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in  2010  with  funding  from 

Lyrasis  Members  and  Sloan  Foundation 


http://www.archive.org/details/wherewigwamsstooOOkath 


Where  Wigwams  Stood 

A  History  of  Muncy,  Pennsylvania, 
as  seen  through  the  pages  of  Now  and  Then 

by  Katherine  Yurchak 


SPECTRUM  PUBLISHERS 

Bloomsburg,  Pennsylvania  17815 


copyright  1994  Katherine  Yurchak 


Editor/Designer:  Walter  M.  Brasch 
Typesetter:  Meka  J.  Eyerly 
Printer:  BookMasters,  Inc. 


Photos  courtesy  of 

Muncy  Historical  Society 

Lycoming  County  Historical  Museum 


Library  of  Congress  Catalogue  Number:  94-69914 
International  Standard  Book  Number:  0-942991-01-X 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


Where  Wigwams  Stood 

1/  Small  Beginnings 1 

2/  Getting  to  Know  Gernerd 9 

3/  How  Muncy  Got  Its  Name 15 

4/  Rose  Elizabeth  Cleveland 19 

5/  The  Muncy  Female  Seminary. 25 

6/  The  Underground  Railroad 31 

7/  The  Shoemaker  Story. 41 

8/  The  McCartys  of  Muncy. 47 

9/    The  Wallis  Connection 57 

10/    The  Lady  of  the  Manor 67 

11/    A  Hero  Is  Remembered 77 

12/    Prisoners  of  Hope 87 

13/    Life  On  the  Frontier 95 

14/    The  Revival  of  Now  and  Then 103 

Vignettes: 

Gernerd  and  Greeley. 109 

Living  In  The  House  That  Wallis  Built Ill 

The  Last  Raft 113 


in 


Acknowledgements 


My  gratitude  to  Dr.  Walter  Brasch  whose  patience  and 
persistence  made  this  book  possible. 

Meka  Eyerly  did  an  outstanding  job  of  translating  my 
manuscript  into  type. 

Partial  funding  for  this  book  was  provided  by  the  Office 
of  University  Advancement  and  by  the  Honors  Program  of 
Bloomsburg  University  of  Pennsylvania. 


IV 


Where  Wigwams  Stood 


J.M.M.  Gernerd 

(1836-1910) 

Muncy,  Pennsylvania 


VI 


NOW  AND  THEN. 

■%,  %mxMl;§mtit\  to'  flu  ©ojto  ti  \ht,  %\m$. 


Vol.  1. 


MUNCY,  PA.  JUNE,  1868. 


No.l. 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MUNCY. 

Nl'MBKH   O.NK. 

Tin;  writer  was  a  suburban,  or  perhaps  with  more  propri- 
ety a  provincial.  His  nrstlcnowledge  of  the  metropolis  wag 
M  very  reluctant  Introduction  to  the  Old  Academy,  as  it  was 
ilirii  called,  anil  wli'ch  has  since,  degenerated  into  a  common 

■H'lllMiUtlllUSe. 

Our  experienco  onntlnped  through"  the  administration  of 
..-vend  of its  most  djstlivrairiied  Professors, — Willsoti,  Sev- 
ern, liutt,  tuid  Kittoe.  The  first  was  u  pedant  and  fop.  The 
►.mini  In  our  esteem  neve;  mac  above  the.  grade  of  a  school 
master.  Tho  third  wag  a  teacher,  a  scholar,  and  a  gentle- 
man. The  fourth  a  tcaclter  a  disciplinarian,  a-Bcholar  and 
ii  HmJeiii;  lie  hail  hnttta.of friendB,  and  no  lack  of  patrons, 
iliir  .inly  cninplumt  was/his system  of  punishment,  it  was 
h.i  summitry  and  iguominiouH,.  Tho  lect  of  the  unBUgpectiug 
i,i  iiMint  an  if  bj  mane  allj-'flL  of  the, Professors  hand  were 
I' .unit  elevated  to  an  angle  of  about  90  tlegrees,  and  before 
tin-  frightened  victim  crnda  roalke  his  situation  a  ponderous 
rutrr  wns  describing  semicircles  where  there  was  no  danger 
uf  abdominal  contagions.  Kittoe  excelled  all  others  in  this 
<>»tiin  of  intellectual  "in-knuckulation." 

*>f  the  several  of  whom  we  have  spoken,  connected  with 
0ii<  Academy"  lis  teachers,'  the  latter  two  have  become  distlii- 
I'ulshed  in  professional  walks,  while  the  former  we  belive,  if 
livtiiff,  are  [Hil.igogues yet. 

It  would  lie  interesting  to  trace,  if  we  were  allowed  to  do 
hi,  the  careers  of  some  Of  tlie  Aluinifi,  of  both  sexes,  of  this 
Aimlciny  Many  lollowed  the  "Star  of  Empire"  to  the  Great 
V\  ixt.aiiil  on  that  theatre  are  playing  their  part  in  the  great 
■li.iiiui  uf  life.  Others  still  linger  around  the  paternal  heart'' - 
iiiiw,  anil  Horae  alas — 

"The  young  and  strong,. 
Mho  cherished  noble  longings  for  the  strife, 
Uy  the  wayside  fell  and  perished, 
Weary  with  the  march  of  life." 

Unv  the  Lyceum  war  organized,  and  held  its  meetings. 
U  .•  ran  remember  the  astonishment  we  experienced  ut  the 
»  underfill,  kuowludge  of  its  lecturers.  Scientifiic  experimecis 
litre  monopolized  by  Drs.  Wood,  llankin,  and  Kittoe;  and 
we  em i  see  now,  though  we  did  not  then,  that  the  society 
tioulil  mil  have  heeen  run  if  the  electric  machine,  or  the  Gal- 
i  aiiic  battery,  laid  not  been  invented.  We  must  not  omit  to 
mention  however  in  justice  to  Dr.Butt,  that  he  came  near 
blowing  up  the  audieuce  one  night  iu  a  benevolent  attempt 
t<>  vary  the  entertainment,  by  prematurely  igniting  some 
liiliiiiiialing  powder. 

Ijithy  too  expatiated  eloquently  on  Moral  Philosophy,  and 
we  are  sorry  to  say  but  eeldom  followed  his  own  precepts,- 
wliiid  liains  iu  Astronomy,  Uoal  iu  Oratory,  Ellis  iu  Miner- 
alogy, and  Sneddon  in  Esthetics  and  Belle-letter,  constituted 
its-  eliiel'  lights.  Certainly  to  us,  the  rising  generation,  these 
gentlemen  were-  "Lights  shining  In  the  darkness."  We  are 
sorry  to  any  that  with  jireater  advantages  few  of  us  will  ever 
reaeh  their  standard,  in  private  or  professional  life. 

We  believe  about  the  time  of  which  we  are  speaking,  a 
rival  school  was  opened  in  a  building  almve  the  present  res- 
idence of  Esq.  Lloyd.  It  had  been  a  "Wiud  Mill  Factory." 
It  was  the  principal-lnntiuitioii  for  the  education  of  young 
ladles.    The  only  music  we  ever  heard  there  was  the  occa- 


sional clatter  of  one  of  the  rejected  wind  miHa,  and  we  belive 
the  only  professor  of  the  fine  arts  was  the  apprentice  who  in 
former  times  came  pot  and  brush  in  hand  to  paint  and  stripe 
them.  The  present  "Muncy  Female  Seminary,"  with  its  able 
Principal,  foods  of  departments,  and  its  many  easels  and 
costly  pianos,  presents  a  somewhat  striking  contrast. 

The  writer  remembers  among  the  attractions  of  the  town 
at  thiftime  was  Mrs.  Ellis's  "Pyana",  as  the  name  was  then 
pronounced.  It  was  the  only  one  in  the  town,  and  groups 
of  boys  and  girls  assembled  under  the  window  whenever  its 
charming  chords  were  struck.  Nothing  we  thought  in  this 
world  could  equal  it  but  Whitmoyer's  musical  clock,  just  op- 
posite, though  perhaps  the  "ginger  cakes"  might  To  this 
estimable  lady  is  due  the  honour  of  the  maternity  of  instru- 
mental music  in  Muncy,  and  we  are  told  that  her  touch  is  yet 
as  delicate  and  as  graceful  as  a  maidens. 

Muncy  had  then  as  now  its  votaries  to  the  Poetic  Muse. 
On  Petrlkin's  corner,  where  now  stands  the  store  of  Messrs. 
Clapp  and  Smith,  was  a  small  building  occupied  as  a  milli- 
nery shop.  Kvery  thing  of  litis  kind  was  then  called  shop, 
for  instance  a  Doctor  shop,  a  Butcher  shop,  &c.  Miss  Jane 
Calviu  was  a  lady  of  uo  ordinary  attractions  herself,  and  as- 
sisting her  were  several  Misses  in  every  respect  her  equal*. 
They  had  of  course  many  admircrs-araong  them  a  scion  of 
Yankee  laud  ;  whose  calls  proving  unacceptable,  was  treated 
as  an  iudicatiou  of  it,  to  a  bowl  of  mush  and  milk.  We  be- 
lieve he  was  in  the  employ  of  the  lute  .>Ir.  II.  Noble,  also  from 
the  East,  a  young  man,  and  who  was  laying  the  foundation 
of  a  handsome  fortune  iu  what  s.euied  to  the  people  of  the 
town  a  novel,  and  perhaps  abortive  enterprise — the  broom 
corn  business.  The  ".Muncy  Telegraph"  a  few  days  after  the 
mush  and  milk  incident  thus  in  part  narrates  it — 

A  broom-corn  twister  made  a  push, 
And  got  his  pay  in  milk  and  mu»h  ; 
A  friend  I  am  to  making  brooms, 
But  make  them,  Sir,in  proper  rooms. 

Not  least  among  the  exoitements  of  these  times  were  Train- 
ings ■  £  "big"  and  "Tittle  niufitors."  We  remember  well  uow 
sxe  all  envied  Tom  Lloyd,  [then  n  hoy]  his  superior  accom- 
plishment of  ploying  i  he  life, — cmuiug  into  town  at  the  head 
of  UiatmaguilTcentirtilitary  pageant  as  it  descended  "Shettle 
Hill"  from  Esq.  Wood's  fields,  where  of  ordering  arms 

"It  made  a  short  essay, 
Then  hastened  to  be  drunk 
The  bmiinesH  of  the  day." 

The  reputation  of  the  Academy  in  time  began  to  wauc,  and 
a  Belect  school  for  the  Patricians — the  nice  young  ineu  uf  the 
town — where  the  Latin  and  Greek  classics,  and  the  higher 
mathematics  were  taught, — was  opened  by  Q.  F.  Boal,  Esq. 
At  the  same  time  a  school  under  the  management  of  Mr. 
Ocorge  Ileightsmim  was  in  progress.  An  unaccountable  ri- 
valry sprung  up  between  the  schools,  and  the  patricians  dls- 
playtMl  tliier  superior  learning  and  refinement  in  epithetical 
effusions  like  the  following: 

"Highteman's  hogB  are  in  the  pen, 

And  dout  get  out  but  now  and  then. 

And  wheu  they  get  out, 

They  root  about 

George  Bool's  young  Gentleman." 

TEMPTJS 


VII 


1 /Small  Beginnings 


I 


n  1868,  J.M.M.  Gernerd,  a  cabinet  maker  and  shopkeeper  by 
trade,  introduced  Now  and  Then  to  Muncy,  his  beloved  hometown. 
He  described  his  newspaper  as  "a  humble  little  serial,"  which  it  was, 
and  published  it  with  the  promise  that  he  would  issue  it  only  every 
"once  in  a  while,"  which  he  did.  Neither  he,  nor  anyone  else,  could 
ever  have  imagined  that  Now  and  Then  would  be  the  official  publi- 
cation of  the  Muncy  Historical  Society. 

Gernerd  used  an  all-encompassing  subtitle,  "Topics  of  the 
Times,"  which  he  felt  licensed  him  to  write  freely  about  things 
which  he  said  "related  to  life,  health,  happiness,  death,  resurrection, 
and  restoration."  And  he  sincerely  believed  that  "people  of  all  ages, 
no  matter  what  their  means  or  education,  would  find  interest  in 
such  things." 

Gernerd's  writings  reveal  a  lively  curiosity  about  humanity  pre- 
sent and  past,  but  especially  about  the  race  that  peopled  the 
Susquehanna  Valley  before  white  men  invaded  Muncy' s  wilderness 
territory. 

For  example,  when  a  friend  told  him  about  "ancient  axe-marks" 
seen  on  a  pine  stump  left  from  a  tree  that  was  felled  in  1830,  he  was 
fascinated  to  discover  it  had  133  rings  of  annual  growth.  By  count- 
ing each  ring  as  a  spring  and  summer,  Gernerd  deduced  that  the 
axe-marks  had  been  made  about  the  year  1697.  He  then  compared 
that  data  with  information  published  by  his  friend  John  Meginness, 


1 


2  Katherine  Yurchak 

in  his  book  Otzinachson.  The  historian  had  mentioned  "much  older 
axe-marks  on  an  oak  that  was  felled  on  the  north  side  of  Muncy 
mountain..."  Gernerd  shared  this  exciting  news  with  readers  of 
Now  and  Then,  and  told  them  that  "the  growths  showed  that  the  cuts 
had  been  made  about  460  years  before,  or  about  the  year  1466." 

Continued  Gernerd:  "The  humble  natives  who  made  these  sim- 
ple records  certainly  did  not  then  dream  that  the  Great  Spirit  would 
send  a  race  of  acquisitive  white  men  who  would  destroy  all  their 
tribes,  occupy  all  their  vast  hunting  grounds,  cut  down  their  mag- 
nificent forests,  level  their  sepulchral  mounds  with  the  plow, 
destroy  the  wildlife,  build  villages  and  cities  where  their  wigwams 
stood,  and  yet  that  some  of  these  strange  beings  would  find  so  much 
interest  in  a  few  marks  made  on  several  trees!" 

It  is  reasonable  to  assume  that  Gernerd,  an  expert  in  Indian  arti- 
facts, knew  something  about  axe-marks,  having  collected  thousands 
of  flint  arrow  heads  which  he  had  carefully  catalogued  in  his  muse- 
um. 

We  also  have  to  assume  that  Gernerd  had  given  long  and  care- 
ful thought  to  his  publishing  venture  before  launching  Now  and 
Then.  He  already  was  a  busy  shopkeeper  who  dealt  mainly  in  musi- 
cal instruments,  and  was  an  accomplished  violinist.  He  did  not 
need  the  time-consuming  tasks  associated  with  journalism,  since  his 
shop  was  bulging  with  a  variety  of  merchandise  and  must  have 
needed  his  attention. 

For  his  periodical,  Gernerd  had  acquired  a  hand  press.  He  was 
the  typesetter  and  printer,  as  well  as  writer,  editor  and  distributor. 

The  inaugural  issue  of  Now  and  Then  bore  Gernerd's  greeting  to 
his  readers  under  the  title  "Salutatory."  He  could  not  have  made  his 
intentions  more  plain.  He  told  his  readers  he  was  not  undertaking 
the  publication  for  profit,  although  he  conceded  he  would  devote  a 
few  precious  inches  of  space  in  Now  and  Then  to  his  business  inter- 
ests. And  he  graciously  extended  an  invitation  to  his  readers  to  con- 
tribute their  views  for  publication. 

The  four  pages  of  the  6  by  9-inch  paper  were  admittedly  small 
as  to  size.  But  Gernerd  dismissed  that  point  with  this  bit  of  philos- 
ophy: "...  As  diamonds  and  rubies  are  not  the  less  sought  and  val- 
ued because  always  small,  we  fondly  hope  its  size  need  be  no  obsta- 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  3 

cle  to  pleasant  entertainment  and  valuable  instruction." 

Also  small  was  the  type  size  Gernerd  used  for  printing  his  arti- 
cles. The  type  was  set  60  characters  to  a  line,  and  10  lines  to  an 
inch.  Thus  the  editor  was  able  to  cram  each  page  with  his  flowing 
essays.  Again  Gernerd  offered  no  apologies  for  smallness.  He 
explained:  "Although  the  dimensions  are  somewhat  of  a 
Lilliputian  order,  yet,  on  account  of  the  smallness  of  the  type,  each 
number  will  require  a  great  many  pages  of  foolscap  manuscript." 

The  price  of  the  newspaper  was  2  cents  a  copy,  and  the  num- 
ber of  copies  of  the  first  issue  probably  was  no  more  than  100. 
According  to  Gernerd's  notations,  a  few  years  later  when  he  was 
"increasing  the  subscription  to  200  copies,"  he  told  those  who  were 
requesting  copies  of  the  first  issue  that  none  were  available, 
because  he  had  made  "far  to  few"  of  that  number. 

That  Now  and  Then  found  immediate  acceptance  throughout 
the  area  leads  to  the  assumption  that  during  his  generation 
Gernerd  had  filled  an  important  communications  gap.  And  he  did 
so  in  a  way  that  no  other  journalist  until  that  time  had  thought  to 
do. 

He  told  his  readers  that  although  there  were  several  volumi- 
nous historical  books  about  Lycoming  County  available  at  that 
time,  in  his  view  average  individuals  did  not  have  the  money  to 
purchase  such  expensive  books.  But  he  believed  even  busy  people 
would  find  time  to  read  about  the  past,  if  it  was  presented  along 
with  current  events  in  brief  and  concise  articles.  Gernerd,  there- 
fore, had  to  have  seen  himself  as  a  different  kind  of  journalist,  and 
truly  believed  Muncy  needed  his  periodical.  And  since  Now  and 
Then  was  being  offered  so  inexpensively  (the  price  was  later  raised 
to  5  cents  a  copy)  he  knew  Muncy's  people  could  afford  his  news- 
paper. 

For  his  brief  and  pithy  essays,  Gernerd  the  journalist  now 
reached  back  in  time  to  relate  his  "recollections"  of  life  as  it  once 
was  in  Muncy.  But  then  with  charming  spontaneity,  he  would 
extend  his  pen  to  embrace  those  immediate  things,  people  or 
places  close  at  hand. 

In  his  early  "recollections"  columns,  Gernerd  told  of  his  per- 
sonal memories  about  people  who  had  lived  only  three  or  four 


4  Katherine  Yurchak 

decades  earlier  in  his  beloved  community.    Since  he  was  in  his 
early  thirties  at  the  time,  we  can  assume  that  many  of  his  readers 
could  easily  compare  or  share  their  own  remembrances  about 
Muncy  And  they  did  so  in  letters  to  the  editor. 

In  his  newspaper,  Gernerd  showed  no  reticence  in  expressing 
bold  opinions  on  any  topic.  And  despite  his  appealing  writing 
style,  he  managed  to  stir  up  controversy  from  time  to  time. 
Gernerd  was  unswayed.  Muncy's  friendly  curmudgeon  wrote 
what  he  pleased,  and  as  often  as  he  wanted  to.  Readers  loved  it. 
Because  the  paper  was  small  enough  to  tuck  into  an  envelope,  rel- 
atives and  friends  sent  their  copies  of  Now  and  Then  to  former 
Muncians  who  had  earlier  taken  advantage  of  America's  grand  rail 
opportunities  during  the  1850's.  At  that  time,  large  and  thriving 
distant  cities  had  beckoned  to  young  people  from  America's  small 
towns  and  promised  them  prosperity.  Like  Gernerd,  some  had 
been  educated  in  Muncy's  Old  Academy.  But  Dame  Fortune's  pull 
was  not  so  strong  upon  Gernerd  as  it  had  been  on  many  of  his 
classmates. 

The  local  editor  included  in  the  pages  of  Now  and  Then  bits  of 
nostalgia  for  those  who  had  left  their  small  Pennsylvania  town  far 
behind.  And  Gernerd's  colorful  writings  made  them  homesick  for 
what  was  then  happening,  while  he  also  made  them  yearn  for  life 
as  it  used  to  be  in  Muncy — the  little  town  nestled  beneath  Bald 
Eagle's  Mountain. 

Gernerd's  skills  as  a  communicator  were  effective  beyond  his 
highest  expectations.  Now  and  Then  became  so  popular  that  his 
writings  almost  immediately  were  being  reprinted  in  area  news- 
papers. Since  they'd  failed  to  give  Gernerd  credit  as  the  author  of 
the  articles,  the  writer  had  to  give  strong  warning  against  plagia- 
rism to  his  competitor  journalists. 

By  the  time  the  third  issue  appeared  in  August  1868,  Gernerd 
gave  mention  to  several  area  newspapers  that  had  acknowledged 
his  contribution  to  the  journalistic  scene.  Among  them,  of  course, 
was  The  Luminary  in  Muncy,  where  Gernerd  had  become  a  friend- 
ly rival  to  his  editorial  friend,  George  Painter.  Other  journals 
issued  at  that  time  were  The  Miltonian,  The  Waverly  Enterprise,  The 
Hughesville  journal,  The  Watsontown  Journal,  The  Jersey  Shore  Herald, 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  5 

The  Clinton  Republican,  The  Mifflinburgh  Telegraph,  The  Popgun, 
being  issued  out  of  Sullivan  County,  and  The  Williamsport  Gazette 
and  Bulletin,  where  his  friend  John  Meginness  served  as  editor. 

Although  Gernerd  insisted  he  was  not  publishing  Now  and 
Then  for  "pecuniary  purposes,"  besides  the  bits  of  news  of  times 
past  and  present  that  he  shared  with  the  community,  the  editor 
reserved  two  or  three  inches  of  Now  and  Then  to  advertise  "articles 
for  ladies,"  which  were  available  in  his  shop.  He  listed  "fine 
cotton  for  crochet,  wire  for  hair  flowers,  and  oil  for  sewing 
machines." 

Under  the  caption  "For  Gentlemen,"  another  half-inch  of  the 
back-page  of  Now  and  Then  advertised  "pocket  books,  pocket 
knives,  fishing  rods  and  tackle,  baseballs  and  bats,  and  supplies  for 
fishermen." 

Today  when  the  nation  is  so  environmentally  conscious,  it's 
amazing  to  discover  that  many  yesterdays  ago  Gernerd  led  a  cam- 
paign toward  assuring  unpolluted  springs  for  Muncy's  residents. 
A  small  advertisement  promoting  water  filters  in  Now  and  Then 
reveals  that  Gernerd  was  aware  of  the  community's  "increasing 
demand  for  pure  water." 

On  examining  the  first  issue  of  Now  and  Then,  it  is  reasonable 
to  assume  that  Gernerd's  shop,  indeed,  must  have  had  a  full  inven- 
tory. He  also  held  the  franchise  for  Wheeler  and  Wilson  sewing 
machines. 

Moreover,  as  the  proprietor  of  the  only  music  store  in  town 
Gernerd,  with  understandable  pride,  advertised  that  he  could 
"furnish  any  of  various  styles  of  pianos"  to  his  patrons.  Indeed,  if 
a  Steinway  or  a  George  Steck  &  Co.  piano  were  to  be  delivered  to 
a  Muncy  resident  at  that  time,  it  no  doubt  would  have  had  to  pass 
through  Gernerd's  shop. 

But  of  what  use  was  a  piano,  if  there  was  no  place  in  Muncy  to 
buy  sheet  music?  Gernerd  foresaw  that  need.  A  list  of  sheet  music, 
available  in  Muncy  only  in  his  shop,  was  advertised  in  his  paper. 
Imagine  what  good  news  it  must  have  been  to  music  lovers  of  the 
area  to  discover  that  such  popular  songs  as  "My  Love  We'll  Meet 
Again,"  "I  Wait  With  a  Happy  Heart,"  and  "Then  You'll 
Remember  Me,"  were  on  sale  at  Gernerd's.   And  the  prices  were 


6  Katherine  Yurchak 

right — from  30  cents  to  60  cents  each. 

Gernerd  also  gave  space  in  Now  and  Then  to  an  announcement 
about  the  "Circulating  Library/'  contained  in  his  shop.  In  addition 
he  held  a  priceless  collection  of  thousands  of  Indian  artifacts  he 
had  gathered  since  his  boyhood  days.  They,  too,  were  on  display 
in  his  home/museum. 

From  this,  Nozv  and  Then  could  be  described  as  one  of  Muncy's 
earliest  "direct-mail  flyers,"  except  that  the  first  issues  of 
Gernerd's  periodical  were  carried  to  individual  homes. 

Although  Gernerd  used  his  newspaper  as  a  vehicle  for  notify- 
ing Muncy  of  the  things  he  had  to  sell  in  his  shop,  historian 
T.K.Wood  later  noted  that  the  shopkeeper's  newspaper  "had  cost 
him  much  more  than  it  had  ever  brought  him  in  profit." 

Because  Gernerd  was  the  inventor  and  the  manufacturer  of  a 
spring  bottom  bed,  the  product  also  was  advertised  in  later  copies 
of  Now  and  Then  .  Meginness  listed  the  mattress-making  business 
as  one  of  Muncy's  prosperous  industries,  and  described  Gernerd's 
spring  bottom  bed  as  "being  light,  clean,  noiseless,  strong,  durable, 
beautiful,  and  delightfully  elastic." 

As  promised,  Gernerd  published  Now  and  Then  "every  once  in 
a  while,"  until  February  1878.  During  that  decade,  his  publication 
was  issued  only  19  times,  and  the  subscription  list  increased  each 
time  it  was  published. 

When  issue  No.  7  appeared,  the  editor  announced  he  was  pro- 
ducing 500  copies,  but  promised  No.  8  would  be  a  600-copy  issue, 
and  that  there  would  be  800  copies  available  for  the  No.  9  issue  of 
Now  and  Then.  He  told  his  readers  he  had  a  book  that  would  hold 
3,000  names  of  subscribers.  But  even  the  popular  demand  for  his 
newspaper  could  not  hold  Gernerd  to  his  journalistic  post. 

In  February  1878,  he  bade  a  fond  farewell  to  his  subscribers 
only  to  reappear  as  the  editor  of  his  paper  ten  years  later.  In  the 
revived  publication  under  date  of  July-August  1888,  Gernerd's 
first  essay,  "Florida  Reminiscences,"  notifies  that  in  the  interim  he 
had  moved  to  Florida  hoping  to  make  it  his  permanent  home.  But 
apparently  his  love  for  Muncy  was  stronger  than  any  benefits  he 
might  have  derived  from  living  in  the  South. 

On  his  return  to  Muncy,  Gernerd  was  convinced  by  his  friend 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  7 

Meginness  that  Now  and  Then  should  be  revived.  The  new  period- 
ical had  an  increase  in  the  number  of  pages  so  as  to  include  the 
writings  of  Meginness  and  several  other  local  historians. 

By  then  the  editor  was  53  years  old,  and  we  could  reasonably 
assume  that  he  also  was  more  mature  in  his  ideas  and  interests. 
We  find,  however,  that  he  had  lost  none  of  his  curmudgeon  quali- 
ties in  covering  topics  (listed  on  the  periodical's  frontispiece)  such 
as  "history,  amusement,  instruction,  and  advancement." 

An  article  published  in  1891,  for  example,  dealt  with  "the  dis- 
eased minds  of  animals,"  and  pointed  out  that  "the  most  faithful, 
affectionate  and  intelligent  dog  is  utterly  transformed  in  his  men- 
tal nature  when  he  becomes  rabid."  And  he  continued:  "We  had 
an  ill-shaped  rooster  several  years  ago  that  was  a  complete  idiot. 
He  knew  just  about  enough  to  eat,  but  hardly  enough  to  crow.  He 
was  as  defective  in  organization  as  he  was  in  mind,  and  was 
despised,  shunned  and  abused  by  all  his  poultry-yard  compan- 
ions." 

A  review  of  Gernerd's  later  writings  shows  that  he  was  still 
interested  in  "topics  of  the  times,"  as  in  earlier  issues  of  Now  and 
Then.  However,  none  of  Gernerd's  strong  opinions  about  those 
topics  had  appreciably  changed.  He  continued  to  write  about  such 
controversial  subjects  as  "cremation,"  and  "animal  intelligence." 

The  newer  version  of  Now  and  Then  also  had  to  be  increased  in 
price  to  10  cents  a  copy  because  "postage  charges  are  too  expen- 
sive," according  to  the  editor.  From  this  it  is  learned  that  the 
Gernerd  publication  no  longer  was  delivered  door-to-door,  but 
had  become  available  only  by  mail  to  its  much  increased  list  of 
subscribers. 

The  tone  for  Gernerd's  newest  volume  of  Now  and  Then,  was 
established  with  a  couplet  taken  from  "Young's  Night  Thoughts." 
"We  take  no  thought  of  time, 
But  from  its  loss. 
To  give  it  then  a  tongue, 
Is  wise  in  man." 

By  1888,  Gernerd's  periodical  was  being  printed  on  the  com- 
mercial presses  of  Muncy's  weekly  newspaper,  The  Luminary. 
Gernerd  advertised  that  his  old  hand  press  was  for  sale.    It  is  rea- 


8  Katherine  Yurchak 

sonable  to  assume  that  it  was  with  great  reluctance  he  had  decid- 
ed to  get  rid  of  the  press.  Even  so,  there  were  no  immediate  buy- 
ers. The  press  advertisement  appeared  in  several  issues  of  the 
paper.  But  eventually  the  Gernerd  hand  press,  with  "all  of  its  para- 
phernalia," found  a  new  home  in  the  neighboring  community  of 
Montgomery.  The  publisher  of  The  Mirror  purchased  it  for  its 
antiquity. 

The  last  published  issue  of  Now  and  Then,  with  Gernerd  as  edi- 
tor, was  May /June  1892.  [Vol.  3,  No.  12]  The  publication  was 
brought  to  an  abrupt  end.  And,  again,  there  were  no  apologies  and 
no  explanations.  Gernerd  was  then  engaged  in  preparing  a  book 
about  the  Gernerd  family's  genealogy.  Perhaps  that  work  may 
have  influenced  his  decision  to  end  his  journalistic  duties. 

But  whatever  the  reason  for  stopping  the  presses  on  his  publi- 
cation, his  "Valedictory"  reads  as  follows:  "This  number  completes 
the  third  volume  of  the  Now  and  Then.  It  faithfully  discharges  all 
obligations  to  its  subscribers.  And  this  is  the  last  number,  and  this 
the  last  volume,  that  will  be  published — Now. " 

In  the  reading  of  Gernerd's  farewell,  one  senses  a  hint  to  a 
future  reappearance  of  Now  and  Then.  But  that  did  not  occur  dur- 
ing his  lifetime. 


2 /Getting  to  Know 
Jerry  Gernerd 


F, 


or  an  introduction  to  the  man  who  began  Now  and  Then,  we 
turn  to  the  book  Gernerd  published  about  his  family's  history  The 
genealogical  search,  published  in  1904,  had  taken  him  six  years  to 
complete.  And  although  he  insisted  his  work  was  meant  only  "for 
his  indulgent  kindred,"  it  makes  enjoyable  reading  for  anyone 
who  is  interested  in  knowing  how  the  early  settlers  survived  life  in 
primitive  America. 

The  original  Gernerds  (the  name  has  undergone  a  number  of 
anglicized  spellings)  were  "Redemptioners"  who  had  left  the 
Palatines  of  Europe  in  the  late  1600s  to  escape  an  oppressive  gov- 
ernment. 

Jeremiah  Mutzler  Mohr  Gernerd  was  born  in  Foglesville,  Pa., 
on  July  22, 1836.  He  was  the  only  child  of  David  and  Lydia  (Mohr) 
Gernerd.  In  1839,  the  family  moved  to  Muncy  where  David 
Gernerd  continued  his  trade  as  a  chairmaker,  as  was  his  father 
before  him. 

Jerry  Gernerd  was  ten  years  old  when  his  father  died  in  1846. 
The  youngster  and  his  widowed  mother  made  their  home  with  the 
Mohrs,  his  maternal  grandparents,  who  had  earlier  also  located  in 
Muncy  from  the  Foglesville  area. 

In  writing  to  his  relatives  about  himself,  Gernerd  candidly 


1 0  Katherine  Yurchak 

revealed  that  he  was  a  "sickly,  nervous,  wayward  youngster."  He 
wrote:  "When  I  was  a  year  or  two  old,  I  was  so  puny  that 
Grandmother  Gernert  (spelling  is  correct  for  that  time  period) 
declared  I  would  never  grow  up." 

Gernerd  would  have  preferred  to  have  been  allowed  to  be  more 
active  "in  the  open  air  and  sunlight,"  instead  of  having  been  forced 
to  attend  school.  But  his  father,  whose  formal  learning  consisted  of 
but  a  few  months  during  his  lifetime,  pushed  education  on  to  his 
sickly  son,  and  often  drilled  into  him  that  a  formal  education  is  "the 
all-essential  thing  to  prepare  a  boy  for  a  useful  life." 

Gernerd  noted  he  attended  our  common  schools  until  twelve 
years  old  but  seldom  enjoyed  the  privilege.  Corporal  punishment 
was  standard  in  the  classrooms  of  those  times,  and  that  may  have 
helped  to  sour  the  boy's  taste  for  formal  education. 

"I  got  too  many  lickings,"  he  told  his  family  in  the  book  he  wrote 
for  them.  "How  I  did  hate  school!"  he  insisted. 

Then  he  described  how  "an  irate  and  unreasoning  teacher  held 
me  up  by  the  feet  and  bumped  my  head  roughly  on  the  floor." 

Apparently,  a  fellow  student  whom  he  described  as  "stout  and 
broad-shouldered"  went  to  Jerry's  defense.  Gernerd  said  his  friend 
"pulled  off  his  coat  and  rushed  forward  to  turn  the  teacher  upside 
down  if  he  did  not  instantly  desist  and  reverse  my  position." 

In  his  first  issue  of  Now  and  Then,  Gernerd  elaborated  on  his  mis- 
eries as  a  student  at  Muncy's  Old  Academy,  and  recounted  still 
another  experience  suffered  at  the  hands  of  one  of  his  teachers.  He 
wrote,  "...  Another  impatient  and  unthinking  teacher  tried  to  help 
me  in  arithmetic,  but  because  I  was  rather  dull  in  comprehending 
what  he  said  he  became  greatly  enraged,  and  gave  me  a  terrific 
broadside  with  his  big,  heavy  hand.  It  gave  me  the  sensation  for  a 
time  that  either  my  cranium  was  smashed,  or  that  my  neck  was  bro- 
ken." 

Gernerd  named  four  of  his  teachers  (whom  we  assume  had 
passed  away  by  the  time  he'd  told  this  about  them  in  1868)  and 
labeled  one  "a  pedant  and  a  fop."  Another  he  said,  "never  rose  above 
the  grade  of  a  schoolmaster."  However,  a  third  teacher,  in  Gernerd's 
opinion  had  been  "a  scholar  and  a  gentleman,"  and  a  fourth  was  con- 
sidered to  be  "a  disciplinarian,  a  scholar,  and  a  student." 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  1 1 

His  formal  education  helped  to  enforce  Gernerd's  belief  that 
"life  is  from  first  to  last  the  great  and  real  school."  And  so  he  chose 
not  to  attend  college,  but  rather  allowed  life  to  become  his  teacher. 

Louise  C.  Sieger,  of  Allentown,  became  Jerry  Gernerd's  wife  in 
1863.  Within  two  years  after  he  was  married,  the  young  man 
became  a  clerk  in  Muncy's  post  office.  And  then  he  went  into  busi- 
ness. 

"I  started  out  in  business  for  myself  in  a  small  way,"  he  wrote, 
"opening  a  music  and  variety  store,  with  which  I  soon  combined  a 
circulating  library." 

The  Gernerds  were  the  parents  of  one  child,  Lydia,  who  was 
born  in  1868.  Unfortunately,  their  daughter  suffered  an  untimely 
death  at  the  age  of  27.  At  a  picnic,  in  August  1893,  she  fell  from  a 
swing.  The  injuries  were  not  thought  to  be  serious  at  first,  but 
eventually  internal  abcesses  developed,  and  surgery  to  correct  the 
condition  was  not  successful.  Lydia  died  three  months  after  the 
accident,  in  November  1893. 

Gernerd  told  his  family  about  his  daughter's  passing  in  his  his- 
tory book.  He  copied  Lydia's  eulogy  which  he  said  was  "written 
by  a  friend  who  knew  her  intimately  all  her  life."  It  was  published 
in  The  Muncy  Luminary,  and  noted  that  Lydia  "was  brought  up  by 
her  parents  in  the  most  careful  and  painstaking  manner,  with 
every  wish  gratified,  whether  'uttered  or  unexpressed,'  and  she 
repaid  them  with  an  affectionate  attachment  and  loving  kindness, 
manifested  by  her  obedience  and  assistance  as  a  dutiful  daughter 
and  a  fondness  for  her  home." 

Lydia  was  her  father's  constant  companion.  She  played  the 
violin  and  served  as  organist  for  the  local  Episcopalian  Church. 
She  was  remembered  as  a  highly  accomplished  girl. 

Lydia's  father  was  a  health  fanatic  and  a  vegetarian.  In  the 
pages  of  Now  and  Then  we  learn  of  his  aversion  to  physicians,  and 
that  he  was  a  teetotaler  and  an  abolitionist.  He  was  a  member  of 
the  Masonic  Order,  and  was  strongly  against  spiritualism.  He 
truly  believed  that  everyone  following  his  rules  for  living  would 
enjoy  long  life. 

In  a  photograph  of  Gernerd,  taken  at  his  home  in  August  1893, 
we  see  him  seated  with  his  friend,  John  Meginness.  The  editor  of 


1 2  Katherine  Yurchak 

Now  and  Then  has  white  hair  and  a  beard  that  reaches  at  least  six 
inches  below  his  chin.  He  appears  much  older  than  his  57  years, 
with  eyes  sunken  beneath  thick  brows.  Gernerd  is  lean  and  trim. 
He's  wearing  a  well-tailored  tweed  suit  with  six-button  vest.  His 
wide-brimmed  straw  hat  lies  on  the  ground.  The  small-town  edi- 
torialist appears  relaxed,  as  he  bends  his  body  and  lets  the  back 
legs  of  the  wooden  chair  support  his  trim  figure. 

After  the  first  copy  of  Now  and  Then  was  issued,  Gernerd  gave 
less  time  to  his  shop  and  more  of  his  energy  was  given  to  the  peri- 
odical. 

The  shopkeeper  and  journalist  participated  in  a  variety  of 
activities.  He  served  as  school  director  for  two  terms.  We  don't 
know  if  he  managed  to  abolish  corporal  punishment  for  students 
of  that  generation,  but  we  do  know  that  the  memories  of  his 
schooldays  had  not  entirely  faded.  And  so  in  giving  public  voice 
to  those  sad  expereriences,  he  may  have  made  a  contribution  to 
changing  attitudes  on  the  part  of  teachers  of  those  days.  Gernerd 
also  served  as  a  notary  public  for  three  years,  and  he  worked  as  a 
bookkeeper  at  Muncy's  First  National  Bank  for  ten  years. 

J.M.M.  Gernerd  died  in  1910.  He  was  74  years  old. 

T.K.  Wood  prepared  a  biographical  sketch  of  Gernerd  in  which 
he  described  the  fate  of  the  historian's  unique  collection  of  Indian 
artifacts.  The  article  appeared  in  1936  in  Now  and  Then,  and  states 
that  Gernerd's  will  contained  no  disposition  of  his  valuable  pieces 
of  antiquity.  Representatives  of  Bucknell  University  approached 
Gernerd's  widow  with  the  suggestion  that  the  college  be  named 
custodian.  She  was  offered  a  small  sum  and  an  equally  small 
annuity  for  the  historical  treasures. 

The  record  notes  that  Professor  Nelson  Davis,  then  of 
Bucknell's  Biology  Department,  had  the  collection  placed  in  the 
Old  Main  Building,  where  he  also  kept  a  valuable  collection  of 
birds  valued  at  $20,000,  as  well  as  numerous  botanical  specimens, 
lantern  slides,  and  other  items  he'd  collected  over  a  lifetime. 
Unfortunately,  in  1932,  a  fire  swept  through  the  University's 
wooden  building.  The  destruction  was  total.  Gernerd's  museum 
of  Indian  History  was  lost  forever. 

According  to  T.  K.  Wood,  Gernerd's  business  establishment 


Where  Wigwams  Stood 


13 


was  located  at  122  S.  Main  Street,  presently  the  site  of  the  parson- 
age of  St.  Andrew's  Lutheran  Church.  Later,  he  built  a  home  at  506 
S.  Main  Street,  now  the  residence  of  Scott  Williams,  a  prominent 
Muncy  lawyer  who  has  offices  locally  and  in  Williamsport. 

Incidentally,  next  door  to  Williams'  home  is  the  residence  of 
Thomas  Taber,  a  local  historian  who  served  as  one  of  the  eight  edi- 
tors Now  and  Then  has  known  during  its  125-year  history. 


The  Gernerd  Room  on  the  second  floor  of  Muncy  Historical 
Museum  displays  his  bed  and  other  furniture  made  by  edi- 
tor of  Now  and  Then. 


14 


Katherine  Yurchak 


3 /How  Muncy  Got  Its  Name 


T 

JLhe  editor  of  Now  and  Then  had  spent  many  hours  pouring 
through  history  books  to  learn  how  Muncy  acquired  its  name. 

From  the  diaries  of  missionaries  who  journeyed  into  the 
Susquehanna  Valley,  J.M.M.  Gernerd  found  records  of  a  people 
whom  they  described  as  "tall  and  stout ...  of  gigantic  mould." 
One  of  the  earliest  evangelists  who  came  to  Christianize  the 
Indians  was  Count  Nicholas  Ludwig  Zizendorf,  a  Moravian 
who  had  disembarked  at  Philadelphia  in  1742. 

Late  in  the  1770's,  George  Whitefield  (sometimes  called  "the 
Billy  Sunday"  of  the  eighteenth  century)  also  believed  he  was 
called  to  convert  the  savages  to  the  Christian  religion. 

From  the  records  of  historians,  we  find  there  were  several 
Indian  settlements  to  whom  the  missionaries  ministered. 

"About  the  time  the  Europeans  were  first  tentatively  poking 
the  noses  of  their  ships  into  the  bays  and  estuaries  of  the 
Atlantic  seabord,"  writes  one  historian,  "there  was  living  in  the 
region  later  to  be  known  as  the  Susquehanna  Valley,  a  group  of 
Indians  sparsely  scattered  throughout  the  length  of  the  great 
river's  course. "[The  Long  Crooked  River,  p.45] 

These  groups  of  Indians,  then,  were  the  original  inhabitants 
of  the  territory  later  known  as  "the  Province  of  Pennsylvania  in 
America,"  named  for  a  wealthy  British  admiral,  Sir  William 
Penn,  who  received  a  grant  from  Charles  II,  under  the  Great 

15 


1 6  Katherine  Yurchak 

Seal  of  England,  on  March  4,  1681. 

Historians  name  the  aborigines  as  the  "Andastes,"  a  people 
whose  origins  are  believed  to  have  been  in  Asia  thousands  of 
years  ago.  There  is  no  certainty,  however,  as  to  the  date  when 
the  Andastes  found  their  way  to  the  Susquehanna. 

Historian  John  Meginness  notes:  "As  early  as  1620  the  tribe 
called  Andestes  dwelt  in  the  valley  of  the  Susquehanna,  but  lit- 
tle is  known  of  them.  They  are  spoken  of  by  different  writers 
under  various  names,  the  most  frequent  of  which  are 
Susquehannocks,  Minquas,  and  Conestogas."  [p.  18] 

This  information  seems  to  corroborate  our  history  books 
which  tell  us  that  Captain  John  Smith,  in  1608,  met  a  party  of 
Susquehannocks  along  the  Chesapeake  Bay. 

From  William  Henry  Engle's  account  of  the  people  he  calls 
"the  aborigines  of  Pennsylvania,"  we  come  upon  a  new  phrase, 
the  "Five  Nations"  of  Indian  tribes.  He  says  they  "planted 
themselves  on  the  Atlantic  border,"  but  "were  soon  divided  and 
became  embroiled  in  war  among  themselves."  The  Five 
Nations,  Engle  tells  us,  were  comprised  of  the  Cayugas, 
Mohawks,  Oneidas,  Onandagas,  and  the  Senecas  who  had 
made  their  way  through  the  wilderness  from  Canada  and  then 
New  York. 

But  when  William  Penn  came  to  Pennsylvania  he  met  a  peo- 
ple known  as  the  Lenni  Lenape,  which  translates  into  "the  orig- 
inal people."  They  inhabited  the  shores  of  the  Delaware,  and 
made  crossings  over  a  river  now  known  as  "The  Allegheny," 
(named  for  the  tribe  Allegewi). 

From  their  tracings  of  the  tribal  wanderings  of  the  Indians  in 
our  valley,  Pennsylvania  historians  know  that  tribes  of  Indians 
had  come  East  by  way  of  Mississippi  River  crossings.  Again,  at 
what  point  in  time  this  happened  is  not  recorded.  It  is  believed, 
however,  that  the  tribes  that  migrated  East  were  survivors  of 
bloody  wars  with  the  Iriquois  (Mengwe)  tribe  in  America's 
"wild  West." 

Historians  of  the  Susquehanna  Valley  have  documented 
three  warring  tribes  of  the  region.  They  were  the  Unamis  (the 
Turtle);  the  Unalachtigo  (the  Turkey);  and  the  Minsi  (the  Wolf). 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  1 7 

The  latter  tribe  has  won  the  distinction  of  having  been  the  most 
warlike.  And  this  is  the  tribe  of  savages  with  whom  Muncy's 
first  settlers  had  to  do  battle. 

Although  today's  residents  spell  the  name  of  their  town 
M-U-N-C-Y,  through  the  years  it  has  undergone  a  variety  of 
transitions  in  spelling.  Historians  notify  that  it  depended  upon 
either  the  education  or  nationality  of  the  early  writers,  as  to 
how  the  name  of  the  community  would  be  spelled. 

Beginning  with  Minsi,  the  name  has  become  Monsey,  then 
Munzey,  Muncie,  Muncee,  Munci,  and  Munsey.  But  finally,  we 
have  Muncy. 

However,  on  plaques  marking  our  historic  sites,  we  read, 
"the  Monsey  Indians." 

The  Indian  tribe  calling  itself  "The  Monseys"  left  the 
Susquehanna  in  1750.  "They  made  their  way  finally  to  Indiana," 
Meginness  notes,  "and  their  name  is  perpetuated  by  the  town  of 
Muncie  in  that  State,  as  well  as  by  the  borough  of  Muncy,  and 
the  creek  and  valley,  in  Lycoming  County."  [p.46] 

Incidentally,  despite  the  savagery  of  warring  tribes,  it  is 
interesting  to  note  that  "the  mediators  between  the  Indian 
nations  .  .  .  are  the  women,"  according  to  Engle.  He  continues: 
"The  men,  however  weary  of  the  contest,  hold  it  cowardly  and 
disgraceful  to  seek  reconciliation."  Therefore,  to  keep  Indian 
wars  from  being  interminable,  we  find  that  it  was  the  women 
who  "pleaded  their  cause  with  much  eloquence." 

A  typical  effort  on  the  part  of  an  Indian's  wife  found  its  way 
in  Engle's  historical  notes.  It  reads:  "Mothers  who  have  borne 
with  cheerfulness  the  pangs  of  childbirth,  and  the  anxieties  that 
wait  upon  the  infancy  and  adolescence  of  their  sons,  behold 
their  promised  blessings  crushed  in  the  field  of  battle,  or  per- 
ishing at  the  stake  in  unutterable  torments.  In  the  depth  of  their 
grief  they  curse  their  wretched  existence,  and  shudder  at  the 
idea  of  bearing  children." 

The  historian  states:  "Prayers  thus  urged  seldom  failed  their 
desired  effect." 

Eventually,  therefore,  though  "the  strongest  passion  of  an 
Indian's  soul  is  revenge,"  we  find  that  upon  reflection,  some 


18 


Katherine  Yurchak 


man  of  the  Indian  race  had  come  to  be  convinced  that  if  they 
were  to  be  preserved  as  a  nation,  some  one  person  of  the  tribe 
would  have  to  "assume  the  character  of  a  woman."  That  meant 
laying  down  the  hatchet  and  smoking  the  pipe  of  peace  with  an 
enemy  neighbor. 

There  are  no  Indians  in  Muncy  today.  Although  they  played 
a  vital  role  in  the  community's  history,  only  the  Wolf  Tribe's 
name  on  plaques  and  historic  markers  has  been  left  to  remind 
us  of  battles  fought  and  won  on  Muncy's  soil. 


A  plaque  at  the  entrance  to  town  announces  how  Muncy 
got  its  name. 


4 /Rose  Elizabeth  Cleveland 

V  V  hen  J.  M.  M.  Gernerd  resumed  the  publication  of  Now  and 
Then,  in  1888,  he  had  gained  considerable  confidence  as  a  writer, 
as  well  as  editor  and  publisher.  His  historian  friends,  and  count- 
less subscribers,  had  convinced  him  that  his  periodical,  which 
had  been  suspended  abruptly  in  February  1878,  was  an  impor- 
tant contribution  to  Muncy's  place  in  history. 

His  pen  was  loaded,  therefore,  when  in  the  very  first  issue 
[July-August,  Vol  2,  No.  1]  he  defended  Rose  Elizabeth 
Cleveland,  who  had  been  a  teacher  at  the  Muncy  Female 
Seminary. 

Grover  Cleveland,  Rose's  bachelor  brother,  was  a  notable 
and  successful  politician.  He  was  Governor  of  the  State  of  New 
York.  Later  he  won  election  to  the  highest  office  in  the  United 
States  of  America — and  for  two  separate  terms.  He  served  as  the 
22nd  president  (1885-1889),  and  as  the  24th  president  (1893- 
1897). 

Gernerd's  ire  was  aroused  by  an  item  he  had  read  in  the 
Philadelphia  Press  and  described  it  as  "throwing  mud  at  Miss 
Cleveland."  Published  anonymously,  the  item  was  as  follows: 
"Miss  Cleveland  was  not  so  popular  with  the  'fair  Alviras'  of  the 
Seminary.  She  was  called  'Jake'  by  the  students  and  the  young 
men  who  took  her  out  buggy  riding  on  moonlight  nights." 

"A  vindictive  slur,"  Gernerd  retorted,  and  then  went  on  to 
argue  in  defense  of  the  former  Female  Seminary  teacher.    He 

19 


20 


Katherine  Yurchak 


wrote  that  Miss  Cleveland  was  a  "sensible,  prudent,  and  highly 
respected  young  woman." 

Although  he  admitted  they  were  not  personal  friends,  Gernerd 
noted  that  he  and  Miss  Cleveland  often  had  encountered  each  other 
in  town,  during  the  years  she  had  been  teaching  Muncy's  young 
women  at  the  Seminary. 

Defending  the  young  woman's  honor,  Gernerd  noted  that  the 
item  about  Miss  Cleveland  in  the  Philadelphia  paper  was  "a  base  and 
cowardly  abuse  of  the  freedom  of  the  press."  Then  he  continued 
asserting  to  readers  of  Now  and  Then  that  Miss  Cleveland  "could  help 
herself  too  well  for  'night  hawking  young  men'  to  take  her  for  a 
buggy  ride  on  moonlight  nights." 

"When  she  wanted  a  buggy  ride,  Miss  Cleveland  usually  sent  her 
order  to  the  livery,"  Gernerd  added. 

From  data  in  local  historical  files,  we  can  conclude  that  Rose 
Elizabeth  Cleveland  was  truly  a  one-of-a-kind  individual.  She  was 
born  in  1846,  the  youngest  of  nine  children  to 
Richard  and  Anna  Cleveland,  of  Fayetteville, 
N.Y  Her  father,  a  Presbyterian  minister,  took 
charge  of  a  church  in  Clinton,  N.Y.  soon  after 
Elizabeth  was  born.  And  when  she  was  seven 
years  old,  Elizabeth's  family  had  to  move  again, 
when  her  father  became  pastor  of  a  church  in 
Holland  Patent,  N.Y.  Unfortunately,  during  that 
same  year  (1853)  he  died. 

Rose  was  educated  at  Houghton  Seminary, 
and  graduated  as  class  valedictorian.  An  essay 
she  wrote,  entitled  "Ordinary  People,"  is  said  to 
have  won  the  acclaim  of  the  school's  faculty  for 
its  insightful  content.  A  search  has  failed  to  bring  the  essay  to  light, 
but  in  alluding  to  her  graduation  paper,  Now  and  Then  records  that 
Miss  Cleveland  was  not  an  "ordinary"  person.  [Vol.  IV,  p.101] 

Since  teaching  was  her  chosen  profession,  Miss  Cleveland  was 
given  an  opportunity  to  remain  at  Houghton,  where  she  taught  for 
two  years  after  graduating.  Later,  she  became  the  principal  of  the 
Collegiate  Institute,  in  Lafayette,  Indiana. 

Meanwhile,  in  Muncy,  stockholders  of  the  Female  Seminary  had 


Rose  Elizabeth 
Cleveland 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  21 

sent  out  posters  which  advertised  their  need  for  teachers.  "To  those 
unacquainted  with  the  Borough  of  Muncy,"  the  poster  read,  "it  is  a 
beautifully  situated  place,  containing  about  six  hundred  inhabitants, 
and  its  society  is  as  good  as  that  of  most  villages  of  its  size." 

Private  homes  were  made  available  for  boarding  teachers  who 
responded  to  the  poster's  plea.  And  to  Mrs.  Susan  J.  Life,  then 
named  principal  of  the  Muncy  Female  Seminary,  goes  the  honor  of 
recruiting  Rose  Elizabeth  Cleveland,  in  1869,  to  teach  young  ladies 
Greek  and  Latin. 

About  Mrs.  Life  (who  also  was  the  wife  of  the  pastor  of  Muncy's 
Presbyterian  Church)  the  historical  files  record  that  she  was  "strug- 
gling against  tradition  in  an  effort  to  give  women  a  more  generous 
place  in  the  sun."  And  so  she  found  Miss  Cleveland  to  be  a  teacher 
well  suited  for  advancing  the  role  of  Muncy's  women  in  society. 

indeed,  when  Miss  Cleveland  alighted  from  the  train  at  Muncy's 
Pennsylvania  Railroad  depot,  she  must  have  distinguished  herself 
from  Muncy's  "ordinary  people." 

Rose  was  only  23  years  old  when  she  came  to  Muncy.  She  was 
of  medium  build  and  stature.  Her  complexion  was  fair  and  she  had 
rather  plain  features.  Rose  wore  her  blondish /brown  hair  slightly 
curled  . . .  and  bobbed!  More  than  that,  her  skirts  were  short!  Stylish 
young  ladies  in  Muncy  wore  their  dresses  long.  One  thing  was  cer- 
tain, Miss  Cleveland  never  would  have  to  complain,  (as  other 
Seminary  teachers  did),  about  snagging  skirts  on  Muncy's  wooden 
plank  sidewalks. 

About  Miss  Cleveland,  Gernerd  wrote:  "She  was  hostile  to  fash- 
ion, and  publicly  declared  that  corsets,  cottons,  French  heels  and  the 
like  had  better  go,  rather  than  to  sacrifice  comfort." 

E.  P.  Bertin,  a  local  educator  who  also  was  an  editor  of  Now  and 
Then,  prepared  a  feature  on  "Illustrious  Names  in  Muncy's  Unique 
Educational  History,"  and  noted  about  Miss  Cleveland  that  "she 
was  a  rugged  individual,  born  almost  a  century  before  her  time." 
[Vol.  VI,  No.  10,  Oct.  1940]  Bertin  quoted  one  of  her  contemporaries 
as  saying  that  "Rose's  independent  spirit  stimulated  a  new  confi- 
dence toward  creating  a  dome  of  wider  justice  for  her  sex." 

The  local  records  note  that  Miss  Cleveland  often  would  walk 
briskly  down  the  street  with  an  umbrella  on  her  arm.  And  usually 


22  Katherine  Yurchak 


she  carried  a  book  with  her. 

T.K.  Wood  has  this  recollection  about  Miss  Cleveland:  "There  is 
an  ancient  apple  tree  still  standing  in  Muncy  and  allowed  to  stand 
(though  long  unproductive)  because  Rose  Cleveland  used  to  climb 
into  it  on  occasions  and  blissfully  read  for  hours."  [Vol.  V,  p.3] 

Could  it  be  that  such  tomboy  traits  earned  Miss  Cleveland  the 
nickname  "Jake"? 

Despite  her  blatant  independence,  Miss  Cleveland  impressed 
the  staid  Mr.  Gernerd  with  the  fact  that  she  was  a  progressive  and 
ambitious  young  woman  "who  always  conducted  herself  with  the 
propriety  that  is  reasonably  expected  of  an  educated  and  refined 
lady." 

A  young  woman  of  keen  intelligence  (she  was  a  skilled  lecturer 
and  writer,  as  well  as  a  teacher  of  Greek  and  Latin)  Miss  Cleveland 
apparently  was  well  able  to  hold  her  own  in  conversation  with  most 
young  male  professionals  of  her  day,  according  to  historical  records. 

It  is  fair  to  assume,  therefore,  that  the  young  woman's  extra- 
ordinary intellect,  and  her  political  stand  as  a  staunch  Democrat  (in 
a  community  that  was  predominantly  Republican),  must  have  given 
her  many  opportunities  to  boldly  express  her  opinions. 

Mary  Jane  Levan,  who  wrote  the  history  of  the  Female  Seminary 
for  Now  and  Then,  noted  that  in  1871  a  formal  reception  featured 
"several  dainty  and  unique  refreshments  that  were  prepared  by 
Miss  Cleveland  whose  knowledge  of  such  arts  the  Queen  of  Sweden 
can  never  learn  to  excel."  [Vol.  V,  p.  101] 

Miss  Cleveland  had  to  resign  her  teaching  position  at  the  Female 
Seminary,  in  1879,  to  care  for  her  ailing  mother,  in  Holland  Patent. 
But  soon  after  her  mother's  passing,  she  purchased  the  homestead 
with  her  own  earnings  and  then  gave  herself  totally  to  writing  and 
lecturing. 

One  of  her  more  famous  lectures  is  said  to  have  been  on  "Joan  of 
Arc."  She  wrote  and  published  a  textbook  on  the  works  of  the 
English  novelist,  George  Eliot,  who  was  born  Mary  Ann  Evans. 
Later  she  prepared  an  insightful  book  on  the  soliloquies  of  St. 
Augustine. 

Muncy's  former  Female  Seminary  teacher  won  distinction  as  the 
hostess,  at  the  White  House,  before  her  brother  was  married  to 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  23 

Frances  Folsom,  in  1886.  And  the  locals  who  had  known  Miss 
Cleveland  took  great  pride  in  the  fact  that  their  former  teacher,  at 
her  first  reception  at  the  nation's  Executive  Mansion,  had  greeted 
some  2,200  international  guests.  It  is  notable  that  Grover  Cleveland, 
as  president,  banned  alcoholic  beverages  from  the  Executive 
Mansion.  Despite  that,  Miss  Cleveland  (as  we  learned  earlier  from 
Nozu  and  Then)  had  a  regal  way  as  a  receptionist.  And,  of  course, 
local  historians  have  described  in  detail  that  the  young  hostess  (who 
hated  "corsets  .  .  .  and  French  heels")  was  fashionably  attired  in  a 
green  velvet  dress.  Her  long  gloves  have  been  marked  in  history, 
and  so  is  her  gray  ostrich-feather  fan. 

While  in  Washington,  the  former  Muncy  teacher  created  no 
small  stir,  because  she'd  been  seen  attending  the  theatre  with  a  lady 
friend,  rather  than  being  escorted  by  any  prominent  male  politi- 
cians. 

When  the  49-year-old  bachelor  president  married  21-year-old 
Miss  Folsom,  Rose  Cleveland  relinquished  her  role  as  the  White 
House  hostess  to  return  to  Holland  Patent,  where  she  resumed  her 
life  as  a  writer  and  lecturer. 

Miss  Cleveland  was  an  activist  in  women's  issues.  She  was  a 
member  of  the  Women's  Christian  Temperance  Union,  and  sup- 
ported Frances  E.  Willard's  platform  regarding  Women's  Suffrage. 
After  meeting  Mrs.  Bishop  Whipple,  the  pair  traveled  extensively 
throughout  the  world.  And  during  the  First  World  War,  they  settled 
in  Italy,  where  they  became  engaged  in  refugee  work,  which  includ- 
ed caring  for  wounded  soldiers,  and  raising  funds  for  hospitals  and 
orphanages. 

After  the  war,  although  they  had  permission  to  leave  Italy,  Miss 
Cleveland  and  her  companion  Mrs.  Whipple  chose  to  remain  over- 
seas. Unfortunately,  both  were  stricken  with  the  influenza  epidem- 
ic in  1918. 

Their  graves  are  prominently  marked  in  an  Italian  Cemetery,  in 
Bagni  di  Lucca.  Rose  Cleveland  died  November  22, 1918. 


24 


Katherine  Yurchak 


Fire  destroyed  the  originial  general  store  in  this  Main  Street 
building  belonging  to  the  Gudykunst  family.  After  the  turn 
of  the  century  it  was  restored  and  became  Frey's  hardware. 


5 /The  Muncy 
Female  Seminary 


T, 


he  beginning  of  the  Muncy  Female  Seminary  was  April  17, 
1840  when  a  State  charter  was  granted  to  the  Borough  for  the 
establishment  of  a  school  "for  the  education  of  Female  Youth  in 
arts,  sciences  and  useful  literature." 

Within  a  month  after  the  school's  charter  was  received,  the 
Female  Seminary  was  provided  a  building  separate  from  any  local 
church.  Prior  to  that  time,  young  girls  in  Muncy  received  their 
education  either  at  home  or  in  their  church. 

Mary  Jane  Levan,  a  contemporary  of  J.M.M.  Gernerd,  prepared 
a  historical  review  of  the  Female  Seminary  for  Now  and  Then,  and 
noted  that  she  was  taught  "the  art  of  orthography,"  as  well  as  read- 
ing and  writing  by  local  Methodist  preachers.  Her  lessons,  she 
wrote,  invariably  were  combined  with  Biblical  studies. 

"A  peculiar  feature  of  this  Female  Seminary,"  according  to 
Mrs.  Levan,  "was  its  'male  boys'  of  which  there  was  a  large  class. 
However,  they  came  merely  to  recite." 

The  Seminary's  first  teacher  was  a  Muncy  native,  Gemella 
Lyons.  She  was  described  in  Now  and  Then  as  having  "a  great 
mind  in  a  frail  body."  [Oct.  1940,  p.270]  Miss  Lyons'  first  class  was 
composed  of  25  students.  But  by  October  of  that  year,  the  frail 
Miss  Lyons  was  facing  a  student  body  of  40  pupils. 

Whether  from  overwork,  or  for  some  other  reason,  Miss  Lyons' 

25 


26  Katherine  Yurchak 

health  failed.  She  was  replaced  by  Susan  Miller  at  the  end  of  that 
year.  Miss  Miller  taught  until  February  1841,  when  once  again  the 
teaching  staff  was  in  need  of  a  replacement.  So  the  Female 
Seminary  had  to  turn  to  the  church  for  help. 

The  Rev.  S.S.  Shedden,  pastor  of  the  local  Presbyterian  Church, 
not  only  became  the  school's  only  teacher,  but  he  served  as  its 
superintendent  as  well. 

The  Female  Seminary's  campus  was  Muncy's  Main  Street, 
since  classes  were  then  conducted  in  an  empty  store  room,  which 
had  been  built  in  1818  by  Joshua  Alder. 

On  April  19,  1841,  two  days  after  the  first  anniversary  of  the 
school's  opening,  a  new  prospectus  was  issued  for  the  Muncy 
Female  Seminary  as  follows: 

"The  Trustees  of  the  Muncy  Female  Seminary  have 
engaged  the  services  of  the  Misses  Anna  and  Emily  Wynkoop  who 
are  believed  to  be  well  qualified  to  give  instruction  in  the  above- 
named  branches  (arts  sciences  and  useful  literature)." 

The  Wynkoop  sisters  were  related  to  a  Colonel  Wynkoop,  of 
Pottsville.  They  were  described  as  "highly  accomplished,"  of  "rare 
intelligence,"  and  "socially  brilliant."  They  had  been  engaged  to 
teach  Latin,  Greek  and  French.  And  the  historical  records  note  that 
they  also  conducted  classes  in  painting,  water  colors,  and 
dramatics. 

The  young  ladies  must  have  excelled  in  beauty,  as  well  as 
brains,  because  Mary  Jane  Levan's  records  note  the  fact  that  soon 
after  arriving  in  Muncy  the  Wynkoops  were  married  to  local  busi- 
nessmen. Therefore,  by  October  1842,  the  Seminary  was  conduct- 
ing a  search  for  teachers  once  again. 

This  time  Mrs.  C.  H.  Rowe,  widow  of  a  Baptist  missionary  to 
Hindoostan,  was  recruited  to  be  in  charge  of  Muncy's  young  girls. 

"I  remember  her  as  prim  in  appearance  and  precise  in  man- 
ner," wrote  Mrs.  Levan.  "She  was  very  thorough  in  her  teaching 
and  decided  in  her  views." 

The  widow  Rowe  had  come  to  Muncy  with  identical-twin 
daughters.  "They  seldom  appeared  in  the  schoolroom  together," 
noted  Mrs.  Levan,  and  so  that  "gave  us  the  benefit  of  the  doubt." 

By  1844,  the  local  church  was  still  deeply  involved  in  Muncy's 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  27 

educational  system,  when  the  Rev.  John  Smalley,  of  the 
Presbyterian  Church,  opened  his  home  for  "a  select  school,"  for 
the  purpose  of  educating  Muncy's  young  women. 

Rev.  Smalley  was  assisted  by  his  wife  who  is  said  to  have  "pos- 
sessed considerable  artistic  ability."  And  at  that  time,  notes  Mrs. 
Levan,  the  young  ladies  of  the  school  were  introduced  to  "the  art 
of  making  wax  flowers." 

The  historical  records  note  that,  as  strong  and  binding  as  the 
Borough's  charter  was  for  maintaining  a  school  for  girls,  the 
trustees  of  the  Muncy  Female  Seminary  had  great  difficulty  in 
locating  and  maintaining  suitable  teachers. 

Mrs.  Levan,  in  tracing  the  history  of  the  educational  institu- 
tion, notes  that  in  1846,  the  Rector  of  the  local  Episcopalian  parish 
had  offered  his  church  for  classes  for  "The  Young  Ladies  Institute." 

Two  sisters  were  hired  by  the  Rev.  C.A.  Foster  to  teach  at  the 
new  girls'  school.  Unfortunately,  the  Misses  Ellen  and  Elisabeth 
Conyngton,  who  lived  in  the  South,  never  arrived  in  time  for  the 
school's  opening  day,  which  was  in  May. 

Mrs.  Levan  records  that  the  Episcopalian  minister  advised  the 
community:  "I  will  take  a  class  of  six  young  ladies  for  the  higher 
branches  of  education,  devoting  a  few  hours  of  the  afternoon  to 
their  instruction." 

It  is  fair  to  assume,  that  it  must  have  been  with  some  frustra- 
tion that  the  Rector  of  the  Episcopalian  church  had  to  give  his  wife 
the  charge  of  the  school's  "ornamental  department."  Mrs.  Levan 
offers  no  explanation  as  to  what  that  department  entailed. 

Another  attempt  was  made  by  the  Presbyterian  Church  to 
maintain  the  chartered  Female  Seminary,  on  April  1847,  when  Rev. 
Smalley  (a  graduate  of  Lafayette  College  and  Princeton 
Theological  Seminary)  purchased  a  corner  property  on  Main  and 
Pepper  Streets.  Rev.  Smalley  and  his  wife  were  determined  to 
make  the  Muncy  Female  Seminary  prosper  in  its  purpose,  which 
was  to  educate  the  local  young  women. 

And,  indeed,  the  school  did  prosper  under  the  Smalleys.  Mrs. 
Levan  wrote  that  the  school's  success  was  almost  solely  because  of 
the  management  of  Mrs.  Smalley. 

Mrs.  Levan  also  notified  that  J.M.M.  Gernerd  was  among  the 


28  {Catherine  Yurchak 

group  of  "male  boys"  who  attended  the  Muncy  Female  Seminary 
"merely  to  recite,"  during  the  time  she  was  enrolled  in  the  school. 
She  adds  that  Gernerd  "had  his  knuckles  rapped  and  his  nose 
pulled  by  the  teachers  at  the  Seminary."  From  what  we  already 
know  about  the  corporal  punishment  Jerry  Gernerd  suffered  as  a 
student,  and  "too  many  lickings"  he  had  endured  during  his  school 
days,  we  can  assume  that  those  experiences  at  the  Female  Seminary 
only  had  to  have  added  to  his  distaste  for  formal  education. 

The  Muncy  Female  Seminary  had  to  be  closed  again,  in  October 
1855,  when  Rev.  Smalley  and  his  wife  "encountered  difficulties," 
with  their  congregation,  according  to  Mrs.  Levan's  historical  notes. 
And  although  it  is  assumed  she  was  familiar  with  those  "church 
difficulties,"  the  former  student  of  the  Female  Seminary  did  not 
recite  them  for  the  record.  However,  she  does  note  that  "Rev. 
Smalley  was  much  respected  by  all  who  knew  him."  The  minister 
and  his  wife  moved  from  Muncy  to  Butler,  Pa.,  where  Rev.  Smalley 
became  the  principal  of  Witherspoon  Institute. 

Two  more  years  passed  before  the  Muncy  Female  Seminary 
opened  its  doors  again,  in  1857.  The  school  building,  which  had 
been  owned  by  Rev.  Smalley,  was  purchased  by  the  stockholders  of 
the  Female  Seminary. 

Then  the  Rev.  William  Life,  the  new  minister  of  the  Presbyterian 
Church,  rented  the  school  building.  When  classes  were  resumed, 
his  wife,  Susan,  was  named  as  principal  of  the  Seminary. 

That  year,  the  purpose  of  the  school  was  restated  by  Mrs.  Life, 
who  noted  that  the  Muncy  Female  Seminary  was  reopening  "with 
the  design  of  giving  a  thorough  education  and  elevating  and  refin- 
ing the  character,  both  mentally  and  morally,  and  fitting  the  pupils 
as  far  as  possible  with  a  high  degree  of  usefulness." 

One  of  the  first  things  Mrs.  Life  did  was  to  institute  a  class  in  oil 
painting,  with  Miss  May  Calder  having  been  hired  for  that  pur- 
pose. 

Mrs.  Life,  a  gifted  musician,  also  selected  teachers  "of  the  finest 
musical  talent,"  notes  Mary  Jane  Levan.  And  the  young  lady 
singers  and  musicians  of  the  Seminary  often  participated  in  patri- 
otic parades,  and  held  recitals  at  local  social  events. 

Mrs.  Susan  Life  is  responsible  for  bringing  to  Muncy  Seminary 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  29 

the  notable  teacher,  Miss  Rose  Elizabeth  Cleveland,  whose  assign- 
ment was  to  teach  local  young  women  Greek  and  Latin. 

In  1869,  Mrs.  Life  also  brought  Miss  Julia  Ross  to  Muncy.  Her 
distinction  is  that  she  totally  renovated  the  old  school  building, 
having  done  much  of  the  painting  and  redecorating.  Miss  Ross  also 
gained  historic  notice  for  having  instituted  the  Charlotte  Bronte 
Society,  which  is  on  record  as  having  been  very  popular  among  the 
young  women. 

Mrs.  Levan  has  given  special  historical  note  to  a  teacher  named 
only  as  "Miss  Hastings."  She  was  the  daughter  of  a  Presbyterian 
minister  to  Ceylon.  And  Mrs.  Levan  noted,  "She  was  of  gentle  dig- 
nity and  had  sweet  womanly  ways,  and  soon  won  the  esteem  of  all 
who  made  her  acquaintance." 

Miss  Hastings  also  is  named  in  Now  and  Then  because  she  was 
the  niece  of  Rose  Elizabeth  Cleveland. 

Mary  Jane  Levan  would  have  it  known  that  she  recounted  the 
happenings  of  the  Muncy  Female  Seminary  for  Now  and  Then, 
"with  the  hope  that  out  of  the  great  number  of  ladies  educated  at 
these  schools,  one  at  least  may  be  found  that  will  some  day  gain  the 
honor  that  Rose  Elizabeth  Cleveland  has  attained." 

This  would  confirm  the  fact  that  Muncy's  citizens  were  singu- 
larly proud  of  having  had  the  sister  of  a  President  of  the  United 
States  on  its  roster  of  teachers  at  the  Female  Seminary. 

Some  of  the  Seminary's  young  ladies,  whose  names  have  been 
recorded  by  local  historians  in  Now  and  Then  are:  Sara  Ellis,  Ann 
Ellis,  Jane  Alder,  Fannie  Alder,  Emma  Alder,  Margaret  Petrikin, 
Elizabeth  Bruner,  Ann  Elizabeth  Thomas,  Margaret  Maxwell,  and 
Henrietta  Riebsam. 

Additional  names  of  young  women  who  graduated  from  the 
Muncy  Female  Seminary  are  Martha  Lancake,  Sara  Crouse,  Mary 
Jane  Cook  (later  Mrs.  Levan)  Lucretia  Hawley,  Ellen  Montgomery, 
Elizabeth  Montgomery,  Janet  Petrikin,  Sallie  Wallis,  Elizabeth 
Wallis,  and  Emily  Rankin. 

We  have  no  account  of  what  happened  to  these  young  women 
after  their  days  at  the  Muncy  Female  Seminary.  But  while  they 
may  not  have  achieved  great  distinction  in  world  history,  it  is  fair 
to  assume  that  they  did  fulfill  Mrs.  Susan  Life's  stated  purpose  for 


30 


Katherine  Yurchak 


the  Seminary. 

Therefore,  after  acquiring  their  education  at  the  Female 
Seminary,  in  Muncy,  we  can  suppose  that  the  young  women  were 
fitted  "as  far  as  possible  with  a  high  degree  of  usefulness,"  even 
though  their  training  may  have  been  put  to  use  only  among  their 
family  and  friends  in  their  home  town's  social  activities. 


The  Muncy  Female  Seminary,  at  the  corner  of  Main  and 
Pepper  Street,  in  Muncy,  where  Rose  Elizabeth  Cleveland 
taught  Greek  and  Latin. 


6 /The  Underground 
Railroad 


A 


.s  early  as  1790 — two  years  before  the  incorporation  of 
Muncy,  and  while  the  village  still  was  known  as 
"Pennsborough," —  a  petition  was  made  for  a  road  to  be  known 
as  Genea-Sea. 

For  readers  of  Now  and  Then,  T.  K.  Wood  personally  traced 
the  road  where  it  began  at  Muncy's  Main  Street,  then  "on  to 
Muncy  Creek  and  the  entrance  to  the  Shoemaker  covered  bridge 
..."  [Vol.  5,  p. 125]  The  historian  noted  that  the  road  passed  on 
to  Pennsdale,  then  to  Huntersville  into  Picture  Rocks  and 
Highland  Lake,  and  from  there  to  the  Allegheny  ranges.  Wood's 
exploration  of  the  Genesee  Road  took  him  further  on  to  Deer 
Lake  into  Towanda  where  it  continued  to  Elk  and  King's  Creeks. 
Out  of  Towanda,  Wood  followed  the  famous  road  into  New  York 
State  to  the  territory  of  the  Lakes,  and  finally  to  Canada. 

These  check  points  along  the  Genesee  Road  corroborate 
Williamsport  Court  House  records  under  date  of  1792,  and 
establishes  the  historic  pathway  to  freedom  that  changed  the 
destiny  of  thousands  of  fugitive  slaves. 

At  great  risk  to  their  lives,  the  runaways  had  become  partic- 
ipants in  a  national  network  of  secret  shelters.  At  the  clandes- 
tine "stations"  they  met  people  who  served  as  their  "conduc- 
tors" and  then  lead  them  to  the  next  point  of  refuge.  This  unique 

31 


32  Katherine  Yurchak 

piece   of  history  has  been  preserved  as   "The  Underground 
Railroad." 

Charles  L.  Blockson,  descendant  of  a  fugitive  slave,  offers  this 
description  of  the  slaves'  secret  journeys:  "The  Underground 
Railroad  was  no  actual  railroad  of  steel  and  steam.  It  was  a  net- 
work of  paths  through  the  woods  and  fields,  river  crossings,  boats 
and  ships,  trains  and  wagons,  all  haunted  by  the  specter  of  recap- 
ture. Its  stations  were  the  houses  and  churches  of  men  and 
women — agents  of  the  railroad,  who  refused  to  believe  that 
human  slavery  and  human  decency  could  exist  together  in  the 

same  land."  *■ 

Muncy  played  a  significant  role  in  aiding  fugitive  slaves. 
However,  actual  records  of  individual  events  are  understandably 
nonexistent.  Because  the  secrecy  that  shrouded  the  escaping  of  the 
slaves  is  what  made  the  operation  successful. 

"A  good  many  men  here  (in  Muncy)  helped  Negroes  escape 
into  Canada,"  is  the  recollection  of  Frank  Barnes,  as  quoted  by  Dr. 
Wood,  in  Now  and  Then,  of  1936.  But  again,  no  written  record  of 
actual  happenings  has  surfaced. 

Gernerd  named  John  McCarty  as  one  of  Muncy's  "conduc- 
tors," but  the  daring  moves  he  made  to  help  fugitives  to  freedom 
died  with  him.  Profoundly  religious  men  and  women — the  con- 
ductors in  Muncy  were  Quakers  who,  otherwise  law-abiding  citi- 
zens, chose  to  defy  the  Fugitive  Slave  Act  of  1850,  with  the  expla- 
nation that  they  were  obeying  "the  higher  law"  of  God  in  making 
freedom  possible  for  the  fugitive  slaves. 

The  Fugitive  Slave  Act  was  a  piece  of  legislation  demanded  by 
Southern  slaveholders  who  believed  that  their  "loyal  and  well 
treated"  slaves  were  being  lured  away  by  Northern  abolitionists. 
For  the  slave  masters  the  federal  machinery  for  returning  run- 
aways was  ironclad,  and  provided  nothing  in  the  way  of  personal 
liberty  for  captured  slaves.  A  returned  slave  could  neither  testify 
in  his  own  behalf  nor  have  a  jury  trial.  And  even  if  he  were  bold 
enough  to  speak  for  himself,  there  was  little  hope  for  the  illiterate 
slave  who  had  been  forbidden  by  law  to  be  taught  to  read  or  write. 

2  Charles  L.  Blockson,  "The  Underground  Railroad,"  National  Geographic 
Magazine,  Cover  Story,  July  1984  (Vol.  166). 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  33 

Therefore  if  a  slave  had  the  misfortune  of  being  captured  by  a 
slave-catcher  (and  countless  of  them  were)  not  only  was  the  slave 
doomed  to  be  returned  to  the  South,  but  the  condition  of  that  one 
(considered  but  a  rag  of  humanity)  was  much  worse  than  before 
the  attempted  escape.  Little  wonder,  then,  that  a  fugitive  slave 
preferred  death  rather  than  to  be  returned  to  his  owner.  And  so,  in 
Muncy,  kindly  Quakers  who  had  braved  the  wilderness  frontier 
made  it  their  mission  to  help  runaway  slaves  flee  to  freedom  by 
way  of  the  Genesee  Road  to  Canada. 

Canada's  place  in  the  history  of  fugitive  slaves  began  "as  early 
as  1820,"  notes  Charles  L.  Blockson  who,  after  preparing  the  cover 
story  for  the  National  Geographic  Magazine,  expanded  his  research 
about  the  Underground  Railroad  and  published  it  as  a  book. 

Blockson,  whose  great-grandfather  escaped  to  Canada  from 
Delaware  in  1856,  documents  the  fact  that  Charles  Stuart  was  then 
secretary  of  the  Canadian  Anti-Slavery  Society,  and  had  set  aside 
50-acre  parcels  of  land  at  $2.50  an  acre  in  preparation  for  fugitives 
arriving  at  the  border,  [p.  287]  However,  even  in  Canada,  the 
plight  of  the  fugitives  was  not  without  controversy.  Runaways 
arriving  from  the  United  States  into  Canada  "scorned  the  descen- 
dants of  the  Loyalist  and  slave  Negroes  in  the  Canadas,"  noted 
Historian  Robin  Winks,  as  quoted  by  Blockson  in  his  book. 
Researching  those  events,  Winks  also  found  that  "during  the 
1820's  fugitive  slaves  helped  make  Amherstburg  (in  Canada)  the 
center  of  a  modest  but  flourishing  tobacco  culture."  The  reason 
for  this  was  that  fugitives  arriving  in  Canada  usually  were  without 
funds,  and  "as  exiles,  they  remained  close  to  the  frontier  for  an 
eventual  return,"  according  to  Historian  Winks. 

So  while  the  Genesee  Road  may  have  been  traveled  by  only  a 
few  daring  souls  at  first,  the  Blockson  historic  findings  note  that 
with  each  decade  after  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law  was  passed,  the 
road  became  more  and  more  heavily  traveled  until  an  estimated 
"twenty-five  to  forty  thousand"  were  numbered  as  runaways. 
However,  even  these  calculations  are  questioned  because  of  a  lack 
of  written  documentation. 

The  runaways  entered  Canada  mostly  from  "the  lakebound 
region  lying  between  New  York  on  the  east,  and  Michigan  on  the 


34  Katherine  Yurchak 

west."  Historians  note  that  so  great  was  the  number  of  refugees 
who  followed  the  North  Star  across  the  Canadian  border,  that  even- 
tually a  Confederation  of  Canada  was  established  in  1867,  for  the 
purpose  of  providing  shelter,  food,  and  educational  facilities  for 
families  of  the  fugitives. 

Gernerd,  in  September  1872,  told  readers  of  Now  and  Then, 
about  "a  new  work  entitled  The  Underground  Railroad',"  by 
William  Still  which  had  just  found  its  way  into  the  hands  of  Enos 
Hawley,  who  (in  Gernerd's  words),  "was  long  a  devoted  conductor 
on  the  Underground  Railroad." 

Until  today,  Still's  book,  The  Underground  Railroad,  is  considered 
a  classic  collection  of  stories  about  escaped  slaves.  And  as  gripping 
as  these  accounts  are,  Gernerd  noted  that,  "It  would  require  a  great 
many  large  volumes  like  it,  to  give  a  complete  record  of  the  hair- 
breadth escapes  and  death  struggles  of  the  fugitives  from  slavery." 

William  Still  of  Philadelphia,  a  coal  worker  by  trade,  has 
marked  his  place  in  history  as  "a  black  agent  on  the  line  to  liberty," 
and  as  "a  black  historian  with  great  narrative  skills."  We  have 
Still's  historic  records  only  because  he  hid  them  away  in  the  loft  of 
a  building  at  the  Lebanon  Cemetery.  And  Blockson's  book  pro- 
vides a  modern  reprinting  of  many  of  the  narratives  of  fugitive 
slaves,  as  told  originally  by  Mr.  Still,  who  came  to  be  known  among 
fugitives  as  "the  great  conductor."  Still  served  as  secretary  of  the 
Philadelphia  Vigilance  Society,  founded  in  1833  by  Robert  Purvis 
who,  it  is  said,  "might  have  passed  for  white,"  being  of  English, 
African  and  Jewish  extraction.  Purvis,  president  of  the  Vigilance 
Society,  was  married  to  the  daughter  of  James  Forten,  who  also  is 
named  as  one  of  the  Society's  founders.  Forten  was  an  influential 
resident  of  Philadelphia,  as  well  as  a  veteran  of  the  Revolutionary 
War. 

William  Still's  famous  account  of  Henry  "Box"  Brown  has 
become  a  legend  in  the  history  of  the  Underground  Railroad. 
Brown  was  a  wretched  slave  in  the  employ  of  a  wealthy 
landowner  in  Richmond,  Virginia.  He  determined  to  escape  his 
circumstances. 

The  ingenious  slave  had  himself  boxed  up  as  a  piece  of  freight 
and  shipped  to  the  Philadelphia  Vigilance  Society.    He  ordered  a 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  35 

box  two  feet  eight  inches  deep,  two  feet  wide,  and  three  feet  long, 
had  it  lined  with  cotton  felt  material,  and  provided  himself  for  the 
journey  with  "a  bladder  of  water  and  a  few  small  biscuits."  The 
narrative  notes  he  also  carried  a  boring  tool  to  make  holes  for  air. 

Brown  sent  a  telegram  to  a  shoe  dealer  in  Philadelphia,  which 
read:  "Your  case  of  goods  is  shipped  and  will  arrive  tomorrow 
morning."  Then  he  had  himself  nailed  into  the  box,  had  the 
"freight"  bound  with  five  hickory  hoops,  and  then  sent  by  over- 
land express  to  Philadelphia.  The  label,  "This  Side  Up,"  was 
ignored  as  Henry  was  tossed  and  tipped  enroute. 

Twenty-six  hours  later,  the  Vigilance  Society  made  arrange- 
ments to  have  the  box  picked  up.  Not  to  arouse  suspicion,  they 
hired  a  drunken  Irishman  who  was  given  a  gold  piece  to  deliver 
the  "freight"  to  the  Anti-Slavery  office. 

William  Still's  narrative  records  that  three  members  of  the 
Vigilance  Society  were  present  at  the  opening  of  the  box.  First,  one 
man  tapped  on  the  lid  and  said:  "All  right!"  And  from  within  the 
box,  a  voice  responded:  "All  right,  Sir!" 

The  men  hastened  to  chop  the  hickory  hoops  from  the  box, 
pried  open  the  lid,  and  according  to  Mr.  Still  the  Vigilance  Society 
members  were  witness  to  "the  marvelous  resurrection  of  Brown. 
Rising  up  in  the  box,  he  reached  out  his  hand,  and  said:  'How  do 
you  do,  Gentlemen?'." 

Still's  record  continues:  "He  was  about  as  wet  as  if  he  had 
come  up  out  of  the  Delaware.  Very  soon  he  remarked  that,  before 
leaving  Richmond,  he  had  selected  for  his  arrival  hymn  (if  he 
lived)  the  Psalm  beginning  with  these  words:  T  waited  patiently 
for  the  Lord,  and  He  heard  my  prayer'."  (Psalm  40:1) 

As  harrowing  as  "Box"  Brown's  escape  was,  the  flight  of  an 
unnamed  pregnant  young  woman  (the  slave  of  an  aristocratic  fam- 
ily in  Baltimore)  is  another  "resurrection"  narrated  in  Still's  book. 

The  event  occurred  in  the  winter  of  1857.  Her  "companion,"  a 
young  man,  had  sent  word  to  a  Mrs.  Myers  in  Philadelphia  to  be 
prepared  for  "a  piece  of  boxed  freight."  Mrs.  Myers  alerted  a  hack- 
man  (George  Custus)  to  pick  up  the  "freight,"  and  deliver  it  to  the 
residence  of  the  local  "shrouder"  (undertaker).  She  "thought  it  not 
wise  to  move  in  the  matter  of  the  resurrection  (of  the  freight)  without 


36  Katherine  Yurchak 

the  presence  of  the  undertaker,"  wrote  Stills,  because  Mrs.  Myers  did 
not  expect  the  "freight"  to  be  alive. 

What  the  two  witnesses  found  upon  opening  the  box  was  the 
young  woman  wrapped  in  straw. 

"Get  up,  my  child,"  Mrs.  Myers  said. 

The  record  notes  that  hardly  a  sign  of  life  was  visible  in  the  young 
mother-to-be.  The  ladies  carried  the  fugitive  slave  upstairs  to  bed.  A 
few  moments  later,  despite  her  limp  body  they  heard  her  whisper,  "I 
feel  so  deadly  weak." 

The  near-corpse  accepted  a  cup  of  tea.  But  not  until  the  third  day 
did  the  young  woman  begin  to  speak,  which  is  why  Historian  Still 
recorded  this  incident  as  a  "resurrection." 

Later,  the  young  woman  in  describing  her  journey  said  that  her 
greatest  fear  was  that  she  would  be  "discovered  and  carried  back  to 
slavery."  And  she  explained  that  she  had  survived  the  journey 
because  she  had  carried  a  pair  of  scissors  with  her,  and  had  poked 
holes  in  the  box  so  as  to  be  able  to  have  air. 

About  this  incident,  Still  wrote:  "How  she  ever  managed  to 
breathe  and  maintain  her  existence,  being  in  the  condition  of  becom- 
ing a  mother,  is  hard  to  comprehend." 

He  explained  that  the  young  woman  had  made  her  escape  from 
Baltimore  when  her  owner  had  sent  her  on  an  errand  to  get  some  arti- 
cles in  preparation  for  the  Opening  Ball  at  the  Academy  of  Music. 

As  he  often  did  with  runaways,  Still  took  the  young  fugitive  into 
his  own  home  for  a  few  days,  before  arranging  for  her  journey  to 
Canada. 

Although  noted  briefly  here,  many  of  the  facts  and  information 
about  the  Underground  Railroad  are  filled  with  "sufferings,  trials,  per- 
ils and  marvelous  escapes,"  in  Still's  words,  so  that  some  stories  were 
too  painful  to  put  into  print. 

Elizabeth  Warner,  the  daughter  of  a  Quaker  whose  home  was  in 
Pennsdale,  at  the  request  of  Now  and  Then  made  a  record  of  her  remem- 
brances of  a  wooded  area  near  her  home  that  was  known  as  "Nigger 
Hollow."  According  to  her  recollections,  the  law  was  always  on  patrol 
for  fugitive  slaves,  but  even  so  her  family  harbored  runaways  in  the 
nearby  forest,  and  provided  them  money  to  buy  food. 

According  to  Miss  Warner's  account,  "the  slaves  generally  were 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  37 

received  at  night,  or  at  dawn,  and  usually  were  in  pitiful  conditions. 
Exhausted  and  hungry,  the  slaves  were  given  a  place  to  stay  overnight, 
and  then  would  be  set  on  their  way  for  the  next  night's  trip  over  the 
Genesee  Road." 

Another  Warner  recollection:  "I  remember  one  dark  night,  two 
strange  white  men  convoying  a  parcel  of  negroes  to  our  home.  They 
left  them  at  the  hut  nearby,  and  they  came  up  to  our  house  and  stayed 
all  night.  I  heard  their  voices  down  the  pipe  hole,  but  they  left  at  day- 
light." [Vol  5,  p.137] 

A  tap  on  the  window  in  the  night  was  the  signal  that  a  slave  had 
arrived  at  a  "station."  The  fugitive  then  would  be  buried  in  bales  of 
hay  and  carried  by  horse  and  buggy  to  the  next  "station."  Or  he  might 
be  led  into  barns  or  caves,  to  hide  out  until  it  was  safe  to  move  on  to 
the  Genesee  Road's  next  safety  post. 

It  was  because  so  many  slaves  were  escaping  that  one  slave-owner 
remarked:  "There  must  be  an  underground  railroad  out  of  this  place." 
Thus  the  national  network  of  escape  routes  to  freedom  has  been  so  reg- 
istered in  America's  historical  records. 

A  glimmer  of  light  began  to  invade  the  dark  history  of  slavery  fol- 
lowing a  Union  victory  at  Antietam,  in  1862.  Abraham  Lincoln  issued 
a  preliminary  Emancipation  Proclamation,  and  stated  that  it  would  be 
put  into  effect  in  one  hundred  days.  On  January  1, 1863,  "all  persons 
held  as  slaves"  within  the  areas  under  Confederate  control  were 
"henceforward  declared  free."  However,  not  until  December  18, 1865 
(when  Congress  ratified  the  Thirteenth  Amendment  to  the 
Constitution)  were  all  slaves  set  free. 

Mary  Jane  Levan  provided  readers  of  Now  and  Then  [Mar.-April 
1891]  with  an  account  of  how  a  group  of  Muncy  women  from  the 
Society  of  Friends,  in  1864,  traveled  to  Nashville,  Tennessee  to  conduct 
the  "Freedman's  Relief  Association." 

Lizzie  Shoemaker  and  Kate  Fribley,  two  women  of  prominent 
Muncy  families  played  a  major  role  in  this  effort.  The  former  was  a 
doctor's  daughter,  and  the  other  was  the  widow  of  a  Colonel  in  the 
Civil  War. 

When  the  women  arrived  in  Tennessee  they  had  "schools, 
camps,  and  asylums"  erected.  And  according  to  Mrs.  Levan,  "Old 
and  young  soon  flocked  to  this  relief  association — old  men  with 


38  Katherine  Yurchak 

wives,  young  men  with  sweethearts,  barefooted  children,  cripples, 
of  all  shades  and  color  and  of  all  sizes,  some  singing  as  they  came, 
'De  day  of  jubilee  hab  cum'." 

The  school  the  Muncy  ladies  had  set  up  for  educating  children 
of  the  former  slaves  was  called  "William  Perm  School."  "The  great 
difficulty  among  this  medley  (of  students),"  wrote  Mrs.  Levan, 
"was  the  want  of  proper  names.   They  nearly  all  had  nicknames 
and  their  former  owner's  names."  The  ladies  from  Muncy  "named 
the  unnamed,  and  new-born  babies.     Very  soon  they  had  an 
Abraham  Lincoln,  a  Horace  Greeley... and  even  a  Jerry  Gernerd." 
A  letter  describes  what  happened  in  Nashville  in  March  1865. 
"Yesterday  the  colored  people  of  Nashville  held  high  festi- 
val in  celebration  of  their  deliverance  from  slavery  through 
the  ratification  by  the  people  of  Tennessee  of  the  amend- 
ment of  the  Constitution  abolishing  and  prohibiting  slav- 
ery.   From  early  morning  the  streets  were  thronged  with 
dark  and  eager  faces,  and  when  the  procession  passed  here 
its  extent  surprised  me.  On  it  passed  rank  after  rank,  in 
almost  interminable  line,  proceeded  by  marshals  on  horse 
back  bearing  batons;  next  followed  a  guard  of  honor  with 
muskets  and  bayonets,  followed  by  a  military  band  in  an 
open  car.... Among  the  banners  I  noted  the  following  mot- 
toes:   'We  can  forget  and  forgive  the  wrongs  of  the  past,' 
'We  ask  not  for  social  but  political  equality,'  'We  aspire  to 
elevation  through  industry,  economy  and  Christianity'." 
Mrs.  Levan  then  shared  her  sentiments  with  the  readers  of  Now 
and  Then,  and  wrote:  "These  were  the  chattels  for  whom  shackles 
had  been  forged  to  hold  them  in  perpetual  bondage." 

Today,  the  Underground  Railroad's  history  is  being  perpetuat- 
ed by  a  72-year-old  artist  in  Coatesville,  Pa.,  whose  great-grand- 
mother was  a  fugitive  slave.  The  former  steel  worker  took  up 
painting  as  a  hobby  when  he  retired  from  the  factory.  Lee  Carter's 
passion  for  the  history  of  the  Underground  Railroad  was  aroused 
while  painting  a  local  school  building.  He  was  told  the  building 
once  was  a  stop  on  the  Underground  Railroad,  and  accepted  the 
invitation  to  investigate  the  site.  In  the  building,  the  artist  found  a 
boarded  up  400-foot  tunnel  once  used  as  a  get-away  for  his  ances- 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  39 

tors  fleeing  to  Canada.  Seeing  and  being  in  personal  touch  with 
the  slaves'  escape  route  changed  Carter  forever.  From  that  time,  he 
has  been  depicting  the  history  of  fugitive  slaves  in  his  paintings. 
So  far,  he  has  painted  35  buildings  that  served  as  secret  way  sta- 
tions for  runaway  slaves. 

Carter's  great-grandmother  was  a  slave  in  Virginia.  She  was 
freed  in  1865,  but  she  refused  to  talk  about  what  she  experienced 
during  her  flight  to  Canada. 

"There  were  no  written  records  kept  either,"  says  Carter,  "since 
the  Quakers,  clergymen,  and  other  families  who  risked  harboring 
slaves  could  be  fined,  imprisoned,  or  executed." 

Besides  painting  the  history  of  fugitive  slaves,  Carter  speaks  in 
schools.  He  says  he  is  dismayed  by  young  African-Americans 
who  show  no  interest  in  the  history  of  the  Underground  Railroad. 

The  Carter  story  and  his  interest  in  the  history  of  the 
Underground  Railroad  was  reported  by  John  Chambless  for  the 
West  Chester  (Pa.)  Daily  Local  News,  and  was  reprinted  in  the 
Williamsport  Sun  Gazette,  June  23, 1993. 

Lack  of  documentation  may  put  in  question  the  numbers  of 
runaway  slaves  who  passed  through  Pennsylvania  on  their  way 
North.  But  there  is  no  doubt  that  Muncy's  peace-loving  Quakers 
participated  in  the  freeing  of  countless  frightened  fugitives. 
Blockson's  book  lists  "Muncy,  in  Lycoming  County... as  a  station 
where  fugitives  could  be  sheltered  for  a  short  time."  [p.239] 

And  once  on  the  historic  Genesee  Road  leading  out  of  Muncy 
Valley,  the  runaway  slaves  began  tuning  their  hearts  for  songs  of 
jubilee  to  be  sung  in  Canada  where  they  were  free  at  last. 


40 


Katherine  Yurchak 


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7 /The  Shoemaker  Story 


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wo  miles  east  of  the  Borough  of  Muncy  is  a  crossroad  which 
over  the  years  has  come  to  be  known  as  "The  Y."  At  the  intersec- 
tion, one  road  leads  north  to  Hughesville,  and  another  east  to 
Bloomsburg. 

A  commemorative  marker  at  the  crossroad  hardly  is  noticed  by 
people  riding  in  the  estimated  10,000  cars  that  daily  wend  their 
way  through  the  treacherous  intersection  traffic. 

But  if  they  could  find  a  moment  to  look,  people  would  see  a 
monument  of  three  large  millstones,  and  a  plaque  inscribed  with  a 
few  details  about  the  place  that  once  was  the  site  of  the  Shoemaker 
Grist  Mill.  It  is  memorialized  as  the  "first  flour  mill  in  the  valley," 
and  was  built  in  1772.  The  present  bridge  is  a  replacement  for  the 
historic  Shoemaker  Covered  Bridge  through  which,  among  others, 
passengers  of  the  Underground  Railroad  made  their  way  over  the 
Genesee  Road,  and  on  to  the  Canadian  Border. 

The  story  of  the  Shoemakers  begins  in  Germany,  in  the 
Palatines,  a  district  west  of  the  Rhine  River.  Shortly  after  William 
Perm  had  acquired  land  in  Pennsylvania,  he  visited  the  Quakers  of 
the  Palatines  and  encouraged  them  to  be  part  of  his  new  colony. 
When,  in  1683,  Francis  Daniel  Pastorius  accompanied  a  small  band 
across  the  Atlantic,  their  ship  docked  at  Philadelphia,  where  they 
settled  in  the  area  which  has  become  known  as  Germantown. 
According  to  Thomas  Montgomery  Lightfoot,  writing  in  the  January 


41 


42  Katherine  Yurchak 

1941  issue  of  Now  and  Then,  Jacob  Schumacher,  "a  young  man  who 
scarcely  was  of  legal  age,  drew  lot  No.  22"  on  Perm's  land  grant. 
Jacob  later  married  Margaret  Gove.  They  were  the  parents  of  four 
children.  One  of  their  sons,  Jacob  Jr.,  married  Elizabeth  Roberts. 

It  was  the  second  Jacob,  an  American  citizen,  who  anglicized  the 
surname  to  Shoemaker.  He  was  the  father  of  five  children.  Two  of  his 
boys — Henry  and  Charles — in  1765  "took  up  land  along  the 
Schuylkill  River,"  later  known  as  Shoemakersville  near  the  city  of 
Reading.  Charles  was  a  tanner;  Henry  went  into  the  milling  busi- 
ness. 

In  Lightfoot's  account,  the  brothers  "built  at  first  a  log  house,  but 
in  1768  they  built  a  substantial  stone  house  which  is  still  standing." 
Both  brothers  served  as  officers  in  the  Revolutionary  War,  and  they 
both  married  Kepner  sisters.  Maria  Kepner  was  Charles'  wife;  her 
sister  Barbara  became  Henry's  bride.  In  1783,  a  century  after  their 
grandfather  had  settled  in  Germantown,  the  Shoemaker  boys  trav- 
eled with  their  families  to  Muncy  Creek.  According  to  Lightfoot, 
"Barbara  was  a  large  person  and  had  several  children.  One  of  them, 
Samuel,  being  about  a  year  old.  The  roads  of  those  days  were  not 
well  developed  and  so  Barbara  and  the  children  came  across  from 
the  Schuylkill  to  the  Susquehanna  and  took  a  canoe  at  the  foot  of 
Peters  Mountain  up  the  river  to  the  mouth  of  Muncy  Creek.  Henry, 
with  some  companions,  came  overland  with  cattle  and  horses  and 
joined  his  wife  and  her  party  at  Muncy." 

Godfrey  Fiester,  a  "Redemptioner,"  who  had  come  to  America  to 
escape  military  service  in  Germany,  was  among  those  in  company 
with  Henry  Shoemaker.  Fiester  also  had  married  a  Kepner  girl. 
Lightfoot  notes  that  the  record  shows  the  Redemptioner  "served  well 
in  the  Revolution." 

About  thirteen  years  before  Henry  Shoemaker  had  come  to  the 
valley,  another  family  also  settled  in  Muncy.  According  to  historian 
John  Meginness,  "some  time  in  1770  John  Scudder  moved  his  family 
from  New  Jersey.  His  daughter,  Mary,  was  the  first  female  child  born 
in  Muncy,  May  21,  1771."  She  would  grow  up  to  marry  Benjamin, 
Henry  Shoemaker's  son. 

Henry  Shoemaker  purchased  land  from  John  Alward  who, 
after  settling  in  the  valley  in  1772,  had  built  a  grist  mill  beside 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  43 

Muncy  Creek,  and  a  large  dam  for  powering  his  mill.  But  when 
word  came  that  Indians  were  about  to  invade  the  valley,  in  1778, 
Alward  made  preparations  for  an  escape  with  his  family  (as  did  all 
the  other  settlers)  to  the  Sunbury  area.  (Historically,  that  chapter 
in  Muncy's  history  is  known  as  "the  Big  Runaway")  Before  leav- 
ing the  valley,  Alward  buried  the  gears  of  his  grist  mill.  Thus  they 
were  saved  from  destruction,  when  the  Indians  had  torched  every 
building  in  the  area.  Those  gears  later  were  used  for  operating  the 
Shoemaker  Mill. 

Writers  for  Now  and  Then,  recording  their  recollections  of  the 
Shoemaker  Mill  along  Muncy  Creek,  have  related  that  usually  a 
farmer's  wagon  would  arrive  with  only  one  bag  of  grain.  And 
Lightfoot's  explanation  for  this  is  that  "there  was  no  way  of  sepa- 
rating the  germinal  portion  of  the  grain,  and  since  the  germ  was 
ground  with  other  parts  of  the  grain,  in  a  few  weeks  fermentation 
would  spoil  the  flour."  Modern  milling  methods  remove  "wheat 
germ"  before  grinding. 

The  Shoemaker  Mill  was  so  prosperous  that  Henry  had 
planned  to  build  a  new  and  larger  mill,  but  he  did  not  live  to  carry 
out  those  plans.  After  his  passing,  in  1797,  Henry's  son  Jacob  built 
a  larger  brick  building  for  milling  the  local  farmers'  wheat,  barley, 
and  corn.  But  he  retained  the  original  grist  mill  for  processing 
plaster.  Ceilings  displaying  the  artistry  of  master  plasterers  of 
those  days  can  be  seen  today  in  a  number  of  historic  homes  in  the 
area. 

Although  the  Schumachers  of  the  Palatines  were  Quakers, 
their  sons  had  married  into  the  Lutheran  faith,  and  so  they  pro- 
vided land  for  Lutherans  to  build  a  place  of  worship.  It  is  listed  in 
historic  files  as  the  first  church  building  in  Lycoming  County. 

Notes  made  by  St.  Martha's  Guild  of  the  church  offer  this  infor- 
mation: "The  first  church  was  built  of  logs  in  the  summer  of  1791. 
It  contained  a  gallery  on  three  sides  and  could  seat  600  persons.  A 
second  church  of  brick  was  built  in  1832." 

In  August  1868  issue  of  Now  and  Then,  Gernerd  informed  read- 
ers that  the  "Shoemakers  at  the  Mills"  would  ride  to  church  in 
their  "Dearborn"  carriage.  He  added  that  he  believed  theirs  was 
among  the  first  such  vehicles  of  the  kind  brought  to  Muncy. 


44  Katherine  Yurchak 

The  present  church  structure  (known  as  Immanuel's 
Evangelical  Lutheran  Church)  in  1869  also  was  built  on  land 
donated  by  the  Shoemakers.  Today,  only  annual  services  are  held 
at  the  historic  church  building. 

The  cemetery  adjoining  the  church  contains  grave  markers  that 
record  the  resting  place  of  Henry  Shoemaker  and  his  several 
descendants.  Among  them,  Mary  Scudder  Shoemaker  (Benjamin's 
wife)  who  was  affectionately  known  as  "Aunt  Polly"  in  the  com- 
munity, is  marked  in  local  history  as  "the  first  white  child  born  in 
Lycoming  County."  The  mother  of  nine  children,  she  died  at  the 
age  of  79,  April  14, 1850. 

When  Jacob  Shoemaker  died  in  1826,  his  heirs  Peter  and 
Charles  continued  the  milling  business  until  1872.  Their  mill  was 
finally  dismantled  in  1918.  Lightfoot  noted  in  Now  and  Then  that 
one  of  the  large  timbers  was  sold  for  $75.00  to  erect  a  barn,  and 
"another  piece  of  timber,  which  was  of  excellent  grain  of  hemlock, 
was  sold  for  use  in  manufacturing  violins." 

Gernerd  cites  Peter  and  Charles  as  having  been  among  the 
"principal  ship  owners"  along  the  West  Branch  Canal.  [September 
1868]  And  he  informs  that  the  capacity  of  their  boats  was  "about 
33  tons,"  and  that  they  "monopolized  most  of  the  export  and 
import  trade  to  the  valley."  He  also  noted  that  "when  their 
packet  boats  sailed,  the  whole  community  knew  it."  Gernerd 
named  the  chief  articles  of  export  as  "wheat,  hogs,  leather  and 
whiskey." 

The  Shoemaker  name  appeared  in  Now  and  Then  again  and 
again.  For  example,  in  mentioning  the  passing  of  "the  late  Samuel 
G.  Shoemaker,  Esq.  who  died  April  1873  at  the  age  of  82,"  Gernerd 
noted  that  when  this  descendant  of  the  Shoemaker  family  "was  a 
little  boy  just  old  enough  to  manage  a  team  of  horses,  he  assisted 
at  hauling  stones  used  in  the  construction  of  the  foundation  for 
one  of  Muncy's  pioneer  business  places."  It  was  The  Lycoming 
Fire  Insurance  Company. 

And  to  give  an  insight  to  some  of  the  social  habits  of  the 
Shoemakers,  Gernerd  in  the  February  1875  issue  of  Now  and  Then. 
recollects  Muncy's  dancing  school.  Apparently  it  had  been  a  place 
bustling  with  activity  some  63  years  earlier,  and  the  editor  wrote 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  45 

that  "a  goodly  number  of  persons  were  found  ready  to  join  in 
dancing  classes."  Among  the  several  men  who  learned  to  "trip  the 
light  fantastic  toe"  was  Charles  Shoemaker. 

And  again,  in  May  1875,  Gernerd  told  readers  of  Now  and  Then 
that  "a  much  esteemed  fellow  citizen"  (whom  he  named  as  John 
Poust)  had  told  him  that  as  an  apprentice  builder  "he  helped  to  put 
up  the  first  plank  building  erected  in  Muncy  Valley,  and  that  he 
also  helped  to  put  up  a  plank  kitchen  for  Jacob  Shoemaker,  about 
a  half  mile  west  of  Hughesville." 

From  these  notations,  and  writings  of  other  local  historians,  it 
is  evident  that  the  many  members  of  the  Shoemaker  family  had 
made  their  mark  on  West  Branch  Valley's  society.  And  today,  more 
than  three  centuries  after  young  Jacob  Schumacher  settled  in 
Germantown,  his  innumerable  descendants  are  still  a  part  of  the 
area's  activities. 

A  scan  through  the  Muncy  telephone  book  finds  a  listing  of  25 
families  bearing  the  Shoemaker  name.  And  in  nearby  William- 
sport,  where  some  of  the  children  of  the  earliest  Shoemakers  made 
their  living,  the  name  is  listed  more  than  75  times  in  the  telephone 
directory. 

Gone  is  the  quaint  covered  bridge  that  bore  the  Shoemaker 
name.  It  was  removed  in  1923  to  make  way  for  the  present  con- 
crete structure.  But  the  more  modern  cement  creek  crossing  at  the 
"Y"  still  is  known  as  "the  Shoemaker  Bridge." 

And  about  100  feet  from  the  site  where  for  years  farmers 
unloaded  their  grain  at  Shoemaker's  Mill,  there  is  continued  activ- 
ity each  day.  However,  nowadays  pre-school  children  are  being 
instructed  in  primary  social  skills  at  the  "Shoemaker  Mills  Day 
Care  Center." 


46 


Katherine  Yurchak 


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8 /The  McCartys  of  Muncy 


T, 


he  McCarty  House,  at  34  N.  Main  Street,  is  the  oldest  structure 
in  Muncy.  Built  in  1789,  it  has  sheltered  five  generations  of  the 
McCarty  family.  Although  the  building  has  undergone  a  few 
changes  to  keep  up  with  America's  different  lifestyles,  the  original 
log  walls  have  remained  for  more  than  two  hundred  years. 

The  McCartys  were  among  Quakers  from  Ireland  who  had 
accepted  the  opportunity  to  form  a  colony  in  Pennsylvania. 
Benjamin  and  Margaret  Walton  McCarty  established  residence  in 
Richmond  Township,  in  Bucks  County,  where  they  raised  their 
family  and  prospered  as  farmers  and  surveyors  in  their  new  sur- 
roundings. 

At  yearly  meetings  attended  by  the  Society  of  Friends,  the 
McCarty  children  had  to  have  heard  stories  about  "Muncy  Manor," 
the  magnificent  stone  mansion  built  by  their  wealthy  "Friend  in  the 
faith,"  Samuel  Wallis,  who  also  was  of  Irish  extraction. 

Wallis  was  one  of  the  original  land  barons  in  the  Susquehanna 
Valley  From  1769,  and  during  the  next  two  decades,  Wallis  had 
been  engaged  in  surveying  and  selling  off  pieces  of  his  7,000  acres 
in  the  Susquehanna  Valley.  Mainly,  the  land  purchasers  belonged 
to  the  Philadelphia  Society  of  Friends,  of  which  he  also  was  a  mem- 
ber. So,  little  by  little,  Wallis  had  surrounded  himself  with  a  thriv- 
ing community  of  farmers  and  tradesmen  in  Muncy  and  the  sur- 
rounding area. 


47 


48  Katherine  Yurchak 

Nor  is  it  likely  that  the  impressionable  young  sons  of  Benjamin 
and  Margaret  Walton  McCarty  could  have  missed  the  heroic  stories 
of  Muncy  Valley's  pioneers,  whose  exploits  had  to  have  been  carried 
to  the  yearly  meetings.  Rather,  it  is  safe  to  assume  that  on  achieving 
manhood,  the  McCarty  boys  were  not  only  eager  to  see  the  land  for 
themselves,  but  they  would  match  the  stories  of  the  frontiersmen 
with  experiences  of  their  own,  as  they'd  push  back  some  of  the 
wilderness  of  the  Valley  to  build  a  settlement  there. 

Again,  McCartys'  sons  could  not  have  missed  the  tragic  tale  of 
Capt.  John  Brady,  who  despite  a  fortified  stockade  which  Wallis  had 
built  near  his  mansion  estate,  was  killed  by  invading  Indians  during 
the  American  Revolution. 

This  assumption  is  fair,  because  we  know  that  the  land  the 
McCarty  boys  eventually  would  possess  originally  was  "the  Brady 
tract,"  which  the  Revolutionary  War  hero  had  acquired  from  John 
Perm.  And  therefore,  the  McCartys  also  had  to  have  been  aware  that 
the  land  was  in  the  "burnt  district,"  which  the  Indians  had  torched  in 
1778,  during  the  "Big  Runaway." 

What  is  remarkable  is  that  none  of  what  they  had  heard  could 
diminish  the  determination  of  the  four  sons  of  Benjamin  and 
Margaret  Walton  McCarty  to  settle  in  Muncy.  Rather,  step  by  step, 
they  planned  their  journey  to  the  Susquehanna  Valley. 

First,  William  found  himself  a  Quaker  to  be  his  bride,  and  in 
1787,  he  married  Mary  Lloyd,  of  Springfield  Township,  in  Bucks 
County.  Their  son,  Benjamin  was  born  a  year  later. 2 

The  precise  year  when  William  and  Mary  "left  the  comforts  of 
a  well  settled  community  to  make  a  new  home  in  the  wilderness  of 
the  Susquehanna  Valley,"  according  to  notes  prepared  by  a  descen- 
dant, is  not  known.  It  may  have  been  1788  or  1789. 

However,  it  is  known  that  the  couple  and  their  infant  son  were 
not  alone  on  their  journey.  Accompanying  them  to  Muncy  were 
the  McCarty  brothers  Silas,  Benjamin  and  Isaac.     Their  sister, 

2  Tracking  the  historical  records  of  the  McCarty  and  Walton  families  can  be 
somewhat  confusing,  because  there  is  an  unusual  duplication  of  names  in  the 
genealogical  records  of  both  the  McCartys  and  the  Walton  families.  Adding  to  the 
confusion  are  human  errors  made  in  reference  material.  To  the  best  of  our  knowl- 
edge, however,  the  data  compiled  here  is  accurate. 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  49 

Margaret,  who  was  married  to  David  Lloyd,  was  the  only  other 
woman  in  the  frontiersmens'  party. 

It  is  possible  that  the  enthusiasm  the  McCarty  boys  showed  for 
making  a  new  life  in  Muncy  created  dreams  of  success  in  the 
minds  and  hearts  of  young  cousins  on  their  mother's  side  of  the 
family.  However  it  came  about,  we  find  that  James,  Ezekiel,  and 
Isaac  Walton  also  were  Muncy  bound.  There  were,  therefore, 
seven  men,  two  women,  and  an  infant  child  in  the  band  of  pio- 
neers leaving  Philadelphia  for  the  Susquehanna  Valley  in  1789. 

That  also  was  the  year  that  America  was  suffering  from  a  post- 
Revolutionary  War  economic  chaos.  It  may  have  been  necessary  for 
the  young  Philadelphians  to  seek  their  fortunes  beyond  the  City  of 
Brotherly  Love,  since  historical  records  show  that  even  their  fellow 
Quaker,  Samuel  Wallis,  was  reeling  from  financial  losses  at  that 
time. 

Since  James  Walton  was  the  oldest  of  the  men  in  the  party  he 
was  given  first  choice  of  the  properties  available  in  Muncy,  which 
the  Quakers  had  named  "Pennsborough,"  after  William  Perm. 
Walton  chose  the  300-acre  farm  originally  owned  by  John  Scudder, 
father  of  the  first  white  woman  to  be  born  in  the  Susquehanna 
Valley.  His  land  was  situated  at  the  bank  of  the  Susquehanna  River. 

William  and  Benjamin  each  claimed  half  of  the  300-acre  Brady 
tract,  which  adjoined  the  Walton's  acreage  on  the  east. 

Emilie  McCarty  Sanders,  a  family  descendant  wrote  in  the  July 
1939  issue  of  Now  and  Then:  "William  McCarty's  family  needed 
immediate  shelter  and  so  he  first  built  a  temporary  log  house 
between  Muncy  Creek  and  Glade  Run." 

About  1790,  timbers  were  prepared  for  the  walls  of  the  present 
McCarty  building  on  North  Main  Street.  The  original  plan  for 
William's  house  included  four  rooms,  an  attic  and  an  upper  hall. 
Then  he  built  a  large  stone  chimney  on  the  west  side  of  his  home. 
To  retain  heat,  he  made  the  ceilings  low  and  the  walls  thick.  Boards 
for  the  floors  of  the  front  bedroom  were  eighteen  inches  wide.  The 
batten  doors  and  original  hinges  William  built  for  his  house  two 
centuries  ago  were  treasures  maintained  by  his  descendants,  and 
they  remain  in  the  McCarty  house  today. 

Access  to  the  second  floor  rooms  was  by  a  narrow  winding 


50 


Katherine  Yurchak 


stairway.  Family  descendants  report  that  although  five  genera- 
tions of  McCartys  "climbed  the  difficult  stairway,  there  was  never 
a  record  of  serious  mishap." 

Handhewn  rafters  were  used  for  the  first  floor.  During  the 
time  a  member  of  the  fourth  generation  of  McCartys  lived  in  the 
house,  the  rafters  in  the  second  floor  rooms  were  plastered  over, 
much  to  the  dismay  of  others  in  the  McCarty  genealogical  lineage. 

Mary  McCarty  provided  little  Benjamin  with  a  baby  sister  in 
1790.  She  was  named  Margaret  after  her  maternal  grandmother. 

From  Emilie  Sanders'  historical  notes,  we  learn  that  "Mary 
brought  her  treasured  possessions  from  Bucks  County,  and  that 
she  began  a  little  cottage  industry  in  the  house,  with  her  spinning 
wheel.  It  remained  in  the  attic  for  almost  a  hundred  years." 

The  record  also  shows  that  "Mary  McCarty  wove  linens, 
moulded  candles,  made  soap,  dyed  cloth,  made  maple  sugar  and 
syrup."  It  is  reasonable  to  assume  she  was  joined  in  these  tasks  by 
other  Quaker  women  who  had  settled  in  Muncy  Valley.  And  they 
probably  used  the  large  outside  oven  of  brick  and  stone  which 
William  McCarty  had  built  for  such  purposes. 


The  McCarty  House,  oldest  building  in  Muncy,  on  Main 
Street,  was  recently  converted  to  a  restaurant  and  inn. 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  51 

William  and  Mary  brought  fourteen  children  into  the  world. 
One  died  in  infancy.  But  since  their  thirteen  living  children 
required  more  space  in  the  house,  "the  dimensions  of  the 
McCarty  home"  grew,  notes  one  record  keeper.  William  added  a 
larger  kitchen  and  pantry,  two  more  bedrooms,  and  an  upper 
hall  and  attic.  He  also  built  another  circular  stairway  to  access 
the  upper  hallway  and  attic. 

A  centerpiece  in  the  living  room  of  the  home  was  a  large  fire- 
place with  a  high  mantle.  A  reference  has  been  made  to  "an  old 
crane  over  the  fireplace"  with  the  explanation  that  it  was  used  to 
"haul  large  logs  to  the  kitchen  door  to  be  used  in  the  fireplace." 
The  original  stone  hearth  remains  in  the  house. 

Over  the  years,  William  McCarty  who  had  earned  his  living 
as  a  farmer,  built  barns,  a  carriage  house  and  a  granary  on  the 
Brady  tract  of  land.  He  kept  cows,  not  only  for  milk  for  his  fam- 
ily's use,  but  in  the  Quaker  spirit  he  also  supplied  milk  for  his 
neighbors. 

"Those  who  couldn't  afford  it,  received  the  milk  anyway," 
wrote  Emilie  Sanders  in  her  historical  account  of  her  forebears. 

Members  of  the  Society  of  Friends  who  traveled  to  the  year- 
ly meeting  in  Philadelphia  often  were  hosted  by  William  and 
Mary  McCarty  in  their  home. 

Now  and  Then  defines  a  sad  note  about  William  McCarty's 
final  days  as  follows:  During  conflicts  with  the  Indians,  "a  com- 
pany of  soldiers  encamped  on  William  McCarty's  land  near 
Muncy  Creek  and  several  were  sick  with  an  epidemic  known  as 
'black  fever.'  William  visited  the  camp  on  an  errand  of  good 
will  and  a  few  days  later  (January  21,  1813)  he  died  from  the 
same  disease.  He  was  buried  in  the  Walton-McCarty  graveyard 
where  a  marble  slab  marks  his  grave." 

His  wife,  Mary,  was  left  alone  to  care  for  her  thirteen  chil- 
dren. At  that  time,  the  youngest  was  a  two-month-old  infant. 

The  historical  record  of  the  McCartys  notes  that  "five  of  the 
McCarty  children  died  before  their  mother.  Six  of  her  children, 
with  their  families,  joined  that  long  procession  of  covered  wag- 
ons and  found  new  homes  in  the  West,  where  their  descendants 
are  living  today.    They  and  their  children  took  their  part  in  the 


52  Katherine  Yurchak 

settlement  of  the  West,  pushing  the  frontiers  before  them,  as 
their  parents  had  done  earlier." 

William  and  Mary  McCarty's  fifth  child,  John,  (born  November 
4,  1794)  retained  the  home  of  his  birth  after  his  mother  died  in 
1838.  He  was  a  blacksmith  and  had  never  married.  He  cared  for 
his  sister,  Mary,  who  was  retarded  from  birth.  The  benevolent 
bachelor  was  known  to  everyone  as  "Uncle  John." 

For  those  who  had  never  met  "Uncle  John"  McCarty,  J.M.M. 
Gernerd  provided  this  graphic  description  to  readers  of  Now  and 
Then:  "He  had  penetrating  blue-gray  eyes,  but  they  beamed  so 
brightly  with  kindness  and  purity  that  no  one  perhaps  ever  felt 
annoyed  by  his  gaze.  His  lips  and  chin  indicate  the  great  will 
power  and  firmness  that  he  was  known  to  possess,  but  he  was  in 
this  respect  so  well  balanced  by  a  good  heart  and  head,  that  very 
few  men  have  perhaps  in  the  same  time  had  less  trouble  with  their 
fellows. 

"His  good-natured  and  benevolent  physiogonomy  speaks 
strongly  for  itself.  He  had  a  good,  compact,  symmetrical  robust 
figure,  and  what  at  his  best  was  considered  a  fine  looking  man. 
His  height  was  six  feet,  and  his  weight  slightly  exceeded  200 
pounds." 

Gernerd's  fondness  for  "Uncle  John"  was  expressed  in  a  eulo- 
gy of  the  Quaker  gentleman  which  he  prepared  for  his  readers,  in 
the  Jan.-Feb.  1850  issue  of  Now  and  Then.  It  is  worthy  of  an  inclu- 
sion here.  Wrote  Gernerd  about  John  McCarty:  "He  was  not 
known  as  a  man  of  large  earthly  possessions,  nor  as  a  leader 
among  his  fellowmen;  not  distinguished  as  a  man  of  genius,  nor  as 
a  scholar;  not  regarded  as  a  fluent  talker,  nor  as  a  man  of  any 
decided  particular  talent;  not  rated  as  a  'man  of  society,'  nor  as  a 
man  of  accomplishment;  yet  'Uncle  John'  McCarty,  as  he  was  by 
everybody  respectfully  called,  made,  perhaps,  as  lasting  an 
impression  for  good  on  all  with  whom  he  came  into  contact,  and 
was  as  truly  good,  as  sincerely  respected  and  beloved,  as  any  man 
on  the  West  Branch  of  the  Susquehanna  in  his  day  and  generation. 
He  was  conspicuous  for  the  quiet,  peaceable,  even  temperate  and 
unassuming  life  he  lived;  for  his  general  good  sense,  manliness, 
honesty  and  truthfulness;  and  because  he  was  uniformly  generous 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  53 

and  unselfish,  and  too  great-hearted  to  be  a  respecter  of  persons. 
There  was  something  in  his  open  face  and  cordial  and  unaffected 
manner  that  at  once,  always  and  everywhere,  commanded  respect. 
He  was  everybody's  good,  dear  'Uncle  John,'  as  long  as  the  writer 
knew  him — about  forty  years." 

John  McCarty  lived  all  the  days  of  his  life  in  the  home  of  his 
birth,  except  for  one  year  when  he  served  as  an  apprentice  in 
blacksmithing  with  his  cousin  David  Lloyd,  in  Jerseytown.  He 
was  90  years  old  when  he  died  on  January  24, 1884. 

Gernerd  wrote  of  him:  "He  loved  the  old  home.  No  sum  of 
money  would  have  induced  him  to  part  with  it."  This  leads  to  the 
assumption  that  he  may  have  been  approached,  from  time  to  time, 
by  those  who  wanted  to  buy  his  home. 

"Uncle  John"  McCarty's  chestnut  sorrel 
horse,  "Salem,"  was  as  beloved  by  the  com- 
munity as  was  his  master.  A  story  about 
Salem  notes  that  when  he  was  38  years  old, 
"several  ladies  borrowed  him  to  take  a  load 
of  baskets  with  refreshments  to  a  Sunday 
School  picnic,  on  Shoemaker's  island.  He 
brought  them  safely  home,  but  the  instant 
they  drove  up  to  the  stable  door,  the  faithful 
old  beast,  without  a  warning  symptom  of  ill— 
"Uncle  John  ness,  fell  over  and  almost  instantly  gave  up 

McCarty  the  ghost." 

The  narrative  notes  that  the  ladies  were  pre- 
pared to  drag  the  horse's  body  to  a  field  for  burial,  but  "Uncle 
John"  would  not  permit  such  cruelty.  Old  Salem  was  tenderly  lift- 
ed on  a  wagon  and  hauled  out  to  his  burial  place.  At  the  grave,  it 
was  proposed  to  knock  off  the  horse's  shoes. 

"No,"  interposed  Uncle  John,  according  to  Gernerd  "Salem 
must  be  buried  with  his  shoes  on." 

"Uncle  John"  was  not  a  teetotaler,  as  many  Quakers  are.  His 
cellar  was  stocked  with  various  kinds  of  wines — blackberry,  elder- 
berry, grape,  and  currant.  Someone  had  stopped  at  his  door,  one 
Sunday,  and  asked  for  some  of  his  wine.  The  bachelor  Quaker  is 
reported  to  have  replied:  "If  you  can't  be  employed  in  any  better 


54  Katherine  Yurchak 

business  on  Sunday  than  to  run  about  to  hunt  up  wine,  you  must 
be  in  a  bad  way,  and  so  you  can't  have  any  of  my  wine." 

William  McCarty's  brothers,  in  their  own  ways,  contributed  to 
Muncy's  growth  and  history  For  example,  ten  years  after  settling 
in  Muncy,  Benjamin  McCarty  conceived  the  idea  of  starting  a 
town,  in  1797.  As  a  surveyor,  he  laid  out  lots  East  of  what  is  now 
Muncy's  Main  Street.  One  by  one,  the  lots  were  sold.  And  a 
plaque,  on  East  Water  Street,  commemorates  Benjamin  McCarty 
for  his  contribution  to  Muncy's  historic  setting. 

William,  Isaac,  and  Silas  followed  their  brother's  example  and 
also  had  parts  of  their  properties  plotted  for  development.  Then, 
in  1826,  after  the  Borough  of  Muncy's  boundary  lines  were 
defined,  an  act  of  incorporation  was  applied  for.  Finally,  the  name 
was  changed  from  Pennsborough  to  Muncy  because,  according  to 
the  records,  "the  new  name  would  be  more  in  accordance  with  the 
historical  associations  of  the  place,  and  serve  to  perpetuate  the 
name  of  the  tribe  that  first  dwelt  there." 

An  oil  portrait  of  "Uncle  John"  McCarty  hangs  in  the  main 
auditorium  of  the  Muncy  Historical  Society.  The  artist  has  cap- 
tured a  distinct  feature  of  the  benevolent  Quaker.  He  is  depicted 
clean  shaven,  but  with  a  "ruching"  (like  a  collar)  of  white  whiskers 
about  his  neck. 

The  home  "Uncle  John"  McCarty  loved  passed  through  five 
generations  of  his  family.  The  exterior  of  his  beloved  home  has 
been  stuccoed,  and  an  Old-English  architecture  now  covers  the 
original  siding  of  William  McCarty's  building.  In  1945,  the  deed  to 
the  property  no  longer  bore  the  McCarty  name,  when  it  was  trans- 
ferred to  the  Wertmans  of  Muncy. 

Then  in  1988,  Thomas  and  Gloria  Clegg,  of  Muncy,  purchased 
the  property.  The  Cleggs,  over  the  years,  have  restored  several 
early-American  homes  in  the  historic  community.  In  the  restora- 
tion of  the  McCarty  House,  the  place  has  become  "The  McCarty 
House  and  Inn."  The  first  floor  of  the  home  is  now  a  restaurant, 
and  the  upstairs  rooms  have  been  made  available  for  overnight 
guests.  William  McCarty's  barn  has  become  "The  Carriage 
House."  Adjoining  the  restaurant's  property,  it  now  is  a  reposito- 
ry for  antiques,  as  well  as  a  variety  of  early-American  arts  and 


Where  Wigwams  Stood 


55 


crafts  pieces. 

After  a  bitterly  cold  night,  on  the  morning  of  the  30th  of 
January  1993,  a  fire  broke  out  in  Muncy's  oldest  house.  The  fire 
destroyed  all  of  the  contents  of  the  second-floor  bedroom  which 
was  over  the  fireplace.  The  night  before,  because  of  the  cold 
weather,  the  Cleggs  had  been  using  the  fireplace  to  heat  the  rooms 
of  the  Inn. 

No  one  knows  how  the  fire  began,  but  only  a  local  policeman's 
quick  action,  on  seeing  flames  coming  out  of  the  house,  prevented 
total  devastation  of  Muncy's  oldest  home. 

The  Cleggs  immediately  repaired  the  damage  to  the  second- 
floor  bedroom  and  what  they've  named  "the  William  and  Mary 
Room."  The  beautiful  fireplace,  which  was  charred  by  the  searing 
flames,  also  has  been  restored  as  much  as  possible  to  its  original 
beauty. 

There  are  many  beautiful  old  homes  in  the  community  of 
Muncy.  But  only  the  McCarty  House  has  endured  more  than  two 
centuries  of  American  history. 


Because  the  valley  has  many  creeks  and  small  waterways, 
Muncy's  pioneer  families  needed  to  build  bridges  from 
field  to  field. 


56 


Katherine  Yurchak 


9 /The  Wallis  Connection 


I 


n  the  January  1878  issue  of  Now  and  Then,  J.M.M.  Gernerd  told 
subscribers  about  "our  distinguished  pioneer,  Samuel  Wallis."  He 
was  right  in  noting  that  "the  Wallis'  name  figures  as  often  as  any 
other  in  our  early  annals."  For  in  perusing  the  pages  of 
Meginness'  History  of  Lycoming  County,  we  find  that  Wallis  was  the 
original  owner  of  thousands  of  acres  of  land  in  the  Susquehanna 
Valley,  and  anyone  who  planned  to  settle  in  Muncy  proper  first 
had  to  negotiate  with  Wallis  about  acquiring  a  tract  of  land  from 
his  claim. 

The  Gernerd  jottings  about  Wallis  inform  that  he  "came  to  this 
valley  from  Philadelphia,  where  he  was  engaged  in  mercantile  and 
commercial  business.  He  was  a  Quaker,  a  man  of  large  fortune,  of 
great  energy  and  influence,  well-educated,  a  surveyor,  and  an 
ambitious  speculator  in  lands." 

But  on  delving  deeper  into  the  historical  mines,  a  lode  of  infor- 
mation is  garnered  about  the  who  and  what  of  Samuel  Wallis.  For 
example,  from  the  first  paragraph  of  "A  Short  Sketch  of  Samuel 
Wallis'  Private  Life,"  as  prepared  by  T.  Kenneth  Wood  in  the 
October  1940  issue  of  Now  and  Then,  hints  are  given  as  to  "his  trag- 
ic and  lonely  death  and  burial  in  an  unknown  grave." 

Further  tracings  of  the  Wallis  family  tree  reveal  that  roots  were 
established  in  Maryland,  where  Samuel  was  born  April  21, 1731,  in 
Elkton.   His  parents,  Samuel  and  Cassandra  Tolbott  Wallis,  origi- 

57 


58  Katherine  Yurchak 

nally  were  from  England  and  Wales.  The  Wallises  were  prominent 
and  wealthy  members  of  early-American  Quaker  society. 

Young  Samuel  Wallis  is  said  to  have  been  well-educated,  and 
was  a  surveyor,  but  where  he  acquired  his  education  is  not  stated. 
When  in  his  early  thirties,  he  made  his  way  from  Maryland  to 
Philadelphia.  There  he  found  employment  with  a  prominent 
Quaker  firm,  James  and  Drinker,  agents  of  the  Holland  Land 
Company. 

Wood's  search  through  the  Wallis  files  uncovered  this  informa- 
tion: "Samuel  Wallis  engaged  in  many  lines  of  business  but  princi- 
pally in  coastwise  shipping  and  land-jobbing."  Today,  Wallis 
would  be  considered  a  land  speculator. 

Additional  findings  lead  to  the  assumption  that  Wallis  was  a 
shrewd  businessman.  He  had  become  interested  in  Muncy  Valley 
in  1768  which,  according  to  Wood's  notes,  was  because  of  "the 
Treaty  of  Fort  Stanwix  which  threw  open  for  occupation  Muncy 
Valley." 

In  Muncy,  Samuel  Wallis  had  a  mansion  built  in  preparation 
for  his  marriage  to  Lydia  Hollingsworth,  in  1770.  The  walls  of  his 
one  and  one-half  story  stone  building  were  three  feet  thick.  It 
eventually  was  used  mostly  as  a  summer  residence  for  the  Wallises 
and  their  six  children.  Their  city  residence  was  on  Arch  Street,  in 
Philadelphia,  where  we  can  assume  that  he  engaged  freely  in  the 
brilliant  social  activities  of  those  times. 

The  Wallis  estate  in  the  valley  was  known  as  "Muncy  Farm" 
and  is  said  to  have  provided  opportunity  for  the  country  gentle- 
man to  host  Quaker  missionaries,  his  business  acquaintances,  as 
well  as  the  men  of  the  monarchy  who  had  been  sent  to  govern  the 
colonies.  Historical  papers  also  note  that  Wallis  had  relations  with 
Indian  chieftains  inhabiting  the  Susquehanna  Valley,  and  they  also 
were  frequent  visitors  to  his  mansion. 

When  Wallis  entered  the  Susquehanna  region,  he  came  with  a 
band  of  skilled  surveyors.  According  to  Wood,  "He  arrived  in 
1768,  and  in  1769  he  had  the  floor  of  the  Valley  platted  and  staked 
before  the  Penns  had  a  chance  to  make  known  their  intention  of 
setting  these  lands  aside  as  a  Proprietaries  Manor  (or  as  a  Reserve) 
to  be  called  'Muncy  Manor'." 


Where  Wigwams  Stood 


59 


«^p 


BEECH  MARKED 

TRP 


During  a  land  dis- 
pute with  John 
Penn  in  1772, 
Samuel  Wallis  had 
his  draftsmen  pre- 
pare this  map 
found  among  the 
pioneer's  papers. 
Wallis  lost  his 
rights  to  the 
manors  depicted 
here. 


Wood  continues:  "In  a  legal  tussle  with  them  (the  Penns) 
Wallis  lost  and  had  to  content  himself  with  extra-manorial  lands, 
principally  lying  between  the  mouths  of  Muncy  and  Loyalsock 
Creek." 

Local  historical  files  also  give  credit  to  Samuel  Wallis  for  the 
surveying  and  plotting  of  the  town  of  Wilkes-Barre.  An  article 
appearing  in  Proceedings  1990,  of  the  Northumberland  Historical 
Society,  states  that  Wilkes-Barre  was  laid  out  by  Wallis  in  a  rectan- 
gular design,  with  a  diamond  (or  square,  as  it  is  called)  in  the  cen- 
ter, and  was  destined  to  be  the  scene  of  the  bloodiest  battle  of  the 
Revolutionary  War — "the  Wyoming  Massacre." 

Compiled  for  the  Northumberland  Historical  group  by  Linda 
Fossler,  then  of  Gwynedd-Mercy  College,  the  article  casts  a  long 
shadow  over  Wallis'  patriotism  during  the  Revolutionary  War. 
Fossler  links  Samuel  Wallis  to  one  of  George  Washington's  "most 
successful  generals;  his  personal  friend — Benedict  Arnold." 

It  is  reasonable  to  assume  that  as  a  shipping  magnate,  as 
well  as  a  prominent  member  of  Philadelphia's  society,  Wallis 
must  have  had  more  than  casual  contact  with  Arnold  and 
British  militarists,  such  as  John  Andre,  who  participated  in  the 
city's  brilliant  social  events. 

In  her  book,  Romantic  Days  in  the  Early  Republic,  [Little,  Brown 


60  Katherine  Yurchak 

and  Company,  Boston  1912]  Mary  Caroline  Crawford  describes  a 
typical  all-day  festival  which  had  been  held  in  Philadelphia,  in 
May  1778,  featuring  a  regatta  of  highly  decorated  ships  in  port. 
British  generals  and  local  social  leaders,  as  well  as  "several  fair 
ladies,"  had  boarded  the  ships  early  in  the  day  Then  in  the  after- 
noon, the  music  and  dancing  was  transferred  to  the  mansion  of 
Joseph  Wharton,  where  a  grand  lawn  party  continued  until  mid- 
night, at  which  time  a  magnificent  banquet  was  served. 

Crawford  notes  that  the  party's  guest  list  included  Sir  Henry 
Clinton,  of  the  British  military  family,  and  Major  John  Andre,  who 
was  in  love  with  Margaret  Shippen,  daughter  of  one  of 
Philadelphia's  proudest  families. 

At  that  time,  Crawford  notes  that  Benedict  Arnold  was  in  com- 
mand of  American  forces  in  Philadelphia.  Arnold,  originally  from 
New  Haven,  Connecticut,  had  earned  his  living  as  a  druggist, 
prior  to  entering  the  military.  He  had  lost  his  first  wife  at  the 
beginning  of  the  Revolutionary  War.  In  Philadelphia,  he  fell  in 
love  at  first  sight  with  Miss  Shippen,  a  Tory  belle.  He  wooed  and 
won  her  as  his  bride,  despite  her  father's  great  displeasure. 
Margaret  was  21  years  old,  when  they  were  married;  Arnold  was 
35  and  the  father  of  three  sons.  The  couple  participated  freely  in 
Philadelphia's  high  society. 

At  the  time  they  were  married,  according  to  the  Crawford 
book,  "Arnold  began  writing  to  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  in  disguised 
handwriting  and  under  the  signature  of  'Gustavus'  describing 
himself  as  an  American  soldier  of  high  rank,  who,  through  disgust 
at  the  French  alliance  and  other  proceedings  of  Congress,  might 
perhaps  be  persuaded  to  go  over  to  the  British,  provided  he  could 
be  indemnified  for  any  losses  he  might  incur  by  so  doing." 

Crawford  notes  that  the  replies  from  Clinton  were  penned  by 
Major  Andre  over  the  signature  of  "John  Anderson." 

This  information  is  in  line  with  Linda  Fossler's  findings  which 
state  that  "The  negotiations  between  General  Arnold  and  Major 
John  Andre,  adjutant  general  of  the  British  forces,  became  known 
almost  immediately,  as  the  former  escaped  into  the  arms  of  the 
British  and  the  latter  was  executed  by  order  of  General 
Washington.    The  identity  of  Arnold's  most  mysterious  courier, 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  61 

however,  remained  a  secret  for  over  145  years,  until  the  contents  of 
the  papers  of  General  Clinton,  in  the  British  Headquarters  files 
revealed  him  to  be  Samuel  Wallis,  respected  Philadelphia  mer- 
chant, part-time  resident  of  Muncy,  Pennsylvania,  and  extensive 
landholder  in  old  Northumberland  County." 

The  startling  facts  about  Wallis's  shady  past,  as  related  by  Ms. 
Fossler,  originally  were  expounded  in  great  detail  by  noted  author, 
Carl  VanDoren,  in  Secret  History  of  the  American  Revolution  [1941]. 
VanDoren  revealed  that  Joseph  Stansbury,  a  Philadelphia  shop- 
keeper, was  a  British  spy  with  whom  Arnold  also  shared  confi- 
dences. And  Wallis,  who  had  frequent  business  dealings  with 
Stansbury,  was  a  trusted  friend  of  the  shopkeeper.  In  the  personal 
papers  Wallis  kept  in  his  voluminous  files  there  are  receipts  for 
jugs,  bottles,  and  china  purchased  from  Stansbury's  shop. 
Moreover,  in  the  City  of  Brotherly  Love,  Wallis  the  Quaker 
businessman  had  earned  the  reputation  as  a  "Gentleman  of  credit 
in  Philadelphia."  Fossler  boldly  wrote:  "People  told  him  every- 
thing." 

Further,  General  Clinton's  papers  indicate  that  at  one  point 
Wallis  had  been  useful  to  the  British  in  providing  information 
about  "underwater  fortifications  along  the  Delaware  River 
approach  to  Philadelphia." 

Recently,  quotes  about  the  Wallis  connection  during  the 
Revolutionary  War  were  taken  from  VanDoren's  book  and  pub- 
lished in  the  August  1993  Now  and  Then,  by  Jane  Jackson,  editor  of 
the  Muncy  Historical  Society's  publication.  Jackson  told  us: 
"Samuel  Wallis  of  Muncy  Manor  on  the  Susquehanna  was 
Arnold's  agent  and  General  Clinton's  correspondent;  though  so 
stealthy  in  his  movements,  that  he  had  not  hitherto  been  detected. 
In  Philadelphia  Wallis  went  on  expertly  pretending  to  be  a  Whig. 
So  long  as  Congress  should  be  in  power,  thus,  he  could  stand  well 
with  the  Patriots.  If  the  British  forces  should  put  down  the  rebel- 
lion, then  he  could  prove  he  had  been  for  a  long  time,  a  Loyalist." 

For  Wallis,  whose  wealth  and  influence  was  known  in  the 
British  colony  in  America,  it  is  reasonable  to  assume  that  he  need- 
ed to  protect  his  varied  business  interests.  The  records  show  he 
owned  at  least  three  ships  (Betsy,  Pigeon,  and  Hannah)  and  traded 


62  Katherine  Yurchak 


extensively  in  the  West  Indies  and  Bermuda.  It  is  fair  to  assume, 
therefore,  that  he  must  have  had  frequent  communications  with 
British  tradesmen  overseas,  as  well  as  with  prominent  colonial  set- 
tlers during  the  Revolutionary  War. 

But  while  England  was  endeavoring  to  get  a  firmer  hold  on  the 
colonies,  the  people  of  the  new  settlements  wanted  to  be  free  of  the 
monarchy.  Governors,  sent  from  London  to  oversee  colonial  busi- 
nesses, wanted  the  newly  settled  tradesmen  to  adhere  to  English  reg- 
ulations. This  brought  objections  from  the  people  of  the  colonies,  and 
problems  for  England. 

The  colonialists  wanted  freedom  in  political,  religious,  and  eco- 
nomic activities.  This  philosophy  ultimately  was  stated  in  the 
Declaration  of  Independence. 

Where  did  Wallis  fit  in  during  those  times  in  the  colonies?  He 
must  have  been  in  a  dilemma.  At  the  yearly  meeting  held  in  London 
in  1775,  Quakers  in  America  were  urged  "to  remain  clear  of  any  polit- 
ical commotions  of  rebellious  activities  against  the  King." 

Historians  note  that  Wallis  (the  surveyor)  knew  the  Pennsylvania 
frontier.  Eventually  he  became  the  connection  for  providing  maps  to 
leaders  of  the  American  Revolution.  Quaker  though  he  was,  Wallis 
was  put  in  a  position  of  having  to  appease  various  factions.  He  was 
commissioned  as  captain  of  the  6th  Company,  2nd  Battalion  of  the 
Militia  in  Northumberland  County.  Nevertheless,  the  record  shows: 
"In  1778,  Wallis  and  his  family  fled  for  their  lives  to  Fort  Augusta, 
during  the  'Big  Runaway/  which  had  occurred  during  the  expected 
movement  down  the  Susquehanna  of  nearly  1,000  Indians,  Tories, 
and  British,  under  the  command  of  Colonel  John  Butler."  The  battle 
expected  in  Muncy  never  did  occur.  Rather,  it  took  place  in  the 
Wyoming  Valley,  and  is  recorded  as  "The  Wyoming  Massacre,"  [July 
3, 1778]. 

At  that  time,  General  Sullivan  planned  an  expedition  along  the 
Susquehanna  frontier  to  retaliate  against  British  and  Indian  raids. 
His  contact  was  the  president  of  the  Pennsylvania  Council,  Joseph 
Reed,  of  whom  he  requested  a  map  of  that  area  of  the  wilderness 
where  the  exercise  would  take  place.  Reed  then  asked  Wallis,  in 
February  1779,  to  provide  General  Sullivan  with  a  map  for  his  expe- 
dition against  the  Six  Nations  in  the  Susquehanna  Valley. 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  63 

Fossler's  recounting  of  this  incident  states:  "This  request  offered 
a  unique  opportunity  for  Wallis  to  assist  the  British.  He  would  pre- 
pare a  deliberately  inaccurate  map  for  General  Sullivan  and  the 
American  forces.  Wallis  would  be  above  suspicion,  because  he  had 
pledged  allegiance  to  the  Patriot  cause,  and  his  official  pass  described 
him  as  'Friendly  to  the  Liberty  of  America'." 

"The  false  map  scheme  failed,  however,"  Fossler  continues, 
"because  General  George  Washington  wisely  consulted  several  maps 
and  various  frontier  experts  while  planning  the  expedition." 

In  the  VanDoren  version,  Wallis  clearly  is  connected  to  Arnold's 
act  of  treason.  This  is  confirmed  through  correspondence  between 
Benedict  Arnold  and  Major  John  Andre,  adjutant  general  of  the 
British  forces,  whose  letters  have  been  preserved  in  the  William  L. 
Clements  Library,  at  the  University  of  Michigan. 

In  explaining  why  Arnold  was  planning  to  commit  treason,  the 
Fossler  historical  paper  notes  that  though  Arnold  "had  risen  to  the 
grade  of  Major  General,  his  date  of  rank  was  set  by  Congress  below 
that  of  political  appointees  and  other  officers  whom  Arnold  believed 
to  be  inferior  to  him  in  leadership  abilities.  In  addition,  Congress  had 
ordered  an  investigation  into  some  of  his  expenses  as  commander 
and  rejected  some  of  the  financial  claims  he  had  made  upon 
Congress.  This  investigation  eventually  was  referred  to  a  military 
court  martial  which  resulted  in  a  personal  reprimand  from  General 
George  Washington." 

Fossler  notes  that  on  August  1, 1780,  Arnold  was  given  one  of  the 
highest  honors — that  of  commanding  the  cavalry  which  in  due 
course  would  be  used  to  engage  the  British  army.  However,  Arnold 
although  plotting  treason  wanted  the  appointment  of  commander  to 
the  post  at  West  Point,  because  he  was  convinced  "he  was  disliked  by 
Congress."  Arnold  had  not  lost  Washington's  confidence,  despite  his 
bitterness  toward  Congress,  and  the  General  gave  Arnold  the  West 
Point  command  on  August  3, 1780. 

The  Fossler  description  of  the  plot  by  Arnold  to  commit  treason 
reminds  us  that  "negotiations  were  conducted  through  written  corre- 
spondence which  had  to  pass  through  several  hands  to  reach  General 
Clinton."  And,  therefore,  one  can  imagine  that  Arnold  must  have 
had  fears  of  detection,  and  even  was  aware  of  the  dire  consequences 


64  Katherine  Yurchak 

that  would  befall  him  should  he  be  found  out.  The  delay  in  receiving 
a  response  may  have  caused  Arnold  to  distrust  Joseph  Stansbury. 
And  when  the  answer  to  his  letter  did  not  appear,  he  had  to  have 
wondered  if  Stansbury  had  delivered  the  message  to  Major  Andre. 
The  thought  might  have  entered  his  mind  that  Stansbury  was  a  dou- 
ble agent! 

Such  troublesome  imaginings  lead  to  the  reasonable  assumption 
that  Arnold  had  to  turn  to  someone  else — Samuel  Wallis, 
Philadelphia's  most  trusted  man.  Thus,  Wallis  became  "his  principal 
agent  and  messenger  between  Philadelphia  and  New  York,"  notes 
Fossler. 

The  British  files  reveal  that  Arnold  wrote  a  letter  to  John  Andre 
dated  July  11, 1780  in  which  he  noted:  "the  bearer  (Wallis)  in  whom  a 
confidence  may  be  placed,  is  charged  with  others  and  is  instructed — 
preliminaries  being  first  settled — to  fix  a  plan  of  safe  conveyance  and 
operation."  [Fossler,  p.lll] 

The  "plan"  of  the  letters  was  this:  That  Arnold  would  surrender 
West  Point  to  the  British  for  20,000  pounds  of  sterling.  He  also 
requested  "a  thousand  pounds  to  be  paid  my  agent  (Wallis)." 

According  to  the  Fossler  rendering  of  this  episode,  the  capture  of 
Major  Andre  and  the  subsequent  revelation  of  the  plot  to  surrender 
West  Point  ended  in  Arnold's  escape  to  the  British,  and  Andre's  exe- 
cution. As  for  Margaret  Shippen  Arnold,  she  was  sent  a  notice  on 
October  1, 1780  by  the  Philadelphia  Council.  It  read  that  "as  the  wife 
of  Benedict  Arnold,  an  attainted  traitor  whose  residence  in  this  city 
has  become  dangerous  to  public  safety,"  she  was  given  fourteen  days 
to  get  of  town,  as  noted  in  the  Crawford  book. 

And  Wallis,  the  trusted  Quaker,  never  was  suspected  of  partici- 
pation in  Arnold's  treachery.  VanDoren's  findings  in  the  Clinton  let- 
ters uncovered  the  Wallis  connection  only  because  the  papers  at  the 
University  of  Michingan  were  opened  to  scholars,  almost  a  century 
and  a  half  after  the  fact. 

Wallis,  the  wealthy  Philadelphian,  continued  to  prosper  in  his 
affairs  after  the  Revolutionary  War.  He  remained  in  the  city  until 
1782,  and  then  took  full  charge  of  the  settlements  in  the  Susquehanna 
Valley.  He  built  a  grist  mill  in  1785  at  his  Muncy  Farm,  and  gained 
enough  prominence  in  local  government  to  win  an  appointment  as 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  65 

an  associate  judge  in  Lycoming  County,  in  April  1795. 

His  experience  as  a  frontiersman  and  land  speculator  won  him 
continued  work  as  a  buying  agent  for  the  Holland  Land  Company. 
He  hired  James  Wilson  as  his  legal  representative.  Fossler's  notations 
say  that,  "as  a  land  agent,  Wallis  bought  land  and  often  assumed  the 
obligation  to  pay,  although  the  title  was  vested  in  the  Holland  Land 
Company.  He  would  then  be  reimbursed  by  the  Company,  whose 
funds  were  administered  by  Judge  Wilson." 

The  relations  between  the  partners  began  to  sour,  however,  so 
that  by  1798  Wallis  was  owed  88,500  pounds  of  Sterling  by  the 
Holland  Land  Company.  He  hounded  Wilson  for  the  money,  but  was 
not  aware  that  his  partner  also  had  claimed  ownership  of  land  that 
had  greatly  depreciated  in  value.  Wilson,  too,  was  deeply  in  debt. 

Wallis  traced  Wilson  as  far  as  North  Carolina,  where  papers  were 
drawn  for  the  entire  amount  to  be  paid  in  cash,  and  delivery  of  the 
money  was  to  be  made  within  24  hours.  Wilson  never  came  through 
with  the  cash.  He  either  committed  suicide  or  succumbed  to  an  acci- 
dental overdose  of  medication  and  alcohol.  He  was  found  dead  in 
his  bed  on  the  morning  he  was  to  have  delivered  the  money  to  Wallis. 

Dejected  and  penniless,  Wallis,  in  company  with  a  servant,  made 
the  return  trip  to  Philadelphia.  Exhaustion  forced  a  stop  in 
Maryland,  where  he  took  a  room  for  the  night.  Too  tired  to  complain 
about  the  used  linens  on  the  bed,  he  spent  the  night  where  a  guest 
had  died  of  Yellow  Fever. 

Not  until  the  next  morning  did  he  learn  that  he'd  exposed  him- 
self to  the  disease  then  rampant  in  the  colonies.  Racing  back  to 
Philadelphia,  he  demanded  the  services  of  his  friend  Dr.  Benjamin 
Rush,  one  of  the  signers  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence.  But  it 
was  too  late. 

Samuel  Wallis  was  67  years  old  when  he  died  at  his  home  on  Arch 
Street,  October  14, 1798.  His  body  was  laid  in  an  unmarked  grave  in 
a  Quaker  burial  site. 

Wallis  had  lost  his  fortune,  but  his  stone  mansion  which  was  pre- 
served for  his  widow  by  family  friends,  remains  as  one  of  Muncy's 
historical  landmarks. 


66 


{Catherine  Yurchak 


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homas  Jefferson  was  serving  the  second  term  of  his  presiden- 
cy, and  the  American  frontier  was  rapidly  spreading  westward,  in 
1806,  when  a  wealthy  ironworks  manufacturer,  from  Lebanon 
County,  purchased  7,000  acres  of  the  land  left  by  Samuel  Wallis,  in 
Muncy  Valley.  The  transaction  was  made  through  the 
Philadelphian  James  Drinker,  agent  of  the  Holland  Land 
Company 

Robert  Coleman's  acquisition  of  the  Muncy  pioneer's  estate 
became  the  dowry  for  his  daughter,  Elizabeth,  who  had  married  a 
prosperous  young  lawyer,  Charles  Hall  of  Sunbury,  in  1790.  Hall 
already  owned  4,000  acres  of  land  in  the  area,  so  the  couple's  com- 
bined holdings  made  them  among  the  largest  owners  of  property 
in  the  Susquehanna  Valley. 

Grand  as  the  Wallis  home  was  when  she  moved  into  it, 
Elizabeth  Hall  directed  extensive  renovations  for  her  Muncy  resi- 
dence. The  young  matron  brought  to  the  Valley  the  contractor 
who  then  was  constructing  the  capitol  building,  in  Harrisburg. 
And  the  records  show  that  "both  contracts  were  in  progress  at  the 
same  time,"  and  that  all  the  material  used  in  the  reconstructed  for- 
mer Wallis  home  was  hauled  up  the  Susquehanna  River  to  Muncy 
by  boat. 

Charles  and  Elizabeth  Hall  became  the  parents  of  11  children, 
while  living  at  Muncy  Farms.  The  focus  of  this  writing  is  upon 
Susan  Emily,  their  tenth  child,  who  was  born  in  1814. 

67 


68  Katherine  Yurchak 

It  is  fair  to  assume  that  under  the  tutelage  of  her  mother,  heir  to 
a  fortune,  Susan  was  trained  in  a  grand  and  gracious  manner  of  liv- 
ing. As  "the  lady  of  the  manor,"  her  mother  entertained  lavishly  in 
the  mansion  Wallis  had  built  in  1769,  and  which  even  then  had 
been  listed  in  historic  records  as  "the  oldest  house  in  Lycoming 
County,  and  older  by  three  years  than  the  township  of  Muncy" 
[Meginness,  p.41] 

Susan  Emily  was  seven  years  old  when  her  father  died.  Her 
widowed  mother  left  the  manor  in  Muncy  and  returned  to  her 
paternal  surroundings  in  Lancaster.  Susan's  brother,  Robert 
Coleman  Hall  was  left  in  charge  of  the  family  residence  in  the 
Susquehanna  Valley. 

Meanwhile,  Susan  was  being  nurtured  by  her  mother  and 
grandmother.  Later,  her  formal  education  was  acquired  in 
Burlington,  Vermont  where  she  enrolled  at  the  "Episcopal 
Institute,"  founded  by  Vermont's  first  Episcopalian  bishop,  John 
Henry  Hopkins,  in  1824. 

Susan  Emily  was  in  her  teens  when  she  became  engaged  to 
Edward  Hopkins,  the  Bishop's  son,  who  then 
was  actively  engaged  in  a  naval  career. 
Touching  on  the  romantic  phase  of  Susan 
Hall's  life,  the  April  1992  issue  of  Now  and 
Then,  noted:  "As  a  midshipman,  Edward  was 
sent  to  Brazil.  That  marriage  was  not  meant  to 
be!"  [April  1992,  p.158] 

No  information  is  available  as  to  why  the 
wedding  between  Susan  Hall  and  Edward 
Hopkins  did  not  take  place.  But  since  Edward 
was  gone  at  sea  for  seven  years,  it  is  reasonable  John  Henry 
to  assume  that  either  he  or  his  young  bride-to-  Hopkins  Jr. 
be  may  have  had  a  change  of  heart. 

While  at  school  in  Vermont,  Susan  Emily's  home  in  Muncy  was 
being  exchanged  into  the  hands  of  various  members  of  the  Halls' 
family  tree.  Her  brother  Robert  was  married  to  Sarah  Ann  Watts, 
(daughter  of  Judge  Watts,  of  Carlisle)  and  had  made  the  decision  to 
practice  law  in  the  community  of  his  wife's  family's  roots.  That  left 
Muncy  Manor  in  an  abandoned  state. 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  69 

After  her  husband's  passing,  Sarah  Watts  Hall  returned  to 
Lycoming  County,  and  her  son  James  was  given  charge  of  her 
estate  at  Muncy  Farms.  At  his  mother's  death,  James  Hall  moved 
to  Philadelphia  and  gave  his  only  son,  William 
Coleman  Hall,  Esq.,  charge  of  the  family's 
manor. 

In  the  meantime,  Susan  Emily  Hall's  devo- 
tion to  her  church  was  intensifying.  During 
her  years  in  Vermont,  she  had  taken  a  sisterly 
interest  in  the  Bishop's  other  son,  John  Henry 
Hopkins  Jr.,  and  had  seen  him  graduate  with 
honors  from  the  University  of  Vermont.  He 
then  trained  at  General  Theological  Seminary 
baran  hmily  m  New  York  City,  where  his  career  was  devot- 
Hall  ed  to  "church  journalism."    Later  still,  John 

Henry  Jr.  was  ordained  to  the  priesthood  of 
the  Episcopalian  Church. 

Her  friendship  with  the  Hopkins  family,  incited  Susan  Emily 
Hall  to  have  a  place  where  Episcopalian  missionaries  and  clergy- 
men could  rest  in  their  journeys  while  evangelizing  throughout 
the  Valley.  The  work  of  the  Episcopalian  Church  became  her  life. 
When  Muncy  Manor  passed  into  the  hands  of  nephews,  Susan 
Emily  Hall  used  her  share  of  the  family  fortune  to  acquire 
"Oaklands,"  the  former  summer  residence  of  Colonel  Potter,  a 
Philadelphian  who  had  been  in  the  militia  with  Samuel  Wallis. 
The  home  also  was  built  on  the  Wallis  tract,  and  had  been  acquired 
by  the  Colemans  from  James  Drinker. 

As  her  mother  had  done  when  she  acquired  the  Wallis  man- 
sion, Susan  Emily  had  "Oaklands"  remodeled.  As,  "the  lady  of  the 
manor"  called  "Oaklands"  she  hosted  various  Episcopalian  church 
officials.  Therefore,  the  architecture  she  chose  had  religious  over- 
tones. For  example,  stained  glass  windows  in  a  grand  hallway 
with  a  winding  staircase. 

One  special  room,  on  the  third  floor  of  the  mansion,  became 
"the  Bishop's  Room."  A  cathedral  effect  was  sculptured  into  the 
ceiling's  plastered  design.  The  large  mahogany  bed,  made  espe- 
cially for  the  chief  cleric  of  the  church,  was  adorned  with  bronze 


70  {Catherine  Yurchak 

angelic  carvings  on  opposite  posts  of  the  headboard.  Sashed 
windows — one  facing  East,  and  the  other  South — caught  the 
splendor  of  the  Susquehanna  River  Valley  mornings  and 
evenings,  and  brought  it  into  the  Bishop's  quarters. 

Susan  Emily  Hall  dressed  like  a  priestess.  While  women 
of  those  days  bedecked  themselves  in  velvets  and  silks,  and 
beads  and  feathers  and  lace,  Susan  Emily  only  wore  long  black 
gowns.  The  same  black  ruffled  material  trimmed  the  neckline, 
with  only  a  slim  sliver  of  white  fabric  adorning  the  collarline. 
The  plain-faced  maiden  lady  wore  her  long  hair  parted  in  the 
middle  and  pulled  tightly  away  from  her  face. 

Although  she  grew  up  in  prim  and  proper  surroundings, 
and  all  her  lifetime  had  associated  with  churchy  people  and 
things,  Susan  Emily  Hall  had  a  feisty  personality.  She  explod- 
ed when  exasperated  with  the  indecisiveness  of  people  around 
her. 

For  example,  one  of  her  special  gifts  was  in  the  art  of 
embroidery.  She  used  her  gift  to  create  altar  vestments  for  her 
church.  The  exquisite  embroidery  was  mostly  her  own  design. 
For  her  needlework,  Miss  Susan  used  embroidery  silk  of  a  spe- 
cial quality,  acquired  from  a  specialty  shop  in  Philadelphia. 
Usually,  "the  lady  of  the  manor"  would  have  the  silk  sent  to 
the  "Oaklands"  estate.  However,  this  time  she  happened  to  be 
in  the  city,  and  went  personally  to  the  shop  to  purchase  the 
special  silk  thread.  The  clerk  had  difficulty  finding  the  prod- 
uct on  his  shelves,  and  searched  and  searched  for  it. 

"We  don't  sell  much  of  it,"  he  said.  "Only  that  old  Susan 
Hall  up  at  Muncy  uses  it." 

"Well,  I'm  that  old  Susan  Hall,"  responded  the  unexpected 
patron.  "So  hurry  up  and  find  it." 

The  Episcopalian  zealot  had  her  dander  aroused  once 
again  when  she  learned  that  the  vestry  of  her  church  (St.  James 
Episcopal)  had  settled  plans  to  tear  down  the  old  brick  church 
and  would  replace  it  with  another  brick  edifice  "of  rather  non- 
descript architecture." 

Describing  this  incident  for  a  centennial  event,  The 
Harrisburg  Churchman  [Mar.  1938]  reported:  "On  hearing  this, 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  71 

Miss  Susan  exclaimed  'Nonsense.    I  won't  hear  of  it.    We  will 
build  a  proper  Episcopal  Church,  Gothic  and  of  stone'." 

The  protests  of  the  Vestry  were  to  no  avail,  even  though  an 
architect  already  had  been  hired  for  the  proposed  new  brick 
church.  Anyway,  the  type  of  church  Miss  Hall  wanted  was 
beyond  the  congregation's  budget. 

But  Miss  Susan  remained  firm:  "I  said  we  will  build  a  prop- 
er church,  and  Gothic,  and  stone  it  will  be.  It  is  all  arranged.  The 
first  thing  you  will  do  is  pay  the  present  architect,  and  then  tear 
up  his  plans." 

Miss  Hall  then  enlisted  the  help  of  her  friend  John  Henry 
Hopkins  Jr.  who  had  studied  architecture,  in  New  York  City. 
Among  his  friends  were  masters  of  architectural  art,  among 
whom  was  Renwick,  designer  of  St.  Patrick's  Cathedral.  Later, 
he  had  become  associated  with  Richard  Upjohn,  architect  for  the 
reknowned  Trinity  Chapel,  in  Manhattan's  financial  district.  At 
Susan  Emily  Hall's  request,  Reverend  Hopkins  secured  Upjohn's 
architectural  services  to  draw  plans  for  her  Gothic  and  stone 
Muncy  church. 

Ida  Jane  White,  a  Muncy  resident  and  member  of  the 
Episcopalian  Church,  prepared  a  paper  about  the  woman  she 
calls  "Aunt  Susan"  for  the  Muncy  Historical  Society.  [Dec.  1985] 
Mrs.  White  noted  that  Susan  Hall  found  a  family  in  Montomery 
(a  town  across  the  river  from  Muncy)  to  agree  to  provide  stones 
from  their  quarry.  The  stones  were  readied  and  hauled  to  the 
banks  of  the  river.  Then  in  winter,  when  the  river  was  frozen 
over,  Susan  Emily  Hall  gathered  together  the  women  of  the 
parish.  And  while  the  men  with  ropes  and  sleds  hauled  stones 
across  the  ice,  the  women  served  hot  meals  and  coffee  to  keep 
the  workers  warm.  They  worked  through  the  night  to  get  the  job 
done. 

Wrote  Mrs.  White:  "And  so,  Muncy's  St.  James  Church  was 
built  just  exactly  as  the  indomnitable  Susan  Emily  Hall  had 
wanted.  The  result  is  our  lovely  Gothic  stone  church." 

The  historical  data  notes  that  the  original  brick  church  struc- 
ture was  removed  in  1856.  The  cornerstone  for  the  present 
building  was  laid  in  August  1858.    It  was  completed  debt  free. 


72  Katherine  Yurchak 

The  cost:  $9,000.00.  The  dedication  services  for  St.  James 
Episcopal  Church,  were  held  November  15, 1859. 

Muncy's  historic  St.  James  Episcopal  Church  is  the  "mother 
church"  of  Christ  Episcopal  Church,  in  Williamsport,  where  Reverend 
Hopkins  was  named  rector.  The  Episcopalian  Church  of  Muncy  also 
has  historic  "sister  churches"  in  the  surrounding  area.  They  are  the 
Church  of  Our  Savior,  in  Montoursville,  and  the  Church  of  the  Good 
Shepherd,  at  Fairfield  Center.  Both  churches  were  built  during  the 
time  Susan  Emily  Hall  and  the  Reverend  John  Henry  Hopkins  Jr. 
were  active  in  the  local  religious  community. 

Susan  Emily  Hall's  friend,  Reverend  Hopkins,  during  his  lifetime 
composed  a  number  of  hymns,  chorales  and  poems.  Most  notable  is 
his  composition  "We  Three  Kings  of  Orient  Are,"  a  part  of  America's 
Yuletide  songfests. 

In  1891,  J.M.M.  Gernerd,  a  member  of  the  local  Episcopalian 
Church,  sought  information  about  Muncy's  first  Sunday  Schools. 
Susan  Emily  Hall,  then  77  years  old,  was  ailing  from  a  diseased  heart. 
She  wrote  a  letter  to  Gernerd,  who  published  it  in  Now  and  Then.  Her 
personal  jottings  grant  glimpses  of  Miss  Hall's  life  and  help  to  piece 
together  the  fabric  of  the  unique  character  of  this  woman  of  faith. 

Susan  Emily  Hall  wrote:  "Mrs.  Elizabeth  Hall  (her  mother) 
removed  from  Sunbury  to  the  Muncy  Farms  in  April  1821,  her  hus- 
band having  died  about  three  months  previous.  Mrs.  Hall  had  then 
three  grown  daughters,  under  twenty  years  of  age,  named  Ann, 
Catharine  and  Margaret,  and  they  felt  prompted  to  give  some  instruc- 
tion to  the  children  of  the  neighboring  families  who  were  growing  up 
without  much  chance  (of  Sunday  School  training).  I  was  myself  one 
of  the  scholars,  not  being  quite  seven  years  old.  At  that  time,  there 
was  no  church  edifice  in  or  near  Muncy,  except  the  old  brick  church 
on  the  road  to  Hughesville,  and  the  Friends'  Meeting  House,  in  what 
was  then  called  Goosetown."  [Now  and  Then,  Sept.-Oct.  1891]. 

The  next  paragraph  of  Miss  Susan's  letter  mentions  "an 
Episcopalian  clergyman  named  Hopkins,"  who  had  held  services  at 
"the  old  brick  church  on  the  road  to  Hughesville."  The  Episcopalian 
clergyman,  who  is  named  with  such  deference  by  Miss  Hall,  is  none 
other  than  her  longtime  friend  Dr.  John  Henry  Hopkins. 

Returning  to  the  letter  to  Gernerd,  Miss  Hall  writes  about  her 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  73 

brother  Coleman  Hall,  whom  she  names  as  "a  zealous  churchman," 
and  notes  that  he  was  "principally  instrumental  in  building  the  St. 
James  Episcopal  Church,  in  Muncy."  She  gives  emphasis  to  the  fact 
that  he  "walked  to  church  every  Sunday  to  teach  Sunday  School." 

However,  this  was  not  always  so,  because  a  finding  in  the  August 
1868  issue  of  Now  and  Then  records  that  Gernerd,  as  a  boy,  was 
deeply  impressed  by  the  unusual  mode  of  travel  used  by  the  Halls 
when  they  attended  church.  He  refers  to  the  years  after  1836,  when 
"about  this  time  the  'Dearborn'  wagon  or  carriage  was  brought  to  the 
country.  When  Hall's  carriage  drove  up  to  the  church  door,  we  boys 
almost  held  our  breath.  We  never  expected  the  owners  of  so  mag- 
nificent an  establishment  to  condescend  to  notice  the  ragged  brigade 
who  footed  it  to  church,  and  scattered  on  the  mud  sidewalk  as  the 
cavalcade  approached." 

To  continue  with  Miss  Hall's  letter  concerning  Muncy's  church 
history,  we  find  that  she  refers  to  herself  in  the  third  person,  and 
writes  the  following:  "Mrs.  Hall  (her  mother)  had  an  unmarried 
daughter,  Susan.  Miss  Hall  found  her  time  hanging  heavy  on  her 
hands,  having  always  been  accustomed  to  church  and  Sunday 
School,  and  in  imitation  of  her  elder  sisters,  invited  a  few  little  girls 
to  come  to  her  every  Sunday  to  be  taught.  She  began  with  nine  little 
girls,  who  took  great  delight  in  their  Bible  lessons,  and  were  a  source 
of  great  pleasure  to  their  teacher." 

In  this  unusual  practice  of  speaking  of  herself  as  though  she  lived 
in  the  distant  past,  Susan  Emily  Hall  reveals  a  practice  of  many  early- 
church  personalities  whose  lives  were  saturated  in  hours  of  quiet 
meditation  and  contemplation  of  the  Sacred  Scriptures.  To  Gernerd 
she  continues:  "Miss  Hall  was  not  familiar  with  the  routine  of 
Sunday  Schools,  and  did  not  know  what  books  to  use,  but  after  a 
variety  of  efforts,  settled  down  upon  simple  Bible  readings  and 
explanations.  Miss  Hall's  object  in  combining  the  prayer-book  with 
the  Bible  instruction  was  to  enforce  the  truth,  that  nothing  was 
important  but  the  Word  of  God,  and  that  every  line  in  our  book  of 
worship  was  in  full  accordance  with  the  Holy  Scriptures;  if  not,  it 
was  of  little  worth." 

The  inclusion  of  these  paragraphs  is  to  demonstrate  the  zeal 
Susan  Emily  Hall  showed  for  her  religion,  and  to  help  in  under- 


74  Katherine  Yurchak 

standing  the  kind  of  life  she  lived  after  the  plans  for  her  marriage  to 
Midshipman  Edward  Hopkins  did  not  materialize. 

Ida  jane  White's  findings  about  Susan  Emily  Hall  include  the 
information  that  she  often  would  take  long  rides  in  the  country  with 
her  horse  "Dobbin."  Mrs.  White  wrote:  "It  was  said  that  once  Miss 
Susan  made  up  her  mind  about  something,  no  one  or  nothing  could 
stop  her — except  her  horse.  On  those  long  rides  to  the  country 
churches  she  and  Dr.  Hopkins  had  founded,  sometimes  Dobbin  had 
to  stop  and  rest.  Or  he  wanted  something  to  eat  along  the  way.  Miss 
Susan  would  plead  with  him  or  take  a  whip  to  him,  but  the  horse 
wouldn't  budge.  He  never  went  on  until  he  was  ready  to  go.  During 
those  struggles  with  her  horse,  Susan  Hall  would  take  out  her  Bible 
and  read,  until  Dobbin  made  up  his  mind  to  be  on  his  way" 

Another  story  Ida  Jane  White  collected  for  her  presentation  to  the 
Muncy  Historical  Society  came  from  a  woman  whose  parents 
worked  for  Miss  Hall.  It  reveals  how  conditioned  the  horse,  Dobbin, 
was  to  his  owner's  church  habits. 

"Sometimes  my  parents  were  allowed  to  borrow  Miss  Susan's 
horse  and  buggy  for  the  day,"  is  the  story  told  to  a  local  historian. 
"When  they  would  ride  up  Main  Street  past  the  Episcopalian 
Church,  Dobbin  would  suddenly  stop.  He  refused  to  go  any  further. 
Someone  in  the  buggy  had  to  step  out  and  open  the  church  door — 
wait  a  few  moments — and  then  close  the  door  of  the  church,  and 
walk  back  to  the  buggy.  Dobbin  then  would  glance  around.  Upon 
seeing  the  passenger's  foot  touch  the  step  of  the  carriage  and  again 
was  seated,  the  horse  knew  it  was  time  to  move  on.  And  that  Dobbin 
would  do,  trotting  briskly  on  his  way." 

"Oaklands,"  Miss  Susan's  manor,  perfectly  suited  her  need  for 
quiet  and  rest  during  her  later  years  when  a  failing  heart  curtailed 
her  activities.  During  those  years,  she  gave  herself  almost  entirely  to 
her  gifted  art  of  embroidery,  and  created  altar  pieces  and  vestments 
for  her  church. 

After  Miss  Hall's  death,  her  mansion  was  passed  to  a  niece, 
Elizabeth  Ashurst.  With  a  new  resident-owner,  the  house  was  given 
a  new  name — "Ashurst  Manor." 

The  continuing  history  of  the  manor  includes  the  purchase  of  the 
property,  in  1915,  by  a  state  senator — Charles  W.  Sones.  Sones  was 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  75 

unmarried  and  lived  in  Williamsport,  and  used  the  manor  only  for 
entertaining  his  friends.  After  the  Second  World  War,  Sones  subdi- 
vided the  240-acre  tract  of  land  he  owned.  Thirty-five  acres,  includ- 
ing the  manor  house,  then  became  the  possession  of  the  Ulmer  fam- 
ily, who  converted  it  to  a  tavern  and  inn. 

The  religious  heritage  of  Miss  Hall's  mansion  was  revived  in  the 
early  1960s,  when  the  property  was  purchased  by  the  Audio  Bible 
Society,  of  Williamsport.  This  time  the  name  of  the  place  was 
changed  to  "Muncy  Terraces."  Extensive  building  took  place  on  the 
grounds,  as  it  became  the  hub  of  religious  conferences.  A  dormitory, 
an  activity  center,  and  an  assembly  hall  were  built  on  the  grand  estate 
which  once  was  Susan  Emily  Hall's  home. 

Again,  in  1968,  the  manor  took  on  a  different  character  when  the 
Csehy  Summer  Music  School  moved  from  Indiana  to  Muncy,  to  pro- 
vide a  six-weeks  studies  program  during  the  months  of  July  and 
August,  for  aspiring  young  musicians.  While  the  surroundings  of 
the  Valley  echoed  with  sounds  of  orchestral  themes,  the  management 
of  "Muncy  Terraces"  was  soliciting  financial  help.  To  ensure  that  the 
property  would  be  maintained  as  a  Christian  conference  center,  a 
group  of  local  businessmen  and  pastors  acquired  the  property  in 
1971. 

Later,  "Muncy  Terraces"  was  acquired,  in  1986,  by  Lakeside 
Youth  Services,  of  Willow  Grove,  Pennsylvania.  Robert  Parker,  a 
Muncy  resident,  was  hired  as  manager  of  the  complex. 

Perhaps  Susan  Emily  Hall,  who  died  in  1895,  would  find  plea- 
sure in  the  fact  that  her  beloved  manor  continues  to  exist  as  a  center 
for  religious-theme  activities. 

The  remains  of  "the  lady  of  the  manor"  are  resting  in  the  Hall 
family's  cemetery  plot,  a  short  distance  from  Miss  Hall's  majestic 
manor.  The  beautiful  monument  marking  the  Hall  family's  grave 
site  was  designed  by  the  man  who  helped  create  the  plans  for 
Muncy's  St.  James  Episcopal  Church — John  Henry  Hopkinsjr. 


76 


Katherine  Yurchak 


11 /A  Hero  Is  Remembered 


M, 


.ore  than  200  years  after  his  death,  the  telling  and  retelling 
of  Captain  John  Brady's  heroic  exploits  continues  to  echo  across 
the  Susquehanna  Valley.  A  Revolutionary  War  hero  and  fearless 
Indian  fighter,  Brady  (1733-1779)  is  honored  with  memorials  at 
several  sites  in  Muncy. 

An  historic  marker  is  at  the  northern  entrance  to  the  borough, 
where  a  shady  nook  creates  an  idyllic  setting  for  a  natural  stone 
monument.  The  tablet  of  bronze,  mounted  in  a  stone  pillar,  abbre- 
viates the  heroic  frontiersman's  life  in  these  few  words:  "Capt. 
John  Brady  was  ambushed  and  killed  by  Indians  near  this  spot." 
In  the  Muncy  Cemetery,  a  30-foot-high  cenotaph  honoring  Captain 
Brady  was  made  possible  through  a  local  campaign  spearheaded 
by  J.M.M.Gernerd  while  he  was  editor  of  Now  and  Then.  It  was 
dedicated  in  October  1879,  and  stands  as  a  reminder  to  the  com- 
munity of  Brady's  heroism. 

In  sifting  legend  from  truth,  one  thing  is  clear:  While  he  lived, 
Captain  John  Brady  was  a  threat  to  the  Indians.  He  was  a  marked 
man,  because  the  frontiersman  was  as  familiar  as  they  were  with 
the  rich  hunting  and  fishing  territories  of  the  West  Branch  Valley. 
But  more  than  that,  Brady  had  usurped  the  Indian  warrior's  hall- 
mark— victory  in  battle. 

In  the  words  of  Frederic  A.  Godcharles,  a  Pennsylvania  histo- 
rian, "Captain  John  Brady  had  taken  such  an  active  part  in  the 

77 


78  Katherine  Yurchak 

efforts  of  the  settlers  to  subdue  the  Indian  atrocities,  and  his  dar- 
ing and  repeated  endeavors  had  so  intensified  their  hatred,  that 
they  determined  his  capture  above  all  other  efforts." 

This  was  that  period  in  Muncy's  history  about  which  J.M.M. 
Gernerd  had  written — the  time  when  "the  humble  natives  had  not 
dreamed  that  the  Great  Spirit  would  send  a  race  of  acquisitive 
white  men  who  would  destroy  all  their  tribes,  occupy  all  their  vast 
hunting  grounds,  cut  down  their  magnificent  forests,  level  their 
sepulchral  mounds  with  the  plow,  destroy  the  wildlife,  build  vil- 
lages and  cities  where  their  wigwams  stood." 

In  his  confrontations  with  Indians  in  the  wilderness,  Brady  had 
bested  them.  He  had  eluded  and  humiliated  them  so  often  that 
accounts  of  these  events  had  to  have  brought  retaliation  from 
vengeful  chieftains  who  were  after  Brady's  scalp. 

Brady  was  of  Irish  parentage,  the  second  son  of  Hugh  and 
Hannah  Brady.  He  was  born  near  Newark,  Delaware,  and  taught 
school  in  New  Jersey,  before  moving  to  Pennsylvania  with  his 
parents.  Local  history  books  do  not  record  which  subjects  Brady 
taught,  or  the  date  when  he  became  a  Pennsylvanian.  But  it  is  fair 
to  assume  that  the  young  schoolmaster's  students  were  gathered 
in  a  one-room  schoolhouse,  and  that  Brady  was  interested  in  at 
least  teaching  his  pupils  to  read  and  write. 

At  some  point  in  his  own  education,  Brady  learned  surveying, 
the  work  that  provided  the  frontiersman  ample  opportunity  to 
know  the  cunning  wiles  and  ways  of  the  Indians  whose  wilderness 
trails  he  had  criss-crossed  so  often,  while  platting  tracts  of  land  in 
the  Susquehanna  Valley. 

In  1754,  he  married  Mary  Quigley,  whose  Irish  parents  had 
also  settled  in  Delaware.  The  couple  had  13  children,  eight  sons 
and  five  daughters.  Two  sons  and  one  daughter  died  in  infancy. 
Brady's  eldest  son,  Samuel,  born  in  1756,  would  also  carve  a 
notable  place  for  himself  in  Muncy's  roster  of  heroic  frontiersman. 

The  outbreak  of  the  French  and  Indian  War,  stirred  John 
Brady's  patriotism  to  the  extent  that  he  enlisted  in  the  military,  and 
was  commissioned  as  captain  on  July  19,  1763.  He  served  in  the 
Second  Battalion,  under  the  command  of  John  Penn,  who  later 
became  governor  of  Pennsylvania. 


Where  Wigwams  Stood 


79 


History  notes  that  the  English  colonists  were  eager  to  fight 
since  they  didn't  agree  with  the  expanding  French  empire. 

Although  they  lacked  organization,  the  colonists  and  the  British 
had  far  greater  population  and  resources  in  America,  outnumbering  the 
French  15  to  1.  Also,  the  French  had  an  enormous  wilderness  area  to 
defend,  stretching  from  Quebec  to  New  Orleans,  but  it  was  populated 
by  only  90,000  colonists. 

Having  served  the  Province  of  Pennsylvania  admirably,  Brady 
was  granted  a  parcel  of  land  of  his  choosing,  something  John  Perm  had 
granted  to  all  his  officers  when  they  left  the  battalion.  Brady's  choice 
was  a  site  near  Lewisburg  which  gave  him  access  to  the  river  and 
forests  to  provide  for  his  growing  family.  But  the  Brady  settlement  at 
Lewisburg  was  only  temporary 

Historian  John  Meginness  notes  that  Brady  was  moved  by  the 
"restless  mysterious  impulse  that  molds  the  destiny  of  the  pioneers  of 
civilzation." 

Brady,  for  another  little  while,  made  a  home  for  his  family  at 
Juniata.    There,  on  July  27,  1768,  his  wife  presented  Brady  with 


"Silver  Lustre,"  3-piece  tea  set  once  was  owned  by  John  and 
Mary  Brady.  His  descendants  gave  it  to  J.M.M.  Gernerd. 


80 


Katherine  Yurchak 


twins — Hugh  and  Jane.  Hugh  later  became  a  major-general  in  the 
U.S.  Army. 

In  the  summer  of  1769,  the  Brady  family  was  on  the  move 
again,  and  returned  to  the  Lewisburg  area  where  they  built  their 
cabin  beside  the  Susquehanna  River. 

During  this  period,  Brady  intensified  his  interests  in  surveying. 
According  to  Meginness,  when  the  young  frontiersman's  work 
took  him  to  Muncy,  he  was  so  impressed  with  "the  beauty  of  the 
location,  the  richness  of  the  land,  and  the  charming  surroundings," 
that  he  decided  to  settle  there  permanently. 

Hardly  a  year  earlier,  John  Penn  had  been  informed  about  the 
fertile  Muncy  territory  by  Job  Chilloway,  an  Indian  guide  who  had 
been  befriended  by  the  Quakers  of  the  Valley.  Penn  had  had  the 
land  surveyed  (perhaps  by  some  workers  in  the  Samuel  Wallis 
company)  and  on  November  5,  1768,  John  Penn  signed  a  treaty 
with  representatives  of  the  Six  Nations,  acquiring  about  40,000 
acres  of  land  for  $10,000.  Later,  on  February  3,  1769,  24,000  acres 
of  the  Susquehanna  Valley  was  opened  for  settlements. 


Shady  glen  at  entrance  to  Muncy  features  a  stone  monument 
that  marks  the  place  where  John  Brady,  Revolutionary  War 
hero,  was  shot  by  Indians. 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  81 

Historical  files  note  that  when  John  Perm  opened  the  Land 
Office  on  April  3,  1769,  making  300-acre  parcels  of  land  available 
to  each  applicant,  nearly  3,000  requests  were  received  in  a  few 
weeks.  John  Brady  was  one  of  these,  and  took  up  "squatter's 
rights"  in  what  is  now  the  center  of  Muncy,  where  he  built  a  log 
cabin  for  himself  and  his  family. 

J.M.M.  Gernerd  noted  in  Now  and  Then  that  "Brady's  log  house 
and  stockade  fort  was  the  first  improvement  on  the  site  of  our 
town."  [July  1877]  The  Samuel  Wallis  mansion  (built  in  1769)  pre- 
dates Brady's  cabin,  and  is  marked  in  historical  files  as  "the  oldest 
home  in  Lycoming  County,"  but  its  location  is  about  two  miles 
west  of  the  borough. 

Because  Brady,  the  frontiersman,  was  as  watchful  of  the 
Indians  as  they  were  of  him,  he  stockaded  his  property.  And  for 
good  reason.  He  was  aware  that  the  Monseys  already  had  bathed 
the  area's  hills  in  blood,  during  their  engagements  with  the  French. 
And  to  make  matters  worse,  at  the  time  Brady  settled  in  the  Valley, 
word  had  circulated  that  some  Indian  tribes  were  in  conflict  with 
those  tribal  groups  who  had  signed  away  their  territories  to  John 
Perm.  The  transaction,  they  insisted,  was  invalid.  Their  response 
was  to  drive  the  white  settlers  from  the  land. 

To  preserve  their  lives,  the  men  were  never  without  their  rifles. 
And  so  Brady's  Fort  was  prepared  not  only  to  protect  his  own  fam- 
ily, but  it  had  become  a  place  of  refuge  for  any  others  in  the  com- 
munity of  settlers  who  wanted  safety  from  marauding  savages. 

Not  only  were  the  pioneer  families  taunted  and  stalked  by  the 
Indians,  but  Great  Britain  was  creating  divisions  in  the  settlers' 
communities.  There  were  those  who  still  pledged  loyalty  to  the 
King,  and  others  who  were  revolutionaries,  determined  to  fight  for 
the  independence  they'd  sought  when  they  left  Europe. 

Brady  had  joined  the  Revolutionary  Army  in  the  Spring  of 
1776,  and  was  appointed  first  major  of  a  battalion  headed  by  a 
Colonel  Plunkett.  And  soon  afterwards,  when  regiments  were 
formed  by  Colonel  William  Cooke,  Brady  was  commissioned  cap- 
tain of  one  of  the  companies.  The  43-year-old  soldier  was  with 
George  Washington's  army  when  the  troops  were  engaged  in  bat- 
tle with  England's  General  Howe  at  Brandywine. 


82  Katherine  Yurchak 


Two  of  Brady's  sons  also  were  there.  His  eldest  son,  Samuel, 
and  fourth  son  John,  Jr.  also  fought  in  the  war.  Though  he  was 
only  15  years  old,  John  "had  gone  to  the  army  to  ride  some  hors- 
es home,  but  noticing  that  a  battle  was  imminent,  insisted  on 
remaining  and  taking  part."  [Meginness,  p.  165]  John  Brady  Jr.  was 
killed  in  battle  by  a  shot  in  his  mouth.  While  at  Brandywine  that 
frigid  winter,  Captain  Brady  contracted  pleurisy  and  was  sent 
home  to  Muncy  to  recuperate.  He  was  not  able  to  resume  military 
duty  until  two  years  later.  But  on  his  return  in  September  1778,  the 
officers  of  the  Twelfth  Regiment  already  had  been  mustered  out. 
Brady's  orders  from  Washington  were  to  return  to  the 
Susquehanna  Valley,  and  help  Hartley  defend  the  frontier.  He  did 
so,  and  participated  in  Hartley's  expedition  to  Tioga. 

Between  1777  and  1779  no  one  dared  venture  beyond  rifle 
range  from  Fort  Brady.  Sometimes  they  were  duped  by  the 
Indian's  imitation  of  a  wild  animal.  Pioneers  who  left  the  stock- 
ade, believing  they  would  return  with  a  supply  of  meat  for  their 
families,  were  either  killed  or  taken  prisoner. 

Many  repeated  attacks  convinced  Colonel  Hartley  to  request 
permission  to  have  a  large  stockade  built  near  the  Samuel  Wallis 
manor.  But  despite  the  dangers  of  the  Valley,  and  even  as  Fort 
Muncy  was  being  built,  increasing  numbers  of  settlers  (mostly 
from  New  Jersey)  moved  into  the  West  Branch  area  to  stake  their 
claims  from  John  Penn. 

It  is  ironic  that  while  the  attacks  on  the  settlers  were  unrelent- 
ing, at  the  same  time  the  Monsey  and  Seneca  tribes  were  in  conflict 
with  the  Delawares.  And  because  of  such  tribal  wars,  Brady 
sensed  it  might  be  a  good  time  to  try  to  negotiate  a  treaty  with  the 
Monsey  and  Seneca  tribes. 

The  Indians  agreed  to  meet  with  Brady  and  representatives  of 
the  settlers  at  Fort  Augusta.  It  was  the  summer  of  the  "Big 
Runaway"  and  Muncy's  families  had  fled  to  Sunbury  with  only 
the  shirts  on  their  backs. 

The  Indians  who  arrived  at  Fort  Augusta  appeared  in  their  war 
costumes,  apparently  prepared  to  take  a  leadership  role  in  the  bar- 
gaining session.  But  because  the  settlers  were  destitute,  they  could 
offer  nothing  of  value  to  trade  with  them.  The  Indians,  therefore, 


Where  Wigwams  Stood 


83 


retraced  their  steps  up  the  trail  from  Sunbury  to  their  Muncy 
Valley  haunts,  determined  more  than  ever  to  hold  on  to  every  inch 
of  their  territories. 

Brady  suspected  that  on  their  return  the  Indians  probably 
would  make  their  usual  stop  at  Derr's  Trading  Post,  along  the  river 
at  Lewisburg.  Derr  kept  whiskey  by  the  barrel  at  the  post,  and  the 
Indians  always  stopped  there  for  their  "treat."  Brady  believed  it 
was  unconscionable  for  any  settler  to  offer  the  Indians  whiskey 
when  they  were  so  unwilling  to  be  at  peace.  He  quickly  rode  up 
the  trail  to  the  trading  post.  There,  an  open  barrel  of  rum  was  near 
the  door.  Enraged,  Brady  overturned  the  whiskey  barrel.  The 
Indians,  just  as  enraged,  watched  the  precious  brew  spill  over  the 
ground. 

One  day,  very  soon  after  that  episode,  the  fields  of  corn  that  the 
Indians  had  planted  in  Muncy  Valley  suddenly  were  chopped 
down.  Although  the  plants  had  not  yet  produced  ears,  the  Indians 
had  torn  down  their  crops  in  preparation  for  a  retaliatory  strike 
against  Brady  and  the  Muncy  settlements.  For  months,  the  Indians 
had  disappeared.    No  one  is  certain  where  they  went,  although 


Sketch  of  the  Muncy  Historical  Society  by  Judy  Tomagno, 
Muncy's  artist  in  residence. 


84  Katherine  Yurchak 


some  historians  have  speculated  that  maybe  it  was  the  bitter 
cold  winter  of  1778  that  had  kept  the  Indians  in  their  under- 
ground caves  in  the  hills.  When  they  did  return,  it  was  during 
the  harvest  season  of  1778.  Peter  Smith  (still  grieving  from  the 
loss  of  several  members  of  his  family)  found  himself  surround- 
ed by  a  community  of  helpers,  ready  to  assist  with  the  gather- 
ing of  the  grain  from  his  fields. 

In  the  meantime,  Colonel  Hartley  who  had  managed  to  get 
the  stockade  built  at  Fort  Muncy  also  provided  troops  from  the 
militia  to  protect  the  harvesters  from  the  Indians.  Among  these 
soldiers  was  James,  son  of  Captain  Brady.  He  was  directed  by 
Colonel  Hartley  to  be  the  sentinel  for  the  reapers. 

That  early  Saturday  morning  (August  8,  1778)  the  mists 
from  the  river  had  enveloped  the  valley  with  a  thick  fog.  Eager 
to  finish  the  harvesting,  the  reapers  had  set  their  rifles  against 
nearby  trees.  They  were  bundling  their  sheaves  when  a  band 
of  Indians  suddenly  encircled  them.  James  Brady,  the  sentry, 
was  captured  first.  He  was  wounded  with  a  spear,  and  then 
scalped. 

Incredibly,  despite  his  wounds,  the  young  soldier  rose  to 
return  to  the  Fort,  and  asked  to  die  at  his  mother's  side.  Mrs. 
Brady,  who  with  the  other  settlers  had  fled  to  Fort  Augusta  that 
night,  had  the  sad  duty  of  meeting  the  canoe  that  bore  her 
wounded  son.  He  lived  a  few  days,  dying  August  13, 1778.  He 
was  20  years  old. 

What  a  remarkable  trophy  the  Indians  had!  Historians  note 
that  the  young,  Irish  soldier  had  long,  bright  red  hair.  To  the 
bloodthirsty  Indians,  it  was  a  prize — especially  because  it 
belonged  to  a  member  of  the  Brady  family. 

This  tragedy  brought  Peter  Smith  and  Captain  John  Brady 
close. 

Brady's  family  returned  to  Muncy  from  Sunbury  in  the 
Spring  of  1779.  With  so  many  people  in  the  Fort,  Smith  and 
Brady  needed  lots  of  provisions. 

The  record  notes  that  the  men  were  returning  to  the  fort 
with  a  wagon  full  of  supplies.  Brady  was  on  his  horse,  and 
Smith  had  been  walking  beside  the  wagon.    Less  than  a  mile 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  85 

from  Fort  Brady,  a  fork  in  the  road  offered  them  a  shorter  route 
that  followed  a  small  stream. 

Turning  toward  the  stream  and  its  wooded  banks,  Brady 
remarked  to  Smith  that  the  spot  would  serve  as  a  good  hiding 
place  for  Indians.  The  words  were  hardly  out  of  his  mouth 
when  rifle  fire  sounded  three  times.  Brady  fell  dead  instantly. 
His  horse,  frightened  by  the  shots,  made  a  leap.  Smith  grabbed 
the  bridle,  mounted  Brady's  horse,  and  raced  to  the  Fort. 

Mrs.  Brady,  and  others  in  the  fort,  having  heard  the  rifle 
shots,  ran  in  the  direction  of  the  sound.  They  met  Smith  on  the 
road.  He  led  them  back  to  where  Brady  had  fallen.  His  body 
had  not  been  moved. 

Apparently,  the  Indians  had  realized  that  being  close  to 
both  Fort  Brady  and  Fort  Muncy,  there  were  many  men  armed 
and  ready.  And  so  they  raced  away.  The  Meginness  account 
notes  that  Brady's  scalp  wasn't  important  to  them,  because  "it 
was  glory  enough  to  know  that  they  had  slain  the  man  they  all 
hated  and  feared." 

Mary  Brady  was  15  years  old  when  her  father  was  killed. 
She  reported  later  that  her  father  had  been  shot  twice  in  the 
back.  Though  Brady  had  carried  a  gold  watch,  it  wasn't  taken 
by  the  Indians.  Nor  did  they  take  a  green  sack  Brady  wore 
around  his  neck.  The  sack  contained  the  parchment  that 
marked  his  having  received  his  commission  as  captain  in  the 
Continental  Army. 

Also  a  captain  in  the  Continental  Army  was  Brady's  son, 
Samuel.  He  was  on  his  way  to  Western  Pennsylvania  when 
word  reached  him  that  his  brother,  James,  was  murdered  at 
harvestime  by  the  Indians.  When  he  arrived  at  Fort  Pitt,  he 
was  given  word  that  his  father  also  was  killed  by  the  Indians. 
He  vowed  he  would  avenge  their  deaths.  And  his  later  exploits 
in  the  wilderness,  as  recorded  by  historians,  note  that  he  kept 
his  vow. 

While  the  editor  of  Now  and  Then,  Gernerd  conceived  the 
idea  of  building  a  monument  to  Brady.  He  insisted  that  the 
money  be  raised  through  $1  voluntary  donations.  He  raised 
$1,600,  and  on  October  15,  1879  (the  centennial  year  of  Brady's 


86 


Katherine  Yurchak 


murder)  the  monument  was  dedicated  in  Muncy  Cemetery. 

On  April  9,  1888,  the  Williamsport  Daily  Gazette  and  Bulletin 
noted:  "Had  it  not  been  for  Gernerd's  disinterested  efforts  in 
this  direction,  it  is  doubtful  if  a  cenotaph  would  have  been 
reared  to  keep  the  memory  of  the  gallant  Brady  green  in  the  hearts 
of  the  people  of  this  section  of  the  West  Branch  Valley."  [July- 
August  1888] 


The  Brady 
Memorial  in 
Muncy 
Cemetary 
was  made 
possible  by 
$1  individual 
subscrip- 
tions, a  cam- 
paign spear- 
headed by 
J.M.M. 
Gernerd  in 
Now  and 
Then. 


12 /Prisoners  of  Hope 


T, 


he  editor  of  Now  and  Then  described  them  in  1891  as  "a  class 
of  white  servants  that  formed  a  notable  phase  of  civic  life  in  the 
early  settlements  of  this  country."  History  has  named  them 
"Redemptioners." 

They  were  the  thousands  of  people  who  migrated  from  the 
Palatines  to  Pennsylvania  in  the  early  1700's.  Although  unable  to 
pay  their  own  fare  for  the  Atlantic  crossing,  their  desire  to  escape 
the  horrors  in  their  homeland  was  so  great  that  they  dared  to  brave 
unknown  hardships  in  America.  Of  their  own  free  will,  they  sold 
themselves  into  servitude  four  to  seven  years  in  order  to  get  shel- 
ter, food,  and  to  be  trained  in  a  vocation.  At  the  end  of  their  ser- 
vice, they  received  a  suit  of  clothes  and,  if  it  had  been  stipulated  in 
their  contract,  a  horse,  a  cow,  or  some  land."  [A  Modern  History  of 
the  United  States,  p.  24] 

Robert  Sutcliff,  a  merchant  from  Sheffield,  England,  kept  a 
diary  of  a  10,000-mile  journey  he'd  taken  through  the  Eastern 
Seaboard  states  during  the  years  1804-1806.  Although  he  did  not 
live  to  see  the  work  published,  in  1812  a  copy  of  the  merchant's 
book  was  obtained  by  J.M.M.  Gernerd,  and  portions  were 
excerpted  in  Now  and  Then. 

The  Sutcliff  diary  described  these  Redemptioners  perfectly  as 
"people  in  low  circumstances,  who,  being  desirous  of  set 
tling  in  America,  and  not  having  money  to  pay  their  pas- 
sage, agree  with  the  American  captains  of  vessels  to  be 

87 


88  Katherine  Yurchak 

taken  over  on  condition  of  hiring  for  a  term  of  years,  on 
their  arrival  in  America  ..." 
The  following  points  out  Sutcliff 's  impression  of  Redemp- 

tioners  he'd  met  in  his  journey: 

I  noticed  two  female  servants  employed  in  the  fam- 
ily. Both  had  been  lately  hired  from  on  board  a  vessel 
lying  in  the  Delaware,  and  which  had  recently  arrived  from 
Amsterdam  with  several  hundred  Germans,  men, 
women  and  children,  of  that  description  of  people  called  in 
America  Redemptioners. 

One  of  them  had  two  children  with  her  in  the  fam- 
ily, who  were  quite  young.  This  woman  had  lost  her  hus- 
band about  the  time  of  their  arrival  on  the  American  coast; 
and  the  husband  of  the  other,  being  a  seafaring  man 
belonging  to  Holland,  had,  as  I  understood,  lost  his  life  and 
property  by  an  English  ship  of  war.  Although  these  two 
females  had  obtained  a  settlement  in  a  country  enjoying 
many  privileges  beyond  that  which  they  had  left,  yet,  I 
think,  no  feeling  mind  could  behold  them  thus  circum- 
stanced, placed  amongst  strangers  of  whose  language 
they  were  almost  wholly  ignorant,  and  habituated  to  cus- 
toms very  different  from  those  to  which  they  had  now  to 
conform,  without  sensations  of  compassion;  and  it  was 
very  pleasant  to  me  to  observe  that  the  general  deportment 
of  my  relations  toward  them  was  respectful.  I  noticed 
many  families,  particularly  in  Pennsylvania,  of  great 
respectability  both  in  our  Society  and  amongst  others,  who 
had  themselves  come  over  to  this  country  as  Redemp- 
tioners, or  were  the  children  of  such.  And  it  is  remark- 
able that  the  German  residents  in  this  country  have  a  char- 
acter for  greater  industry  and  stability  than  those  of  any 
other  nation.  [Vol.  2,  p.  123] 
In  the  January-February  1891  issue  of  Now  and  Then,  Gernerd  noted 

that  some  men,  women  and  children  among  these  "term  slaves  were 

worse  in  some  cases  than  the  bondage  of  the  negro..."  [Jan.-Feb.  1891] 
But  it  also  is  a  fact  that  some  of  America's  white  bond  servants 

had  been  arrested  for  petty  crimes  in  their  homeland.     When 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  89 

released  from  jail,  they  either  were  tricked  or  kidnapped,  taken  to 
seaports,  then  were  forced  to  be  in  servitude  to  cruel  shipmasters. 

Samuel  Wallis,  one  of  the  chief  landholders  in  the  West  Branch 
Valley,  was  responsible  for  having  brought  more  Redemptioners  to 
the  Muncy  area  than  anyone  else,  says  Gernerd. 

The  process  Wallis  used  for  obtaining  the  indentured  servants  is 
explained  by  Gernerd:  "It  worked  somewhat  like  the  modern 
employment  agency.  When  Wallis  needed  white  farm  hands,  arti- 
sans, or  house  servants,  he  went  to  the  shipping  agents  in 
Philadelphia,  and  contracted  for  the  type  [of  people]  he  wanted.  He 
then  brought  or  sent  them  up  to  his  estate  at  Muncy."  Between  the 
years  of  1772  and  1796,  upwards  of  fifty  or  more  Redemptioners 
were  contracted  for  by  Wallis  to  serve  him  on  Muncy  Farm. 

One  example  of  a  Redemptioner's  contract  is  that  entered  into 
by  John  and  Dorothea  Betz  on  April  22,  1788.  The  couple  bound 
themselves  as  servants  to  Samuel  Wallis,  as  farmers  "to  service  him 
four  years,  to  have  Ten  Pounds  10  shillings  apiece  and  Sixteen 
Spanish  Dollars  each  in  lieu  of  their  freedoms,  a  cow  &  calf  and  a 
sow  and  pigs." 

Another  Betz  placed  himself  in  service  on  April  22,  1788: 
"Wilhelm  Betz,  with  his  father's  consent,  bound  himself  servant  to 
serve  eleven  years,  to  be  taught  to  read  English,  to  have  Ten  Pounds 
in  Lieu  of  the  New  Suit." 

Since  Gernerd's  heritage  included  indentured  servants,  he  took 
a  keen  interest  in  the  history  of  the  Betz  family,  one  of  Muncy's  ear- 
liest Redemptioners.    Writing  about  a  hundred  years  after  they'd 
been  contracted  for  by  Wallis,  Gernerd  revealed  that  the  family 
name  of  Betz  had  been  anglicized  to  Betts.  The  history  writer  noted: 
John  Betts  is  the  oldest  man  now  in  this  neighborhood.  He 
was  born  in  the  autumn  of  1786,  and  is  therefore  in  his  89th 
year.  His  parents,  Johannes  and  Dorothy  Betts,  came  to  this 
valley  from  Germany,  soon  after  the  War  of  the  Revolution, 
and  were  among  our  early  settlers.   John  was  born  on  the 
Wallis  Plantation. 

Gernerd's  keen  interest  in  this  pioneer  family  often  was  shared 
with  his  readers.  He  told  that  the  former  Redemptioners  had  lived 
"in  a  cabin  near  the  Big  Spring  on  Wolf  Run."  And  most  Muncians 


90  Katherine  Yurchak 

were  familiar  with  the  spot.  He  mentioned  more  than  once  that 
John's  mother,  Dorothy,  would  "go  over  the  ridge  to  the  Big  Spring 
for  water,  and  return  with  the  filled  bucket  balanced  on  her  head." 
He  also  recorded  this  bit  of  folklore  about  Dorothy  Betts  to  the 
readers  of  Now  and  Then: 

While  at  work  one  morning  for  Ben  Shoemaker,  a  total 
eclipse  of  the  sun  came  on,  and  was  the  occasion  to  these 
old  folks — as  it  was  to  thousands  of  others — of  the  most 
serious  alarm.  The  unusual  darkness  was  a  phenomenon 
they  did  not  understand.  However  Johannes  concluded 
that  the  darkness  foreboded  the  dissolution  of  the  world, 
and  he  whispered  to  Dorothy  that  'the  Day  of  Judgment 
has  come.'  'We  will  go  home  to  the  children,'  said  Dorothy, 
'and  then  we  will  all  be  together  when  we  die.'  So  to  their 
home  they  went,  to  wait  for  the  world's  great  catastrophe. 
But  by  and  by  the  heavens  seemed  less  threatening,  and 
then  Dorothy  thought  of  her  almanac.  In  a  moment  she 
exclaimed,  'Oh,  der  tuifel,  Johannes,  it's  notting  but  a 
clipse'.  [Dec.  1894] 
Gernerd  made  note  that  Redemptioners  bound  to  Muncy's 
most  notable  landowner  were  not  abused. 

To  maintain  his  band  of  indentured  servants,  Samuel  Wallis 
kept  a  teacher  in  his  employ,  in  order  that  the  children  of  his  "free 
willers"  (as  Redemptioners  also  were  called)  could  be  taught  to 
read  and  write  English,  and  to  learn  mathematics  "as  far  as  the 
Rule  of  Three." 

Mathematicians  know  this  to  be  the  method  of  finding  the 
fourth  quantity  in  such  a  relationship  when  three  are  given.  For 
example:  2  is  to  6  as  3  is  to  X.  [2:6::3:X] 

The  wealthy  Quaker  also  made  himself  responsible  for  provid- 
ing clothing  and  food  to  his  several  servants.  And  when  they  or 
their  children  became  ill,  he  also  had  to  be  certain  they  were  cared 
for.  Wallis  was  often  away  from  Muncy,  due  to  his  extensive  busi- 
ness interests,  and  usually  had  assigned  men  he  trusted  to  super- 
vise his  holdings  in  the  Susquehanna  Valley.  The  files  of  Muncy's 
illustrious  pioneer  again  prove  that  a  number  of  contracts  for 
Redemptioners  were  signed  by  Stephen  Hollingsworth,  brother- 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  91 

in-law  to  Wallis,  and  by  Joseph  Jacobs  Wallis,  his  half-brother. 

Since  Wallis  had  owned  several  thousand  acres  of  the  Valley,  it 
is  fair  to  assume  that  all  of  the  German  immigrants  bound  to  him 
were  living  as  "prisoners  of  hope"  in  the  small  log  dwellings  they 
built  for  themselves  on  the  Wallis  tract. 

Gernerd  felt  only  compassion  and  understanding  for  these 
Pennsylvania  "term  slaves."  This  prompted  him  to  publish  in  the 
February  1891  issue  of  Nozv  and  Then,  an  essay  entitled  "The 
Redemptioners  and  Their  Bonds."  Because  his  ancestors  had 
escaped  the  Palatines  and  had  begun  life  in  Pennsylvania  as  inden- 
tured servants,  Gernerd  wrote: 

"The   great  majority  of  Redemptioners  were  merely  poor, 
cultured  or  unfortunate  people  who  wanted  but  a  fair 
chance  in  life  to  prove  that  the  blood  in  their  veins  was  by 
nature  as  good,  pure  and  noble  as  that  which  coursed 
through  any  other  human  veins." 
There  were  thousands  of  these  voluntary  servants,  and  they 
came  from  nearly  all  the  countries  of  Europe.   Today  their  blood 
flows  through  the  hearts  and  brains  of  millions  of  Americans,  and 
their  descendants  are  among  the  best  and  most  honored  citizens  in 
the  land.  Many  of  the  Redemptioners  themselves,  after  honorably 
and  faithfully  serving  their  term  of  indenture,  lived  to  gain  com- 
fortable and  respectable  positions  in  society. 

Gernerd's  pride  in  his  ancestry  is  further  expressed  when  he 
stated  that  "no  country  furnished  this  portion  of  the  new  world  so 
many  Redemptioners  as  Germany." 

In  the  case  of  the  Betz  family  which  began  life  on  the  Wallis 
plantation  as  "term  slaves,"  Johannes  and  Dorothy  Betz  "never 
accumulated  a  fortune,"  according  to  Gernerd.  But  Dorothy  dis- 
tinguished herself  in  the  local  community  "as  a  noted  cook  and 
baker."  Gernerd  wrote,  "In  her  best  days  there  were  few  funerals 
and  weddings  in  the  valley  at  which  she  did  not  do  the  cooking 
and  baking.  And  she  often  was  sent  for  by  citizens  of 
Williamsport." 

Redemptioners  had  been  engaged  in  every  area  of  colonial  life. 
They  were  the  ones  who  had  farmed  the  land  and  harvested  the 
crops  for  wealthy  landowners.  Bondslaves  cared  for  their  horses. 


92  Katherine  Yurchak 

Blacksmiths,  in  servitude,  kept  the  horses  of  their  masters  well 
shod.  The  horses'  harnesses  were  produced  in  livery  stables  where 
Redemptioners  busied  themselves  from  early  morning  to  late  at 
night.  And  the  women,  working  beside  their  indentured  hus- 
bands, milked  the  cows  and  sheared  the  sheep  belonging  to  their 
owners.  The  bread  from  wheat  ground  at  the  local  grist  mill  was 
prepared  by  bonded  servants.  The  Redemptioners'  children  also 
had  faces  whitened  with  the  flour.  They  had  to  help  their  inden- 
tured mothers  in  the  master's  bakery.  Hunters  were  vital  to  colo- 
nial society.  The  animals  of  the  forests  provided  meat  for  the  mas- 
ter's table,  as  well  as  for  their  own.  Bondsmen  tanned  the  deer- 
skins that  provided  leather  for  shoes  and  clothing  ordered  by  their 
masters.  The  fur  of  foxes  and  rabbits  were  tailored  into  coats  and 
hats  for  the  owners  of  the  land  on  which  indentured  servants  hunt- 
ed. The  fats  of  the  animals  were  melted  down  by  Redemptioners 
who  used  the  grease  that  provided  the  candles  that  lighted  their 
masters'  banquet  halls.  Lumbermen  in  bondage  to  the  landlord 
cut  and  hauled  logs,  then  chopped  the  wood  that  fueled  the  fire- 
places that  warmed  their  master's  home. 

Redemptioners  had  to  build  their  own  log  shelters  for  housing 
their  individual  families,  even  though  they  knew  they  would  have 
to  leave  their  cabins  when  their  time  of  servitude  would  expire. 
Colonial  furniture  makers,  while  serving  wealthy  men  like  Wallis, 
honed  their  skills  during  their  years  of  bondage. 

We  would  not  be  wrong  to  assume  that  during  their  term  of 
servitude  to  Wallis,  the  Betz  family  often  remembered  the  circum- 
stances that  had  surrounded  them  in  the  Palatines,  and  which  had 
made  them  willing  to  become  bondslaves  to  a  wealthy  landowner 
in  Muncy.  And  we  can  imagine  that  the  Betz  family  had  kept  a 
close  watch  on  the  calender,  counting  one  month  after  the  other, 
until  their  four  years  of  servitude  had  ended.  It  is  fair  to  assume 
that,  while  in  their  log  cabin,  they  maintained  a  lively  hope  that 
they  would  survive  life  in  the  wilderness. 

They  eventually  fulfilled  their  contract  with  Wallis  and  found 
a  place  of  their  own  on  the  Benjamin  Shoemaker  farm.  Gernerd 
notified  his  readers  that  they  moved  "from  the  ridge  ...  to  occupy 
a  cabin  on  the  main  road,  close  to  Wolf  Run." 


Where  Wigwams  Stood 


93 


Historian  Andrew  J.  Mellick  Jr.,  who  had  traced  the  lives  of 
Redemptioners  and  their  masters  noted  that  many  well-to-do 
immigrants  who  brought  bondsmen  to  America  often  lost  the 
"prestige  of  their  affluence"  because  they  were  unable  to  maintain 
their  rank  and  influence  in  their  new  homeland.  However,  the 
servitors  who  knew  how  to  endure  hardships  and  were  undaunt- 
ed by  the  difficulties  of  colonial  existence,  after  serving  their  time 
through  diligence,  acquired  a  parcel  of  land  and  built  their  homes 
on  them.  Wrote  Mellick:  "Thus  it  was  not  uncommon  in  the  sec- 
ond generation  to  find  the  Redemptioners,  in  every  way,  taking 
precedence  to  the  children  of  the  master  who  had  owned  their  time 
during  their  first  years  in  this  country." 


In  the  fields  beyond  this  gateway  a  fort  was  constructed  by 
Samuel  Wallis  as  protection  from  Indian  fighters. 


94 


Katherine  Yurchak 


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13 /Life  on  the  Frontier 


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hat  there  were  any  survivors  of  the  hazardous  sea  journeys  is 
a  marvel.  Masses  of  humanity,  filled  with  hope  for  a  new  life,  had 
been  huddled  in  small  ships  from  six  to  eight  weeks,  depending  on 
the  temper  of  the  sea.  Even  the  most  hopeful  had  to  have  won- 
dered if  the  seemingly  interminable  journey  would  ever  end. 

Gottlieb  Mittelberger,  having  made  the  trip  from  Germany  to 
Philadelphia  in  1750,  in  a  letter  to  his  countrymen  who  were  con- 
templating escaping  by  sea  to  America,  wrote:  "The  people  are 
packed  into  big  boats  as  closely  as  herring.  The  bedstead  of  one 
person  is  hardly  two  feet  across  and  six  feet  long,  since  many  of  the 
boats  carry  from  four  to  six  hundred  passengers."  [America,  A 
Modern  History  of  the  United  States,,  p.  24] 

Such  information  should  have  discouraged  would-be  travelers. 
But  so  burdensome  were  the  impositions  of  the  Palatinate  govern- 
ment at  that  time  that  the  people  chose  the  discomforts  and  dangers 
of  long  sea  journeys,  and  the  hope  of  ultimately  knowing  a  brighter 
future  and  freedom,  than  to  remain  in  Europe.  In  1688,  the  French 
had  murdered  more  than  100,000  people  in  Northern  Bavaria  (the 
Palatines)  and  were  threatening  to  annihilate  thousands  more. 

Mittelberger  tells  us,  "During  the  journey  the  ship  is  full  of  piti- 
ful signs  of  distress — smells,  fumes,  horrors,  vomiting,  various 
kinds  of  sea  sickness,  fever,  dysentery,  headaches,  heat,  constipa- 
tion, boils." 

Even  so,  all  that  was  but  the  beginning  of  hardships  for  the 

95 


96  Katherine  Yurchak 

German  pioneers  who,  after  having  planted  their  feet  at  last  on 
American  soil  at  Philadelpia,  then  inched  their  way  through  the 
wilderness  to  settle  along  the  Susquehanna. 

First,  the  forests  and  fields  had  to  be  cleared  to  make  a  dwelling  of 
logs.  In  the  meantime,  every  able-bodied  person  prepared  the  cleared 
soil  for  planting  grain  crops  (mainly  corn  and  wheat)  to  insure  long- 
term  survival,  while  Indians  threatened  destruction  of  their  homes  and 
fields. 

Moreover,  nature  often  added  misery  to  their  daily  tasks. 
Historians  document  that  "clouds  of  mosquitoes  and  flies  harassed 
both  man  and  beast;  chickens  fell  prey  to  raccoons,  weasels,  and 
minks;  rabbits  helped  themselves  to  turnips  and  cabbage;  and  squir- 
rels and  crows  made  merry  in  the  cornfield."  [p.  32] 

But  despite  the  rigors  of  life  on  the  open  frontier,  German  settlers 
in  Pennsylvania  have  become  reknowned  for  their  ability  to  overcome 
hardships. 

"So  productive  were  the  German  farms,"  noted  historian  Louis  B. 
Wright,  "that  it  is  said  that  Pennsylvania  alone  could  have  fed  the  rest 
of  the  colonies."  [The  Cultural  Life  of  the  American  Colonies  1607-1673,  p. 
62] 

Of  course,  not  every  farm  family  had  achieved  wealth.  Gernerd's 
great  grandfather,  a  German  pioneer,  provided  only  a  meager  list  of 
belongings  in  his  will  for  his  heirs.  "In  the  name  of  God,  Amen,"  he 
left,  "the  garden  and  the  firewood,  and  the  hay.  Three  cows,  apples, 
beef,  pork,  bushels  of  corn  and  buckwheat." 

In  the  book  J.M.M.  Gernerd  wrote  for  his  family's  descendants,  he 
noted: 

Farm  life  was  one  continuous  drudgery.  The  early  settlers  had 
few  comforts  and  conveniences,  and  knew  little  of  labor-saving 
machinery.  To  have  a  horse,  wagon,  plow,  one  or  two  cows,  a 
saw,  axe,  a  few  tools,  as  augers,  a  draw-knife,  square,  etc.,  and 
a  hundred  broad  acres,  more  or  less,  made  the  stout-hearted 
and  ready-handed  German  pioneer  feel  as  independent  and 
contented  as  the  most  flourishing  farmers  are  now  with  all 
their  cleared  lands  and  modern  conveniences." 
Now  and  Then's  first  editor  took  great  pride  in  his  heritage.  He 
keenly  sensed  the  "freedom  and  novelty  and  pleasure"  that  his 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  97 

ancestors  had  found  in  their  new  life  on  the  Susquehanna  Valley's 
frontierland.  He  noted,  "They  rejoiced  whenever  they  thought  of 
the  restraints  and  despotism  from  which  they  had  escaped." 

After  clearing  enough  land,  the  frontiersman  had  to  build  a  log 
cabin,  then  pound  its  dirt  floor  smooth  and  hard.  Later  on,  the 
floor  probably  would  be  laid  over  with  planks.  The  cabin's  tem- 
porary roof  was  thatched  with  branches  or  straw.  But  later  boards 
or  shingles  would  make  it  weatherproof.  There  were  no  windows 
in  the  cabin,  so  as  to  keep  the  heat  inside.  The  door  was  made  of 
heavy  wood.  Strong  and  heavy,  too,  were  the  door's  hinges  to  pre- 
vent men  or  beasts  from  intruding. 

The  frontiersman's  cabin,  says  Gernerd,  probably  had  "two 
rooms  on  the  ground  floor,  and  a  half-story  loft  above,  where  the 
children  slept  when  old  enough  to  climb  up  the  stairs,  or  ladder." 

And  we  are  reminded  that  the  beds  in  the  cabins  were  "sup- 
ported by  four  stout  rustic  posts,  each  post  cut  with  a  fork.  They 
were  well  elevated  to  protect  sleepers  from  rattlesnakes  and  cop- 
perheads, which  were  so  common  that  it  is  said  that  the  hogs  were 
fattened  on  them."  [July  1872] 

More  information  on  the  structure  of  cabins  of  wilderness  days 
comes  from  a  manuscript  by  Thomas  Cooper,  of  Dublin,  dated 
1794.  He  describes  a  log  house  owned  by  a  tenant  of  Samuel 
Wallis.  He  notes  that  it  was  "about  36  feet  by  twenty,  sashed  win- 
dows (implying  glass)  carelessly  finished  within,  one  story  high. 
The  logs  of  his  house  were  all  raised  and  fixed  in  one  day.  One 
man  at  each  end  of  every  log,  as  it  is  raised,  knotches  it,  while  other 
logs  are  ready  to  be  handed  up." 

Muncy's  historian  notifies  us  that  by  1772,  "there  were  not 
more  than  eight  or  ten  houses  on  the  Susquehanna  west  of  Muncy 
Hills.  There  was  unbounded  forest,  the  deep  silence  of  which  was 
only  disturbed  by  the  occasional  yell  of  the  lingering  savage,  or  by 
the  howling  of  wolves,  the  cry  of  the  panther,  or  some  wild  ani- 
mals." [July  1872] 

As  for  the  pioneer  woman,  when  not  working  in  the  field  with 
her  husband  or  caring  for  her  children,  she  spent  her  days  in  the 
kitchen  before  a  huge  stone  fireplace.  Her  cooking  kettles  were 
suspended  on  an  iron  crane  over  a  hot  log  fire,  which  had  been 
started  by  sparks  from  flint  which  had  first  ignited  pieces  of 


98  Katherine  Yurchak 

straw,  and  then  had  enflamed  dry  sticks,  and  finally  gave  fire  to 
large  logs.  Trained  in  cleanliness  in  her  native  country,  the 
woman  pioneer  probably  swept  her  earthen  floor  with  a  broom 
made  of  hickory  saplings. 

Gernerd  tells  us  that  women  "burnt  hog's  lard,  or  the  fat  of 
some  wild  animals,  in  little  boat-shaped  iron  or  tin  lamps;  or  per- 
haps at  first  used  pitch-pine  knots  and  splinters  to  make  light." 

Food  for  America's  frontiersman  consisted  of  whatever  was 
edible  and  at  hand.  "For  coffee  they  substituted  roasted  beech 
nuts,  chestnuts,  peas,  rye  or  corn,"  Gernerd  wrote  about  the  eat- 
ing habits  of  his  forebears.  He  noted,  "No  time  was  lost  in  plant- 
ing an  orchard.  And  as  soon  as  they  had  apples,  then  came  the 
greatly  esteemed  luxury  of  cider,  apple-butter,  dried  apples,  and 
apple  pie." 

Apples  were  a  fruit  that  could  be  enjoyed  all  year  long.  They 
dug  storage  holes  deep  into  the  ground  at  the  end  of  the  Fall  sea- 
son, and  the  fruit  stored  there  was  reclaimed  when  snow  and  ice 
covered  the  terrain.  Every  German  family  made  apple  butter. 
And  later  on,  when  a  community  of  families  formed  villages  in 
the  opened  wilderness,  the  close  of  the  apple  butter  season  was 
celebrated  with  music  and  dancing. 

The  importance  of  the  apple  tree  and  its  fruit  to  the  pioneer  is 
recorded  by  Gernerd  in  a  brief  essay  entitled,  "A  Remarkable 
Tree."  He  notified  his  readers  that  the  tree  was  on  the  farm  of 
Ebenezer  Walton  (one  of  Muncy's  earliest  settlers  in  the 
Susquehanna  Valley)  and  noted  that  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  "sever- 
al feet  above  the  ground,  measured  eleven  feet  and  seven  inches 
in  circumference.  This  giant  tree  is  about  one  hundred  years  old, 
and  is  probably  the  oldest  apple  tree  in  Lycoming  County."  (The 
same  method  of  counting  rings  to  estimate  the  lifetime  of  trees  is 
used  even  today  by  local  foresters.)  Gernerd  named  the  brand  of 
apple  from  the  Walton's  apple  tree  as  "water  core,"  and  family 
members  had  told  him  that  the  apples  made  "the  most  elegant 
cider."  The  historian  added,  "At  the  height  of  its  bearing  season, 
the  tree's  yield  was  about  seventy  bushels  of  apples." 

Root  vegetables  (turnips,  for  example)  were  the  main  fare  on 
the  frontier  family's  table,  along  with  potatoes,  brought  to  the 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  99 

Valley  by  the  Scotch-Irish  immigrants.  Nor  did  settlers  fail  to 
borrow  agricultural  tips  on  how  to  plant  corn  from  the  Indians. 
Gernerd  wrote:  "Old-fashioned  farmers  used  to  say,  'It's  time  to 
plant  corn  when  the  dogwood  is  in  bloom.'  But  the  Indian 
women  would  say:  'It's  time  to  plant  corn  when  the  shad  come 
up  the  river'."  This  is  because  when  Indians  prepared  holes  for 
corn  seed  they  dropped  a  small  fish  from  the  river  in  each  hole  to 
fertilize  the  planting. 

And  so  corn  mush  and  milk  became  a  mainstay  in  the  pioneer 
family's  cupboard.  Then,  after  the  wheat  crop  was  harvested,  the 
early  settlers  took  delight  in  their  buckwheat  pancakes.  Proud  of 
his  German  ancestry,  Gernerd  says  with  authority  that  "sauer- 
kraut was  regarded  as  being  very  nearly  one  of  the  necessities  of 
life."  Although  the  editor  of  Now  and  Then  claimed  Horace 
Greeley,  one  of  America's  leading  journalists  and  politicians,  as 
an  acquaintance,  he  took  no  offense  when  the  noted  American 
newspaperman  contemptuously  termed  sauerkraut  as  "pickled 
manure." 

Of  course,  there  always  was  an  abundance  of  game  in  the 
forests  of  the  Susquehanna  Valley.  Every  settler  was  as  familiar 
with  his  rifle  as  he  was  with  his  axe.  This  insured  a  good  supply 
of  meat  for  the  table.  "Wild  pigeons  were  so  plentiful  that  they 
could  sometimes  be  brought  down  with  stones,  or  even  with  a 
club,"  notes  Gernerd.  More  than  that,  shad  from  the  river  was 
bountiful,  and  the  creeks  and  streams  offered  lots  of  trout  and 
panfish.  Turkeys  in  the  wild  weighed  between  30  and  40  pounds, 
and  there  were  also  squirrels  and  crows  in  abundance  too.  Deer 
visited  "the  fields  in  herds  to  brouse  on  crops  that  the  needy  set- 
tler could  not  well  spare."  We  can  assume,  therefore,  that  the 
pioneersman's  gun  was  always  handy  and  loaded,  while  work- 
ing in  the  fields  and  forests. 

But  in  the  early  years,  the  settlers'  rifles  were  readied  for  still 
another  reason.  "The  Indians  frequently  lurked  about  the  settle- 
ment during  the  dark  and  bloody  era  of  1777-1779,"  writes 
Gernerd,  "and  it  was  sometimes  extremely  hazardous  for  anyone 
to  venture  beyond  the  range  of  their  cabins.  The  savages  resort- 
ed to  various  devices  to  decoy  and  entrap  the  settlers.  Often  they 


1 00  Katherine  Yurchak 

would  imitate  the  cry  of  some  wild  animal  and  try  to  draw  the 
unsuspecting  settlers  into  ambush." 

Water  for  drinking  and  bathing  was  readily  accessible  and 
usually  was  drawn  from  the  log  cabin's  adjacent  streams  or 
springs.  Later,  a  well  would  be  dug  when  the  family  was  able 
to  build  a  permanent  home. 

With  the  passing  years,  lifestyles  changed  dramatically  for 
the  frontiersmen  and  their  families.  They  built  homes  fash- 
ioned after  the  larger  homes  they'd  left  in  Bavaria.  Windows 
(usually  with  12  panes  of  glass)  brought  the  beauty  of  the 
Susquehanna  Valley's  natural  panorama  into  their  homes.  But 
every  window  was  also  fitted  with  shutters  to  keep  the  winter's 
frigid  winds  outside. 

Sleeping  quarters  were  eventually  built  on  the  second  floor, 
and  winding  staircases  would  lead  weary  field  workers  to  their 
bedrooms.  Heat  rising  from  the  giant  fireplace  in  the  room 
below  helped  give  warmth  to  human  bodies  nestled  beneath 
heavy  handmade  quilts. 

Besides  their  hand  quilting,  women  who  had  formed  home 
industries  wove  blankets  and  rugs,  and  linsey-woolsey  fabric 
for  furnishings  and  clothing.  These  were  created  on  looms  that 
used  wool  shorn  from  their  own  sheep.  And  the  wool  had  been 
spun  on  large  home-made  spinning  wheels. 

Lamps  now  illuminated  the  darkness  of  the  night  because 
they  had  woven  cotton  flannel  wicks  and  embedded  them  in 
lard.  And  every  community  had  its  candlemaker  who  provid- 
ed candles  for  chandeliers  the  tinsmiths  had  fashioned. 

The  men  and  women  of  the  frontier  may  have  begun  their 
time  in  the  settlements  tilling  the  soil  and  building  their  own 
cabins,  but  the  many  necessities  of  those  days  produced  craft 
workers  whose  unique  skills  often  branched  out  into  shops  that 
supplied  their  towns  and  sometimes  increased  their  personal 
wealth. 

For  example,  after  having  the  wheat  ground  at  the  local  grist 
mill,  the  best  bread  and  cake  bakers  opened  shops  for  the  needs 
of  the  villagers.  The  milk  which  provided  excellent  butter  and 
cheese  for  a  particular  family,  in  time  was  in  demand  by  others 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  101 

of  the  community,  at  a  central  dairy.  One  farmer's  fine  smoked 
hams  and  barrels  of  pork  meat  may  have  become  the  supply 
center  for  a  small  group  of  people  at  first,  but  as  towns  grew 
everyone  became  acquainted  with  the  local  butcher. 

Male  members  of  the  settlement  built  chests  and  cabinets, 
tables  and  chairs,  and  washstands  for  the  kitchens  and  bed- 
rooms of  their  permanent  dwellings.  The  cherry,  walnut,  and 
pine  lumber  used  for  this  furniture  had  been  seasoned  during 
the  planting  and  harvesting  seasons. 

Usually  the  woodworking  shop  was  in  the  huge  barns 
raised  by  every  willing  helper  in  the  community.  In  those 
barns,  skilled  carpenters  made  their  own  wagons.  Older  men 
with  innate  mechanical  skills  taught  younger  male  members  of 
the  community  to  mend  their  plows  and  to  forge  implements  of 
iron  needed  for  successful  farming. 

Every  pioneer  community  had  its  own  weaver,  leather 
worker,  and  clock  maker.  Someone  created  buckles  for  shoes, 
others  made  pipes  to  smoke  the  tobacco.  A  craftsman  was  need- 
ed to  make  rope  for  the  local  boatbuilder.  Wooden  staves  for 
barrels  may  have  been  made  in  a  farmer's  barn  at  first,  but  as 
communities  grew  so  did  the  stave  maker's  shop.  Glass  blow- 
ers practiced  their  craft  in  shops  along  lakes  and  rivers  where 
sand  was  plentiful.  And  every  community  had  a  potter  for 
making  crocks  and  dishes. 

Countless  apprentices  served  their  time  in  barns  and  small 
shops  in  the  Susquehanna  Valley.  Eventually,  when  they  had 
sufficient  means,  the  apprentices  opened  their  own  shops  and 
created  competition  for  their  master  craftsmen. 

Inevitably,  conflicts  developed  between  established  shop- 
keepers and  artisan  farmers.  Some  wealthy  craftsmen  (who,  no 
doubt,  had  first  begun  in  a  small  way  in  a  small  shop)  com- 
plained that  well-to-do  farmers  were  meddling  with  their  busi- 
nesses. 

Today,  samples  of  the  pioneers'  handiwork  are  highly 
prized  when  found  at  antique  auctions.  And  for  those  who  are 
able  to  detect  the  mark  of  years  on  pieces  of  early-American 
crafts,  there  is  a  vast  field  from  which  to  search  for  treasures, 


102 


Katherine  Yurchak 


because  everything  the  pioneer  family  needed  to  survive  had  to 
be  made  by  hand. 

Sometimes  it  is  not  so  much  for  their  dollar  value  that  early- 
American  crafts  are  appreciated,  but  for  the  fact  that  they  witness 
to  the  heroic  acts  of  survival  experienced  by  the  pioneers  who 
gave  themselves  so  willingly  to  the  wilderness  of  the 
Susquehanna  Valley. 


All  log  cabins  of  pioneer  days  have  been  destroyed.  This 
one,  along  Muncy  Creek,  was  built  in  the  20th  century. 


14/The  Revival  of 

Now  and  Then 


w, 


hen  the  publication  of  Now  and  Then  ended  abruptly  in  the 
Summer  of  1892,  the  56-year-old  editor  noted,  "This  is  the  last  vol- 
ume that  will  be  published — now." 

The  tone  of  J.M.M.  Gernerd's  statement  hints  that  the  journalist 
believed  sometime,  somehow,  Now  and  Then  would  resume  publica- 
tion. But  when?  Gernerd  could  never  have  imagined  that  a  young 
doctor  with  a  passion  for  history  was  waiting  to  receive  his  mantle. 

However,  more  than  three  decades  would  pass  before  new  life 
was  to  be  breathed  into  Now  and  Then  by  Dr.  T.  Kenneth  Wood.  He 
was  thirty-three  years  old  when  he  attended  Jerry  Gernerd  at  his 
death  in  1910. 

We  do  not  know  if  patient  and  doctor  had  ever  discussed  the 
future  of  Muncy's  historical  publication.  But  we  do  know  with  cer- 
tainty that  Dr.  Wood  loved  Muncy,  its  history  and  its  people.  He  was 
perfectly  suited  to  be  Muncy's  chief  historian. 

T.  Kenneth  Wood  was  born  Christmas  Eve  1877.  He  had  been  a 
frail  baby  and  was  not  expected  to  live.  But  his  family  spent  summers 
in  Eagles  Mere  where  his  mother  set  her  ailing  infant  outdoors  in  a 
clothes  basket.  On  sunny  days,  the  child  lay  naked  soaking  in  nature's 
warmth. 

"The  sun  and  the  milk  made  him  grow  up  strong,"  his  mother 

103 


1 04  Katherine  Yurchak 


explained  years  after  her  son  had  grown  to  be  a  healthy  adult. 

T.K.,  as  he  came  to  be  known,  was  graduated  from  Muncy  High 
School,  attended  Pennsylvania  State  College,  and  later  trained  at  med- 
ical schools  attached  to  the  University  of  Pennsylvania  and  the 
Harvard  School  of  Medicine.  He  was  fourth  in  a  line  of  Muncy  physi- 
cians whose  combined  local  service  totaled  140  years. 

The  Woods  of  Muncy  trace  their  origins  to  England  in  the  1600s, 
and  had  originally  settled  in  the  Carlisle  area.  The  first  Dr.  Thomas 
Wood  began  practicing  medicine  in  Muncy  in  1803. 

Continuing  the  family  tradition,  T.K.  Wood  opened  his  office  in 
Muncy,  in  1903  on  Washington  Street,  in  a  house  he  purchased  for 
$6,000  from  Daniel  Clapp.  Later,  when  the  Clapp  family's  larger 
homestead  at  26  North  Main  St.  became  available,  Dr.  Wood  moved 
his  practice  and  living  quarters  there. 

The  doctor  loved  beautiful  things  and  surrounded  himself  with 
the  best  he  could  afford.  For  example,  after  setting  up  residence  and 
his  office  on  Main  St.,  Dr.  Wood  hired  Carl  Welker,  a  noted  architect, 
to  restore  the  house.  One  of  its  distinct  features  is  a  glass-enclosed 
alcove  facing  the  south.  There,  the  doctor  often  sat  and  read  or  gazed 
upon  his  lovely  wrought-iron  enclosed  garden,  the  centerpiece  of 
which  was  a  rare  and  magnificent  bronze  beech  tree  which  still  adorns 
the  place.  The  back  yard  of  the  Wood  home  also  boasted  a  large  play- 
house built  for  his  only  daugher,  Eleanor.  The  playhouse  still  stands. 

Dr.  Wood's  patients,  it  is  reported,  were  either  aghast  or  enter- 
tained by  the  sight  of  a  large  human  skeleton  which  the  local  physi- 
cian kept  in  a  glass  chamber  in  his  office.  The  young  surgeon  had  a 
thriving  practice.  His  specialty  was  tonsillectomies  and  appendec- 
tomies. 

Having  purchased  two  homes  from  the  Clapps,  Dr.  Wood  kept  a 
close  association  with  the  family.  This  later  would  prove  to  be  the  key 
for  the  establishment  of  Muncy's  Historical  Society,  since  T.K.  Wood 
maintained  a  lively  interest  in  local  historical  lore  while  practicing 
medicine. 

Apparently,  Dr.  Wood's  keen  interest  in  Muncy's  history  had  not 
entirely  overshadowed  his  professional  duties.  For  we  find  that  he 
was  a  key  figure  in  the  establishment  of  Muncy  Valley  Hospital,  in 
1922.  His  name  is  first  on  a  list  of  twelve  doctors  recorded  as  being  the 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  1 05 

hospital's  founders  who  contributed  $1,000  each  toward  the  hospital's 
beginnings.  That  was  a  time  when  a  doctor's  "fee  bill"  was  $  2  per 
visit. 

Dr.  Wood  also  is  responsible  for  starting  Muncy's  first  nurses' 
training  school,  where  doctors  served  as  teachers  to  high  school  grad- 
uates. 

The  small-town  doctor's  spacious  Main  St.  home  was  a  perfect  set- 
ting for  spending  leisure  hours  exploring  Muncy's  past.  At  some 
point  in  his  study  of  the  Gernerd  publication,  Dr.  Wood  determined  to 
revive  the  historical  paper  and  then  appointed  himself  the  new  editor 
of  Now  and  Then. 

We  know  that  the  young  doctor  greatly  admired  Gernerd.  This  is 
sensed  in  a  biographical  sketch  T.  Kenneth  Wood  prepared  about  the 
late  editor  for  the  people  of  Muncy,  when  the  publication  of  Now  and 
Then  was  resumed  in  1929. 

Dr.  Wood  noted  that  when  he  sat  down  to  write  about  Gernerd  he 
could  not  help  taking  "detours"  to  describe  people  and  places  of 
Muncy's  past  that  they  both  had  known.  Dr.  Wood  explained,  "It  was 
as  if  someone  resolutely  set  out  to  write  of  a  favorite  professor  of  his 
college  days  and  then  found  himself  continually  thinking  of  and 
extolling  his  alma  mater." 

One  of  the  first  things  Dr.  Wood  did,  after  deciding  to  bring  Now 
and  Then  back  to  life,  was  to  compile  all  of  Gernerd's  historical  writ- 
ings and  have  them  reprinted.  That  selfless  task  has  made  it  possible 
for  all  original  issues  of  Now  and  Then  to  be  preserved  in  bound  vol- 
umes. 

But  the  work  was  not  easy.  Gernerd's  essays  had  been  published 
without  numbered  pages,  and  with  no  table  of  contents.  Dr.  Wood 
indexed  all  of  Gernerd's  work  according  to  date  and  content. 

"Seldom  has  anyone  before  seen  so  small  a  volume  carrying  so 
large  an  index,"  wrote  the  new  editor  when  he  presented  his  work  to 
the  people  of  Muncy  in  1929.  "That  it  is  so  is  at  one  and  the  same  time 
both  an  embarrassment  to  me  and  a  matter  of  pride.  Embarrassment 
because  so  few  perhaps  will  consider  the  collection  of  historical  jot- 
tings worth  the  effort  and  expense.  Pride,  in  having  done  the  job  so 
thoroughly." 

Indeed,  the  historian's  work  was  thorough.   He  managed  to  lay 


1 06  {Catherine  Yurchak 

down  a  simple  foundation  upon  which  subsequent  editors  of  Now  and 
Then  have  been  able  to  publish  their  presentations  of  Muncy's  history. 

However,  Dr.  Wood  was  wrong  when  he  wrote  that  few  would 
find  his  efforts  worthwhile.  Local  historians  treasure  their  rare  copies 
of  the  early  Now  and  Then  publications. 

Dr.  Wood  had  the  advantage  of  being  able  to  draw  from  his  fami- 
ly's rich  social  and  professional  contacts,  while  serving  as  editor  of 
Nozv  and  Then.  He  called  upon  those  whose  roots  were  deep  in  the  soil 
of  the  Susquehanna  Valley  to  contribute  scholarly  essays  about 
Muncy's  unique  place  in  Pennsylvania's  history. 

Dr.  Wood  had  been  recording  pieces  of  Muncy's  past  for  about 
seven  years  when  Muncy  became  one  of  several  towns  in  the 
Susquehanna  Valley  that  was  inundated  by  the  Hood  of  1936.  Dr. 
Wood's  home  and  office  were  devastated  by  the  flooding 
Susquehanna. 

Only  a  few  doors  from  Dr.  Wood's  residence  on  Main  Street,  the 
Daniel  Clapp  family's  small  ancestral  home  built  in  1820  also  suffered 
such  extensive  damage  that  Mrs.  H.  Forrest  Clapp,  who  held  the  deed 
to  the  house,  was  considering  abandoning  it.  But  then  she  had  an 
idea. 

Bearing  a  soggy  small  sack  in  one  hand,  she  walked  a  few  houses 
up  the  street  to  Dr.  Wood's  large  home  to  notify  him  that  she  would 
donate  her  property  to  Muncy,  but  only  for  the  purpose  of  housing  a 
Historical  Society  and  Museum. 

The  record  notes  that  Dr.  Wood,  then  coping  with  flood  damage  to 
his  own  residence,  took  little  interest  in  Mrs.  Clapp's  offer  of  her  fam- 
ily's ancestral  home  which  the  flood  had  overrun.  But  then  he  asked, 
"What  do  you  have  in  that  sack?" 

Opening  the  flood-soaked  sack,  the  weary  woman  showed  Dr. 
Wood  a  collection  of  brass  knobs  she  and  her  sons  had  just  removed 
from  the  doors  of  the  Clapp  house. 

"You  can  have  the  brass  door  knobs,  but  only  if  you  accept  my 
offer  to  establish  the  Muncy  Historical  Society  in  the  house,"  bar- 
gained Mrs.  Clapp.  "Otherwise,  I'll  call  the  wrecking  crew  and  have 
the  house  demolished." 

Dr.  Wood's  passion  for  ancient  things  alerted  him  to  Mrs.  Clapp's 
magnanimous  offer.  Then  as  editor  of  Now  and  Then,  he  used  the  peri- 


Where  Wigwams  Stood 


107 


odical  to  appeal  to  a  growing  list  of  subscribers.  Eventually,  a  small 
group  of  members  was  gathered  for  the  proposed  Muncy  Historical 
Society. 

The  project  took  on  additional  momentum  when  Dr.  Wood 
addressed  the  Muncy  Rotary  Club  to  ask  the  service  group  to  help 
educate  the  community  about  its  historic  treasures.  Soon  afterward, 
the  Pennsylvania  State  Historical  Commission  began  conducting 
archeological  excavations  on  the  Fort  Muncy  site  on  the  Wallis  estate. 
That  put  Muncy  on  an  eligibility  list  for  federal  funding.  Mrs.  Clapp 
transferred  her  deed  to  the  Borough  of  Muncy  which  was  given  a  99- 
year  lease  on  her  family's  property.  The  house  was  restored  at  a  cost 
of  $9,000.  Of  that  amount,  80  percent  was  borne  by  the  federal  gov- 
ernment, and  the  remainder  by  friends  and  members  of  the  Society. 

A  dedication  ceremony  of  the  Muncy  Historical  Society  took  place 
in  1938  in  the  auditorium  at  Muncy  High  School.  That  same  year  Dr. 
Wood,  in  his  eleventh  year  as  editor,  also  initiated  the  Muncy  Garden 
Club  whose  members  keep  the  grounds  beautifully 
manicured. 

T.K.  Wood  relinquished  his  duties  as  editor  of  Now 
and  Then,  and  also  retired  from  medicine,  in  1957. 
That  year  his  editorial  post  was  passed  to  Marshall 
Anspach  who  practiced  law  in  Williamsport.  He  was 
married  to  Dr.  Wood's  daughter. 

Dr.  Wood  died  in  1958.  He  was  81  years  old. 

Anspach,  Wood's  son-in-law,  continued  as  editor 
of  Now  and  Then  until  1962.  Only  five  other  names 
have  had  the  distinction  of  appearing  on  the  mast  of 
Now  and  Then  since  the  paper  was  introduced  in  1868. 
The  following  have  been  editors  of  Muncy's  official 
historical  paper:  Eugene  P.  Bertin  (1962-1977),  Bonnie 
Troxell  and  Coleman  Funk  (1977-1980),  Thomas  Taber 
(1980-1989). 

Jane  Jackson,  who  has  been  editor  of  Now  and  Then 
since  1989,  lives  at  26  North  Main  St.  in  the  house  that 
once  belonged  to  Dr.  T.K.  Wood  and  Daniel  Clapp       Antique 
before  him.  hitching 

Tall,  lean  and  plain-faced,  Dr.  Wood  has  a  portrait  . 


108 


Katherine  Yurchak 


prominently  displayed  in  the  main  auditorium  of  the  Muncy 
Historical  Society's  building — the  gift  to  Muncy  from  Mrs.  H. 
Forrest  Clapp. 


The  portrait  of  Dr.  T.K.  Wood  hangs  in  the  Muncy 
Historical  Museum.  Dr.  Wood  was  responsible  for  the 
revival  of  Now  and  Then  ten  years  after  J.M.M.  Gernerd's 
passing. 


Gernerd  and  Greeley 

I .  M.  M.  Gernerd  was  21  years  old  when  he  made  his  first  contact 
with  Horace  Greeley  (1811-1872)  one  of  America's  most  famous 
journalists.  Greeley  was  founder  and  editor  of  the  New  York 
Tribune,  which  became  one  of  the  most  powerful  and  influential 
magazines  in  American  history,  and  also  of  The  New  Yorker,  one  of 
the  nation's  most  popular  literary  magazines.  Both  publications, 
under  Greeley,  became  molders  of  public  opinion  during  the  19th 
Century. 

In  1872,  Greeley  was  nominated  for  the  presidency  by  both  the 
Liberal  Democratic  and  Republican  parties.  During  that  cam- 
paign, Gernerd,  who  idolized  Greeley,  described  him  as  "the  head 
of  the  journalists  of  the  land,  nobly  battling  the  foes  of  liberty  with 
his  mighty  pen."  [September  1872]  Greeley  lost  that  election  to 
U.  S.  Grant,  running  for  his  second  term.  Soon  after  the  election, 
the  famed  journalist  died.  In  an  obituary,  Gernerd  shared  with 
readers  of  Now  and  Then  a  letter  from  Greeley  he  had  received  15 
years  earlier.  In  response  to  having  been  named  an  honorary 
member  of  the  Hiawathans,  one  of  Muncy's  most  prestigious  soci- 
eties, in  April  1857,  Greeley  had  written: 

"Though  the  name  of  your  Association  has  an  Aboriginal 
sound,  I  presume  its  members  do  not  wear  tomahawks  as  a  part  of 
their  ordinary  uniforms,  or  at  least  do  not  use  them  on  the  person 
and  visages  of  the  Honorary  associates.  (I  only  approve  the  use  of 
this  implement  on  border  savages  or  Border  Ruffians.)   With  this 

109 


110  Katherine  Yurchak 

understanding,  I  gratefully  accept  the  membership  you  proffer. 
Yours,  Horace  Greeley." 

The  editor /publisher  of  Now  and  Then  sent  one  of  the  first 
copies  of  his  publication  to  Greeley.  They  kept  in  touch  through 
their  writings.  Greeley  was  one  of  the  first  editorialists  to  support 
the  Republican  party.  And  Gernerd,  a  staunch  Republican,  gained 
strength  from  Greeley's  bold  editorials  which  promoted  the  rights 
of  labor  and  equality  for  all  persons.  It  is  fair  to  assume  that  this 
public  support  by  Greeley  and  Gernerd  for  the  abolition  move- 
ment gave  courage  to  the  local  "conductors"  of  the  Underground 
Railroad  to  continue  aiding  slaves  escaping  to  Canada. 

Greeley's  influence  was  felt  in  Muncy  as  many  young  people 
from  the  community's  pioneer  families  left  the  area  to  push  back 
the  western  frontier.  The  phrase,  "Go  west,  young  man"  was  made 
popular  by  The  New  Yorker  after  an  article  by  John  Soule,  of 
Indiana,  appeared  in  the  magazine.  The  young  and  unemployed 
were  encouraged  to  take  advantage  of  opportunities  in  America's 
western  states.  Those  Muncians  who  had  traveled  there  were  kept 
abreast  of  local  happenings  through  Gernerd's  Now  and  Then. 


Living  in  the 
House  That  Wallis  Built 


B, 


'rian  Barlow,  now  of  Maine  but  formerly  a  resident  of  the  house 
that  Samuel  Wallis  built  in  1769,  chronicles  what  it  was  like  to  live  in 
Lycoming  County's  oldest  home.  Born  in  England,  he  came  to 
America  as  a  boy  during  the  Second  World  War. 

At  that  time,  the  Wallis  home  was  owned  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Henry 
Brock.  Barlow  notes:  "The  history  of  the  house  came  full  circle  when 
the  Brocks,  who  had  no  children,  decided  to  take  one  large  family  of 
war  evacuees  from  England  for  the  duration  into  their  home." 

While  preparing  for  the  children  to  come  to  America,  Mr.  Brock 
was  suddenly  stricken  ill.  He  died  while  in  Philadelphia,  in 
September  1940.  He  was  54.  But  Mrs.  Brock  went  ahead  with  their 
plans  to  evacuate  an  English  family.  By  the  end  of  September  1940, 
four  Barlow  children  had  become  residents  at  Muncy  Farms. 

Notes  Barlow:  "The  four  of  us — my  sister  and  I  were  twins  of  12 
years;  my  next  sister  was  11,  and  my  youngest  brother  had  just  turned 
5 — found  the  house  inviting,  despite  its  historical  importance." 

He  remembers  the  night  he  arrived.  "After  spending  nights  in  the 
London  blitz  in  a  house  with  blackout  curtains,"  he  says,  "the  house 
in  Muncy  seemed  a  dazzling  sight  with  its  many  lights  in  the  win- 
dows." 

Mrs.  Brock  made  the  four  children  feel  at  home  by  arranging  an 
English  dinner  for  them.  And  then  each  of  the  four  children  was  free 

111 


112  Katherine  Yurchak 

to  choose  his  or  her  bedroom  which  was  furnished  with  a  fireplace. 

"I  chose  a  third  floor  bedroom  in  the  East  wing,"  Barlow  notes. 
"That  suited  me  fine,  because  it  didn't  get  visited  very  often." 

On  their  first  Christmas  in  Muncy,  the  four  English  children 
helped  select  a  tree  from  the  farm. 

"It  was  tall  enough  to  reach  the  third  floor,"  Barlow  remembers, 
"and  was  framed  by  a  circular  staircase.  Mrs.  Brock  decorated  it  after 
we  had  gone  to  bed.  We  each  received  a  new  sled,  and  so  four 
English  children  spent  Christmas  morning  1940  enjoying  the  deep 
snow  in  Muncy." 

The  living-room  of  the  Wallis  home  with  its  hundreds  of  books 
was  known  as  "the  library,"  when  Barlow  lived  there  with  his  broth- 
er and  sisters.  He  recalls  that  "local  artists  visiting  Muncy  were  invit- 
ed by  Mrs.  Brock  to  perform  before  the  large  fireplace.  The  house 
was  always  full  of  visitors,  neighbors  and  friends." 

Barlow  describes  a  formal  parlor  in  the  East  wing  of  the  house  as 
being  decorated  with  Chinese  handmade  paper  which  dated  back  to 
Clipper  ship  days.  And  in  the  West  wing  of  the  Wallis  home,  was  a 
formal  dining-room  with  a  table  that  could  be  extended  to  seat  twen- 
ty guests. 

"Every  inch  of  the  house  was  lived  in,"  Barlow  reminisces.  "The 
swimming  pool  and  tennis  court  were  always  in  use.  Most  of  the 
neighborhood  children  learned  to  swim  there." 

The  four  Barlow  children,  who  had  been  brought  to  America  "for 
the  duration  of  the  war,"  never  did  return  to  England.  Mrs.  Brock 
invited  their  mother  to  come  to  America  and  they  became  close 
friends.  (The  father  of  the  Barlow  children  had  died  during  the  war.) 

Upon  her  passing,  Mrs.  Brock  left  Muncy  Farms  to  the  four 
Barlow  children.  Their  mother  is  buried  next  to  Mrs.  Brock  in  the 
family  cemetery  at  Hall's  Station,  near  Muncy. 

On  an  unusual  note:  Brian  Barlow's  younger  brother  married  a 
woman  from  a  Philadelphia  family.  She  is  a  descendant  of  Lydia 
Hollingsworth,  the  wife  of  Samuel  Wallis. 


The  Last  Raft 


A. 


event  planned  as  a  project  to  recall  the  days  from  1840  to 
1890,  when  lumbering  and  rafting  were  the  area's  main  industries, 
has  been  marked  in  local  history  as  one  of  the  worst  tragedies  ever 
recorded  in  Muncy. 

It  was  noon,  Sunday  March  20, 1938,  when  thousands  of  people 
rose  early  to  line  the  banks  of  the  Susquehanna.  Some,  with  cameras 
in  hand,  swarmed  atop  local  river  bridges  to  capture  for  history  "the 
last  raft's"  passage  through  Muncy. 

The  112-foot  long  raft  had  been  launched  earlier  in  the  week  at 
Clearfield.  It  was  to  pass  through  Muncy  as  part  of  a  200-mile  river 
route  to  Harrisburg.  Because  the  Associated  Press  had  detailed  every 
step  of  the  project,  the  imagination  of  the  nation  had  been  captured. 
Universal  Newsreel  had  assigned  W.C.  Proffitt,  one  of  its  most 
respected  camerman,  to  the  raft.  He  considered  himself  fortunate  to 
have  been  selected  as  one  of  only  48  passengers  allowed  aboard  the 
raft. 

That  Spring  morning,  the  cold  waters  of  the  swollen  river  at 
Muncy  were  moving  swiftly.  By  the  time  the  raft  approached  the 
highway  bridge,  the  rear  and  forward  oarsmen  had  to  struggle  to 
maneuver  pass  the  pier.  The  raft  did  make  it  through,  but  not  with- 
out scraping  the  abutment. 

That  minor  bump  shifted  the  raft  from  its  course.  It  was  report- 
ed that  seasoned  lumbermen,  piloting  the  rear  and  forward  ends  of 
the  raft,  were  in  disagreement  about  which  channel  to  follow. 

113 


114 


Katherine  Yurchak 


Where  Wigwams  Stood  115 

Meanwhile,  the  raft  moved  diagonally  across  the  swift  current. 
Then,  with  thousands  watching  in  horror,  the  unrelenting  river  car- 
ried the  raft  toward  the  Reading  Railroad  bridge. 

"It  crashed  with  fatal  force  against  two  piers,"  reported  the 
Williamsport  Sun  the  next  evening.  "The  impact  shattered  the  col- 
lapsible cabin,  and  crew  and  passengers  were  thrown  off  balance." 

Among  those  aboard  the  raft  were  two  young  Sea  Scouts.  They 
helped  saved  several  people  from  drowning  by  encouraging  them  to 
hang  on  to  pieces  of  lumber.  A  man,  who  happened  to  be  following 
the  raft  in  a  boat,  helped  some  others  to  safety.  However,  ten  pas- 
sengers did  not  survive  the  disaster. 

A  boy  with  a  box  camera,  viewing  the  incredible  event  from  the 
railroad  bridge,  captured  the  scene  for  posterity.  His  photographs 
were  published  in  The  Luminary  a  few  days  later. 

Witnesses  reported  that  W.C.  Proffitt,  Universal's  photographer, 
was  still  turning  the  crank  of  his  newsreel  camera  when  he  disap- 
peared into  the  frigid  waters  of  the  Susquehanna  River. 

Despite  the  tragedy,  the  trip  to  Harrisburg  was  resumed  after 
several  days.  On  March  14, 1938  crowds  gathered  to  meet  the  raft  on 
its  arrival  in  the  capital  city,  but  out  of  respect  for  those  who  died  in 
Muncy  there  was  no  formal  reception.  As  for  the  last  raft,  it  was 
donated  to  a  Harrisburg  sawmill. 


THE    NOW   AND    THEN. 


The  Now  and  Then. 


J.  M.  M.  GERNERD, 


Editor  and  Publisher. 


Entered  at  the  Muncy  Post-Office  as  Second-Class 
Mall  Matter. 


MAT  AND  JUNE,  1892. 


Valedictory. 

This  number  completes  the  third  volume  of 
the  Now  and  Then.  It  faithfully  discharges 
all  obligations  to  its  subscribers.  And  this  is 
the  last  number,  and  this  the  last  volume,  that 
will  be  published — Now. 

We  regret  to  suspend  the  publication.  It  has 
been,  to  us,  a  source  of  great  pleasure.  It  has 
revived  old  friendships,  and  made  us  new  friends. 
It  has  brought  us  many  delightful  letters.  It 
has  gathered  and  preserved  many  things  of  in- 
terest that  would  otherwise  have  been  forgotten. 

Other  engagements  have  not  allowed  the  time 
that  we  should  have  spent  on  some  of  its  con- 
tents. It  was  attempted  merely  for  pleasure, 
and  for  an  occasional  useful  pastime.  But, 
■  many  thanks  to  twenty-five  highly  valued  con- 
tributors, and  many  correspondents,  its  columns 
contain  a  great  deal  that  is  original,  instructive 
and  valuable.  For  whatever  is  enunciated  in 
the  articles  without  signature  we  alone  are  re- 
sponsible. 

Four  years  have  passed  like  a  dream  since  its 
revival.  Nearly  fifteen  hundred  golden  days 
have  rolled  by,— gone,  forever,  into  the  bound- 
less ocean  of  eternity,— yet  so  rapid  has  been 
their  flight  that  it  seems  but  a  day  or  so  since 
the  first  number  was  issued.  The  whole  natural 
life  of  man  is  in  fact,  as  the  Scriptures  affirm,  like 
a  vapor,  a  shadow,  a  weaver's  shuttle,  or  as  the 
flower  of  the  field. 

Yet  these  fleeting  days  bring  many  pleasures, 
and  are  bright  with  hope.  True,  they  con- 
stantly admonish  man  of  his  vanity  and  his 
mortality.  But,  they  also  give  joyful  expecta- 
tion of  better  things,  of  a  more  glorious  life, 
"nigh  at  hand." 

We  part  expectant,  with  a  word  of  cheer. 
There  is  a  bright  side  to  all  things.  It  is  not 
all  of  life  to  live,  nor  all  of  death  to  die.  To 
the  wise,  the  world  abounds  with  the  proofs  of 
wisdom.  To  the  pure,  all  things  are  pure.  To 
all  who  value  life,  life  is  valuable.  Man  is  only 
a  brute  when  he  lives  like  a  brute.  He  need 
not  forever  perish,  as  the  beasts  perish.  He  can 
be  more,  if  he  will,  than  "of  the  earth,  earthy." 


He  may,  if  he  choose,  "also  bear  the  image  of 
the  heavenly." 

Pity  the  misanthrope  who  says  "life  is  not 
worth  living."  It  is  more  than  worth  living. 
It  is  worth  all  its  sufferings.  It  is  worth  all 
man's  sacrifices,  love,  thought  and  care.  To  be- 
lieve that  the  human  race  will  make  continuous 
advancement,  that  truth  will  some  day  prevail, 
that  right  will  triumph  over  wrong,  that  there 
is  a  grand  purpose  in  the  plans  and  beauties  of 
nature,  that  it  is  profitable  to  obey  the  laws  of 
life,  that  it  is  wrong  to  take  or  imperil  life, 
that  the  greatest  thing  in  this  world  is  love,  that 
there  is  a  God  of  Love,  that  it  was  for  human 
life  that  the  God-like  Christ  and  many  noble 
martyrs  and  patriots  gave  their  lives,  that  the 
dead  shall  be  raised  immortal,  that  the  "  meek 
shall  inherit  the  earth,"  is  to  be  assured  of  the 
inestimable  value  of  human  life. 

This  faith  in  Life,  in  Truth,  in  Love,  in  Na- 
ture, in  Universal  Progress,  in  the  Now,  in  the 
Then,  in  God,  made  Now  and  Then,  to  us,  a 
source  of  pleasure,  and,  we  trust,  a  source  of 
comfort  to  its  readers.  Glad  indeed  would  wo 
be,  therefore,  if  circumstances  favored  to  con- 
tinue these  humble  efforts  to  entertain,  instruct 
and  advance.  In  this  sense,  and  in  this  spirit, 
may  all  that  we  have  said  be  understood. 

We  cannot  say  what  we  may  hereafter  be  led 
to  decide  upon, — we  still  have  historical  data 
and  notes  that  we  had  hoped  to  hand  down  to 
posterity  in  this  fitting  form,  and  there  are  still 
many  things  that  it  seems  the  Now  and  Then 
ought  to  say, — but  at  present  we  have  no  positive 
thonght  that  we  shall  ever  again  revive  the  little 
magazine.  We,  therefore,  now  most  sincerely 
thank  you,  kind  readers,  one  and  all,  for  your 
friendly  support  and  sympathy,  and  for  your 
kindly  indulgence,  and  bid  you — Farewell. 


To  Our  Exchanges. 

Many  thanks  to  our  Exchanges  for  their  kindly 
reciprocations.  Among  the  reasons  why  we 
should  be  glad  to  continue  the  publication  of  the 
Now  and  Then,  is  the  visitations— daily,  weekly 
and  monthly — of  a  number  of  much  esteemed 
and  very  regular  periodical  friends.  But,  the 
best  of  friends  must  part  sometime,  as  we  all 
know,  and  so  we  must  now  part  with  our  friendly 
Exchanges.  Many  thanks  to  our  brethren  of  the 
quill,  also,  for  the  kindly  notices  given  from  time 
to  time  to  the  Now  and  Then. 


"Owe  no  man  anything," 
Not  even— Now  and  Then. 


116 


References 


Blockson,  Charles  L.  The  Underground  Railroad,  New  York: 
Prentice  Hall,  1987. 

Blockson,  Charles  L.  National  Geographic.  Washington, 

D.C.,  "The  Underground  Railroad."  Vol.  166,  No.  11  July  1984. 

Burt,  Struthers.  Philadelphia  the  Holy  Experiment.  New  York: 
Doubleday,  1945. 

Chambless,  John.  "Coatesville  Painter  Is  Immersed  In  the 
'Underground  Mystique'."   Williamsport  Sun-Gazette. 
Pennsylvania:  June  23, 1993. 

Crawford,  Mary  Caroline.  Romantic  Days  in  the  Early  Republic. 
Boston:  Little  Brown  &  Co.,  1912. 

Engle,  Henry  Wm.  History  of  the  Commonwealth  of  Pa.  Philadelphia: 
E.M.  Gardner,  1883.  r 

Fossler,  Linda.  "Samuel  Wallis:  Colonial  Merchant,  Secret  Agent." 
Proceedings,  Vol.  XXX,  Northumberland  County  Historical 
Society,  1990. 

Freidel-Drewry.  America,  A  modern  History  of  the  United  States. 
Boston:  D.C.  Heath  &  Co.,  1970. 

Goho,  Stephen  O.  The  Pennsylvania  Reader.  New  York:  American 
Book  Company,  1897. 

Graeff,  Arthur  D.  Tlie  Pennsylvania  Germans.  New  Jersey: 
Princeton  University  Press,  1942. 

Meginness,  John.  History  of  Lycoming  County,  Pennsylvania. 
Chicago:  Brown,  Runk  &  Co.,  1892. 

Mann,  W.L.  "Raft  Meets  Disaster  at  Muncy."  The  Muncy  Luminani. 
Pennsylvania:  Mar.  24, 1938. 

Myers,  Richard.  The  Long  Crooked  River.  Boston:  Christopher 
Publishing  House,  1962. 

VanDoren,  Carl.  Secret  History  of  the  American  Revolution. 
New  York:  The  Viking  Press,  1941. 

Wood,  T.K.  Now  and  Then.  Muncy  Historical  Society.  Vol.  I- VI, 
1929. 

Wright,  Louis  B.  The  Cultural  Life  of  the  American  Colonies. 
1607-1673.  New  York:  Harper  Brothers,  1957. 

117 


About  the  Author 


Katherine  Yurchak  has  been  a  resident  of  Muncy 
since  1947.  Her  career  in  broadcasting,  journalism,  and 
freelance  writing  spans  57  years.  She  is  a  member  of  the 
Society  of  Professional  Journalists. 

She  is  completing  requirements  for  a  degree  in  mass 
communications /journalism  at  Bloomsburg  University 
where  she  is  in  the  honors  program. 


119 


NOW  AND  THEN. 

§k  gournnl  §mtn\  to  tiu  Sftpid  of  Uw.  Status. 


Voul. 


MUNCY,  PA.  JUNE,  1868. 


No.  1. 


RKCOLLKCTTOKS  OF  MCNCY. 

NIMBKK  UXK. 

Tlie  w  rlior  was  a- suburban,  or  perhaps  with  more  propri- 
ety a  provincial.  Hi*  first  "knowledge  of  the  metropolis  was 
a  very  reluctant  introduction  to  the  Old  Academy,  as  it  was 
then  called,  and  wh'ch  has  since,  degenerated  into  a  common 
sehooUJiuose. 

Our  experience  continued  through*  the  administration  of 
IH 1 1  lilt '<f  Ml  most  distiufnusiied  Professors, — Willson,  iJer- 
trn,  Unit,  and  Kittoe.  The  first  was  a  pedant  and  fop.  The 
second  in  our  esteem  never  ruse  above  the  grade  of  a  school 
master-  The  third  was  a  teacher,  a  scholar,  and  a  gentle- 
man. The  fourth  a  teacher  u  disciplinarian,  a-  scholar  and 
h  •tuili'i't.  lie  had  hntrts  of  trlends,  and  no  lack  of  patrons. 
Our  ••nly  complaint  wan  his  #ystein  of  punishment.  It  was 
fa  summary  and  ignominious.  11>e  lect  of  the  ui suspecting 
reiu-ant  a*  if  by  some  sligflt  of  the, Professors  hand  were 
found  elevated  to  an  angle  of  about  90  degrees,  aud  before 
the  frightened  victim  could  rt"alfee  his  situation  n  ponderous 
ruhr  was  describing  semicircles  where  there  was  no  danger 
of  iibriotniiiul  contusions.  Kittoe  excelled  all  otl'iers  in  this 
sxfteni  of  intellectual  "in-knockulatinn." 

Of  the  several  of  whom  we  have  spoken,  connected  with 
thd  Academy  an  teachers,  the  latter  two  have  become  distin- 
guished in  professional  walks,  While  the  former  we  bciive,  if 
living,  ;1re  pcilagogues  yet. 

It  would  be  interesting  to  trace,  if  we  were  allowed  to  do 
so,  the  career-  laTsnmi  of  the  Alumrfi,  of  both  sexes,  of  this 
Academy  Many  Jollowed  the  "Star  of  Empire"  to  the  Oreat 
W  est, ami  on  that  tneatre  are  playing  their  part  iu  the  great 
<!r;<ma  of  life-  Others  still  linger  around  tlie  paternal  heart*.  ■ 
-one,  and  some  alas — 

"The  young  and  strong, 

>A  ho  cherished  noble  longings  for  the  strife, 

Ity  tlie  wayside  fell  and  perished, 

Weary  with  tlie  march  of  life." 

Urtv  the  Lyceum  wa"  organized,  and  hekl  ita  meetings. 
•'•cam  remember  the  astonishment  we  experienced  at  the 
wouderfiil  know ledge  of  its  lecturers.  Scientifiic  exp<  rimca*  s 
were  nionoiolized  by  Drs.  Wood,  Kaiikiu,  and  Kittoe;  and 
M  can  see  now,  though  we  did  not  then,  that  the  society 
nould  not  have  ben.li  run  if  the  xleetric  m.'tchiue,  or  the  Gal- 
v  aide  butter}-,  laid  not  been  invented.  We  must  not  wait  to 
Mention  liowcver  in  justice  to  Dr.Uutt,  that  he  came  near 
blowing  up  the  audience  one  night  in  a  heuevciiciit  attempt 
t"  vary  the  entertainment,  by  prematurely  Igniting  some 
fulminating  powder. 

LMh}  too  expatiated  eloquently  on  Moral  Philosophy ,  and 
we  me  sorry  to  say  but  seldom  followed  his  an  precepts,- 
while  llahis  in  Astronomy,  Boal  in  Oratory,  Ellis  in  Miner- 
nl'-t-y  ,  "ml  BhaMM  In  Esthetics  and  Belle-letter,  constituted 
it?  i  In,  i  light*.  Certainly  to  us,  the  rising  generation,  these 
p  nth  men  were-  "Lights  shining  in  the  darkness."  We  arc 
sorry  t.i  my  that  wilh  greater  advantages  lew  of  ux  will  ever 
n-ai  h  tin  ir  standard,  in  prhffle  or  professional  life. 

We  Isdieve  tltsit  tlie  lime  of  which  we  are  speaking,  a 
Ittal  m  luiol  w;u<  opened  in  a  building  ahnfV  the  pref-nt  res- 
i  lei  (..  .f  Sdq.  Lloyd.  It  had  been  a  "Wiud  Mill  Factory." 
ll  w.i-  il,e  principal-Institution  for  the  education  of  young 
ladl/n.     Th<  only  music  we  ever  heard  there  was  the  occa- 


sional clatter  of  one  of  the  rejected  wind  aiiUs,  and  we  belive 
the  only  professor  of  the  fine  arts  was  the  apprentice  who  la 
former  times  came  pot  and  brush  in  hand  to  paint  and  stripe 
them.  The  present  "Muccy  Female  Seminary,"  with  its  able 
Principal,  fcads  of  department's,  and  its  many  easels  and 
costly  pianos,  presents  a  gomswhat  striking  contrast. 

The  writer  remembers  among  the  attractions  of  the  town 
at  tliii/'.ime  was  Mrs.  Ellis's  "Pyana",  as  the  name  was  then 
pronounced.  It  was  the  only  oue  in  the  town,  and  groups 
of  boys  aud  girls  assembled  under  the  window  whenever  its 
ch&nning  chords  were  struck.  Nothing  we  thought  in  this 
world  could  equal  it  but  Whltmoyer's  musical  clock,  just  op- 
posite, though  perhaps  the  "ginger  cakes"  might.  To  this 
estimable  lady  is  due  the  houour  of  the  maternity  of  instru- 
mental music  in  Munry ,  and  we  are  told  that  her  touch  is  yet 
■jf,  delicate  and  as  graceful  as  a  maidens. 

Muucy  had  then  as  now  its  votaries  to  the  Poetic  Muse. 
On  Petrikin's  corutr,  where  now  stands  the  store  of  Meters. 
Clapp  and  Smith,  was  a  small  building  occupied  as  a  milli- 
nery shop,  Every  thing  of  this  kind  was  theu  called  shop, 
for  instance  a  Doctor  shop,  a  Butcher  shop,  &c.  Miss  Jaue 
Calvin  was  a  lady  of  no  ordinary  attractions  herself,  and  as- 
sisting her  were  several  .Misses  in  every  respect  her  equals. 
They  had  of  course  in. my  admin  rs-:imong  them  a  scion  of 
Yankee  land  -.  whose  calls  proving  unacceptable,  was  treated 
as  an  indication  of  it,  to  a  bowl  of  mush  and  milk.  We  be- 
lieve he  was  in  tla  employ  uf  the  late  Mr.  H.  Noble,  also  from 
the  JOust,  a  young  man,  and  who  was  laying  the  foundation 
of  a  handsome  fortune  in  what  s.ttucd  to  the  people  of  the 
town  a  novel,  ami  perhaps  abortive  enterprise — the  broom 
corn  business.  The  "Muncy  Telegraph"  a  few  days  after  th« 
inush  anil  milk  incident  thus  hi  part  narrate*  it — 

A  broom-corn  twister  made  a  push, 
Aud  got  his  pay  in  milk  and  mu«h  ; 
A  friend  1  am  to  caking  brooms, 
Hat  make  them,  Sir. in  proper  room'. 

Not  least  among  the  exoitemeots  of  these  lime?  were  Train- 
ings or  "big"  aud  "little  musters."  IV  e  r<  member  well  bo* 
vre  aii  i:eied  Tutu  Llojd,  (the.,  a  boy]  his  superior  accom- 
plishment of  playing  Use  flfrj  nimiiil  into  town  at  the  head 
of  that  tmigniircent  military  pag.  .o.t  as  it  lira  I  mini  "Shettle 
51:11 "  from  Esq.  Wood's  fields,  where  of  ordering  arms 

"It  made  a  short  essay, 
Theu  bastemd  'o  be  drunk 
The  buaim-ss  of  the  day." 

The  ropntation  o:" the  Academy  in  time  begun  to  wane,  ami 
a  select  school  for  the  1'atricians — tin  nice  young  men  of  the 
Uwn— where  the  Latin  and  Stack  classics,  and  the  higher 
mathcuialiee  were  taught, — v.  as  opened  by  Q.  P.  Boal,  Esq. 
At  the  same  time  a  school  under  the  management  of  Mr. 
George  Heights!. .an  was  in  progress.  An  unaccountable  ri- 
valry -prang  up  between  the  schools,  aud  the  patricians  dls- 
pbiycd  thier  Mperk*  learning  and  refinement  in  epithetical 
efjfaebma  like  the  following: 

"nighUrjar.'o  hogs  are  io  the  pen, 

And  a  nit  get  oat  but  r>ow  and  tliea. 

And  when  they  get  out, 

They  root  a^xnit 

Georg?  Boal's  younj  Ger.tletnan." 

Tfiiipxm