him as their
leader and gave him the name of Count
de Leon. In due time a letter from Miller
came to Rapp, in which the writer expressed
his conviction that America had been selected
as the future home of the chosen of God,
where they were to watch for the coming of
His Son, and announced his desire, with his
adherents, to join the Harmonists at Econ
omy. This they were cordially invited to
do, and in the winter of 1831 Miller and
forty of his followers, all males, arrived and
were received with the highest honors.
Rapp, however, soon discovered that he and
his people had little in common with the
new leader, whose luxurious tastes were in
striking contrast with the severe self-denial
practised by the Harmonists, and he accord
ingly ordered Miller and his companions to
at once leave Economy.

Afterwards consent was given for them to
remain until spring, and this clemency was
ungratefully employed by Miller to incite
a revolt against the rule of Rapp and the
practice of celibacy, succeeding so well that
two hundred and fifty Harmonists finally
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signed a declaration proclaiming him the
leader of the society. The great majority,
however, remained faithful to Rapp, and
peace was in the end secured by a covenant
in which the malcontents in consideration
of the sum of one hundred thousand dollars
agreed to leave Economy and relinquish all
claim upon the society. The seceders with
the money paid them purchased eight hun
dred acres of land, and under Miller's lead
ership founded the New Philadelphia So
ciety at what is now Phillipsburg, Pennsyl
vania. The rules of the new were identical
with those of the old, save in the matter of
marriage, but Miller's prodigality soon ex
hausted its means and credit, and the se
ceders, convinced of the folly into which he
had led them, compelled him to withdraw.
Tired of his role of religious enthusiast,
Miller, with his forty original followers,
embarked for the Southwest, filled with vis
ions of conquest even more daring than had
animated Aaron Burr a score of years be
fore, but died of cholera at Alexandria,
Louisiana.

Rid of the malcontents, the parent society
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continued on in the even tenor of its way,
with Rapp at its head until his death in
1847 at the a§"e °f ninety. From first to
last the attitude of the Harmonist chief
towards his followers was that of a mild
and kindly despot. His word was law, and
" Father Rapp says it" sufficed to settle all
questions of duty, sacred or secular, and
to quiet controversy. The official advisers,
provided by the written rules of the society,
were uniformly treated as figure-heads at
the council-board, and quickly degenerated
into useful police for the enforcement of
distasteful measures. Never, however, if
the enforcement of celibacy is excepted, did
Rapp abuse the irresponsible authority he
had arrogated to himself. Instead, he ex
ercised it with singular fidelity to the well-
being of the society, until the close of what,
in the main, was an unselfish and saintly
life. Nor did he ever lose faith in the speedy
second coming of Christ. Economy's soli
tary night-watchman was required to call
out hourly, as he patrolled his beat, "A day
is past, and a step made nearer the end:
our time runs away, but the joys of the
180

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kingdom will be our reward," while for
many years everything was kept in readiness
which the society would have needed for the
journey to the Holy Land. Even the wax
ing and waning of the prophetic year of
1836, long singled out for the Redeemer's
return in glory to the world, did not shake
Rapp's belief in the chiliastic promises, and
when the society during the winter of 1845
was blest with a notable religious revival,
its venerable chief, discerning in the event
a sure prognostic of the longed-for era,
buckled himself to the work of preparation
for the saintly march to Jerusalem with all
the enthusiasm of youth.

Two years later Rapp was laid on his
death-bed, and then last of all the Harmon
ists was the old prophet of the society to
recognize his impending end. Taken by sur
prise, even the cold touch of the angel of
death did not break the beatific spell of half
a century, and one of the watchers at his
bedside through the last night of his life
put on record this description of the final
scene : " Father Rapp's strong faith in the
literal fulfilment of the promises concerning
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the personal coming of Jesus Christ, and the
gathering of the whole of Israel, remained
unshaken until the end, as was shown by his
last words, for when he felt the grip of the
strong hand of approaching death, he said,
' If I did not so fully believe that the Lord
has designed me to place our society before
His presence in the land of Canaan I would
consider this my last/ ' Rapp died on the
7th of August, 1847. On the day of his
funeral — burials at Economy are severe in
their simplicity, the remains of the dead
being wrapped only in a winding-sheet and
a few words spoken beside the open grave —
his followers went from the orchard, where
sleep the Harmonist dead, to the town-hall,
and decided in the future to have two leaders
instead of one. With remarkable unanimity
R. L. Baker and Jacob Henrici, who had
long been Rapp's most trusted lieutenants,
were chosen as his successors. Baker died
in 1868, but Henrici remained at the head of
the society, hale in body and active in mind,
until his death in 1892 at the age of eighty-
nine. The senior trustee and present head
of the Harmonists is John S. Duss, a young
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man of forty, who before his admission to
the society was a school-teacher at Econ
omy.

The wealth of the Harmonists has been
wisely invested and is now enormous. With
it the Pittsburg and Lake Erie Railroad was
built and controlled by the society until its
holdings were sold some years ago at a large
increase over the original investment. The
society also owns a large portion of the town
of Beaver, Pennsylvania, and immense tracts
of land in the Dakotas. The prohibition
of marriage; the refusal, save at rare inter
vals, to admit new members, and the gradual
thinning of the ranks by death, have de
creased the membership of the society, until
now less than forty remain. Many of this
little band are over eighty, and nearly all
of them are verging on threescore years and
ten. Until her death a few years ago the one
most honored among them was Rapp's
granddaughter, Gertrude, a beautiful, white-
haired old woman, who in her girlhood was
a splendid singer, and who for more than
sixty years furnished the music for the Sun
day gatherings. Her house remains as she
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left it, and is a cabinet of things rare and
curious, pictures and musical instruments
brought from Germany and quaintly blown
and painted vases more than a century old.

Life at Economy is puritanical in its regu
larity and severity. Over four hundred men
and women are employed by the society and
compelled to give strict observance to its
rules, which forbid smoking, whiskey-drink
ing, and courting within the limits of the
town. Males and females live apart and
are never permitted to mingle even at work,
but so considerate is the treatment they re
ceive that few of them leave except to marry.
At five o'clock in the morning every one
breakfasts; at six o'clock work commences
— the duties of the day being announced by
the milkman as he goes his rounds — and con
tinues until ten o'clock, when lunch is served.
From twelve to one o'clock is the dinner
hour. There is another luncheon at three
o'clock and supper at six o'clock. At nine
o'clock the bell rings and all must retire.
Everything is in common. Grocer, butcher,
baker, and milkman visit each house daily,
and even the washing is done at the common
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laundry. Nothing can be bought with
money at Economy, and only members of
the society handle that article. However,
the generosity of the Harmonists is pro
verbial, and they are kindness itself to the
poor people about them. Many orphan chil
dren have been reared, educated, and started
in life by them, and no unfortunate is ever
turned from the town unfed. There is a
room at the inn, which, with the store, post-
office, town-hall, and church, stands in the
centre of the village, especially reserved for
tramps, who are kindly cared for overnight,
and given a little money when they start
on their way in the morning, while other
visitors, and curiosity brings many of them,
are always sure of a cordial welcome.

No longer able to work, this little band
of aged men and women now devote them
selves to good works and to those sweet
religious meditations which have so long
been their consolation and their hope. Twice
on every Sunday they gather at the church,
with its high-backed, uncushioned pews, and
listen to Elder Duss standing in the place of
Rapp and Henrici. He speaks briefly and
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without preparation, but always with elo
quence and force. No excuse is accepted
for absence from the church, and should one
of the members chance to nod during the
services, he is called to sit upon the stool of
punishment, a solitary bench in the centre
of the church, until the meeting is dismissed.
Many of the ancient customs of the father
land are still observed in Economy. Their
Wiirtemberg ancestors used to celebrate the
completion of the annual harvest with feasts
and merrymaking, and on the I9th of Au
gust of each year the Harmonists observe in
fitting manner this beautiful custom of their
fathers. Weeks before the day preparations
are making for the feast. Wine half a cen
tury old is brought from its cobwebbed rest
ing-place, and the choicest calves and beeves
are fattened, killed, and roasted. The day's
exercises are opened by the playing of the
band maintained by the society among its
workmen, and at half-past nine o'clock there
are services in the church. When all the
others have taken their places, the members
of the society enter with the trustees and
elders at their head. After they are seated
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there is singing, in which the congregation
joins, and a discourse by Elder Duss, fol
lowed by more music. Finally, at eleven
o'clock, comes the feast. Headed by the
band, the society and its employes, with
those who are fortunate enough to be guests,
march to the town-hall, where the feasting,
speech-making, and singing are continued
for hours. In the evening they again as
semble, and another sumptuous spread, inter
spersed with music, brings the day to a
close.

Besides the harvest-home there are two
other great annual feasts at Economy. One
of these occurs on the I5th of February, and
is designed to fittingly celebrate the founda
tion of the society in 1805 ; the other is the
celebration of the Lord's Supper in the clos
ing days of October, for the Harmonists
partake of the sacrament but once a year,
holding that to do so oftener is a violation
of the Saviour's wish and will. Music plays
an important part in their celebration of the
,sacrament, as in all their social and religious
observances. On the morning of the sacra
mental day the town is awakened at sunrise
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RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

by the band playing in the portico of the
church. Marching to breakfast still play
ing, the musicians have no sooner finished
their meal than they are on the street again
and giving brave attention to their instru
ments. From house to house they go,
arousing the inmates and summoning them
to church, where all are required to assemble
and listen to a sermon from the head of the
society. After the preaching comes the ob
servance of the sacrament. This does not
take place in the church, but in the town-
hall, only members of the' society being
permitted to communicate or even to be
present. There is an elaborate feast prior
to receiving the sacred elements, and in the
character and preparation of the viands for
this repast effort is made to imitate as closely
as possible those partaken by Christ and His
disciples when they ate the Passover for the
last time. Unleavened bread and a large
dish of a peculiar kind of soup are placed
in the centre of the table, and used by the
Harmonists to perform the singular cere
mony which they term " dipping the sop."
At a given signal all dip into the soup a
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piece of bread, thus converting it into a sop ;
this in memory of the Saviour's words when
asked who should betray Him, — " He that
dippeth his hand with me in the dish, the
same shall betray me." Dipping the sop is
performed with the utmost solemnity by the
Harmonists, who regard it as an humble
confession that they have betrayed Christ
many times by their sins against Him.
After this ceremony the bread is broken and
the cup prepared by Elder Duss, who blesses
both, and all partake in silence. Then, one
by one, they pass from the hall, and the cele
bration of the sacrament is finished.

What with its quiet, grass-grown streets,
its weather-beaten, many-gabled houses, and
its carefully tended gardens, Economy has
been termed by an acute observer " a fine
Rhenish village left behind intact from the
eighteenth century." One is tempted to ap
ply the same description to Zoar, the home
of the Separatists, fourscore miles to the
west of the Economy ; nor is the resemblance
an accidental one, for the Separatists came
from the same part of Germany as the Har
monists, and like them suffered voluntary
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exile for their religious belief. The found
ers of both communities belonged to the
working class, Rapp, the head of the Har
monists, being a vine-planter, and Joseph
Baumeler, the leader of the Separatists, a
weaver. The latter was endowed, however,
with an original and inquiring mind and
exceptional earnestness of purpose. While
still a young man he became an ardent stu
dent of the writings of Boehme and other
mystics, finally extracting from them a new
religious creed, not unlike that framed by
Rapp a few years before. Like Rapp also,
Baumeler proved a zealous propagandist,
and those who shared his belief, drawn
mainly from the peasant class, soon num
bered several hundred.

Nor did they escape the bitter persecution
which had formerly been the lot of the Har
monists. For some ten years they bore the
burdens of flogging, fines, and imprisonment
in uncomplaining silence. Then their suf
ferings attracted the attention of a number
of wealthy English Quakers, who, in 1817,
furnished money to pay their passage to the
United States, at the same time contributing
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a handsome additional sum to assist them
after their arrival. The Zoarites, to the
number of two hundred men, women, and
children, landed at Philadelphia in August
of the year named. Aided by their Quaker
friends, they at once purchased several thou
sand acres of land in the Tuscarawas valley
in Ohio and laid the foundations of the town
of Zoar, the remaining members of the sect
joining them in the spring of 1818. At first
an essay in communism was not thought of,
but it soon became clear that success could
only be achieved by associated effort, and
two years after the arrival at Zoar articles
of agreement for a community of goods were
executed and signed, each signer throwing
his belongings into the common lot, and
vowing to do the same with any property of
which he might thereafter become possessed,
while at the same time Baumeler was for
mally installed as the spiritual and temporal
head of the society.

Frugal and industrious, the Separatists
from the first prospered under the communal
system. Nearly every handicraft was rep
resented among the original members of the
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society, and the various shops erected at
once attracted the patronage of the farmers
of the countryside and became a source of
profit. This, with their careful farming and
successful cattle-raising, enabled them in a
few years to pay for their lands and erect
roomy and comfortable buildings. They
own at the present time seven thousand acres
of land, covered in part by orchards and
vineyards, besides thousands of head of the
finest cattle and sheep. Zoar has also its
tin, tailor, and shoe shops, its own saddlery,
brewery, carpenter and cabinet shops, and
its own woollen-, flour-, planing-, and saw
mills. One of the most interesting places
to visit is the cow barn at milking-time. The
society keeps about one hundred cows, which
are driven to pasture in the morning, and at
sunset may be seen ambling contentedly
homeward to the musical clink of many-
toned cow-bells. Upon reaching the large
barn the herd separates, each division enter
ing its own door, and each cow finding and
occupying her own stall and knowing her
own name. The young girls then come out
in numbers, and to each is deputed the milk-
192

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ing of three or four cows. The little chil
dren sometimes bring tin cups, and each
receives as much milk as he or she can
drink.

Life at Zoar is very plain and simple.
Each dwelling-house accommodates several
families, but each family lives alone. A
member is allowed a certain number of
gowns or suits per year, and groceries and
provisions of all sorts are obtained in the
same way, an ample allowance for each fam
ily being dealt out on application. Some of
the girls and older women earn a small
amount of money by knitting thread laces,
which they sell to visitors at the hotel,
erected some years ago by the society for
the reception of summer guests, and thus
secure a little spending money of their own,
but with this exception no member handles
money, all profits from the harvests and
workshops being deposited in the society
treasury. In the long days of summer every
one arises at daylight and labors until six
o'clock at night, the women at seed-time and
harvest working beside the men in the field.
In the winter season work is continued in
II.— 13 193

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the shops and factories until eight o'clock in
the evening, these long hours, however,
being lightened by breakfast, dinner, and
supper, and a morning and afternoon lunch.
On summer nights the men practise in the
village band, or smoke and quaff their beer
in a tiny public garden filled with masses
of blooming flowers and clumps of well-
trimmed shrubs, while the women visit from
one vine-covered cottage to another, and the
children play upon the common in front of
the church. On Sunday there are three re
ligious services. At the morning service one
of Baumeler's discourses — he died at a ripe
old age after having directed the affairs of
the society for a quarter of a century — is
read by one of the older members ; the after
noon meeting is devoted to the children, and
the evening gathering to song and praise.
No services are held during the week.

The history of the Separatists, similar in
other respects, offers a marked contrast to
that of the Harmonists in the matter of
celibacy, for while the older society accepted
it only as a second thought, the Separatists
at first made it one of the conditions of
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membership, only to give it up in after-years.
Celibacy was one of the fundamental doc
trines of Baumeler's curious creed. He be
lieved that God created Adam both a male
and female, or, as he expressed it, "Adam
was a masculine maiden possessing both the
male and female elements of generation."
The separation of the female element from
Adam by the creation of Eve he regarded as
the result of some sin on Adam's part, and
for that reason he warmly condemned the
marital state as impure and unholy. But
with all his mysticism Baumeler was re
freshingly practical, and when in 1832
cholera decimated the ranks of the Separa
tists and threatened their society with ex
tinction, he gave his followers permission to
marry, and himself set the example by taking
a wife. Of the children since born and
reared within the confines of the society,
about one-half have remained faithful to the
creed and customs of their fathers. Still, the
Separatist Society now has but one hundred
and ten active members, and this number
is said to be annually decreasing, for the
railway when it came to Zoar a dozen years
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or more ago brought the spirit of unrest
in its train, and with the broader vista thus
opened before them many of the villagers
have tired of the whilom monotony of their
lives and sought individual preferment in
other fields. As a result the community of
the Separatists is steadily dwindling away,
and in a few years at most their peaceful
haven will have become a part of the greater
world about it.

But if the days of Economy and Zoar are
numbered, the Society of the Inspirationists
at Amana, Iowa, appears, on the other hand,
to still have before it many years of pros
perity and growing membership. The
Amana community owns some forty thou
sand acres of rich bottom-lands along the
Iowa River, a short hour's ride by rail from
Cedar Rapids, and its picturesque villages —
there are seven of them — crown the low
slopes at two or three miles' distance from
each other. These groups of houses are of
wood and unpainted, the Amana people
claiming that it is cheaper to re-side a house
occasionally than to paint it, and the gray-
black walls, with their display of vines, set
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down in quaint geometrical gardens, have
a charm as distinctive and restful as it is
difficult to describe.

Each village of the Inspirationists sug
gests a bit of the fatherland transplanted in
bulk to the Middle West, and with reason,
for the sect sprang from a little band of
people who, some eighty-odd years ago, used
to gather at the house of Christian Metz, a
carpenter of Strasburg. Converts to the
mystical teachings of Boehme and Kock,
they called themselves Inspirationists, and
professed to hold direct and personal com
munication with God, who, they avowed,
made chosen ones among their number His
mouth-piece when He desired to speak to
His children. Christian Metz was one of
these inspired instruments; another was
Barbara Heinemann, in many respects the
most remarkable person ever connected with
the society, and it was due mainly to their
influence that the Inspirationists formed
their first settlement in America in 1843.
Metz and three other members of the society,
sent over to select a situation, bought several
thousand acres of land near Buffalo, New
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York, calling their first village Eben-Ezer,
this with reference, doubtless, to the stone
set up by Samuel as a memorial of divine
assistance. In due time two other villages,
called Upper and Lower Eben-Ezer, were
laid out, and the end of a decade saw more
than one thousand Inspirationists prosper
ously settled in their new abiding-place.
Community of goods was not thought of at
first, but the difficulty the craftsmen among
the Inspirationists experienced in finding em
ployment in a newly-settled country, com
bined with other causes, soon made it evident
that only by associated effort could the best
results be obtained, and so, about 1847, tneY
were " commanded" to hold all things in
common and labor together for the common
good. Five years later came another " in
spired command" for them to move west
ward, — more land was needed by the com
munity but could not be had at a reasonable
price near Buffalo, — and, in obedience to the
dictates of the Spirit, the site for a new
home was purchased in Iowa. That was in
the summer of 1855, and before winter came
the first village had been laid out and built.
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In choosing a name for it the colonists again
went to the Bible and selected Amana, the
name of the hill described by Solomon ; nor,
as other villages were built, did they depart
from the original name, but instead devised
constant variations of it, as Old Amana,
High Amana, South, North, East, West,
and Middle Amana.

The wise policy, begun at Eben-Ezer
and continued at Amana, of dividing the
colony into separate villages has had much
to do with the success of the society, which
now numbers about eighteen hundred mem
bers. It contributes to the quiet and sim
plicity sought after by the Inspirationists,
and at the same time lends greater variety
to the communal life than would be the
case were there but a single large settle
ment. The distance from the most easterly
to the most westerly village is six miles,
but excellent roads and telephone lines ren
der communication easy. The young people
in winter skate from one hamlet to another
on the canal, dug to carry water to the sev
eral villages and protect them from the dan
ger of drought, or walk across the fields in
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RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

summer. When there is harvesting to be
done, the great creaking wagons of a pat
tern peculiar to Amana carry their loads of
workers, of all ages and both sexes, out in
the morning and back at night, zest being al
ways given to the day's labors by the possi
bility of working in the next field to the
force from some other village, and the
chance of the mid-day luncheon being taken
under the trees together.

Farming is, of course, the chief industry
of the Inspirationists, but — and herein lies
another secret of their success — they also
conduct woollen-mills, grist-mills, calico
print-mills, hominy-mills, soap-factories, and
book-binderies, while each village has its
own saw-mill, machine-shop, and store.
They own many thousand head of sheep, but
as they make three thousand or four thou
sand yards of woollen goods daily, they buy
raw wool in large quantities. They also
have their own chemists, doctors, and
schools, the last named meriting a passing
paragraph.

As soon as a child born in the community
is five years old he or she is sent to school.
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In the summer seven o'clock is the hour for
being on hand, and this is changed to eight
o'clock in winter. Until mid-day the little
folk sit there on their hard benches going
over their lessons, and now and then going
over the benches instead when they happen
to fall asleep. The boys sit on one side of
the room and the girls on the other, the for
mer round and rosy and very tight as to
their little German trousers; the latter also
round and rosy and looking exceeding quaint
in the black crocheted hoods which they seem
never to take off. After dinner they all go
to school again, but this time to an industrial
one, where they are set to work knitting the
thumbs of the great Amana mittens, which
are famed through all the country round.
When the small girls reach the age of seven
or eight years they are advanced to the main
body, so to speak, of the mitten, the boys
being meanwhile put through an apprentice
ship at various trades. German is the lan
guage of the colony and the one used in the
schools, although English is taught in the
higher classes. Here again the managers
have shown their sagacity if not their loy-

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

alty to their native country, 'for the use of
a language other than that of the people
about them is clearly a strong tie among the
members.

At the head of " The Community of True
Inspiration," as the society is officially
known, and exercising supervision over its
affairs is a board of thirteen trustees, chosen
once a year by ballot. Control of the spir
itual and temporal affairs of each village is
vested in a board of elders, whose members,
selected with great care by the central board
of trustees, meet every morning to confer
together, select the foremen for the different
industries, and assign the tasks of the indi
vidual members, effort always being made
to give the laborer the employment that will
be most congenial to him. Record of the
affairs of each village is kept by a system
of accounting which, although elaborate, is
a model of clearness and accuracy, showing
at a glance what the village has produced
and consumed, what it has sold to other vil
lages or to outsiders, what it has bought,
and just what its profits or losses have been.
The general accounts of the colony are bal-

202

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anced once a year, when the profits and losses
of the whole society are equalized. It should
be added, however, that no village bears
alone the losses it may have sustained, these
being shared by the whole body.

The Inspirationists never handle money
save in their dealings with outsiders. Once a
year the elders grant each family or adult
member of the society credit corresponding
to their wants at the village store, against
which they are permitted to make purchases.
If a member does not spend all of his or her
annual allowance, the balance is added to
the next year's credit or can be given away.
Each village has its own laundry, bakery,
butcher-shop, and butter and cheese factory,
and wagons from these places make their
daily round as they do in cities. Meals are
taken in what are called " the kitchens,"
where the males and females eat at separate
tables. There are sixteen of these in Amana
proper, with its five hundred and fifty in
habitants, and the food furnished at the five
daily meals is good and abundant. Each
family has its own house, with a plot of
ground around it, and the satisfaction of
203

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

the members with their state of life is in
dicated by the fact that, although all that
can be made from this ground may be re
tained as private income, it is devoted in
almost every instance to the culture of
flowers. Indeed, the quiet, regular, peace
ful life of comfort and plenty led at Amana
has so strong an attraction for the young
people raised there that few leave when they
reach maturity, and those who do so, as a
rule, return in a short time. New members,
however, are admitted with the greatest care,
and only after a long and searching novi
tiate, the managers wisely preferring to build
slowly but surely out of the material which
they can themselves mould and temper and
adjust.

Besides the doctrine of " direct inspira
tion" already referred to, the tenets of the
Inspirationist creed include justification by
faith, the resurrection of the dead, and final
judgment. Meetings are held several times
a week, the services usually consisting of
prayer, singing, readings from the Bible, and
brief exhortations. Christmas, New Year's,
and Easter are observed as seasons of special
204

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solemnity, and once a year there is careful
examination into the spiritual condition of
all the members. Such are the Inspiration-
ists of Amana. In their daily life sober,
temperate, and without envy; in their deal
ings with their fellows kindly, charitable,
and just; in their morals singularly pure
and blameless, and in intelligence above the
average, who would deny them all the con
tentment and happiness that are theirs?

205

CHAPTER XIV
THROUGH WASHINGTON'S COUNTRY

IT is an easy pilgrimage, and one well
worth the making, from the city which bears
his name to the three places which above all
others are associated with the life and pres
ence of Washington, — Fredericksburg, scene
of his youthful exploits and burial-place of
his mother ; Mount Vernon, his residence in
maturer years ; and quiet grass-grown Alex
andria, which knew him as burgher, citizen,
and neighbor.

Fredericksburg, which borrowed its name
from one of the sons of George L, has now
become doubly historic from the great bat
tle fought there in December, 1862, but its
charm for the visitor still abides in its cher
ished relics of Washington and his mother.
These include the old house within the cor
porate limits of the town in which both lived
and in which she died; the tomb above her
grave; the site, on the farther shore of the
206

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Rappahannock, of the house in which he
first lived after his removal from his native
Westmoreland, and the fields about wherein
were enacted the boyish exploits recorded
in the praiseful but not always veracious
chronicles of Parson Weems.

Both of Washington's grandfathers came
from England in 1657 and made new homes
in the same section of Virginia. Augustine,
first of the Washingtons born in America,
chose for his second wife — by his first he
had two sons, Lawrence and Augustine —
Mary Ball, a girl of fortune and excellent
birth, who became, in due time, the mother
of George Washington, the first of a family
of six children. When George was five
years old his father removed from West
moreland to a plantation which he owned
on the bank of the Rappahannock, opposite
Fredericksburg. The house in which Wash
ington lived with his parents was torn down
threescore years ago, and its site, on the top
of a hill, perhaps a hundred yards from the
river, is now covered by a frame cottage of
modest size. Directly below lies the ferry
where Washington when he was ten years
207

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old, according to Weems, — although this,
like many another of the parson's stories,
must be taken with a grain of allowance, —
threw a stone across the Rappahannock.
Fredericksburg folk, it may be added, scout
the tale, and even at the present time, with
the river sadly shrunken from its former
width and depth, the feat described by
Weems would be a difficult one for a man of
mature years and strength.

Augustine Washington died in 1743, and
his widow remained faithful to his memory
until her death, nearly fifty years later.
Moreover, she reared her children wisely,
and one by one saw them prosperously set
tled in life. With the coming of the Revo
lution and when he was about to set out for
the Continental Congress in Philadelphia,
Washington, with loving regard for the com
fort and safety of the aging woman, induced
his mother to leave her country home and
remove to Fredericksburg, nor did he rest
content until he had seen her settled in her
new quarters. The house Mary Washing
ton selected as her home still stands in
Charles Street, but not in its original form.
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One end has been altered and the roof
raised to give a full second story, changes
which have nearly destroyed its former
quaintness of aspect.

Fredericksburg saw nothing of Washing
ton during the seven critical, troubled years
that followed Lexington and Bunker Hill,
but when, shortly after the surrender of
Cornwallis at Yorktown, the patriot captain,
attended by an imposing suite of French
and American officers, started upon what
quickly became a triumphal progress to Phil
adelphia, he stopped on the way to visit the
mother who awaited his coming with serene
and quiet joy. The meeting took place on
the nth of November, 1781. Washington,
" in the midst of his numerous and brilliant
suite," I quote from the quaint account of
the event given by George Washington
Parke Custis, " sent to apprise his mother
of his arrival, and to know when it would
be her pleasure to receive him. Alone and
on foot the general-in-chief of the combined
armies of France and America, the deliverer
of his country, the hero of the hour, re
paired to pay his humble tribute of duty to
II. — 14 209

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her whom he venerated as the author of his
being." The first warm embrace of greet
ing over, she drew slowly back, and looking
with loving earnestness into his face, said,
very softly, " You are growing old, George ;
care and toil have been making marks in
your face since I saw you last."

She, too, had grown old in the intervening
years, but when she appeared that night at
the ball given by the citizens of Fredericks-
burg in honor of the victors, leaning on the
arm of her son, her noble bearing and the
quiet dignity with which she received the
addresses of those who came to do her honor
prompted Lafayette to remark that he had
seen the only Roman matron who was living
in his day.

Memory of another meeting between
Washington and his mother, last and ten-
derest of all, comes to mind as one stands
before the quiet house in Charles Street.
It was in April, 1789, that he came to bid
her farewell before leaving for New York
to enter upon his duties as first President of
the Republic. He found her weak and worn
in body and already stricken with the hand
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of death. When he told her that as soon
as his public duties would permit he should
return to her, she gently interrupted him,
saying that they should meet no more, but
that he must go to fill the high place destiny
had assigned him. And so they parted, the
strong man sobbing like a child as he left
her presence for the last time. Four months
later she had ceased to live. Washington
was at dinner with Baron Steuben and other
friends when word came to him that his
mother was dead. " My uncle," writes his
nephew, who was present, " immediately re
tired to his room, and remained there for
some time alone."

It is a pleasant ride from Fredericksburg
to Mount Vernon and takes one along wind
ing country roads often traversed by Wash
ington. In 1741 his half-brother Lawrence
served with Admiral Vernon in the disas
trous campaign against Carthagena in South
America. The following year he returned
to Virginia, and was about to sail for Eng
land to enter the regular navy when beautiful
Anne Fairfax captured his affections, and
the spirit of war yielded to the gentler argu-
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ment of love. They were married in the
midsummer of 1748. The death of the
elder Washington a few months before had
made the young husband owner and master
of an estate extending for miles down the
Potomac below Alexandria, and Lawrence
Washington built for his bride a plain but
substantial mansion on the most command
ing river outlook, giving it the name of
Mount Vernon, in honor of the admiral with
whom he had served in the West Indies.

A swift fever made an end of Lawrence
Washington in 1752, and his estate passed
to his daughter. She soon followed her
father to the grave, and by the terms of the
original bequest young George Washington,
who from the first had been a frequent and
much-loved visitor at the mansion, became
the master of Mount Vernon and its wide-
reaching acres. From his father he had
already inherited large landed holdings on
the Rappahannock ; his new acquisition
made him one of the wealthiest planters of
the Old Dominion. Coincident with his
taking possession of Mount Vernon he be
gan his labors in the service of the colony,

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first as a surveyor exploring and laying down
the bounds of great estates, and then in the
military service for the extension of colonial
authority and British empire on the Ohio.
In the five or six years which followed he
rose to a high place on the roll of sagacious
military commanders, and the fame of his
martial exploits reached the uttermost limits
of the colonies.

Frequent absences, however, did not pre
vent Washington from exercising close and
prudent watch over the affairs of his estate,
or from prosecuting those affairs of the heart
which lend a piquant interest to his career,
for the young master of Mount Vernon, like
most strong men, was all his life a lover of
women, and before he was eighteen had
already suffered the pangs of unrequited
love. He speaks in letters written at this
time of his passion for the " Lowland
Beauty," and to the same period may also
be assigned two love poems, one an acrostic
to " Frances," no doubt some fair maid of
Alexandria, and the other a sonnet, interest
ing only because it shows the depressed state
of mind into which its author was thrown
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by his affairs of the heart. When he was
nineteen he courted and was refused by
pretty Betsy Fauntleroy, and a little later
there grew up in his heart the master passion
of his life, — his love for Sally Gary, wife of
his friend George William Fairfax and sister-
in-law of his half-brother, Lawrence Wash
ington. Sally Gary was already married
when Washington first met her, yet this did
not prevent him from cherishing a regard for
her that for a time threatened to assume
" sovereign control" of his ardent nature.
His letters are proof that the love he had
felt for other amiable women was as water
unto wine beside this hopeless attachment
for his beautiful neighbor, but fortunately,
thanks to time, to the lady's subsequent ab
sence in England with her husband, and,
above all, because, Washington being a man
of honor and resolute will, the feeling was
gradually subdued by him, and his marriage
with Mrs. Custis happily ended the episode.
It was in April, 1759, three months after
her marriage to Washington, that Martha
Custis became the mistress of Mount Ver-
non. Daughter of Colonel John Dandridge,
214

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a belle of the colonial court at fifteen, wife
of Colonel Daniel Parke Custis at seventeen,
and a widow with two children at twenty-
four, Washington met her for the first
time while on a military errand to the old
Scotch governor, Dinwiddie, at the colonial
capital. Their marriage gave him absolute
control of one-third of the Custis patrimony,
one of the largest fortunes in America. The
remainder of the estate came into his hands
as guardian.

Washington at this time was in the early
flush of his magnificent physical manhood.
Straight as an Indian, with limbs cast almost
in a giant's mould, his self-contained coun
tenance, agreeable speech, and dignified bear
ing made his personality most impressive.
Probably half of his time at home was spent
in the saddle, and this active out-of-door life
gave him a glow of health and sense of
vigor. Never more at home than on horse
back, fox-hunting was his favorite sport,
and in his diary for January and February,
1768, it is recorded that he followed the
hounds sixteen days and shot on five. Now
and then his boldness brought him to grief,
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but these mischances failed to deter him.
At fifty-five he wrote that he was still fond
of the chase, which he occasionally indulged
in until near his death.

For fifteen years George and Martha
Washington enjoyed life at Mount Vernon,
he serving in the House of Burgesses and
managing his vast estates, she taking com
plete charge of the domestic economy of the
household, and both joining in the exercise
of a hospitality as gracious as it was open-
handed, unceasing and lavish. The master
of Mount Vernon played a forceful part
in the events which led up to the Congress
of 1774 and finally to the war for independ
ence ; and in those trying times his wife sup
ported him with words of approbation and
encouragement, writing to a relative, " My
mind is made up. My heart is in the cause.
George is right. He is always right."

The second Continental Congress met, and
Washington was a delegate. Lexington and
Concord had fired the heart of the colonies,
and the Continental army was organized in
June, 1775, with Washington as its com-
mander-in-chief. He wrote to his wife at
216

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Mount Vernon giving directions about the
management of his estate, enclosed his will,
which " he hoped would be satisfactory,"
and at once set out from Philadelphia to take
command of the Continental forces at Bos
ton. Mount Vernon saw him only twice
during the following eight years, and then
in the line of military duty, but each winter
Mrs. Washington joined her husband at
head-quarters to assist in raising the heavy
spirits of officers and men and to minister
to the sick and suffering.

It was in September, 1781, that Washing
ton suddenly arrived at Mount Vernon, his
first visit since 1775, on his way to take
command of the forces at Yorktown. But
a single night was his stay, and he moved on
to close the war in the South and to put an
end to the last hope of Great Britain's re
covery of her lost colonies. Cornwallis
having surrendered at Yorktown, Washing
ton spent a week at Mount Vernon, and then,
accompanied by his wife, left for the North
to resume command of the army in the
vicinity of New York, to put the finishing
touches to the war and to give Congress the
217

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benefit of his counsel. In November, 1783,
Mrs. Washington returned to Mount Ver-
non, after an absence of two years. The
British hauled down the royal standard of
King George and evacuated New York.
Washington having taken leave of his sor
rowing veterans, repaired to Annapolis,
where Mrs. Washington joined him to wit
ness the most heroic act of his noble career,
— the return of his commission and a con
quered nationality to Congress. The same
day, December 23, as plain Mr. and Mrs.
Washington, they left for Mount Vernon,
where they arrived amid the greatest joy
of the neighbors on the Christmas Eve of

1783-

The world-wide fame of Washington now
made Mount Vernon the shrine of the great
men of America and of visiting foreigners
of rank and renown. The original mansion
quickly proved too small to accommodate
the throng of visitors and guests, and in 1785
it was enlarged by the addition of two wings,
composing the banquet-hall and the library
and the piazza overlooking the river. The
detached structures for the farm and domes-
218

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

tic offices, the lawn, arboretum, conservato
ries, and flower- and kitchen-gardens were
also constructed or laid out, giving the man
sion and immediate surroundings their pres
ent appearance.

Of the Fairfaxes, Washington's constant
comrades in other days, only Bryan was now
left in America, and that good man was
getting on in years and making up his mind
to take priestly orders. Of Washington's
other neighbors, the most important one still
living within easy reach of Mount Vernon
was George Mason, of Gunston Hall, a pa
triot of the finest type, the author of that
noble paper " The Virginia Bill of Rights,"
and who in the intervals of useful labor in
the Continental Congress returned to his
home on the Potomac. To this old manor-
house of the Masons, built in 1739 and still
standing, although no longer in the posses
sion of the descendants of its first owners,
the Washington family was wont at this
period to resort for tea-drinking and dinner,
visits certain to be returned in kind before
the month was out.

Agriculture, after soldiering, was always
219

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

Washington's chief delight. To its pursuit
he now returned with zest whetted by years
of absence from home, and good reason had
Brissot de Warville, the French traveller
and author, who became chief of the Giron
dists and died by the guillotine in 1793, to
cry out in astonishment at the general's suc
cess in farming, when, during his visit to
America, he went the rounds of Mount Ver-
non in the autumn of 1788. The estates
were then at the highest pitch of improve
ment they ever attained, crops of wheat,
tobacco, corn, barley, and buckwheat " bur
dening the ground." What excited the
Frenchman's chief surprise was that every
barn and cabin, grove and clearing, field
and orchard, passed daily beneath the watch
ful eye of the master. All the busy life of
the negro world was regulated by his per
sonal directions to overseers and bailiff. No
item was too insignificant to bring before
his notice, and the minutest contract for
work agreed upon was put into writing.
How odd, for example, the agreement with
Philip Baxter, the gardener, found, duly
signed and witnessed, among Washington's

220

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papers, wherein Philip binds himself to keep
sober for a year, and to fulfil his duties on
the place, if allowed four dollars at Christ
mas, with which to be drunk four days and
four nights ; two dollars at Easter, to effect
the same purpose; two dollars at Whitsun
tide, to be drunk for two days; a dram in
the morning, and a drink of grog at dinner,
at noon."

In barnyards, kennels, and stables there
is continual interest on the part of their mas
ter. He makes experiments in breeding
mules with the jacks sent him by the King
of Spain, and thanks Gouverneur Morris for
a couple of Chinese pigs, forwarded from
Morrisania, along with a pair of Chinese
geese. Washington's care of horses is too
well known to need mention here, but one
ceremony of his daily round of his farms,
a ceremony, in season, never omitted by the
general, deserves to be recalled. It was to
lean over the fence around the field wherein
a tall old sorrel horse, with white face and
legs, was grazing luxuriously in the richest
grass and clover Mount Vernon could af
ford. At the sight of him the old steed

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would prick up his ears and run neighing
to arch his neck beneath his master's hand.
This was Nelson, the war-horse upon whose
back, at Yorktown, Washington had received
the surrender of Cornwallis. The war
ended, Nelson's work was over. Turned
out to graze in summer, in winter carefully
groomed and stabled, he lived to a good old
age, but by his master's strict command was
never again allowed to feel the burden of a
saddle.

Thus three years passed in quiet and re
tirement. But they were neither years of
leisure nor of rest. The cares of state were
thrust upon the privacy of the home life at
Mount Vernon. Washington held the lead
ing-strings of the infant republic. The
weakness of the Articles of Confederation
were apparent to him, and it was in his con
stant thought to devise some form of strong
centralized national governmental authority
and administration. He was in communica
tion with the patriots in all parts of the
States, hanging together and defaulting in
their duty and obligations under the free and
easy system of 1777, and it was on the ve-

222

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randa or in the library of Mount Vernon
that the preliminary steps were arranged
which led to the overthrow of the system of
the Confederation and the substitution of the
national system in 1787.

It was on a sunny day in April, 1 789, that
Charles Thomson, secretary of the Conti
nental Congress, arrived at Mount Vernon
with the official notification of Washington's
election to the Presidency. Reluctant to
leave the congenial pursuits and surround
ings of Mount Vernon, he nevertheless re
sponded once more to his country's call, and
on April 16, 1789, left for New York, the
journey being one constant succession of
ovations. He inaugurated the new govern
ment, and soon after was followed by Mrs.
Washington, who established the social in
stitutions decided upon for the executive
office and surroundings. During the years
of his Presidency Washington occasionally
visited Mount Vernon, passing a short time
there during the adjournments of Congress.
He also took an active part in the establish
ment of the site and laying the foundations
of the capital, which bears his name and lies
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almost in sight of his beloved Mount Ver-
non.

Washington's second term as President
closed in March, 1797, and he at once re
turned to Mount Vernon. He was now
sixty-five years of age, laden with honors,
surrounded by the confidence of his fellow-
citizens, and in the possession of perfect
health. The care of his estate gave him his
greatest pleasure during his remaining years,
but his regard for the public weal never
weakened, and here and there in the diaries
and private correspondence of the period one
finds proofs of this, which afford at the same
time intimate glimpses of the personality of
the masterful man whose career was now
near its close. Let one of these find a place
in this chronicle. After Adams had been
chosen President, and the outcry against the
Alien and Sedition laws became so loud as
to arouse Washington's apprehension that
the Republicans might carry the country to
the other extreme and the work of disinte
gration be commenced, he sent a message to
Richmond with a note to John Marshall,
afterwards chief -justice, saying he wished
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him to come to Mount Vernon for a week's
visit. Marshall, who was an ardent Feder
alist, got ready, and in a few days reached
Mount Vernon, where he was received with
great cordiality.

After dinner, when all the other company
had retired to the sitting-room, Washington
detained Marshall, and soon told him why
he had sent for him. " I am uneasy, Major
Marshall/' said he, " at the rapid growth of
these democratic societies and alarmed at the
tendency towards the disintegration of our
present system. The press is attacking all
who wish to maintain the Federal govern
ment in its integrity and strength with great
violence, and I fear the result of the ap
proaching elections. We need our strongest
and most patriotic men in Congress, and I
want you to return to Richmond and an
nounce yourself as a candidate."

Marshall made answer that it was im
possible ; that he was a poor man, dependent
upon his practice at the bar, and that the
pecuniary sacrifice would be more than he
could bear in his present straitened circum
stances. Washington argued with him, and
11—15 225

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soon got wrought into a violent passion.
No patriot, he declared, would refuse to
serve his country in such an emergency; he
had been making personal sacrifices for the
public all his life, and no one deserving the
name of a man would refuse such a call.

Marshall, in describing the occurrence,
said he had never received such a torrent
of abuse in his life. He thought at one
time Washington would jump on him from
across the table. He retired that night, but
could not sleep. The insults given him
seemed to blister his brain. After rolling
and tossing for a time, he concluded he
would get up early in the morning, slip out,
get his horse, and start home before break
fast. Morning at last came, and as soon as
he could see well he dressed. Fearing to
awake Washington, he took his boots in his
hand and started down the stairway in his
stocking feet; but to his horror he met
Washington in the hall.

" Where are you going, Major Marshall ?"
asked the old general.

" I was going out, sir/'

" It is too early for you to rise, sir. Re-
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RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

turn to your room, and I will have you called
when breakfast is ready."

Marshall returned to his room, as he said,
" to await further orders."

At breakfast Washington was very polite
to him. Afterwards he informed Marshall
that the horses were ready and that they
would ride over the plantation. They rode,
returning at three o'clock to dinner. No al
lusion was made to the row of the previous
night. The result of it all was that Mar
shall stayed the week out, returned to Rich
mond, ran for Congress, was elected, and
took every post that the general wanted him
to take. Yet Washington's biographers
merely tell us that Marshall was " per
suaded by him to enter Congress !"

Once only did Washington leave Mount
Vernon after the close of his second term
as President. The French monarchy had
been overthrown and the Directory were
startling the world with horrors. Because
the American government would not sanc
tion their butcheries and help shield them
from the accumulated vengeance of man
kind they warred upon our commerce, im-
227

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

prisoned our citizens, and insulted our com
missioners. War seemed inevitable, and
Washington was again summoned from his
resting-place to resume his arms and defend
his country. It must have been a sight to
see the old lion once more summoning his
brindled sons to battle. His old veterans
rallied around him at the sound of his voice,
ready to follow their general, to repeat their
old hardships, and brave their old dangers.
But war was averted, and Washington re
tired to Mount Vernon — to die.

Two years later his brave wife followed
him to the grave. After her death the
Mount Vernon estate passed to Bushrod
Washington, a nephew of the general. In
1829 it became the property of John Augus
tine Washington, a nephew of Bushrod. In
1832, Mrs. Jane Washington, his widow,
was mistress of the estate. At her death in
1855 her son, John Augustine Washington,
became possessor.

Neglect, indifference, and shiftless man
agement now witnessed this once baronial
estate going to decay. But some forty
years ago the women of the United States
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came to the rescue of the home and tomb of
Washington, and the Mount Vernon La
dies' Association was incorporated, the man
sion and two hundred acres passing into its
hands for the sum of two hundred thousand
dollars.

The present ownership and administration
secure the mansion from unnecessary rav
ages of time and spoliation and vandalism of
unworthy visitors. Each room in the main
building having been assigned to a State,
the lady regent of the State intrusted with
its care supervising its restoration, pres
ervation, and appropriate furnishing. In
this way the rooms have been brought back
in the style of the life of Washington and
fitted up either with furniture used by Wash
ington or of his times. The largest room,
usually called the banquet-hall or state
dining-room, is now known as the New York
Room. Rembrandt Peak's "Washington
before Yorktown" hangs on the west side
of the room. It was given by the artist's
heirs to the Mount Vernon Association.
Washington is on horseback, and with him
are Lafayette, Hamilton, King, Lincoln, and
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Rochambeau. The picture is framed in the
wood of a tree that grew on the farm of
Robert Morris. The military equipments
used by Washington in the Braddock cam
paign are shown in a glass case. The only
interesting thing in the New York Room,
not a Washington relic, is an old British
flag that belonged to General Grant. It is
red silk, and so very old that it is quite in
tatters, and to preserve it the Regents have
had it mounted on plush and framed.

The Washington family dining-room is
now the South Carolina Room. The side
board in this room is a veritable relic, used
by Washington and his wife at Mount Ver-
non. It was presented by the wife of Gen
eral Robert E. Lee, who wished it to go back
in its original place.

Perhaps the most interesting relics in the
house are those in the sleeping-chambers.
" Lafayette's Room" has still the original
four-poster, with heavy tester and hangings,
and the desk and dressing-table, which served
the marquis on his visits to the Washington
family. The room of Nellie Custis has in
it a quaint and beautiful chair which came
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over with Lord Baltimore, and the mirror
at which she made her toilet and the steps
by which she climbed into her lofty, cur
tained bed are still in their old places. In
another room is a curious candlestick of
Mrs. Washington's, an upright rod support
ing a sliding cross-beam, in each end of
which is a brass candlestick, the base of
which, a tripod, rests upon the floor. How
ever, the interest of the whole house centres
in the room where Washington died, and in
which the years have wrought no change.
The bed in which he breathed his last holds
its old place, and beside it is the light-stand,
on which are the rings left by his medicine-
glasses, unchanged since that day. The
secretary at which he wrote, the hair-covered
trunk in which he carried his possessions,
the surveyor's tripod he had used, the cloak
he threw about his shoulders when he went
over the farm, the leathern chair in which he
sat, are all there ; and standing in that room
one comes closer to the living presence of
Washington than in any other place on
earth.

A delightful sail takes the visitor from
231

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Mount Vernon to Alexandria, the quiet
riverside hamlet which knew Washington
as townsman and neighbor. Man and town
came into active life together, for it was
while Washington was passing from child
hood into youth at Mount Vernon that the
hamlet of Belhaven grew into the shire town
of Alexandria.

Young George rode into town almost daily
when at Mount Vernon, and when, his days
as a surveyor ended, he was commissioned
major in the colonial militia and appointed
adjutant of the frontier district, he estab
lished his head-quarters at Alexandria, from
this centre organizing the militia of the bor
der counties, selecting drill-masters for the
officers, attending and regulating musters,
and thus slowly yet surely developing that
command of detail and talent for organiza
tion which five-and-twenty years later trans
formed on Boston Heights a crude militia
into a Continental army. From Alexandria,
in April, 1754, a little army of one hundred
and fifty men, with Washington at their
head, marched off into the wilderness, with
their faces turned towards the Ohio River.
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In August the remnant came back from the
campaign. They had been forced to sur
render to the French at Fort Necessity, but
had marched out with the honors of war.
They went into camp at Alexandria, await
ing orders, and it was at this time an in
cident occurred which in its sequel proved
that Washington had already not only
learned how to command men, but had
become master of himself as well.

A bitter and exciting contest was in prog
ress for the election of a member for the
House of Burgesses. The contestants were
Colonel George Fairfax and Mr. Elzey.
Washington was a zealous supporter of his
friend Fairfax, and in a dispute with a Mr.
Payne, who was a small man, but stout
hearted and brave, he grossly insulted Payne,
who promptly knocked him down with a
hickory stick. He was stunned, and recov
ered consciousness just in time to prevent
serious bloodshed. Several of his subordi
nate officers being present, they were about
to demolish the Payne party, when he
checked his angry comrades. Within a
short time the regiment received news in
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their camp that their colonel had been
knocked down. On they came with a rush
into the towrn; but a few words from their
commander, assuring them he was not hurt
and that he had provoked the punishment
he got, induced them to return to their
quarters. The next day he sent for Payne,
who came expecting serious results, but
Washington offered his hand.

"Mr. Payne," said he, "I find I was
wrong yesterday, but I wish to be right to
day. You have had some satisfaction; and
if you think that sufficient, here is my hand.
Let us be friends."

Years after the same Mr. Payne had oc
casion to visit Mount Vernon. " As I drew
near," said he, in narrating the incident,
" I felt a rising fear lest he should call to
mind the blow I had given him in former
days," but Washington met him cordially at
the door, led him to the presence of Mrs.
Washington, and introduced him. "Here,
my dear," said he, " here is the little man
you have so often heard me talk of, and
who, on a difference between us one day,
had the resolution to knock me down, big
234

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

as I am. I know you will honor him as he
deserves, for I assure you Mr. Payne has
the heart of a true Virginian."

It was at Alexandria that, in 1755, Brad-
dock, with Washington as aide-de-camp,
made ready for his disastrous Western cam
paign, the half-built town becoming for the
time the centre of British authority in Amer
ica. Braddock left Alexandria on April 20 ;
on July 9 he fell, and Washington, filling the
mountain passes with troops, saved his fel
low-colonials from ravishment by the
French and Indians. Soon after this came
the young colonel's marriage to the widow
Custis, his resignation from the militia, the
French power in Virginia being now broken,
and his election to the House of Burgesses.
At the same time he took an active interest
in the concerns of the town growing up on
the borders of his estate. He was made a
member of the town council in 1766, and
about the same time built an office in the
village, — torn down only a few years be
fore the Civil War, — where he transacted
his business and met his friends. He was
also vestryman of the parish which included
235

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Alexandria, helped to build Christ Church
in 1769, and worshipped there until his
death.

Following the opening of the Revolution,
Washington was, of course, absent from
Alexandria for many years, but when he
returned from the war at Christmas, 1783,
the mayor met him with an address, and
thenceforth he never left home on a public
mission that kindly official addresses were
not exchanged with that functionary and
the commonalty. Nor did the burden of
weightier duties prevent him from at once
resuming a helpful interest in the growth
and welfare of the town. As soon as he
had time to look into its affairs, he found
that the lack of avenues of internal trade
and the competition of the low Maryland
tariff at Georgetown were crippling Alexan
dria. Accordingly, he at once undertook
the removal of these obstructions. He
helped to organize the Potomac Company,
— since merged into the Chesapeake and
Ohio Canal Company, — which built locks
around the Potomac Falls, and to avoid the
discrimination which the lower duties at
236

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

Georgetown made against Alexandria, he
led the way to the appointment of com
missioners from the two States to settle
inter-State difficulties. These commission
ers met at Alexandria in March, 1785, and
agreed to a uniform tariff to be supported
by a naval force in the Chesapeake. This
was thought to invade the rights of Penn
sylvania and Delaware, whose waters emp
tied into Chesapeake Bay, and a further
conference was invited at Annapolis. Here
the delegates discovered that a " more per
fect union" was needed, and they called the
Constitutional Convention which met at
Philadelphia in 1787. Thus Alexandria
claims, and rightfully, to be the cradle of the
Constitution.

Soon after this, however, the town sunk
into the heavy sleep that still locks it in its
restful embrace, and looking from the river
at its gray-black roofs, gabled, hipped, and
gambreled, and covered with shingles put
on before the century was young and now
warped and moss-grown, or wandering
through its ancient streets, cobble-paved and
with grass growing all about, one loves to
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think that Alexandria has changed but little
since Washington saw it for the last time.
That was on election day in the late Novem
ber of 1/99, and the general, as was his
custom, came early to vote. Access to the
polls was by a flight of steps outside. These
in the year named had become old and shaky,
and when Washington reached them, he
placed one foot upon them and shook the
crazy ascent as if to try its strength. In
stantly twenty stout arms, one above the
other, grasped the stairway, and a dozen
men's shoulders braced it. Nor did a man
move until the venerable chief deposited his
vote and returned. " I saw his last bow,"
said one of them in after-years, " and it
was more than kingly."

Four weeks later the cold caught during
a winter's ride over his estates had done its
work, and Washington had become the
noblest memory in our history.

238

CHAPTER XV

YORKTOWN AND HER NEIGHBORS

THE James, between Richmond and the
sea, is a tawny and sluggish stream, fringed
with willow and cypress and shut in by
low-lying mead and meadow, but it flows
through a land rich in memories of a noble
and stirring past, — a land where English
men first made successful lodgement on New
World soil, where amid their rich acres
dwelt and ruled those Cavalier planters who
were princes in all save the name, and where
in later years marched and fought the armies
of three great wars. Shirley and Westover,
Berkeley and Brandon, — what a quaint and
pleasant sound all these names have ! — break
the storied way to the site of vanished James
town, and thence with historic Williams-
burg lying between, it is but little more
than a score of miles to Yorktown, scene
of Cornwallis's surrender and birthplace of
a nation.

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It was on a clear, balmy morning of the
early spring that we left Richmond and
drifted slowly down the James on the pleas
urable pilgrimage that was to end three
days later at Yorktown. Soon the spires
and roofs of the sloping seven-hilled city
fading into the fleecy western sky were lost
to view, and the steamer at the end of an1
hour came about abreast of Drewry's Bluff,
or Fort Darling, its crest flanked with earth
works, now silent, grass-grown, and dis
mantled, but thirty-five years ago the chal
lenge and menace of the Federal gunboats
lying below.

Then Drewry's Bluff also drifted astern,
and the boat pushing leisurely ahead passed
another reminder of the Civil War, — Dutch
Gap, a canal several hundred feet in length,
cut by Butler when ascending the river with
his gunboats in order to avoid a horseshoe
of seven miles. Other interesting memo
ries cling to the narrow peninsula thus con
verted into an island, for it was here that,
in 1612, Sir Thomas Dale laid out a town,
defended by palisades and watch-towers,
which in honor of the then Prince of Wales
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he called the City of Henricus. However,
no vestige remains of the city or of the
" university" established there in the days
when Henricus still gave promise of pros
perity and greatness.

A little way below the site of hopeful
Sir Thomas's lost village is Varina, — the
Aiken's Landing of the Civil War, — where
Pocahontas passed a part of her brief mar
ried life, and then a halt is made at Shirley,
a typical manor-house of the middle colonial
period, long the lordly home of the Carter
family, whose members, intermarrying with
the Byrds, the Wickhams, and the Ran
dolphs, played their part, and a worthy one,
in the life and history of their time. The
olden James River planters built for the
future as well as for the present, and Shir
ley, although erected before the eighteenth
century was born, bears well its weight of
years. At once massive and simple in de
sign, with foundation-walls from three to
four feet in thickness, it is a square, three-
storied structure, built of alternating glazed
and dull brick, and with sharp-sloping roof
cut by dormer-windows. Broad stone steps
II. — 16 241

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lead up to the doorways, and spacious por
ticoes, one of them rising to the second
story, flank the eastern and western sides of
the house. Brick was also used in the con
struction of the several outbuildings, ar
ranged in a hollow square, perhaps for pur
poses of defence in case of attack, and even
the dovecote, a peak-roofed turret set upon
the ground, is of the same durable material.
The founder of Shirley — he sleeps be
neath a massive tomb in the family burial-
ground not far from the mansion — was Ed
ward Hill, " Collonel and Commander in
Chiefe of the Countys of Charles City and
Surrey, Judge of his Majestye's high Court
of Admiralty, and Sometime Treasurer of
Virginia." His portrait, preserved at Shir
ley, shows us a handsome, masterful man
clad in crimson velvet, lace, and a flowing
peruke, and, if the limner painted true, the
charm of physical beauty was also the por
tion of his granddaughter, who gave her
heart and hand to a member of the Carter
family, in whose possession Shirley and its
broad acres have ever since remained. The
mansion's interior corresponds with its ex-
242

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

terior, and its wainscoted walls boast other
portraits than those just mentioned. Car
ters, Byrds, and Randolphs give silent greet
ing to the visitor, nor should mention be
omitted of a fine replica of Peale's full-length
portrait of Washington standing out against
the smoke and tumult of a battle scene. The
owners of Shirley take pardonable pride in
its history and careful preservation, and with
its wide-spreading lawn, its curious box-
hedged garden, and its pleasing Old World
air, it promises to long remain a rare and
eloquent survival of the colonial era.

Across the James from Shirley is City
Point, the port of Petersburg, and destined
to remain forever celebrated for its part in
the Civil War. Here was enacted the clos
ing act of the great drama, and there stands
on the summit of the steep bluff, at the base
of which the Appomattox joins the James,
the low, rambling, bullet-riddled house used
as head-quarters by General Grant at that
time. Near City Point once stood the
manor-house of Cawsons, the birthplace of
brilliant and hapless John Randolph, whose
home in later years we shall come upon at
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another stage of our pilgrimage. Caw-
sons was destroyed early in the century, but
the Randolphs were at one time the owners
of vast estates along the James and the
Appomattox, and the whole region about
City Point is indissolubly bound up with
their name.

Westover House, another splendid re
minder of colonial Virginia, comes into
view soon after passing City Point. The
patent of Westover was originally granted
to the Pawlet family, and sold by Sir John
Pawlet, in 1665, "to Theodore Bland, whose
tomb and armorial bearings may still be seen
on the estate. From Eland's descendants
it passed by purchase to the Byrds, and with
the name of Colonel William Byrd, second
of that line in America, it is now invariably
associated. The first William Byrd was a
shrewd young Cheshireman, who secured
from the crown a grant of land covering
nearly the whole sight of modern Richmond
and of Manchester on the opposite bank of
the James. There he built for himself a
fortified dwelling, which he called Belvidere,
and throve so well in his new home that
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RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

when he died, in 1704, he left his son and
namesake one of the richest men in the
colonies.

To this second William Byrd, educated in
England and there called to the bar of the
Middle Temple, was reserved a brilliant and
exceptional career, as courtier, author, trav
eller, and patron of the arts, fairly entitling
him to high rank among the leaders of his
time, and eloquently epitomized in the stately
periods of the inscription upon the shaft
above his grave in the rear of Westover
House. " Eminently fitted," this inscrip
tion tells us, " for the service and ornament
of his country, he was made Receiver gen
eral of his Majesty's revenues here," — an
office his father had held before him, — " was
thrice appointed publick agent to the Court
and ministry of England, and being thirty-
seven years a member at last became Presi
dent of the Council of this Colony. To all
this were added a great elegancy of taste
and life, the well-bred gentleman and polite
companion, the splendid Oeconomist and
prudent father of a family, with the con
stant enemy of all exhorbitant power and
245

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

hearty friend to the liberties of his coun-
try."

Truly a remarkable man to merit an eulo-
gium of this sort, but contemporary records
prove that Colonel Byrd deserved it. He
was thirty years of age when he became
master of Westover, where his father had
builded and dwelt during the closing years
of his life, and, save for occasional absences
in England, he resided there until his death
in 1744, dispensing a royal hospitality and
playing an active and sagacious part in pub
lic affairs, ever ready with pen, purse, and
brain to serve his king and his province.
He was one of the commissioners who, in
1728, fixed the boundary-line between North
Carolina and Virginia, and five years later
he laid out near his father's little fortress of
Belvidere a town " to be called Richmond,"
thus giving a site and name to Virginia's
present capital.

The sprightly Marquis de Chastellux, vis-
iting Westover in 1782, wrote of it as " sur
passing all other estates on the river in the
magnificence of its buildings, the beauty of
its situation, and the pleasures of its society,"
246

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and the latter-day visitor finds no cause to
quarrel with this description. The present
mansion, restored in 1749 by the son and
namesake of the second William Byrd, is
a substantial three-story structure, situated,
perhaps, a hundred yards from the river's
bank ; fronted by a broad, closely-kept lawn,
and with a line of noble trees caressing the
dormer-windows of its roof. At each end
of the grounds are elaborate gates of ham
mered iron, with the arms of the Byrd fam
ily curiously inwrought, and there is yet a
third gate, above which perch leaden eagles
with outstretched wings, larger and more
elaborate in decoration, and capable of giv
ing entrance to the most ponderous chariot.
Everything else is on the same lordly scale.
Moreover, by its present proprietor, one of
the most successful planters in the State,
Westover has been restored to much of its
pristine dignity. And what stirring days
the old house has seen ! Bacon and his men,
bivouacking here on their daring forays
against the Indians, ate, drank, slept upon
their arms, and rode away; Benedict Ar
nold, on his way to capture Richmond, in
247

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

1781, landed and slept at Westover, and in
the old nursery on the ground-floor Corn-
wallis quartered the horses of his troopers,
while, during the Civil War, several gen
erals of the Union army, notably McClellan,
made their head-quarters at the mansion so
popular with the soldiers of earlier revolu
tions.

As Westover recalls the Byrds, so Ber
keley on the north side of the James, and
Brandon and Upper Brandon on the south,
stand as monuments to the American Har
risons. Upper Brandon is still occupied by
a representative of the original family, but
has never fully recovered from the shocks
and ravages of the Civil War. Brandon,
erected in 1725, and the birthplace of the
first President Harrison, also suffered heav
ily in war-time, but is still one of the most
delectable nooks in the Old Dominion. It
has remained in the Harrison family since
its foundation. Fronting a sweep of the
James two miles wide, a broad avenue, with
an old-fashioned border of box, leads from
the house to Brandon wharf. On either
side of this avenue is an extensive lawn,
248

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

dotted with flowers, shrubs, and trees. In
the middle of the irregular brick structure
is the oldest part of Brandon House, built
of English brick by the father of Colonel
Benjamin Harrison, signer of the Declara
tion of Independence, and friend of Wash
ington. This part is two stories and a half
high. Antique dormer-windows are on
the top of the slanting roof, and four round
brick columns support the roof of the
porches, which are of the same height as the
two stories, and which ornament both the
river and landward entrances to the house.
Brandon House took its name from the
Duchess of Brandon, friend and kinswoman
of the first Harrison of Brandon. Addi
tions have been made to the house from time
to time. Two wings connected with the
main building by long halls, one used as a
billiard-room and the other as a tenpin-alley,
now constitute the entire house, which con
tains fifteen large rooms, and is partly en
veloped in a luxuriant growth of ivy.

On entering the house one finds himself
in a large square hall hung with stag-horns,
rusty old swords, ancient-looking guns, and
249

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

other implements of hunting and warfare.
This opens on one side to a drawing-room
of magnificent proportions; on the other
to an equally large dining-room, both filled
with handsome old furniture, some of which
antedates the Revolution, the sideboard in
the dining-room being weighted down with
silver of a unique and ancient pattern.
Hung in these two rooms are Brandon's
rarest treasures, — its family portraits. Some
of these are of unusual interest, and several
were painted from life by Sir Peter Lely.
The collection includes the portraits gath
ered by Colonel William Byrd, whose son
married a daughter of Benjamin Harrison,
which when Westover was sold were con
veyed to Brandon. Among these portraits
is one of the Duke of Albemarle, painted by
Sir Peter Lely; one of Colonel William
Byrd, and another of the beautiful Evelyn
Byrd, one of Virginia's old-time belles.
She was beloved by the Earl of Peter
borough, but her father opposed the mar
riage, and she died young. Tradition says
that her heart was broken. Between her
portrait and that of Lady Betty Claypole,
250

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

daughter of Oliver Cromwell, hangs a fine
portrait of Colonel Benjamin Harrison,
taken when he was a delicate, slender-look
ing young man.

On the opposite wall is a portrait of Mrs.
Benjamin Harrison, who was Miss Anne
Randolph, painted by Sir Thomas Law
rence. In the dining-room are portraits of
Lord Fairfax, Sir Robert Southwell, Sir
Robert Walpole, the Duke of Orrery, and the
Duchess of Brandon. The walls of both
rooms are literally covered with pictures,
including besides those mentioned interest
ing portraits of many of the Harrisons and
Randolphs of past generations. The library
is in one wing of the house, and contains
a large collection of rare books. The Byrd
Memoirs in manuscript, beautifully bound,
give almost a complete history of early Vir
ginia, and a turning of their quaintly- worded
pages is one of the many pleasures that falls
to the lot of the pilgrim so fortunate as to
become the guest of the present gracious
mistress of Brandon House.

Our river journey had fit ending at the
site of ancient Jamestown, on what was once
251

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

a peninsula, but is now an island in the
James. At the present time all that remains
of the first successful English colony in
America are a neglected graveyard and the
crumbling walls of a ruined church, but
the charm Jamestown still holds for the vis
itor is unique and lasting. The little church
now in ruins was built in 1609. Here often
came to worship Captain John Smith, Ad
miral of New England and doughty slayer
of Turks, and those hopeful yet unruly fol
lowers whom he taught to earn their bread
by the sweat of their brows, and within its
walls pious Robert Hunt, the first English-
speaking missionary to preach the gospel
of Christ in America, — let his name be ever
honored ! — joined the " good and blessed"
Pocahontas in wedlock to the young and
handsome planter, John Rolfe. Privations
overcame Hunt, and he died three years
after he landed with Smith at Jamestown,
but the church of which he was the first
pastor continued to be used as a house of
worship until the civil war which ended in
the execution of Charles I., during which,
together with Jamestown, it fell into the
252

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

hands of Bacon and his rebel followers, and
was fired, though not totally destroyed.

All about the site of vanished Jamestown
Nature for two centuries has been slowly
yet steadily reclaiming her own. Not far
from the ruined church we came upon a few
old slabs which mark the resting-place of
some of the Jamestown pioneers, most of
whom died during the first twenty years of
the colony's history. These stones, moss-
grown and black with age, have been cracked
and riven by the roots of the trees spreading
under them, and with the inscriptions, save
in one or two instances, no longer legible,
serve only to add to the romance of the
place.

A little way from this burial-ground is
the only other remaining relic of Jamestown,
— the great house built by Sir William Ber
keley, and now the home of the owner and
postmistress, as she is also the sole white
inhabitant of Jamestown Island. In this
house Berkeley lived for thirty years as royal
governor, and here, like the narrow-minded
and self-satisfied bigot that he was, he sat
down, and thanking God that there were
253

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

no printing-presses in America, beseeched
Him that none might be suffered to enter
for centuries to come. Berkeley was driven
from his home by Bacon and his men, and
came near falling a victim to the progressive
spirit against which he had fought and
prayed, but in the end he reestablished his
government at Williamsburg, and Charles
II., in staying all too tardily the bloody
hands of the old man's blind revenge, cyni
cally declared that the governor had hanged
more men in the Virginia wilderness for
abetting Bacon than he himself had put to
death for the murder of his father, Charles I.
Other shades than those of Smith and
Berkeley haunt this island of Jamestown.
" There were brave men before Agamem
non," and it is now known that eighty years
before the arrival of the English it was the
site of an attempted settlement by the Span
iards. Recent researches in the royal li
brary at Simancas in Spain have disclosed
that in the summer of 1526 one Lucas Vas-
quez de Ayllon, a Spanish captain who " as
pired to the glory of discovering some new
land and making it the seat of a prosperous
254

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

colony," sailed from San Domingo with
three large ships and six hundred persons
of both sexes, and, after touching on what
is now the South Carolina shore, entered
and proceeded up the James. Fifty miles
from its mouth he landed, and on the future
site of Jamestown founded a settlement
which he christened San Miguel de Guan-
dope. But ill-luck from the first attended
the venture. De Ayllon died in October,
1626; his followers mutinied against their
new commander, and the colony was speed
ily abandoned. Less than a quarter of the
colonists in the end regained the island of
San Domingo. The rest had died of fever,
cold, and privation. The tender carrying
De Ayllon's body foundered at sea, and the
ocean rolls above the resting-place of the
adventurer whose keel had tracked its waters
in profitless quest of wealth, fame, and
honors.

Leaving Jamestown Island, where our
stay had been made doubly pleasant by the
generous welcome of its owner, we crossed
to the north shore, and took carriage for the
drive over a cool forest road to Williams-
255

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

burg, — long the colonial capital of Virginia
and the site of old William and Mary Col
lege. It is hardly too much to say of it that
it is the most charmingly antique town in
America, — certainly it is the most charming
in the Old Dominion. Duke of Gloucester
is the name of the main street of the village,
which broadens at its centre into an open
square called Court-House Green, where
stands an ancient temple of justice, modelled
by the graceful hand of Sir Christopher
Wren, and surrounded by fine colonial resi
dences, among them those of John Randolph
and Beverly Tucker, and Chancellor Wythe's
old house, where his wicked nephew poi
soned him. Farther up Duke of Glouces
ter Street is another square — Palace Green
— faced by other historic mansions, includ
ing the old palace of the royal governors
and the house used by Washington as his
head-quarters just before the siege of York-
town.

Nearly opposite to Palace Green is the
powder-magazine of colonial days, in ap
pearance very like the Martello towers at
Quebec, save that it is octagonal instead of
256

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

round. It is called the " Powder-Horn,"
and was built by Sir Alexander Spotswood,
the deputy or lieutenant of George Hamilton,
Earl of Orkney, governor and commander-
in-chief of the colony. There had been
great rejoicing in the colony when Governor
Spotswood arrived, because he brought with
him the habeas corpus act. This act had
been refused by the governors at times when
their deputies had taken it on themselves to
exercise it on their own authority. So it
was a matter of rejoicing when a deputy
came bringing it in his own name. How
ever, it was not long before there was an
open quarrel between Spotswood and the
House of Burgesses, because they would not
grant certain money that he asked for neces
sary defence. Two years later, having
gained the confidence of the people by his
wise measures, the Assembly granted him
all he asked, and in 1714 the statute was
passed ordering the erection of the maga
zine.

Sixty years later the " Powder-Horn" be
came the scene of the first overt act of the
Revolution. In the winter of 1775, when
II.— 17 257

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

the clouds of war were gathering thick and
fast, a plan was formed by the royal author
ities to disarm all the colonies. In pursuit
of this plan, on the night of April 20, 1775,
a number of marines, who had been con
cealed in the palace at Williamsburg, moved
the powder from the magazine to the " Mag
dalen," a man-of-war on the James River.
The removal of the powder was discovered
by the citizens early in the morning. Duke
of Gloucester Street was crowded at once,
and threats were made. A deputation was
sent to the palace demanding the return of
the powder. They found the place in a
state of defence, many arms lying around.
Lord Dunmore, the governor, gave some
untruthful excuse, and pledged his honor
that if the powder was needed in Williams-
burg it should be returned in half an hour.
The news of the removal of the powder
spread like wildfire. Patrick Henry raised
three hundred men, " Hanover Volunteers,"
and marched towards Williamsburg, their
numbers increasing as they went. Dun-
more was obliged to go to meet them and

258

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

to compromise the matter by paying for the
powder.

The House of Burgesses assembled on
June i, 1775. Lord Dunmore made a polite
address and presented Lord North's " Con
ciliatory Plan." A committee was appointed
to report upon it, and Thomas Jefferson was
selected to write the report. Suddenly, from
a most unexpected quarter, on June 5, came
a sound that ended all discussion. On that
night some young men went to the maga
zine to procure arms. Lord Dunmore had
before this delivered up the keys of the
magazine. They unlocked the door, and
as they pushed it open it pulled a concealed
cord that discharged a spring-gun. Three
of the young men were wounded. The As
sembly was aroused to intense excitement.
Persons were officially appointed to examine
the magazine. It was done cautiously, and
under the floor several barrels of powder
were found buried. Duke of Gloucester
Street was again crowded by excited citi
zens, and again threats were made. Before
the day dawned Lord Dunmore and family
had fled to the man-of-war " Fowey" at
259

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Yorktown, never to return to Williamsburg,
and the disputed powder, seized without de
lay by the colonists, was put to use in the
war that followed, while Patrick Henry was
speedily installed in Dunmore's place as the
first governor of the State of Virginia.

Turning from the " Powder-Horn," now
owned and kept in repair by the women
of Williamsburg, the next place of interest
reached in our leisurely ramble down Duke of
Gloucester Street was the ancient, ivy-hidden
church of Bruton parish, — the oldest Prot
estant house of worship in use in America.
It is built in shape of a cross, and was planned
by Sir Christopher Wren. It stands in the
midst of a beautiful grove of elms, sur
rounded by tombs and monuments of the
dead, as if dreaming of the faded glories of
the past. Williamsburg people tell you that
Queen Anne went to see the bell for its
tower cast and threw her silver ornaments
in the molten bronze. Many curious things
are seen in and near this old church. In a
house across the Green are kept the com
munion services given by Queen Anne and
George III., and in the church itself is
260

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

placed the font which held the water into
which the minister dipped his fingers when
he baptized Pocahontas. In its floor are
tablets over graves showing that lords,
dukes, knights, and chancellors are resting
there, among them a modern slab to the
memory of the Confederates who were killed
in the battle of Williamsburg. " They died
for us" it is here declared. Theodore Win-
throp, of Massachusetts, it will be remem
bered, fell in that battle, and his body rested
for several years in Bruton church-yard,
among the graves of colonial worthies whom
Virginians still delight to honor.

At the end of Duke of Gloucester Street
stands the restored and lately reopened Wil
liam and Mary College. The second college
in America, Harvard having been the first,
it was chartered in 1691, Queen Mary per
suading her husband to endow it with two
thousand pounds per year in money, twenty
thousand acres of land, and one penny per
pound upon all the tobacco exported from
Maryland and Virginia, together with all
the fees and profits arising from the office
of surveyor-general, which was to be con-
261

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

trolled by the president and faculty. In
1698 the college building, planned by Wren,
was finished and the new seat of learning
named William and Mary, in honor of the
generous king and queen. For many years
thereafter it was the centre of intellectual life
in the Old Dominion. Three Presidents
were graduated within its walls and one
chief-justice, and many other distinguished
men can claim it as their alma mater.

The college buildings were burned in
1705. They were rebuilt at once, but were
burned again and again, the last time in
1862. However, the fires that have afflicted
the college buildings have spared the famous
college statue, and it stands serenely in the
middle of the college green. Norborne
Berkeley, Baron de Botetourt, governor-
general of Virginia, arrived at Hampton
Roads, eight weeks out from Portsmouth,
in October, 1768, and so pleased the peo
ple of the colony that they soon after
wards erected a marble statue to him in
front of the college. It represents him in
court dress with a short sword by his side,
and, although it has suffered some degree
262

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

of mutilation, it still is a fine specimen of
the sculptor's art. William and Mary dur
ing the last half -century has had a checkered
history. Some years ago it had dwindled
to proportions that threatened its speedy
death, but more recently has taken new lease
of life, and now promises a long future of
usefulness.

At the other end of Duke of Gloucester
Street, one mile distant from the college, is
the site of the old House of Burgesses.
Nothing is left of it save the foundation of
bricks and masses of broken plaster from its
walls. It was here that Henry's eloquence
competed with Otis' s at Boston for the rank
of first orator of the Revolution, and it was
here occurred a most interesting episode in
the life of Washington. For faithful per
formance of public duties the House of Bur
gesses voted him a splendid sword and belt,
and they were presented by Edmund Ran
dolph, then president of the House, in an
eloquent and impressive speech, which so
overcame young Washington that in his
effort to reply he could not utter a word.
Randolph came to his rescue. " Sit down,
263

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

Mr. Washington," said he, " your modesty
is only equalled by your bravery, and that
very far surpasses any words I have to ex
press it."

Close to the site of the old Capitol is the
famous Red Lion Hotel, a long building
with hip-roof and dormer-windows, now far
gone in the process of decay. Near by is
the site of the Raleigh Tavern, which Wil-
liamsburg people say was a grand place.
Nothing can now be seen of this famous old
tavern except the foundation of the massive
pillars which supported its piazza, it having
been pulled down years ago and a large brick
store built upon the site. It was in the ball
room of this Raleigh Tavern that Patrick
Henry made his great speech denouncing
British wrongs placed upon her colonies,
and in its delivery won for himself a place
among the master orators of all time.

Those were Williamsburg's palmiest days,
but when the capital was moved to Rich
mond in 1779 the town's glory was taken
from it. Yet it has not suffered decay.
Indeed, it has accomplished one of the most
difficult things in the life of man or town,
264

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

for it has fallen gracefully into mossy age.
Beauty and quiet now brood over it, and
we found a single afternoon of spring all
too short a time to idle among its ancient
houses or linger under the stately elms that
give graceful shade to Court and Palace
Greens, but time pressed, and under the
mellow glow of a westering sun we left
Williamsburg behind us and took to the
winding road, which ere night came on led
us to the broad estuary of the York River
and to Yorktown, another sleepy old village
that seems by some miracle to have escaped
the influence of the nineteenth century.

Little York, now nearing the end of
its second century of existence, was never
a populous place even when it thrived the
most, but it was the political and trading
centre of one of the eight boroughs into
which Virginia was originally divided, and
during the sixty years immediately preceding
the Revolution an influential factor in the
direction of affairs. The town's first settler
was Thomas Nelson, a canny Scotch trader,
who established there a store which for two
generations yielded to those called by his
265

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

name a never-ending harvest of golden
guineas. This store was destroyed during
the war of 1812, but the custom-house
where the Nelsons' goods were entered —
it was, it is said, the first of its kind erected
in America — still stands near the water
front, with moss-covered roof, thick walls,
and massive oaken doors and shutters.

Less than a stone's throw away stands the
dwelling, with its lofty chimneys and solid
walls, builded by Scotch Tom when riches
had come to him with age, after which he
died and was buried, — his tomb remains
one of the notable relics of the village, — but
not until he had founded a family from
which issued in the third generation General
Thomas Nelson, one of the most brilliant
of that body of great men who stand a splen
did cluster of stars against the early dawn
of the country's history. This Thomas Nel
son, third of the name, though educated
at Eton and Cambridge, when the Revolu
tion came joined the side of the ultra pa
triots, was a conspicuous member of all the
decisive conventions, and as a delegate to
that of 1776 signed the great Declaration.
266

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

Finally, in 1780, he succeeded Henry as
governor of his State, with almost dicta
torial power to manage both her military
and civil policy. " His popularity was un
bounded," says the historian, and, he might
have added, so were the general's patriotism
and generosity, for when, Virginia's credit
being low, money was wanted to pay the
troops and run the government, Nelson bor
rowed millions on his personal security and
went on; and again, when regiments mu
tinied and refused to march, he raised money
and paid them, although in so doing he
wrecked his own and his children's fortunes.
Recalling the career of this uncommon
man, one rejoices that the triumphant close
of the seven years' struggle in which he
bore so fine a part was pitched at the place
most closely associated with his name and
fame. The story of what happened at York-
town in the fall of 1781 grows more lus
trous with the years. Only a few months
before the patriot cause had seemed a doubt
ful if not a hopeless one. The army of the
South had been defeated and driven back
into Virginia, only by forced marches es-
267

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caping complete destruction; Virginia, the
backbone of the Revolution, had been swept
by two invasions; and Cornwallis with his
army was marching triumphantly through
her borders, trying by every means he could
devise to bring his only opponent, the youth
ful Lafayette, to an engagement. Had the
French officer proved as reckless as the Brit
ish commander believed him, the end would
have come before De Grasse with his fleet
anchored in the Chesapeake. He was no
novice in the art of war, however, and at
length Cornwallis, wearied of trying to catch
him, retired to Yorktown, and intrenching
himself, awaited reinforcements from the
North.

It was at this critical moment that kindly
Providence directed the French admiral to
the Virginia coast, and Washington, find
ing himself possessed of a force such as
he had never hoped for in his wildest dreams,
and knowing that he could count on the new
reinforcements for only a few weeks, re
solved to put his fate to the touch and win
if possible by a single bold cast of the die.
Accordingly, he withdrew from New York
268

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and came down to Jersey as if to get near
his ovens, a move which so misled the Brit
ish commander that he did not suspect its
ulterior object until he learned that the pa
triot army was well on its way to Virginia.
In the last days of September the American
commander arrived before Yorktown and
began a siege memorable for the bravery
and determination with which it was prose
cuted.

The expected relief did not come to Corn-
wallis, and ere the end of the third week
his troops marched out with cased colors,
prisoners of war. A monument, unveiled
with imposing ceremonies some years ago,
now marks the spot where this event took
place, and a short way from the town still
stands the old weather-beaten mansion
known as the Moore House, in the sitting-
room of which were drawn up the arti
cles of capitulation of the British army.
This house, now tenantless and falling into
decay, was historical even then, for it had
been the country residence of Governor
Spotswood, who, as the great Marlborough's
aide-de-camp, had carried the news of Blen-
269

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

heim to England, and who later had come
to the Old Dominion to rule it for a time
with a soldier's courage and decision and
the foresight of a statesman able to see be
yond the fret of small minds over little
things.

The Nelson House, used by Cornwallis
as his head-quarters during the last days of
the siege, after his first had been shelled
to pieces, still bears the iron scars made by
the American cannon, pointed at it by order
of General Nelson, who when told that the
British general was lodged there, offered
five guineas to the gunners for every shot
which should strike it. Otherwise it is well
preserved ; and what a glorious company of
shades haunt its high wainscoted rooms!
Washington and Mason and Jefferson re
ceived cordial welcome from its master,
while Lafayette, returning in his old age,
the honored and revered guest of the mighty
nation he had helped to create, slept here and
added another to the many associations
which already surrounded the mansion.

Growth and activity went out from York-
town along with the patriot troopers, and
270

RAMBLES IN COLONIAL BYWAYS

to-day, with its few old brick houses scat
tered among modern shanties, it is the sleep
iest of sleepy villages, — a place where modest
poverty dwells content and strife and hurry
are alien things. Peaceful be its slumbers
amid green and quiet fields, for it has well
earned the rest that is the right of honored
age.

271

INDEX

Abercrombie, General, head
quarters of, i. 117, 120

Accomac, county of, ii. 15
county seat of, ii. 19

Acker, Woolfert, i. 147

Adams, John, ii. 53, 65

inauguration of, ii. 72, 73

Adams, Samuel, ii. 53, 65

Agnew, General, ii. 70

Aiken's Landing, ii. 141

Albany, a journey to, i. 220
a rendezvous, i. 120
Broadway in, i. 116
from New York to, i. 142
settlement of, i. 111-113

Albemarle, Duke of, ii. 250

Alexandria, ii. 179, 206
centre of British authority,

ii- 235

growth of, ii. 236, 237
head-quarters at, ii. 232
incident in camp at, ii, 233
Washington votes in, ii.
238

Algonquins, i. 174
dwelling-place of, i. 209

Allen, William, ii. 51

Alps, i. 131

Alston, Washington, i. '217,
218

Alva, i. 212

Amana, ii. 173

community of, ii. 196-205

Amsterdam, Golden's yard

in, i.

Anastasia, Sister.
Tabea, Sister.

II—lS

See

Andr6, Major, tragedy of, i.

153, 154, 237-239
Annapolis, i. 83
and Philadelphia, travel

between, ii. 40
conference at, ii. 237
Anne, Queen, i. 134, 176 ; ii.

53, 260

Anthony, Captain, ii. 30
Anthony's Nose, i. 158, 223
Anti-rent war, i. 113-115
Appomattox, ii. 243
Arlington, ii. 12, 13, 19
Armstrong, John, i. 125

old home of, i. 132
Arnold, Benedict, i. 80, 153

army of, i. 197, 237 ; ii. 24
Arthur, Chester A., last

home of, i. 95
Asbury, i. 136
Assateague, ii. 20
Astor, John Jacob, i. 89
last home of, i. 97
Audubon, i. 106, 107
Audubon mansion, changes

in, i. 108
first telegraph used in,

i. 107

Audubon Park, i. 106, 107
Auriesville, i. 176
history of, i. 178

Babylon, i. 66

"Bachelor," the* barque, i.

Bacon, ii. 247, 254
Baden, ii. 156

273

INDEX

Baerren Island, i. 112
Baker, R. L., 182
Ball, Nicholas, i. 32, 33
Baltimore, ii. 24
Baltimore, Lord, ii. 37
Bancroft, George, i. 28, 132
Bard, Samuel, Dr., i. 170
Bartram, John, a botanist, ii.
62,63

garden of, ii. 60, 61
ouse of, ii. 59
Bartram, William, ii. 60
Battery, the, i. 77

northern boundary of, i.

81

promenade, i. 79
visitors to, i. 80
Baumeler, Joseph, ii. 190,

191, 194

marries, ii. 195
Baxter, Philip, odd agree
ment Of, ii. 220, 221

Baylor's Cavalry, ii. 16
Beecher, Lyman, i. 57
Beekman, Gerard D., Gen
eral, i. 154

Behring Strait, ii. 156.
Beissel, Conrad (Father
Friedsam), confession
to, ii. 127

death of, ii. 128, 131, 135
doctrine of, ii. 123
founds Order, ii. 119-121
hymns of, ii. 124, 125
Belhaven, ii. 232
Bell House, the old, ii. 147
Bellomont, , Lord, i. 25, 26,

27

Belvidere, fortress of, ii. 246
Bensons, ii. 44
Berkeley, ii. 239, 248
Berkeley, William, Sir,

house of, ii. 253
revenge of, ii. 254
Berkeley, Norborne, Baron

de Botetourt, ii. 262
Berlin, ii. 22
Bethania, ii. 122
at the present, ii. 131, 133

Bethlehem, ii. 155
Christmas celebration at,

ii. 170-172

community, ii. 143, 144
Moravian buildings in, ii.

H5-I47
settlement of, ii. 139, 140,

142

Bjork, ii. 44
Black Horse Tavern, i. 156,

157

Bland, Theodore, ii. 244
Block, Adrian, i. 32
Block Island, centre, i. 37-39

description of, i. 30, 31

double-ender, i. 34-36

heading for, i. 29

history of, i. 32-34

legends, i. 42-44

wrecks, i. 41
Block Islanders, i. 44
Blockley Hill, ii. 49
Bloomingdale Road, i. 143
Boehme, ii. 190, 197
Bohemia, i. 137
Bonaparte, Jerome, i. 80
Bordley, John Beale, ii. 32,

33
Bordley, Margaret Chew, ii.

32
Boston, i. 21, 140

heights, ii. 232

turnpike, i. 172
Botta, Vincenza, Madame, i.

65

Bowery, i. 78
Bowling Green, i. 77-79
Bowne, John, i. 73
house of, i. 74
Braddock, i. 86

campaign of, ii. 235
Brandon, ii. 248
Brandon, Duchess of, ii. 249,

251
Brandon House, iii. 249

family portraits of, ii.

250, 251
Brant, Joseph, picture of, i.
134, 192

274

INDEX

Brandywine, battle of, ii. 16,

63, 83, 84, 90
Breakneck Hill, i. 143
Brick Meeting-House, Old,

ii. 98, 100, 101
Bridgehampton, i. 56
Bridgewater, Duke of, i.

Brinley, Grissell. See Syl
vester, Grissell (Brinley),
Mrs.

Bristol, ii. 75, 76
Bristol Channel, ii. 28
British officer, disinterment

of a, i. 144
Broad Street, i. 79
Broadway, i. 78, 81, 143
post road called, i. 144,

145 t
Bronx, the, i. 137

Brooklyn, i. 67

Bruton Church, ii. 260, 261

Bryant, Fanny, grave of, i.

72, 73
Bryant, William Cullen, i.

65 * •
grave of, i. 72, 73

home of, i. 71, 72
Buffalo, ii. 197
Bunker Hill, ii. 209
Burgoyne, i. 120, 121
descends on New York, i.

192

Burns, heroine of, i. 150
Burr, Aaron, 170

a protege of, i. 217
marriage of, i. 90-92, 121
Burr, Theodosia, i. 91
Burton, William E., house :

once owned by, i. 99
Butler, Pennsylvania, ii. 174,

175

Byrd, Evelyn, ii. 250
Byrd family, ii. 241, 244, 247,

248

Byrd, William, ii. 244
Byrd, William (second),

Colonel, ii. 244-246
son of, ii. 247

Caesar, story of the slave, i.

California, gold in, ii. 156,

157

Calvert, Leonard, Sir, ii. 37
Calvert, Quaker village of,

ii. 92, 98-102
Calverts, the, ii. 36, 38
Calvinists, ii. 108
Cambrjan Hills, ii. 28
Cambridge, ii. 25, 26
Campbell, Major, i. 161
Canada, i. 175

missionaries from, i. 179
Canajoharie, i. 188, 189, 190
Carey sisters, i. 65
Carolina, North, i. 66
Carpenter Mansion, ii. 49
Carter family, the, ii. 241
Carthagena, ii. 211
Gary, Sally, ii. 214
Castle Garden, i. 79, 80
Catholics, ii. 108
Catskill, town of, i. 209

soldiers of, i. 212, 214,

217

Catskills, i. 173, 207
Cawsons' manor-house, ii.

243

Cayugas, i. 175
Cazenovia, i. 176, 198, 200,

201

Cedarcraft, ii. 96, 97
Cedarmere, i. 71, 72
Cemetery, East Hampton, i.

18

Centreville, ii. 39

Charles I., ii. 254

wife of, ii. 30

Charles XII., ii. 45, 49, 254
" Chasseur," the privateer,

ii. 28

Chatham Square, i. 78
Chatham Street, i. 78
Chenango County, i. 200
Chesapeake, ii. 9, 12, 24

naval force in the, ii. 237

275

INDEX

Chester, i. 140, ii. 39
Chester County, ii. 90
Chester, Quaker village, ii.

79, 92

Chester, the, ii. 36
Chestertown, ii. 39, 40, 41
Chew House, fight in, ii. 69,

70

Chew, Philemon, ii. 32
Chew, Samuel, ii. 32, 33
Chews, the, ii. 33
Chincoteague, island of, ii.

19, 20

ponies of, n. 21, 22, 24
Chincoteague Sound, ii.

20
Choir, Great Girls', ii. 146

Single Brethren's, ii. 145

Single Sisters', ii. 145,

H7

Widows', ii. 147
Choptank, the, ii. 25, 26
Christ Church (Philadel
phia), ii. 53, 54
chimes of. ii. 55
Christian Street, ii. 47
Christina, Queen, de
spatches expedition, ii. 43,

44
Christmas Eve, Moravian

celebration of, ii. 140
Church, Colonel, i. 115
City Point, ii. 243, 244
Claiborne, William, claims

Kent Island, ii. 36
defeat of, ii. 37
influence of, ii. 38
Claverack, i. 172
Clay Head, i. 43
Claypole, Betty, Lady, ii.

250
Clermont, i. 123, 129, 130

house at, i. 132
" Clermont," steamboat, i.

124, 142
Clinton, i. 80
Clinton, Cornelia, i. 173
Clinton, Fort, i. 221, 232,

233

Clinton, Governor, gives

dinner, i. 83, 158
signs documents, i. 169,

173, 2J3
Clinton, Henry, Sir, attack

led by, i. 157, 158, 233
Clinton, James, i. 158, 233
Cocalico, ii. 120, 131
Cole, Thomas, death of, i.

217

house of, i. 216
Collin, Hannah, ii. 46
Collin, Nicholas, ii. 46
Colonial Assembly, ii. 50

Congress, First, meeting

of the, ii. 64-68
Columbia and Dutchess

Counties, i. 122
Columbia County, i. 149, 159,

234

Columbia River, ii. 156
Columbia University. See

King's College
Committee of Five, i. 123

of One Hundred, i. 123

of Safety, i. 164, 211

patriot, i. 21

Community of True Inspira
tion, ii. 202

Congregation House, ii. 147
Congress, ii. 158

Continental, i. 123 ; ii. 57,
208, 219, 223

Provincial, first, i. 123

Stamp Act, ii. 123
Conkling, Jeremiah, i. 28
Conkling, Roscoe, i. 28
Connecticut, new plantation

of, i. 15
Connecticut River, attempt

to swim across the, i. 47
Connecticut shore, i. 66, 67
Connecticut, view of, i. 106
Conowingo Hills, ii. 92
Constitutional Convention,

ii. 237

Continental Army, ii. 83, 84
Continental Village, the, i.

161, 162

276

INDEX

Coombe, Mr., Rev., ii. 54
Ccoper Grounds, the, i.

203
Cooper, James Fennimore, i.

58
Cooper, Peter, house of, i.

98

praises view, i. 205
Cooperstown, i. 204
Copley, the artist, i. 28
Cornwall, i. 222, 229-231
Cornwallis, i. 80 ; ii. 16

at Westover, ii. 248

surrender of, ii. 209, 239,

268, 269

Cortlandt Street, i. 143
Counts of Isenburg and

Wittgenstein, ii. 108
Courland, ducal house of, i.

133
Courland in Russia, Dukes

of, i. 134

Court-House Green, ii. 256
Cowboys, i. 136, 144, 148, 152,

154

Cowingo Creek, ii. 103
Crisfield, oyster town of, ii.
22-24

railroad from, ii. 25
Cromwell, Oliver, ii. 251
Crosby, Enoch, career of, i.

162-166
Croton River, i. 133, 1.7,7, 144,

157

Croton, the Sachem, i. 135

Crozier, William Penn, ii.
76

Cumniington, i. 71

Custis, Daniel Parke, Colo
nel, ii. 215

Custis family, ii. 12

Custis, George Washington
Parke, ii. 209

Custis, John, tomb of, ii. 12,
13

Custis, Martha, Mrs. See
Washington, Martha, Mrs.

Custis, Nelly, ii. 72
room of, ii. 230

Dale, Thomas, Sir, ii. 240,
Danube, i. 131, 190
Darling, Fort, ii. 239
De Ayllon, Lucas Vasques,

ii. 254, 255

Decatur, Stephen, ii. 22
De Chastellux, Marquis, ii.

246

Declaration of Indepen
dence, i. 123, 124
Defoe, Daniel, ii. 101, 102
De Grasse, ii. 268
De Lancey family, i. 82
De Lancey, Oliver, i. 82
De Lanceys, the, 204
De Lauzun, Duke, i. 135
Delaware and Pennsylvania,

rights of, ii. 237
Delaware Bay, ii. 9, 20
Delaware County, insurrec
tion in, i. 115

Delaware, on the, ii. 75, 76
De Leon, Count. See Mil
ler, Bernard
De Manduit, Chevalier, ii.

70

Depau Row, i. 97
De Rochambeau, i. 135
De Warville, Brissot, ii. 220
Dies, John, Major, i. 215
Dies, Madam, i. 215
Dies's Folly, i. 215, 216
Dinsmore, William B., i. 169
Di Paoli, Pasquale, General,

ii. 92

Dixon, George W., ii. 155
Dixon Memorial Hall, ii. 154,

155

Dobb's Ferry, i. 145, 146, 153
Dongan, Governor, i. 20, 122,

133 .
Downing, Jack, Major. See

Smith, Seba
Drewry's Bluff, ii. 240
Drummondtown, ii. 19
Drumore township, ii. 103
Duane Street, i. 81

277

INDEX

Duke of Gloucester Street,

ii. 256, 258-261
Duke's Hotel, or " old stone

house," i. 168

Dunkers, baptism, ii. 115-
118

celebration of the Last
Supper, ii. 113, 114

creed of, ii. no

dress and customs of, ii.
in

elections, ii. 118

founding of the, ii. 108, 109

ideal, ii. 112

secessions from the, ii. 119
Dunmore, Lord, ii. 15, 258

flight of, ii. 259
Duss, John S., Elder, ii. 182,

185, 187, 189

Dutch and Huguenots, set
tlement of, i. 207
Dutch Gap, ii. 239, 240
Dutch settlements, i. in
Dutch West India Company,

i. 78, 79, 112

East and West Indies, ii. 28
Easter, ii. 18
Eastern Bay, ii. 36
Eastern Shore, ii. 9, 10, 12
berry culture, ii. 25, 36,

bygone era of the, ii. 13,

H

churches, ii. 38-40, 41
exploration, ii. 19
Maryland section of, ii.

15
present condition of, ii.

17, 18

regiment, ii. 16
East Green bush, i. 173
Easthampton, i. 18, 57-60
Easton, ii. 26

vessels of, ii. 27, 28
East River, i. 81, 103
Eastville, ii. 9, 10, 12, 19

Eben-Ezer, ii. 198

Echerlin, Israel, ii. 120

Economy, burials at, ii. 182
customs of, Ii. 184-186
dissensions, ii. 176-179
founded, ii. 173, 176
sacrament at, ii. 187-189
watchman of, ii. 180

Elizabeth, Queen, ii. 102,
104, 105

Elsa," master of the, i.
45

Elzey, Mr., ii. 233

Emmet, Robert, i. 169

Emmett, William, i. 169

Endicott, John, i. 32

Ephrata, ii. 107, 108
brotherhood, ii. 120, 123
buildings in, ii. 120, 121
conventual life, ii. 124-127
latter days of, ii. 131, 132,

138

monastic life, ii. 120-123
music of, ii. 134, 153
printing-press of, ii. 122,
133

Episcopal Church organ
ized, ii. 54

Ericsson, John, house of, i.
98, 99

Erie, ii. 88

Erskine, Lord, i. 51

Esopus, i. 219

Evans, Oliver, ii. 103

Fairfax, Anne, ii. 211
Fairfax, Bryan, ii. 219
Fairfax, George William, ii.

214, 233

Fairfax, Lord, i. 48, 251
Fairmount Park, ii. 48
Fanning, Lord, i. 63, 135
Fanning, Lydia, Lady, i. 63,

64
Farragut, Admiral, house of,

i. 197
Fauntleroy, Betsy, ii. 214

278

INDEX

" Feast of the Roses," ii. 92,

106
Fifth and Arch Streets, bury-

ing-ground at, ii. 55
Fillmore, Mrs., i. 121
Fireplace, i. 22
First City Troop of Phila
delphia, ii. 88

settler, the ideal, i. 19
Fisher's Island, i. 49

history of, i. 45, 46
Fishkill, i. 162

churches in, i. 165, 229

Mountains, i. 162
Fleet, English, capture of, i.

78

Fleury, Colonel, i. 236
Floyd, Betsy, Miss, courtesy

of, i. 63, 64
courting of, i. 63, 64
Floyd family, inheritance of

the, i. 63

Floyd, Mrs., i. 63, 64
Flushing, i. 49, 73-75
Fontainebleau, chairs from,

i. 101

Fordham, i. 104
Forest, Edwin, and his

house, i. 99-103
Forest, Mrs., i. 101, 102
Fort Amsterdam, i. 77

Clinton, i. 158, 161, 233

Dayton, rendezvous at, i.

192
road leading to, i. 193

George, i. 212

Hill, i. 15

Johnson, i. 184

Lee, i. 88, 107

Montgomery, i. 158, 161,
233

Necessity, 11. 233

Orange, i. in, 112, 132

Schuyler, ii. 69

Schuyler (Stanwix), siege

of, i. 191-194, 197
trail to, i. 198

Ticonderoga, i. 117

Van Renssalaer, i. 188

Fort Washington, i. 87, 89;
ii. 83

Forts Clinton and Mont
gomery, conflict at, i. 233,

234, 235

Founders, Dutch and Puri
tan, i. 73

Fox, George, in Flushing, i.

73, 74
preaches to Indians, i.

48
France, mission to, i. 124; ii.

27

Frankford, ii. 47
Frankfort-on-the-Main, ii.

177
Franklin, Benjamin, i. 40,

135

grave of, 11. 55
incidents in the life of,

ii. 57, 58, 60
institutions of, ii. 56
Franklin County, ii. 134
Franklin, Mrs., i. 40
Fraunces, Samuel, i. 82-84
Fraunces Tavern, i. 82

building and repairs of,

i. 84, 85

Long Room of, i. 83, 85
Fredericksburg, ride from,

ii. 211
Washington houses in, ii.

206-210
Fremont, John C., General,

i- 154
Freys, manor-house of the,

i. 187-189

Freys, the, i. 187, 189
Friedsam, Father. See Con
rad Beissel
Friesland, i. 137
Front Street, New York, i.

81
Front Street, Philadelphia,

ii. 48

house on, ii. 57, 58
Fulton, Robert, i. 124, 129,

142 ; ii. 92
birthplace of, ii. 102-104

279

INDEX

Fulton, Robert, death of, i.

130, 131

marriage of, i. 130
Fulton, the elder, ii. 103

Gage, General, i. 21
Gallows Hill, story of, i. 159,

1 60
Gansevoort, Peter, Colonel,

i. 191, 193, 194
Gardiner, David, i. 17, 19
receives patent, i. 20
Gardiner Greens, i. 28
Gardiner, John I., annoyed

by pirates, i. 20, 21
daughter of, i. 28, 29
relations with Captain

Kidd, i. 25-27
Gardiner, John Lyon, i. 21
Gardiner, Juliana, i. 28
Gardiner, Lion, i. 14
death of, i. 18, 19, 22
friendship with Wyan-

dance, i. 17
in Connecticut, i. 15
purchases island, i. 16
residence at East Hamp
ton, i. 18
system of, i. 23
Gardiner, Mary, i. 28
Gardiner, Mrs., keeps a

diamond, i. 27
receives presents from

Kidd, i. 25, 26
Gardiner's Bay, i. 22, 24,

29
Gardiner's Island, i. 13, 16,

t th(

at the present time, i. 22,

23
disturbed by Captain

Kidd, i. 24

in the Revolution, i. 21
manor of, i. 14
title to, i. 20

Gardiners, the, connections
of, i. 28

Garretson, Freeborn, i. 125

at Rhinebeck, i. 171
Garretson House, i. 75
Garretsons, residence of the,

i. 132

Gates conspiracy, i. 226, 228
Gates, General, i. 227
Genesee country, the, i. 200
Genet, Edmond Charles,

citizen, i. 173
Genet, homestead, i. 173
George I., King, i. 122
George III., King, i. 152, 213,

239 ; ii. 206, 260
Georgetown, ii. 236, 237
Germantown, ii. 47

battle of, ii. 16, 69, 83

St. Michael's Church, ii.

7i

Girondists, ii. 220

Gist, militiamen under, ii. 16

Glenwood, i. 145, 146

Gloria Dei. See Old Swedes'
Church

Goelet, Jane, Miss. See
Dies, Madam

Golden Horn, i. 79

Goodwin, Parke, i. 99

Gould, Jay, i. 145

Goupil, Rene, Brother, mar
tyrdom of, i. 179-181, 182

Gouverneur, Samuel L., i. 95

Governor's Creek, ii. 76

Grant, General, home of, i.
96; ii. 16, 243

Grant, Mrs., i. 96

Grassmere, i. 32

Gravesend, i. 15

Gray's Ferry Road, ii. 59

Great Plains road, i, 51

Great Queen Street. See
Pearl Street

Great South Bay, i. 61

Greeley, Horace, house of, i.

97
Green Thomas, chaplain, i.

27

Greenbush, house in, i. 116,
'

280

INDEX

Harrison, President (first),

ii. 248

Hartford colony, i. 49
Harvard College, ii. 261
Harvey, John, Sir, ii. 36
Hasbrouck, Colonel, house

built by, i. 222
Hasbrouck family, i. 225
Hastings, i. 145, 146
Haunted Lake, i. 204, 206
Havana, voyage of a double-

ender to, i. 35, 36
Haverstraw Bay, i. 157, 237
Haydn, symphonies of, ii.

167
Heere Graft. See Broad

Street
Heinemann, Barbara, ii.

197

Helderbergs, i. 173
Henrici, Jacob, ii. 182, 185

170 Henricus, City of, ii. 241

trees planted by, i. 94, Henry, Patrkk, ii. 53, 65,

95 258, 260, 263

visits Andre, i. 238 great speech of, ii. 264

Hamilton, George, Earl of I Herkimer, Nicholas, Gen-

Greene, General Nathaniel,

i. 40, 88 ; ii. 84
Greenport, i. 13, 45, 49
Greenwich Street, i. 79
Greenwich village, i. 94
Grey, General, ii. 91
Gulf of Mexico, i. 174
Gunston Hall, ii. 219
Gustayus Adolphus, dream

of, ii. 42, 43, 44

H

Hale, Nathan, Captain, cap
ture of, i. 67, 68
" Half Moon," the, i. in
Half-Way Hollow Hills, i.

66

Hamilton, Alexander, i. 93
death of, i. 94
marriage of, i. 121, 125,

Orkney, ii. 257
Hamilton, Governor, ii. 49
Hamilton Grange, i. 93-95
Hamilton, Mrs., i. 94
Hampton Roads, ii. 27, 262
Hamptons, isolated, i. 60

transfer of the, i. 49, 50
Hancock, John, ii. 53, 66
Hanover Square, i. 81. 82
Hanover Volunteers, ii. 258
Hapsburg, Rudolph of, i.

Harmonists, ii. 175
generosity of, ii. 185
leave Economy, ii. 178,

179

present head, ii. 182
wealth of, ii. 183

Harmony Society, ii. 174

Harrison, Benjamin, Colo
nel, ii. 249, 251

Harrison, Benjamin, Mrs.,

eral, i. 190, 191
death of, i. 197
marches to Fort Schuy-

ler, i. 192-194
monument to, i. 198
wounded at Oriskany, i.

195, 196

Herkimer, town of, i. 192
Hermitage, the, ii. 40
Hessian occupation, i. 75
Highlands, i. 158
trail, i. 159, 162, 165, 166,

233

Hill, Edward, ii. 241

Hohenlinden, ii. 78

Holland and France, smug
gling for, ii. 27
colonists from, i. in
windmills from, i. 51

Holland Land Company, i.
200

Hollanders, i. 210

11. 251

I Hollywood Cemetery, i. 96
281

INDEX

Holme, Thomas, ii. 46 j Hyde, Edward, Lord Corn-

Holtenstein, Amos, preacher, | bury, i. 169

baptizes, ii. 116-118 , Hyde Park, i. 169

Honorable Society of Car- j

penters, hall built bv, ii. | T

64,66
Hopkins, Stephen, ii. 65 | Idele, i. 132

Horsford, Eben Norton, i

48

Hospital, New York, i. 81
Hostetter, a Dunker, ii. 116
House of Burgesses, ii. 235,

257, 259
site of, ii. 263
the Beverly Robinson, i.

233

Howard, John Eager, Colo
nel, granddaughter of, ii.
30

Howe, i. 120
Hudson, Hendrick, i. in,

172

Hudson Highlands, i. 28
Hudson River, domains, i.

132
first steamer launched

on, i. 124
literary landmarks of, i.

231

military works, i. 232
patroon system intro
duced on the, i. in,
112

poor man's side of the, j Peter

Idlewild, i. 230
Indian Brook, i. 156
Indians, organizations

masked as, i. 115
Paumanoc, i. 16
Inn, Enoch Story's, ii. 54
Inspirationists, customs and

creed of, ii. 200-205
villages of the, ii. 197-199
Irish channel, ii. 28
Iroquois, League of the, i.

174, 175
meeting-place of the, i.

205, 212

mementos of the, i. 189
Irvington, i. 145, 146
Irving, Washington, i. 65
at Sunnyside, i. 146, 147,

149, 150

city house of, i. 103, 104
grave of, i. 147
rambles of, i. 151, 169;
ii. 14

Jabey, Brother. See Miller,

steamboat, i. 218
Valley, i. 158, 233
view, i. 120
villa regions, i. 145
Washington's retreat
across the, i. 87
Hudson River Railroad, i.
142
Huguenots, i. 73-75
Hunt, Robert, ii. 252
Huntingdon Harbor, i. 49,
66-68
town, i. 66
Huss, John, i. 137

2i

James, Richard, Rev., ii. 38,
39
James River, down the, ii.
239-241
Jamestown, ii. 38, 239
site of, ii. 251, 253
Jamestown Island, ii. 253,

254, 255
Jamestown pioneers, n. 251
Jay, John, i. 125, 164 ; ii. 65
Jefferson, Thomas, lodging
house of, ii. 67, 73, 259, 270
Jenny Lind, i. 80
Jericho, i. 49-71

\2.

INDEX

Jersey City, i. 131
Jesuit Fathers, first mis
sionary efforts of, i. 179-
181

Job, Andrew, ii. 102
Job, Thomas, ii. 102
Jocelyn, i. 15
Jogues, Father, martyrdom

of, i. 179, 180, 182
Johnson family, i. 187
Johnson Hall, i. 185-187, 191
Johnson, John, Sir, i. 177
driven from Johnson

Hall, i. 186, 187
plans Mohawk invasion,

i. 191, 192

Johnson, William, Sir,
among the Indians, i.
183

comes to America, i. 182
death of, i. 185
grave of, i. 186
knighted, i. 184
Johnstown, i. 176, 182
Jumel, Madame, i. 89-92
Jumel mansion, (formerly
Morris mansion), i. 85,
140
present condition of, i.

92, 93, HO
scenes in, i. 89-91
Jumel, Stephen, i. 89, 90
Junto Club, ii. 56, 57

K

Kaaterskill, i. 212

Kedar, ii. 120

Keens, ii. 44

Kennett Square, ii. 92, 96-

98
Kent County, St. Paul's in,

ii. 40, 41
Kent Island, ii. 36

Anglican Church in, ii.
38,39

Key, Francis Scott, ii. 30
Kidd, Captain, i. 20, 24, 25
in the wake of, i. 45, 48
last voyage of, i. 28, 29
treasure of, i. 26, 27
Kinderhook, i. 172
King William, i. 61
King's Bridge Road, i. 143,

144

King's College, i. 123
Kingsessing, ii. 46
King's Road, i. 94
Kingston destroyed, i. 167,

168

head-quarters, i. 223-225
old Dutch church, i. 219,

220

Senate House, i. 221, 222
I Kiskatom, i. 212
I Kitchewan Bay, i. 135
Kitchewan River, i. 135
Klein, George, church built

by, ii. 154
vision of, ii. 153
Knickerbocker literary pe
riod, i. 65
Knox, ii. 73

head-quarters of, ii. 83
Kock, ii. 197
Kosciusko, i. 232
Kossuth, i. 80

Laetitia Court, ii. 48
Laetitia House, ii. 47, 48
Lafayette, i. 80, 121, 135

at Washington's head
quarters, i. 223, 224, 226

head-quarters of, ii. 83, 145
Lake Agawam, i. 51
Lake Cazenovia, i. 200
Lake Suinipink, i. 234
Lancaster, ii. 92, 107
Lancaster County, ii. 102-
I-, 153

restored to Claiborne, j Landing, the. See Catskill

ii- 37 i Lansdowne, ii. 48

Kent Point, ii. 37 i Laurens, Colonel, ii. 70

283

INDEX

Leatherstocking Cave, i. 205
Leatherstocking Falls, i. 205
Lee, Richard Henry, ii. 54,

65

Leeds, i. 209, 211, 214
Lehman, Peter, administra
tion of, ii. 136
founds Order, ii. 134
Lely, Peter, Sir, ii. 250
Lewis, Anna Estelle (Stella),

i. 65

Lewis, Morgan, i. 125, 170
Lexington, battle of, i. 229 ;

ii. 209

Lincoln, Abraham, i. 64
Lind, Jenny, i. 80
Linden Ha'll, Moravian Fe
male Seminary, ii. 154, 155
Lindenwald, i. 172
Lititz, ii. 149, 152, 155, 158
Little Britain township, ii.

102

Littlefield, Catherine, i. 40
Liverpool and Bristol, trade

with, ii. 27

Livingston, Charlotte, i. 125
Livingston, Colonel, i. 153
Livingston, Edward, i. 124
Livingston, Gertrude, i. 125
Livingston, Harriet, i. 130

Livingston, Henry, i. 167, 168 worth, i 65

Livingston, Janet, i. 125-128,

169

Livingston, Kate, i. 125, 171
Ljvingston, Lewis H., i. 171
Livingston manor, i. 122, 129,

.131, 159, 234
Livingston mansion, i. 167,

168

Livingston, Peter, i. 123
Livingston, Philip, second

lord of the manor, i. 122,

123
Livingston, Philip, signer of

the Declaration of Inde
pendence, i. 123
Livingston, Robert, first

lord of the manor, i. 122,

Livingston, Robert R., i. 123

Livingston, Robert R ,

Chancellor, i. 123,124

friendship of, i. 129

mansion built by, i.

132

sisters of, i. 125
Livingston, Robert R. (sec
ond), i. 123, 124
Livingston, Sarah Van

Brugh, i. 125
Livingstons, the ablest of

all, i. 123
daughters of, i. 124-127,

132

Livingston, William, i. 123
Lloyd, Edward, ii. 29
Lloyd, Henrietta Maria, ii.

30

Lloyds, the, ii. 30, 32, 33
Locusts, The, i. 169
Logan, Deborah, ii. 52
Logan, Hannah, ii. 52
Logan, James, ii. 49-51
Logan, the Mingo chief, ii.

50

London, i. 129
Long Cove Mountain, i.

J53

Longfellow, Henry Wads-

123

284

Longfellow's poem, ii. 86

Long Island, i. 13

battle of, i. 67 ; ii. 16
colonial reminders, i. 49,

60

end of journey in, i. 73
hills, view of, i. 106
shore, i. 17, 18, 79

Long Islanders, i. 73

Long Island Sound, i. 41, 43,
45, 68, 103

Longwood Cemetery, ii. 97

Lord Vere, i. 14

Loudon, Lord, i. 159

Louis Philippe, i. 80
dinner set of, i. 101

Louisiana, cession of, i. 124
senator from, i. 124

INDEX

Love Feast, Moravian, ii.

165-167
Lower Manor, the. See Cler-

mont

Loyalists, i. 144
Ludwick, Baker-General, ii.

7i

Lutherans, ii. 108
Lyndhurst, Baron, i. 28
Lynn, men from, i. 49

Mack, Alexander, ii. 108
Madison County, i. 200
Madison, James, ii. 53, 73
"Magdalen," man of war,

ii. 258
" Manajungh on the Skor-

kihl," ii. 44
Manchonake, i. 16
Manhattan, i. 143
Manhattan Club, i. 98
Manhattan Island, i. 107
Manheim, ii. 92, 104-106
Manisees. See Block Island
Manors of colonial New

York, i. 13

Marble Cemetery, i. 96
Marblehead, ii. 28
Marie Antoinette, furniture

of, 190

Marienborn, ii. 109
Marshall, John, encounters

Washington, ii. 224-227
Maryland Committee of

Safety, ii. 15

Maryland, judges of, ii. 32
Maryland, tariff of, ii. 236
Mary, Queen, ii. 261
Marysville, ii. 158
Mason, ii. 270
Mason, George, ii. 219
Massachusetts, colony of, i.

32

Matteawan Indians, i. 166
Maxwell, Elizabeth, story of,

11. 101, 102

McClellan, ii. 248
Mclntosh, widow. See Fill-
more, Mrs.

McKean, Thomas, ii. 65
Melrose Abbey, ivy from, i.

149

Mercer, General, i. 88
Mesier homestead, i. 166,

167

Mesier Park, i. 167
Mesier, Peter, i. 166
" Methodist, The," canoe, ii.

24

Metz, Christian, ii. 197
Meyer, Harmanus, journey

of, i. 220

Middle Chesapeake, ii. 27
Miles River, ii. 27, 28
Miller, Bernard, ii. 177-179
Miller, Peter, story of, ii.

128-130

Mill Street, ii. 75
Mohawks, i. 175, 211
Mohawks and Tories, horde

of, i. 191
Mohawk, the, i. 187, 188, 212

Valley of, i. 174, 179
Mohegan Bluff, i. 30
Mohegans, i. 32
Mohicans, fur trade with, i.

in

Moncock, battle of, ii. 38
Monroe, Elbert, C., i. 155

Mrs., country-place of,

i- 154, 155

Monroe, James, last resi
dence of, i. 95, 96
rival of, i. 125
Montauk, gateway of, i. 41
Montauks, i. 17
Montcalm, i. 120, 184
Montgomery County, ii. 79
Montgomery, Fort, i. 233
Montgomery House. See

Grassmere
Montgomery, mansion built

by, i. 132

Montgomery, Mrs., i. 171
letter of, 128

285

INDEX

Montgomery Place, i. 132
Montgomery, Richard, at

Rhinebeck, i. 170
marriage of, i. 126, 127
reburial of, i. 128, 129
Montreal, i. 192, 197
Moore House, ii. 269
Moore, William, memorial

stone of, ii. 87
Moravian Church, ii. 144
Christmas celebration, ii.

167-172
Easter celebration, ii, 163,

167
faith, converts to, ii. 147-

149

Female Seminary, ii. 145
God's Acre, ii. 147
Theological College, ii. 145
Moravians, the, coming of,

ii. 139-142

converts to, ii. 147-149
customs of, ii. 146, 147
economy of, ii. 143, 144
Moreau, Marshall, house of,

ii. 78
Moriches and Patchogue,

land between, i. 61
Morris family, i. 140
Morris, Gouverneur, Chinese

gifts of, ii. 221
Morris mansion, i. 86

in Washington's career,

i. 87-89
Morris, Mary (Philipse),

Mrs., death of, i. 141
marriage of, i. 86, 140
meets Washington, i.

.139
Morris, Robert, ii. 26

house of, ii. 71
Morris, Roger, Colonel, i. 86,

89
dies in England, i. 140,

141
Morse, Samuel F. B., city

home of, i. 98
triumph of, i. 107, 129
Mount Custis, ii. 19

Mount Independence, i. 232
Mount McGregor, i. 96
Mount Vernon, cares of

state at, ii. 222-224
estate of, ii. 219-221
historic rooms, ii. 229-

231, 232

mansion of, ii. 218
ownership of, ii. 228, 229
sudden arrivals at, ii. 217
visitors to, ii. 225-227,

234
Washington's early days

at, ii. 212-216

Mount Vernon Ladies Asso
ciation, ii. 229
Mount Vision, i. 204
Mowatt, Anna Cora, i. 65
Muhlenberg, Father, ii. 79-

81
Musgrave, Colonel, ii. 69

N

Naples, Bay of, i. 79
Napoleon, i. 122 ; ii. 78
Narragansetts, i. 17, 32
Nassau Street, i. 82
Nazareth, founding of, ii.

149, 150

present town of, ii. 151
Nazareth Hall, ii. 151, 152
Neck, the, ii. 49
Nelson House, ii. 270
Nelson, Thomas (third),

General, ii. 266, 270
Nelson, Thomas (Scotch

Tom), ii. 265
Nelson, war horse, ii. 221,

222

Netherlands, Prince of the,

i. in

Neutral ground, the, i. 144
New Amsterdam, i. 49, 77,

78, 148
Newburgh, i. 222

proclamation read at, i.
228, 229

relics at, i. 225, 226

286

INDEX

New Helvetia, ii. 157

New Jersey, terminus at, i.

107

New Kent, county of, ii. 38
New London, harbor of, i.

36
New Philadelphia Society,

ii. 179
Newport Harbor, drowning

in, i. 44

New Sweden, ii. 43
New Windsor, i. 229
New York, Bay of, i. 79
canal, i. 79
first colonial manor of,

i- 13
first English settlers in,

i. 14
literary reminders of, i.

103-108

old houses of, i. 82-85
Presidents who have

di-d in, i. 95
streets of, i. 77-79, 81
tracing early days of, i.

76,77
New York, State of, freedom

to slaves in the, i. 70
vote of, i. 169
Nicholls, Governor, i. co
Nicoll, Edward, i. 64
Norris, Isaac, home of, ii.

49,5i
Northampton, county of, 11.

10, 15

North Cape, ii. 28
North Carolina and Virginia,

boundary of, ii. 246
North, Lord, ii. 261
Nullification Proclamation,

the, i. 124

O'Conor, Charles, i. 99
Odell, Captain, i. 151, 152
Odell House, i. 151-153
Ohio River, ii. 232
Oldham, Captain John, i. 32

Old Swedes' Church, ii. 44-

46

Oneidas, i. 175
Onesimus. See Israel Ech-

erlin, ii. 120

Orange, William of, ii. 53
Order of the Solitary, ii. 119,

128

decline of, 129
offspring of, 134
Oriskany, battle of, i. 175,

195-198

Oriskany Falls, i. 176, 192
Orrery, Duke of, ii. 251
Oserneuon, i. 178
Oswego, i. 192
Otis, ii. 263
Otsego Rock, i. 205
Otsego, the, i. 176
Our Lady of Martyrs, Shrine

of, i. 182

Oxford, ii. 26, 102
Ox Pasture Road, i. 51
Oyster Bay, i. 49, 68, 69

Paca homestead, ii. 33
Paca, Mary (Chew), ii. 32 ^
Paca, William, Governor, ii.

1 6, 30, 32

last days of, ii. 35
picture of, ii. 34
Palace Green, ii. 265
Palatinate of the Rhine, i.

1 88
Palatine Bridge, i. 176, 187

named, i. 188, 190
" Palatine," the phantom

ship, i. 43, 44
Palisades, i. 88
Palmer, Edward, spy, i. 160,

161

Paoli, massacre at, ii. 90-92
Paris, i. 124
Parker mansion, ii. ii
Parker, name of, ii. 12
Park Row, i. 78
Parton, authority of, i. 91

287

INDEX

Passajungh, ii. 44
Patchogue, i. 49, 64-66
" Patroon's" mansion, i. 116
Patroon system, i. no, in
Patroons, the, i. 110-113
Patterson, Betty, i. 90
Paulding, James Kirk, i. 169
Pawlet family, ii. 244
Pawlet, John, Sir, ii. 244
Payne, John Howard, i. 57
Payne, Mr., contests Wash
ington, ii. 233, 234
Peale, Rembrandt, picture

of, ii. 229

Pearl Street, i. 78, 81, 82
Peck Slip, i. 78
Peconic Bay, murder in, i.

52-55

Peekskill, i. 142, 159

Pelletreau House, i. 51

Pemberton country-seat, ii.
49

Pembertons, the three, ii. 51

Pendleton, i. 170

Peniel, ii. 121

" Penn and Logan Corres
pondence," ii. 52

Penn, descendants of, ii. 55

Penn, John, ii. 48

Penn, Lsetitia, ii. 47

Penn, Richard, house of, ii.

Pennsbury, ii. 48
Pennsbury Manor, ii. 76-78
Penns, the, ii. 48
Penn's WTood, ii. 76
Pennsylvania, ii. 51
Pennsylvania State Society

of the Cincinnati, ii. 88
Penn, William, i. 73 ; ii. 27,

42
founds Philadelphia, ii.

46-48, 50, 57
manor-house of, ii. 76-

78, 125, 139
Penn, William, second, ii.

Perm, William, the younger,

54, 55

Pequots, i. 16

Perry, Commodore, bomb
shells given by, i. 155
Petersborough, Earl of, ii.

250

Petersboro, i. 176, 198
Petersburg, ii. 243
Philadelphia, i. 107 ; ii. 208
a last picture of, ii. 72
city laid out, ii. 46
City Tavern, ii. 64
council in, ii. 58
day's journey from, ii. 92
first colonial Congress in,

ii. 64-68

girl sold in, ii. 101
in 1774, ii. 63
intellectual life of, ii. 56
old library in, ii. 57
outings, ii. 75
polite society of, ii. 52, 53
State House, ii. 57, 64

Declaration signed in,

ii. 66-68

inauguration in, ii. 72
Swedes' settlement in, ii.
, 43-46.

the national capital, n. 71
Philemon, Lloyd, ii. 29, 32

daughter of, ii. 32
Philipsburg, house of, i. 138-

140

manor of, i. no, 132, 137
warlike scenes in, i. 144
Philipse Castle, i. 138, 146
Philipse family, i. 137, 140
Philipse, Frederick, i. 86
buildings erected by, i.

137, 138
Philipse, Frederick (third),

Colonel, i. 140
property of, confis
cated, i. 141, 154
Philipse, Mary. See Morris,

Mary (Philipse), Mrs.
Phillipsburg, Pennsylvania,

ii. 179

Pierpont, Samuel, Rev.,
grave of, i. 46, 47

288

INDEX

Pierson, Thomas, ii. 92
Platt, Mary, i. 64
Plymouth, ii. 9
Plymouth Rock, i. 32 ; ii. 36
Pocahontas, ii. 241, 261
Pocantico Creek, i. 138, 146
Poe, Edgar A., i. 65

at Fordham Cottage,

i. 104, 106
Portugal, ii. 28
Posey County, ii. 174
Posey, Major, i. 237
Post Road, beginning of the,

i- 159
New York end of the, i.

143

Potomac, ii. 37
Potomac Company, ii. 236
Potomac Falls, ii. 236
Potts mansion, ii. 85
Poughkeepsie, i. 162, 167,

169

Powder Horn, ii. 257, 260
Presqu' Isle, ii. 88
Prince Edward Island, i.

64

Prince of Orange, i. 15
Prospect Hill. See Genet

homestead
Prospect Rock, i. 205
Provincial Assembly, i. 122
Provincials, i. 196
Pulaski's legion, ii. 16
Putnam County, i. 162, 163,

166

Putnam, Fort, i. 232
Putnam, Israel, General, i.

28

camp of, i. 61, 88
disposes of a spy, i. 60

Quaker meeting-house, old
est, i. 74 ; ii. 26

Quakers seek refuge, i. 47 ;
ii. 46, 49, 50, 57

Quebec, expedition against,
i. 127, 128, 171, 184

Queen's Head. See Fraun-
ces Tavern

eueen's Rangers, i. 68
ueenstown, ii. 39

Radcliffe Street, ii. 75
Raleigh Tavern, ii. 264
Rambos, ii. 44
Ramsay, David, ii. 103
Randolph, Anne, ii. 251
Randolph, Edmund, ii. 263
Randolph, John, ii. 243

house of, ii. 256
Randolph, Peyton, ii. 65
Randolphs, the, ii. 241 244

estates of, ii. 243
Rappahannock, anecdote of

the, ii. 208

Rapp, George, death of the,
ii. 181

doctrines of, ii. 173

organizes Harmony So
ciety, ii. 174, 175

rule of, ii. 176-180
Rapp, Gertrude, ii. 183
Rauch, Christian, mission
ary, ii. 148, 149

begins career, ii. 154
Ray, Catherine, i. 40
Red Hook, i. 132
Red Lion Hotel, ii. 264
Reef Tavern, 143
Regents, the, ii. 230
Reidesel, Baron, i. 120
Rensselaer, daughter of the

house of, i. 117
Rensselaers, the, i. 114
Rensselaerwyck, i. 112, 117
Renwick, Mrs., i. 150
Reservoir the, i. 143
Revolutionary era, struc
tures belonging to, i. 77
Revolution, brilliant exploit

of the, ii. 16
church in the, i. 161
first overt act of the, ii.

257

11—19

289

INDEX

Revolution, privateering in

the, ii. 27, 28
soldier of the, i. 125

Rhinebeck, church at, i. 125,

127 136
founding of, i. 170, 171

Rhine Palatinates, i. 190

Rhode Island, General As
sembly of, i. 33

Richmond, ii. 239, 240
city laid out, ii. 246

Ringgold, Thomas, ii. 16

Ripley, George, i. 65

Rittenhouse, David, obser
vatory built by, ii. 67

River Eder, immersion in
the, ii. 108

Rodney, Caesar, ii. 16, 65

Roe, Edward Payson, i. 230,
231

Rogers, John, first public-
house built by, i. 159

Rokeby, i. 132

Rolfe, John, ii. 252

Romans of the New World,
i. 174

Rome, i. 191

Roost, the, i. 148

Roslyn, i. 49, 71

Ross, Betsy, Mrs., flag made
by, ii. 68, 69

Roxborough, ii. 47

Rudman, ii. 44

Rutledges, the, ii. 65

S

Saal, ii. 133
Sacramento, ii. 158
Sacramento River, ii. 156,

157

Sag Harbor, i. 56, 57

Salem, North Carolina, Eas
ter celebration at, ii. 163-
170

Salisbury, Francis, i. 210,

212

Salisbury House, romance
of, i. 213, 214

Salisbury, Sylvester, i. 209
Saltonstall, Richard, Sir, i.

28

San Domingo, ii, 255
Sandwich Islands, ii. 156
Sandy Point, i. 42, 43
San Francisco, Bay of, ii. 157
San Juan d'Ulloa, Castle of,

i- 155
San Miguel de Guandope, ii.

255

Saratoga, i. 120
Saron, ii. 121, 131-133
Say and Seal, Lord, i. 15
Saybrook, Fort, i. 15, 16,

22

Sayre House, i. 51
Scarborough, i. 145, 155
Scheible, Daniel, ii. 126, 127
Schoharie, settlement of, i.

176-178
Schuckburgh, composer of

"Yankee Doodle," i. 117
Schuneman, Johannes, Dom
inie, i. 210
parsonage of, i. 211
Schute, Sven, Commander,

ii. 44

Schuyler, Alida, i. 122
Schuyler, Elizabeth, i. 121
Schuyler family, i. 117
Schuyler House, i. 117, 118
panorama from, i. 120
visitors to, i. 121
Schuyler, Johannes, Domi
nie, i. 176

Bible used by, i. 177
Schuyler manor-house, i.

117, 118
panorama from, i. 120

Schuyler, Peter, i. 117, 121
Schuyler, Philip, General, i.

94, H7
attempted capture of,

118, 119
entertains Burgoyne,

i. 120, 121

Schuylers, the, i. 132
Schuyler Street, i. 117

290

INDEX

Schuylerville, i. 121

mansion at, i. 117
Schuylkill, ii. 43, 59
Schuylkill Valley, ii. 90
Scott, General, i. 155
old home of, i. 97
Second Maryland Regiment,

ii. 16

Second Street, ii. 48
Separatists, celibacy of the,
ii. 194-196

settlement of the, ii. 108,

189, 193

Settlers, first English, i. 14
Seventh Street, ii. 49
Severn, the, ii. 28
Seward, William A., i. 114
Shaefferstown, ii. 105
Shekomo, mission of, ii. 149
Shelter Island, i. 22, 45, 49
name of, i. 48
occupation of, i. 47
Sherman, Roger, ii. 65
Shewell, Elizabeth, ii. 94-96
Shinnecock Hills, i. 52
Shinnecock Indians, i. 52, 53
Shinnecock Neck, i. 52
Shirley, ii. 239

manor-house of, ii. 241-243
Shoharius, i. 154
Sigourney, Lydia, Mrs., i. 65
Simancas, ii. 254
Simcoe, Colonel, i. 68
Sinclair, Catherine, i. 99
Sing Sing, i. 155, 156
Sisters' House, ii. 145
Sitka, ii. 156
Six Nations, i. 174

land of the, i. 174, 176,

178, 187, 201, 206
Skinners, i. 136, 144, 148
Sleepy Hollow, church at, i.

146, 147
Smallwood's regiment ii.

15, 16

Smiley, Samuel, ii. 89
Smith, Eliza Oakes, i. 65,

66
Smith, Gerrit, i. 198

Smith, John, Captain, ii. 252,

254
Smith, John, marriages of, i.

63,64
Smith, Seba, i. 64, 65

Smith, Tangier. See Smith,

Colonel William
Smith, Tangier, family, i.

62
Smith, William, born 1777,

i. 64
Smith, William, Colonel, i.

61

Smith, William, Judge, i. 63
Snow Hill, ii. 22

monastical Society of, ii.

134-138

nunnery of, n. 134
Society of Friends, ii. 98,

100
Southampton, i. 56

modern prosperity of, i. 51

whale-fishery" of, i. 50
Southeastern Pennsylvania,

hamlets of, ii. 92
South Street, i. 81
Southwark, ii. 43, 45, 49
Spangenburg, Bishop, ii.

J51
Southwell, Robert, Sir, ii.

251
Spotswood, Alexander, Sir,

ii. 257

house of, ii. 269
Spuyten Duyvil Creek, i.

137, M3

Stage route, old, i. 142, 143
Stanton, i. 125

State of New York, first con
stitution of, i. 124
States-General, i. 112
State Street, No. 7, i. 79, 81
"St. David's at Radnor,

Old," ii. 86-89
Stenton, ii. 49

social life at, ii. 50-52
Sterling, Earl of, i. 19
Steuben, Baron, i. 135 ; ii. 211
grave of, i. 198, 199

291

INDEX

Stewart, Alexander T., old

house of, i. 97
St. George's Church, i. 75
St. George's Manor, i. 49,

60-64

Stiegel, Baron, ii. 92
reception of, ii. 104
rent paid to, ii. 105
Stillwater, i. 212
Stirling, Lord, ii. 16
St. James Church, ii. 154
St. John's church-yard, i. 186
St. Leger, Colonel, i. 194
St. Luke's Protestant Epis
copal Church, i. 93
St. Mary's, ii. 37
St. Michael's, vessels of, ii.

27, 28, 30

Stone Street, i. 78
Stony Point, i. 157

capture of, i. 235-237
Strand, the. See Catskill
Stuyvesant, Governor, i. 147
Sun Inn, the, ii. 145
Sunnyside, cottage of, i. 146

history of, i. 147, 148

life in, i. 150

restoration of, i. 149
Susquehanna, i. 204, 205 ; ii.
103

depicted by Cooper, 5. 206
Sutter, John A., General,

claim of, ii. 158
discovers gold, ii. 157
grave of, ii. 155, 156,

'59

Swan son, n. 44
Swanson, Swan, ii. 46
Swarthmore, ii. 92-94, 96
Swedes, ii. 47
Swift, Joseph, ii. 103
Swiss Guard, ii. 156
Sylvester, Brinley, of New
port, i. 48
Sylvester, Grissell Brinley,

i. 47, 48
Mrs., i. 47, 48

Sylvester Island. See Shel
ter Island

Sylvester Manor, i. 48, 49
Sylvester, Nathaniel, i. 47
Quaker guests of, i. 47,

48

Sylvester, Nathaniel and
Grissell, lineal descend
ants of, i. 48

Tabea, Sister, story of, ii.

125-128

Talleyrand, i. 80, 200
Tangier Island, ii. 24, 25
Tangier Sound, ii. 22, 23
Tappan Sea, Flying Dutch
man of the, i. 150, 151
Tappan, village of, i. 153,

237, 238
Tarrytown, i. 138, 145, 153-

155

Taylor, Bayard, ii. 96-98
Taylor, Mary Agnew, ii. 97
Tekagwita, Catherine, i. 179,

181, 182

Teller's Point, i. 153
Third Street, ii. 49
Thomas Boyle, Captain, ii.

28

Thome, Margaret. See Sis
ter Tabea

Thomson, Charles, ii.67, 223
Threadhaven Creek, ii. 26
Tilghman, Edward, ii. 16
Tilghman, Matthew Ward,

ii. 15

Tilghman, Richard, ii. 40
Tilghman, Tench, Lieu
tenant-Colonel, ii. 16
Tivoli, i. 131, 132
Tolstoi, Leo, Count, ii. 173
Tories, Johnson's, i. 196
prison for, i. 168, 169
under arms, ii. 15
Town Pond. See Lake

Agawan

Townsend, Captain, i. 65
Townsend homestead, i. 68,
69

2Q2

INDEX

Trappe, church at, ii. 79-81

Trenton, i. 131

Tribes, Long Island, i. 18

Trinity church-yard, i. 131

Tryon General, attempt of,

i. 135, 161
rendezvous of, i. 66

Tryon County, militia of, i.
192

Tschoop, conversion of, ii.
147-149

Turnbull, Jim, i. 54-56

Turner, Edith, i. 55-56

Turner Joseph, ii. 49

Tweed, William M., dwell
ings of, i. 98

Tyler, President, i. 28

U

Ulster County, founders of,
i. 209

United Netherlands Com
pany, i. in

United States Supreme
Court, ii. 158

Upper Brandon, ii. 248

Upper Hudson, i. 160

Utica, i. 176, 193

Valley Creek, ii. 82, 83
Valley Forge, i. 198
camp at, ii. 63, 79
site of, ii. 81-83
Washington's head
quarters at, ii. 82, 85
Van Bergen, Marten, i. 209,

210

Van Buren, Martin, i. 172
Van Cortlandt, James Ste
venson, i. 136

Van Cortlandt, John, i. 134
Van Cortlandt manor, i.

132-136

manor-house, i. 157
Van Cortlandt, Pierre, i. 135
Van Cortlandts, descent of
the, i. 134

Van Cortlandt, Stephanus,

i. 133, 157 ..
Vancouver, n. 156
Van Dam, Rambout, i. 151
Vanderbilt, Commodore,

house of, i. 97

Vanderlyn, John, i. 217-219
Van Rensselaer, Johannes,

i. 112
Van Rensselaer, Killian, i.

112, 132
Van Rensselaer, Stephen,

General, i. 112
leases farms, i. 113
Van Rensselaer, Stephen,
sixth of the line, i.
112, 113
wife of, i. 119
Van Rensselaer, William, i.

113
Van Rensselaers, the, i. 115,

116, 132
Van Tassel, Jacob, i. 148

wife of, i. 148
Van Tassel, Laney, i. 148
Van Vost, family of, i. 186
Van Wart, i. 154
Varina, ii. 241
Varnum, General, ii. 84
Vaughan, General, i. 235
Vera Cruz, i. 155
Vernon, Admiral, ii. 211
Verplanck's Point, i. 158,

235

Verrazani, i. 32
Versailles, ii. 156
Viking boat, i. 36, 37
Virginia, capital of, ii. 256,
267-269

State of, request of the, i.

96

Von Linklaen, Jan, i. 200
"Vulture," the, i. 153

w

Waerden, i. 14

Wales, Prince of, ii. 240

Wallace, James, Sir, i. 167

293

INDEX

Wallace, John, story of, i.

58-60
Wallack, Lester and James

W., early homes of, i. 99
Wall Street, i. 76, 78
Wain, Nicholas, ii. 51
Walpole, Robert, Sir, ii. 251
Wappinger's Falls, i. 162,

1 66

Wappingi Indians, i. 166
Ward, Matthew, ii. 16
Warner, Anna, i. 232
Warner, Susan, i. 231, 232
War of 1812, ii. 16
"Warrior," wreck of the, i.

42

Warwick, ii. 153
Warwick Furnace, ii. 90
Washington, Augustine

(first), ii. 207, 208
(second), ii. 207
Washington, Bushrod, ii. 228
Washington, George, i. 49,
67, 86, 121, 126, 173, 184,
226 ; ii. 16, 53
adventure of, i. 87-89
appearance of, ii. 215
appoints a baker, ii. 71
as commander-in-chief,

ii. 216, 217
at Valley Forge, ii. 82,

84, 85, 90, 145
soldiers of, n. 155
at West Point, i. 235
council chamber, i. 92
crosses the Delaware, ii.

designs flag, ii. 68, 69
dies at Mount Vernon, ii.

228
encounter with Payne,

ii. 233, 234

head-quarters of, i. 87
house occupied by, i. 75
in Alexandria, ii. 232,

235-237, 267
inauguration of, i. 124
in Congress, ii. 65, 66
in the South, i. 120

Washington, George, last
public appearance of,

ii- 73, 74

last vote of, ii. 238, 270

lays foundations of cap
ital, ii. 223

love-affairs of, ii. 213

manages estate, ii. 219-
221

marriage of, ii. 214

persuades Marshall to
enter Congress, ii. 224,
227

Philadelphia dwelling
of, ii. 72

physician of, i. 170

questions Wayne, i. 235,
236

reply of Gates, i. 227,
228

returns to Mount Ver
non, ii. 218, 224

returns to New York, i.
84

summoned to resume his
arms, ii. 228

takes farewell in
Fraunces's tavern, i.

83
takes possession of

Mount Vernon, ii. 212
with his mother, ii. 206-

211

Washington Heights, i. 86,

140
Washington, Jane, Mrs., ii.

228

Washington, John Augus
tine, ii. 228
(second), ii. 228
Washington, Lawrence, ii.

207, 211-213

Washington, Martha, Mrs.,
i. 40, 223-226 ; ii. 12,

13, 53
as Martha Custis, ii.

214, 215

brave words of, ii. 216
dies, ii. 228

294

INDEX

Washington, Martha, Mrs.,
joins her husband,
ii. 217, 218
marries General

Washington, ii. 214
Washington, Mary (Ball),

Mrs., ii. 207-211
Washington's army, i. 136
Water Serpent, story told by

the, i. 54-56
Water Street, i. 81
Watson, ii. 49
Wayne, Anthony, General,

i. 235-237
at Paoh, 11. 90, 91
grave of, ii. 88
homestead of, ii. 89
Wayne, Isaac, Colonel, ii. 88
Waynesboro, ii. 134
Webb, James Watson, i. 154

present to, i. 155
Webber, Wolfert, i. 78
Weehauken, i. 94
Weems, Parson, ii. 207, 208
Welcome Creek, ii. 76
Wells family, i. 187
West, Beniamin, i. 129; ii.

92

paints first picture, ii. 93
romance of, ii. 94, 95
Westchester County, i. 160,

163
Westchester, passage from

the history of, i. 109
Western Maryland, ii. 37
Western Shore, ii. 37
West Indies, ii. 27, 28, 53
West, John, ii. 93
Westmoreland, ii. 207
Westover, ii. 55, 239, 248
magnificence of, ii. 246, 247
patent of, ii. 244
Westover House, ii. 244-247
West Point, i. 229, 231, 232
West Walnut Lane, hospital

at, ii. 70

Wharton House, ii. 49
Wharton, Robert, Mayor, ii.

Whigs, houses of, fired at, i.

167
Whitefield, i. 136

buys land, ii. 150

in Pennsylvania, ii. 150
Whitemarsh Church, ii. 26
White Plains, i. 164
Whitesboro, i. 193
Whitsuntide, ii. 18
Wickhams, the, ii. 241
" Widgeon," the steamer, ii.

19
Widman, Michael, spy, ii.

128-130

Widow's House, ii. 147
William and Mary College,

ii. 256, 262, 263
Williamsburg, ii. 239, 255,

256, 260-264
Williams, David, i. 154

grave of, i. 178
Wildercroft, i. 132
Willemson, Mary, wife of

Lion Gardiner, i. 14
Willis, Nathaniel P., i. 65,

closing years of, i. 229,

230

Wilson, Alexander, ii. 46, 6p
Wilson, Marinus, Colonel, i.

101

Wilton, ii. 49

Wiltwyck burying-ground,

i. 217, 219
Winthrop, John, i. 15, 45

the younger, i. 45
Winthrop, Theodore, ii. 261
Winthrop, Wait Still, i. 46
Winthrops, the, of Fisher's

Island, i. 45, 47
manor house of, i. 46
Wistar House, ii. 70
Wittgenstein, ii. 107
Wolfe, i. 184
Woodlands, ii. 49
World's Fair, i. 36
Wren, Christopher, Sir, ii.

260
Wright, Silas, i. 115

295

INDEX

Wyandance, chief of the

Montauks, i. 17
Wye House, ii. 28-30

first master of, ii. 29, 32
grandeur of, ii. 33, 35
visit of Frederick Doug
las to, ii. 31, 32
Wye Island, ii. 18, 33, 35
Wye River, ii. 29, 30, 36

Yonkers, city hall of, i. 138,

145

York, Duke of, i. 78, 238
York River, ii. 265

Yorktown, ii. 209, 239
a trading centre, ii. 260,

265
struggle in, ii. 267, 269,

270

Young, John, i. 115
Young, Mr., i. 164

Zinzendorf. Count, Mora
vian leader, ii. 139-141,
150, 151

christens Lititz, ii. 155
visits Warwick, ii. 153
Zion, ii. 121

THE END

296

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