Within a Jersey circle; tales of the past, grave and gay, as picked up from old Jerseyites

GEORGE QUARRIE.

WITHIN A
JERSEY CIRCLE

TALES OF THE PAST

GRAVE AND GAY, AS PICKED
UP FROM OLD JERSEYITES

By
GEORGE QUARRIE

Illustrated by
GEORGE QUARRIE

Somerville, N. J.
Unionist-Gazette Association
publishers

^.^^■

.^

Copyright, 1910,

by

GEORGE QUARRIE.

''-X-

These Sketches

Are respectfully dedicated

to his friend

JAMES P. LOGAN, Esq.

By

G. Q.

CONTENTS.

Page.

The Hermit of Caven Point 9

Old Coaching Days 18

Romance of an Old Dutch Estate 32

A Tragedy of Long Ago 37

Dr. Vanderveer's Romance 52

Our Grandfathers' Pure Politics 60

Random Tales of Horace Greeley 75

A Legend of Pluckemin 82

A Night of Terror 89

When Talmage was Young 99

"Prince" George of Somerset 106

"Prince" George's Sons 112

Tales of the Past 118

A Romance of Old Bergen 127

A Shattered Romance 145

Calvin Corle 1 59

Colonel Sanderson's Mail Coaches 169

Bogus Parson Murdered his Wife 177

Dr. John Rockhill 183

The "Mayor of Pluckemin" 194

?

8 CONTENTS

Page.

Judge Aaron Robertson, of Warren 2ii

John Davenport 217

Old Days and Ways in Patriotic Pluckemin 228

Dominie Frelinghuysen 234

Tales of the Past 242

Love in the Mountains 252

In the "Red Coats' " Power 260

A Haunted Meadow 267

The Castner Family Massacre 274

Em Osborn's Christmas 289

Indian Legends 297

"Do You Want to be Shaved?" 301

"Devil John" 312

The Long Pastorate of North Branch 327

Within a Jersey Circle.

THE HERMIT OF CAVEN POINT

'old John's" early life among the Indians, his

ESCAPE, his wanderings AND HIS FADS.

For a good many years up to 1882 a native Jerseylte
who never knew himself to be possessed of any other
name than ''John" spent the last of his somewhat amphib-
ious life in an old catboat moored at Caven Point, on the
Jersey shore of New York Bay. There he lived the life
of a hermit.

"Old John," as he was latterly known, was an interest-
ing character and, as to his origin, a mystery even to him-
self. He was, however, quite communicative with the
very few who gained his confidence. To them he seemed
to enjoy telling all he knew about himself and of his life
and wanderings, for in his prime he went to sea and vis-
ited many countries, from which he brought home many
curios as mementoes. These he kept labeled and arranged
in his catboat home, and to his favorite visitors he never
tired of showing them.

His whole appearance and whatever he did suggested
rotundity. His head and face were covered with fine, soft,
white hair, except his round, snubby nose and a small,
bald patch on his forehead. His eyes looked like two little
circular bits of glass on this haze of white locks. No

9
9

lo WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

mouth was visible until he laughed or gave vent to some
other emotion. Then a perfectly round hole opened in
his matted beard beneath a door-knob-like nose. He w^as
exceedingly round-shouldered. Indeed, his body, arms
and legs included, w^as not unlike a barrel on end. When
he w^alked he seemed really to roll along, and even when
sitting, his body generally oscillated from side to side like
a sphere coming to rest by gravitation.

Most of us have seen or heard of collectors of old
coins, old clocks, rare books, pictures, furniture, etc. For
these and many other articles that usually take people's
fancy, "old John" had no care. His passion was foot-
gear. Wherever the four winds of heaven had wafted
him as a sailor, John no sooner made port and got shore
leave than he began diligently threading his way through
the queer streets and bazars, not for grogshops, as most
sailors are apt to do, but to find what kind of shoes the
natives wore. As soon as he had possessed himself of a few
representative pairs, he would hurry back to his ship and
put his treasures under lock and key. From the coasts of
Labrador to Capes Horn and Good Hope, from China
to Peru, "John" had worked his way before the mast,
not so much, he used to say, for the money that was In it,
as to see the world and to measure the wisdom of man-
kind by the manner in which they walked upon the earth.
For "John" was a philosopher and maintained that the
folly or wisdom of men was commensurate with the thick-
ness or thinness of the soles of their shoes.

True wisdom, he maintained, placed nothing whatever
between the natural footsole and the ground. Every de-
gree of departure from that, he argued, was a measure

THE HERMIT OF CAVEN POINT ii

of folly. He would not explain why or wherefore. That
was his dictum, and that was the end of it.

Besides shoes of all nations, "old John" had a large
collection of beautiful sea shells. It might be imagined
that there could not be room for anything more than
necessary domestic utensils in a catboat, but that all de-
pends on the housekeeper. This one found room not only
for shoes and shells, but for quaint books, and much of
his time was spent in reading them. His was a most cu-
rious little museum, w^hich many people used to walk
away out to the point to see, and to hear, if possible, his
interesting tales of his life.

"Old John's" life, as far as he knew it, began among
the Indians. Though he must have been a mere babe
at the time, he always had a kind of sub-conscious feeling,
something like a horrible nightmare, of seeing his parents,
sisters and brothers massacred, their home burned and
himself, possibly three or four years old, carried away by
the bloody-handed red men. This, he felt sure, occurred
near the Delaware River and the Hakehahake Creek, in
Alexander Township, for those names, to his dying day,
mysteriously affected him whenever he heard them men-
tioned.

Whatever tribe had been his captors, they in turn moved
westward, for when he first realized that he was not an
Indian, but of white parents, like the people he saw mur-
dered on many occasions, he felt sure that he and his red
friends were out West and so far as he could judge in
Wisconsin. It was there when about the age, as near as he
could guess, of eighteen, that he made up his mind to
escape. He had been taught the use of the bow and ar-

12 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

row, as well as that of firearms, and, much against his
wishes, he sometimes had to participate in raids and rob-
beries and, passively, at least, in the killing of white peo-
ple.

His determination to escape was at this time brought
to a head by his being chosen by his Indian "father," who
was the father of an Indian girl, and chief of the tribe,
to be the latter's daughter's husband. The young woman,
Unahaha by name, was of much larger stature than the
common run of Indian women and had as much courage
and dexterity in a fight as any man of the tribe. She was
a daring horseback rider. She took a prominent part in
tribal fights and in plundering and, where she thought
it necessary, in slaying white settlers. Besides being tall
and having the graceful carriage and strength of an ath-
lete, she had smaller and much more regular features than
the usual Indian type. In fact, to any one but a man
prejudiced against the race and bent on escape from them
as John was, Unahaha could not have helped being looked
upon as physically, a splendid, dashing and pretty girl,
though she was a savage.

This was the fair Amazon, who had signified to the
sachems her wish that Wamhammo (that was "John")
should be given her in marriage. And as in that tribe
the men usually took such choice of a woman as a great
compliment, and in far less tempting cases, never dreamt
of anything but cheerful acquiescence, "John" feeling en-
tirely different, was driven to desperation and concluded
that now or never he must escape. For a long time he
had been secreting powder and bullets in a safe hiding
place. He knew of a white settlement a couple of days

THE HERMIT OF CAVEN POINT 13

distant and he determined, at whatever risk, to make the
attempt to reach it. But one thing or another had put
him off night after night until the very eve of his dreaded
marriage. He decided that on that night he vs^ould either
get away or die in the attempt; for he knew that failure
would mean death to him.

His experiences of that night, "John" used to say,
haunted him forever after, wheresoever he traveled. He
was never over keen to tell about it, for even when he
approached his ninetieth year, more than threescore and
ten years after the event, he trembled when he spoke of it.

As he lay in the wigwam that eventful night with sev-
eral braves, all stretched as usual on their wolf and bear
skins on the earth floor, he waited many weary hours be-
fore he felt sure that his savage companions were all asleep.
He could hear his own heart beating so plainly that he
began to fear it kept the others awake. At last when
every one was evidently in deep slumber he knew by the
slant of the moon's rays through a hole in the roof of the
hut that it was about midnight and time for his daring
attempt.

Rising as noiselessly as a cat he slipped his long knife
into his belt. Then stepping over one of the sleepers he
was reaching for his gun, when the man turned over with
an ejaculation and, to John's unspeakable terror, caught
him by the leg. The next few seconds were like those aw-
ful moments, which are supposed to constitute a whole
lifetime of condensed agony — the few seconds, for instance,
while the victim's neck lies on the block waiting for the
executioner's ax to descend and sever it. "John's" first
thought being that he was discovered, he was on the point

14 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

of making a hopeless dash for liberty, but feeling the In-
dian's grip loosen, he stood breathless and still as a statue
and was rewarded by presently finding the hand drop
nerveless to the floor. The brave had merely been dream-
ing.

A few minutes later the young fellow was cautiously
creeping past the night sentry. Soon he was swiftly
threading his way among the brush and big forest trees
to the old stump near the brook where he had hidden
his little store of ammunition. Bounding down the slope
to the brook and taking the few feet of water at a leap
he landed on the opposite bank within two feet of a wom-
an. She was kneeling by the stream and the moment
his feet touched the ground, she threw her bare arms
around his legs and held him as if in a vise. There was
no mistaking that grip. It was Unahaha's.

"Whither away so fast, my friend?" she asked, releas-
ing one hand with which she seized the muzzle end of
"John's" gun. He was in the act of pulling the trigger
while the gun pointed directly at her body, but desisted
only because he knew the report would raise the whole
tribe.

"Wamhammo!" the maiden said, rising and transfer-
ring her grip to his arm; "I loved you and you were
about to become my husband ; but — ," she hesitated, hold-
ing him off and eyeing him with scorn, "you are caught
in the act of running away on the very eve of our mar-
riage !

"You are therefore a base traitor to me, and you shall
answer for it!"

With that she wrenched the gun from "John" with one

THE HERMIT OF CAVEN POINT 15

hand, as if he were a child, still keeping jBrm hold of his
arm with her other hand. She then stepped into the wa-
ter intending to lead "John" back to the camp a prisoner.
But dragging back with all his strength to cover his
movement, "John," unknown to her, whipped his long
knife from his belt and plunged it through her half-naked
body. With a peculiarly piercing cry, Unahaha fell dead
in the brook.

"John," in deadly fear that his victim's scream would
raise the braves to arms and pursuit, dashed for his life
into the thick of the forest.

"Yes; I did that," John used to say, "and I ran many
a mile before I dared take breath or look back. In time
I reached the white people. If I hadn't killed her I
would have met a death too horrible for a white man's
ears to hear of.

"But I'll tell you what it is, mates," he would say
very earnestly, "I've felt only a very mean kind of a man
ever since. After all, she was a woman ! aye, and a beau-
tiful one, too. And let me tell you God's solemn truth:
often and often I have heard that awful death cry since.
Out on the wild ocean many a time, when the gale tore
through the rigging with a hoarse shout like the voices of
warring giants; when waves as big as mountains leaped
upon us with a mighty roar, carrying timbers and masts
away like matches; in the midst of it all and high above
it all, again and again, I've heard that dying shriek of
Unahaha's! Aye, aye, it's true; and lots of times even
here in this little cockleshell, high and dry on land, I've
heard the same thing."

"Old John's" eyes grew into bigger circles than ever

i6 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

when he discussed this subject, and the little round tunnel-
like opening in his beard would develop amazingly as he
solemnly adjured:

"Oh! Whatever happens to you, mates, never kill a
woman— red, white, black, yellow or whatever color she
may be! God made her to be a mother of men! Never
kill what was made for a tender mother. I never knew
a father, mother, sister, brother or any kin in this world.
I believe that Unahaha, savage though she was, truly loved
me— the only love ever given me on earth— and I killed
her! Ah, yes, mates, and when I die I know that I must
answer for it. Never kill a woman !"

What made ''John" feel saddest of all, it seemed, was
that with all her martial prowess and sometimes barbar-
ous cruelty, Unahaha, according to the lights vouchsafed to
her, was deeply religious. Her visit to the stream that
night, the eve of her nuptials— where death instead of
Wamhammo became her bridegroom — was made for the
observance of certain rites and ablutions which, according
to the religious gospel of her tribe, were a necessary pre-
liminary to the sacred union of wedlock.

When "John" reached the white settlement, which took
him two nights and days, he was almost dead with hun-
ger and weariness. He told his story and was received
with kindness and afterward given work at good wages.
Meeting with a lively Irishman who had been a sailor,
he felt by his stories irresistibly drawn to the great deep!
His first savings enabled him to reach Chicago, where on
the Great Lakes he took to sailoring. But that was not
enough ; he soon saved sufficient to pay his way to New

THE HERMIT OF CAVEN POINT 17

York. Then he shipped as a seaman to China; and,
changing ships, visited ports all over the world.

When he had had enough of the roving sailor's life he had
bought the catboat and fished along the Jersey coast for
many years. Then when his boat — like himself — began
to grow old and rickety, he one day ran his craft up on a
spring tide, high and dry at Caven Point, struck sail and
lowered his booms for the last time. There he propped
her up on an even keel by shoveling sand and gravel un-
der her sides; then sinking his sheet anchor deep in clay,
at the full length of his cable to the landward, he ended
his sailing of the seas.

"My next trip will be the one by dead reckoning, over
the dark river," he used to say; "and if I can only pass
that 'rock' I was telling you of, I think I'll make port
all right. Any way, it won't be long now before I set
my jib in that direction."

One day in the fall of the year, a tremendous equi-
noctial storm drove a great volume of water up the bay
and lashed it high up on the land at Caven Point. As
night came on "old John's" houseboat was seen to be
rocking, far out in the thundering breakers beyond any
human reach. There was no sign of her master aboard.
In the morning the old boat had dragged her stern anchor
and stood with her head proudly facing seaward, ready
to brave the worst the storm could do. But her old mas-
ter lay quietly below. He was found dead in his bunk.

OLD COACHING DAYS.

ON THE OLD YORK ROAD, AND PETTINGER S RIDE.

• Another tale of bygone days, which old "Uncle" Wal-
dron used to relate and which probably not two men now
living ever heard directly from him, referred to old times
at Reaville. He used to delight in telling about his fore-
fathers's recollections of old coaching days, when the
"Swift Sure Mail" coaches used to pass through that an-
cient village, when it was known as Greenville. At the
time the line was started it was announced that "a saving
of two days was made" by it, in the journey from New
York to Philadelphia. They traveled along the Old York
road, putting up all night at Centreville, on the trip each
way, that village being considered about halfway be-
tween the two great cities.

One story which Waldron used to refer to as "Pet-
tinger's Ride," involved some lively doings, and went to
show that such rural places as Ringoes, Reaville, Centre-
ville, etc., were far more subject to the mercurial influ-
ences of the large cities in those times than they are to-
day. For undoubtedly the most seductive of all inter-
mediaries between town and country that ever existed was
that half-sporting kind of Beau Nash of the road, the
gay and spectacular old stage coach.

To-day, when one stands at the principal crossing in
any of these places, the village equivalent of the famous
"Four Corners" of Newark, the dead stillness is actually
painful. Such absolute quiet reigns that it brings to one's

i8

OLD COACHING DAYS €9

mind one of the lines which the old sexton was supposed
to sing in his populous city of the dead:

"Many are with me, but still I'm alone."

And when one walks away and there happens to be an
occasional stone flag or some boards for a sidewalk, the
sound of his footfall seems hollow and almost sepulchral.
The only relief from the utter silence in the country vil-
lages is the "clink" of the horseshoe quoits of the idlers
in front of the village grocery. This seems to be the only
diversion, and it is perennial and perpetual as a time-
killer. For even in the deepest snows of winter the men
who have more time than they know how to dispose of
have mats spread on the floor and continue this endless
game inside the hospitable grocery store.

Now it happened that at the time Reaville distinguished
itself by a departure from the commonplace and gave oc-
casion for "Pettinger's Ride," it was at least three days
a week stirred to its depths by the rousing arrival and de-
parture of two flashing, swaggering, real stagecoaches of
ye olden time, each whirled along by sometimes six and
never less than four horses. Fancy the thrilling commo-
tion in the village breast at the merry blast of the coach
guard's horn, which he winded musically at intervals from
some half-mile distant, as they approached the village. The
jolly tavernkeeper hustled his stablemen, preparing meal
and water drinks for the horses, lounging hangers-on from
the bar-room were joined by dozens of the village urchins
around the hitching posts, and old, bent men hobbled up
from their cottage doors to hear and see what was going

29 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

on. Women holding children in their arms in their front
yards, shrilly called other children of theirs from the
street; others hurried to the inn with packets or parcels,
or waited in the crowd for letters or packages, or for some
friend expected from a distance. There was a general
bustle and running to and fro across the street, when,
with steaming horses, gay trappings and brass mountings
that sparkled and jingled, the great gilded coach, green
and red, picked out with gold, swung round the corner
under the guidance of the gorgeously appareled coachman
in buckskin breeches top boots, red vest and silk hat, with
a gold band, the brim turned up at the sides.

"Whoa! whoa! will ye," shouted, upon one occasion,
this princely looking personage, as he jammed down the
brake hard with his right foot, and jerked his whip per-
pendicularly, presenting arms as it were, to the landlord's
respectful salute.

"MorninM Mornin'! devlish powdery roads down this
way! Got somethin' that'll wash a peck o' dust out o'
man's throat? You have, eh? Then I'm yours right
heartily. Tom! hey, Tom, the piper's son; say, Tom
(the guard), tell the good postmistress to look lively.
We're twenty minutes late already."

Thus spoke the lord of the whip. The prosperous tav-
ern into which he followed the landlord stands in the
same place still. It has been largely renovated, of course,
as a frame building is bound to be that stands well into
its second century ; but the rooms are mainly as they were
in the old time. The situation of the old bar is distinctly
traceable. Most of the beams, door-jams and several of
the window frames appear to be old enough to have been

OLD COACHING DAYS 21

contemporaries of the old coaches. In fact, there are two
windows at the end of the present bar with very thin
sashes and many small panes, which are said to have be-
longed to the first Presbyterian church ever erected in the
district. It was built on the hill some distance out toward
Ringoes at an early date, and has long since been pulled
down. Its burial ground is still used in connection with
the new church in the village. This old church on the
hill is where Whitefield and Davenport preached in 1739
to two or three thousand people in the open. The village
blacksmith who told me about these windows also pointed
out that several letters of the old Greenville tavern sign
are still decipherable, as is some of the ornamental scroll
work across the front of the building. Mr. Schneider is
the present landlord.

Tom, on the occasion referred to, having disinterred
the leather bag from a superincumbent mass of carpetbags,
boxes and banboxes in the coach boot, hurried across the
street to a one-story cottage, in the window of which were
pinned several letters not yet called for by their owners.
Here he lost no time, but unlocking the brass padlock of
the mail bag and taking it by the bottom, he emptied the
entire contents, according to custom, on the centre of the
kitchen floor. Being urged to haste as directed, the spec-
tacled and becapped dame, Mrs. Stoothoff, dropped to her
knees and commenced picking out any letters or small
packages addressed to Greenville, putting the others, not
so addressed, back into Tom's bag. Two village girls
in their teens, got down also and helped the postmistress.
They were smart helpers; for Greenville had attended
well to the education of its children, through good pri-

22 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

vate schools, for more than fifty years, even at this early
date. In perhaps fifty years more, its first public school,
built of logs, was opened.

"Ah! Miss Nancy, there is one for you. Here it is,"
said the postmistress, handing a letter to a very pretty
girl of not more than seventeen, v^ho was seated at one
side of the room, who anxiously received the letter with
both hands.

"Oh, thank you, so much, Mrs. Stoothoof!" she said,
and retired to a corner near the window. There she ner-
vously broke open the wafer seal and read the letter, her
fair cheeks flushing a good deal as she did so.

"Well, well! if here isn't another for you. Miss Nan-
cy!" exclaimed the old lady. The young woman opened
this also, which seemed to add to her nervous confusion.
Presently she folded up several pieces of paper she had
received, rolled them up, hurriedly and left the house.

Shortly after this, Tom, locking up the mail bag, and
hastening across the street, had hardly time to gulp down
his favorite nip at the bar, before the great autocrat of the
whip, with a graceful wave and crack of its long lash,
almost as loud as a pistol shot, had his four handsome
bays prancing and pawing the ground like wild horses,
leaving Tom just time to cry "All aboard !" and to
mount his perch on the boot. At his shout of "Right!"
which the horses understood as well as their driver did,
the brake went off the wheels with a heavy jolt, and away
rolled that magnificent institution of the past, the full
fledged mail coach, with its bugle winding heroically amid
the running cheers of every boy in the village.

While Mrs. Stoothoff followed Tom to her door, the

OLD COACHING DAYS 23

eyes of the two girls fell upon a piece of paper on the
floor, where Nancy Pettinger, for that was the young
lady's name, had been reading her letters. Both rushed to
pick it up, and they almost gasped for breath, as they read,
amid terms of passionate endearment, that Nancy was
to come to Philadelphia by the following day's coach and
that her "very own devoted Harry" would be there wait-
ing, "dying," he said, to meet her.

"Oh, Margie!"

"Oh, Sarah Ann!" they cried to one another.

"It's to be an elopement!" declared Margie, horror-
stricken and clasping her hand to her side, lest her heart
might burst its bounds.

"All planned and ready, as sure as you live!" rejoined
Sarah Ann; "well, if ever I did in my life see better than
this, even in a story book!"

Peregrin Pettinger and Mrs. Oril Pettinger, Nancy's
father and mother, were well-to-do people. They had been
in business at Ringoes, then the chief trade centre -in the
county, and had prospered. Mrs. Pettinger was a sister
of one of the Landis's wives. The Landis brothers at-
tained wide fame and fortune as saddle makers in Rin-
goes. That business, once by far the greatest saddle man-
ufactory in the State, is still continued by William B.
Dungan, who learned the trade with Jesse Landis, the last
of the name in the business. The senior, Henry Lan-
dis, built and lived in what was then considered a fine
stone mansion, on the Old York road at Ringoes, and
which still stands in wonderfully good repair, with a more
recent frame extension, the latter having been added more
than fifty years ago. The stone part was the house which

24 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

was occupied by General Lafayette for over a week. He
was sick here and was attended by Dr. Gershom Craven,
during which time General Washington came to the house
and spent some hours with the patient. This famous house
was purchased last spring by C. W. Johnson, who now
lives there.

Those interested in historic relics will learn perhaps
with some regret, that Mr. Johnson is on the point of
making extensive alterations in the house. He is going
to put a new modern roof on it; the windows are to be
enlarged and the quaint dormer windows, one of which
lighted the sickroom of Lafayette, are to be done away
with altogether. In fact, the whole building is to be
modernized, as Mr. Johnson says, to make it a comfort-
able, up-to-date home. In answer to my remark that he
would utterly ruin the fine old relic, he replied that, "If
any one wants to preserve it in its present shape, that may
be done by paying me a fair price for it. But so far
as I am concerned, I don't take much interest in such
matters; and if any people have such ideas they'll need to
look sharp before it's too late."

Nancy Pettinger was quite a frequent and favorite vis-
itor to her aunt at this house. When her father hap-
pened to be busy with his horses, the coach made a con-
venient means of travel backward and forward to Green-
ville. It was therefore nothing unusual when Nancy some
time after leaving the postoffice that day, told her mother
of a plan of hers to run over by next day's coach to see
her aunt and do some little shopping. It was thought so
little about that Mrs. Pettinger did not even remember
to mention it to the girl's father. Nancy, as an only child.

OLD COACHING DAYS 25

had always had her wish and way in everything; so, as a
matter of course, no opposition was offered to her proposed
visit. Her great fancy for Ringoes of late had given rise
to no suspicion as to its real cause, which was a wild in-
fatuation that completely absorbed her, for a gay young
blade, Harry Thorndyke, who belonged to a rich and
fashionable family in Philadelphia.

Every summer the Thorndykes, with many other ex-
clusive society people of the Quaker City, made those fa-
mous pilgrimages to the then celebrated springs in the
Schooley Mountains. They came in their state coaches,
the doors of which mostly bore emblazoned crests, the
ponderous vehicles being drawn by four, six and some
times eight richly caparisoned horses. They made a three
days' journey of it; the first day some made New Hope,
some Lambertville, and some got as far as Ringoes, where
they would put up for the night. Next day they pushed
on to Pluckemin, arriving at the Schooleys on the even-
ing of the third day. Whatever may be the present-day
ideas on the subject of the whereabouts and height of the
tip-top of the American social ladder, there was no pos-
sible doubt about it then. It oscillated with the regular-
ity of a pendulum between Philadelphia and the ultra-
fashionable spa of the Schooley Mountains.

It was on the occasion of one of these stops over night
at Ringoes of the Thorndykes that the adventurous Harry
had become acquainted with Nancy Pettinger, many se-
cret meetings subsequently taking place at that village,
which were brought about, it is to be feared, by inex-
cusable deception of their parents. Any one who was at
all well acquainted with Harry Thorndyke's life as a

26 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

mere idler and rather dissolute young man-about-town in
Philadelphia, could easily imagine the great danger the
pretty and perfectly innocent Nancy incurred, in being
led to meet the young man as he proposed, and which
invitation the poor girl gleefully accepted, anticipating
ra end of romance ending in her acceptance into a high
and exceedingly rich family as Harry's wife. That was
the way the unscrupulous young man put it; but, alas!
as the story goes, he had no such sequel in his real
thoughts. Yet he was so handsome and splendid in every
way in Nancy's eyes, that when he made love to her with
all the artfully entrancing graces of a prince in fairy tale,
she had no sense left but a delicious, ethereal bliss and,
as it were, wings, ready to fly with him anywhere.

It was in such a state of mind that Nancy boarded the
gilded coach the following morning, as her lover re-
quested, bound, as she informed her mother, for Ringoes,
but in a delirium of delightful anticipation of extending
her ride till she should meet her fond and peerless Harry
in Philadelphia. As the great vehicle rolled out of the
village with sound of trumpet, prancing steeds and with
the acclamations of all young Greenville in her ears,
Nancy felt herself another Cinderella on a triumphant
progress to her prince's enchanted castle.

Nancy's vanity had been pleased, too, by a knot of
girl acquaitances, including Margie and Sarah Ann, afore-
mentioned, who appeared to notice her departure particu-
larly.

"Ah! If they only knew where I'm going then they
would stare Indeed and turn green with jealousy," she
thought to herself. But In this she deceived herself, for

OLD COACHING DAYS 27

when she was entering the coach Mary Lott, her particu-
lar friend, in answer to another girl, said:

"She's going to Ringoes to her Aunt Landis's for a
week," waving good-by to Nancy as she spoke, while the
coach moved away.

"I know better," said Sarah Ann, excitedly; "she's not
going to any such place. She's going to meet Harry
Thorndyke in Philadelphia and get married. That's where
she's going. I know it, because she dropped this yester-
day, when she left the postoffice. Look! Read it for
yourself," and she held up the part of a letter for Mary
Lott to read.

"Oh! my good gracious, Sarah Ann!" exclaimed Miss
Lott, "why on earth didn't you tell it before. What will
her mother say?" and without another word Mary flew
as if on wings to the Pettinger house, with the telltale
paper crumpled in her hand. The first result was that the
poor mother, who was not strong and happened to be at
home alone, fainted dead away on reading the letter. This
delayed Miss Lott perhaps half an hour, before she could
leave the stricken mother to run and call Mr. Pettinger,
who was some distance away in one of his fields. When
the panting girl put the paper in his hand, his face grew
ashy pale and his powerful fingers crushed the writing as
if his grip were at the throat of the writer.

"God forbid! She surely didn't go?" he exclaimed.
"Did Nancy go by that coach, Mary?"

"She did! She did! O Mr. Pettinger, I didn't know
a thing about it till she was gone, or I would have come
at once and told you! Sarah Ann Robbins found that

28 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

paper in the postoffice yesterday, where Nancy drop-
ped It."

By the time she had said this, Mr. Pettinger had un-
hitched his horses. Leaping on the back of one and beg-
ging Mary to run to the house and stay with his wife
while he followed the coach, he was gone as hard as the
plow horses could go to the stable. Flinging a bridle
over the head of his swiftest roadster, a big slashing mare
of good sixteen hands — he was noted for his fast horses —
and not stopping to saddle the animal, he seized his stout
blacksnake whip, jumped on the spirited beast's bare
back and in less than five minutes after the girl told him,
just one hour behind the coach, he shot from his front
gate in pursuit. He disappeared amid swirling clouds of
dust down toward Ringoes like a whirlwind. Thus com-
menced what old "Uncle" Waldron often spoke of as
"Pettinger's Ride," in which such a brakeneck speed
was maintained, it is said, as was never before equaled In
this part of Jersey. An old Reavllle resident said the other
day, on my mentioning the story, that he had heard his
father tell about it, but that the chase, as he had heard
tell, was supposed to have been made In an old-fashioned
gig. However that may have been, I can only give the
tale as given to me.

As the rider with unslackened pace swept past the scat-
tered houses near Ringoes some twelve minutes later, peo-
ple who happened to be at their front gates and knew
Mr. Pettinger, wondering what was wrong, would hail
him:

"What's the mat — ?" but by the time the sentence was
finished the horseman would be far out of reach of their

OLD COACHING DAYS 29

voices. Presently he reined up his steed at Aunt Landis's
stone house at Ringoes.

''Hello! hello within, auntie! Is Nancy here?" he
shouted. The lady rushed out.

**No, no Peregrin! Nancy is not here!" she gasped.
"My God!" he muttered; and leaving the woman al-
most petrified with alarm he sent his mettled mare for-
ward at full gallop again without a further word. In an
agony of wonder and dread, his sister-in-law watched his
rapidly disappearing figure, his black beard, long hair, and
his linen jumper floating and fluttering behind in the gale
made by his tremendous speed.

All had gone well and propitiously with the coach as
far as Ringoes, where they had taken up an extra pas-
senger for Philadelphia, none other was it than the light
of Nancy's eyes, the gay Harry Thorndyke himself, who
had come thus far to meet her. There was just room for
him inside, where he managed to get seated next to Nancy.
I It was not exactly a lover's paradise, for they had to sit
in demure silence facing severe-looking elderly people, or
only indulge in commonplace conversation ; which is well
j known to be an insupportable trial to youthful people who
think they are in love. But Nancy was radiantly happy;
for she was by her Harry's side, and in spite of what
j he called the "frowning battery of ancient muzzles," un-
der which they sat, he contrived occasional, accidental con-
. tacts of his and Nancy's hands, with cleverly adminis-
I tered pressures of her dainty figures, which made every-
thing poetry and delight to her.

Nevertheless Harry felt nervous and apprehensive. Un-
founded fears and misgivings are said to haunt people

30 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

engaged in evil proceedings. Just such qualms tortured
Harry; but when about half-way between Mount Airy
and Lambertville was reached, a sudden lunge of the
coach, with many rapid "Whoas!" some shouting and then
a full stop, convinced him that there were grounds for his
worst fears. He was the first passenger out to investi-
gate. There he found the outside horse of the hind team
toppled over in a fit of blind staggers. The animal was
struggling to regain its feet, but could only raise its fore
end; and there it sat on its hind legs like a great dog,
staring pathetically in the face of the portly driver, who
returned the stare in blank astonishment. After half an
hour or more spent in vain efforts to raise the horse, the
coachman decided to loose out the sick beast and proceed
with the other three.

It was at this juncture that some one descried a horse
and rider, followed by clouds of dust, coming along the
straight stretch of road behind them at a terrific pace.
Tom, the guard, ordered "All aboard" to get his passen-
gers out of danger. Before following the others in Harry
got Nancy to look back and see whether she knew the ap-
proaching man and horse. Putting her head out of the
coach window:

''O Harry. Harry! I believe it's my father!" she
exclaimed. "Oh, what shall we do? What shall we do ?"
cried she, falling back in her seat, weeping and covering
her face with her hands. The next moment Tom was
holding the panting and foam-covered horse, and Mr. Pet-
tinger, springing at the coach, tore open the door.

"Ah! you are here, my poor child ! Thank God ! Thank
God!" he said, evidently from his heart. Then, clutching

OLD COACHING DAYS 31

his snakewhfp, with a muttered curse, he dashed for the
road fence of high osage orange, which Harry Thorndyke
was at that moment making agonizing efforts to creep
through. That youth soon found the nether half of his
body, including his shapely, silk-stockinged legs, merciless-
ly belabored with the rawhide whip, the enraged father
hissing between his teeth:

"You'd steal my daughter, would you?" with every
blow.

The terrified culprit's yells of pain, which were said to
resemble the bellowing of a calf, everybody in the coach
except Nancy laughed at heartily. After receiving some
twenty or thirty strokes, each one of which must have raised
a huge welt like a rope on his skin, the young fellow at
last wriggled through the awful thorn-teeth of the osage
fence, and swiftly took to his heels across a field in full
view of the coach. And that was the end of "Pettinger's
ride," as well as of Nancy Pettinger's dream.

ROMANCE OF AN OLD DUTCH ESTATE.

THE TEN EYCK MANSION AT NORTH BRANCH A FINE
SPECIMEN OF THE COLONIAL PERIOD.

In pre-Revolutionary days Lord Neill Campbell, a son
of the Duke of Argyle, owned a great tract of land along
the North Branch River, including that upon which now
stands North Branch village. Campbell sold a great part
of his holding to Dr. John Johnson, and Dr. Johnson con-
veyed 500 acres of his purchase to Matthias Ten Eyck,
of Esopus, N. Y. Ten Eyck in turn conveyed the 500
acres to his son, Jacob, who entered into possession of the
estate near the end of the seventeenth century.

About the first thing Jacob did was to build himself
a good substantial stone house to live in. And this dwell-
ing, perhaps the best specimen of the Colonial period in
existence, stands in excellent order to this day and is an
interesting and worthy memento of one of the fine old
pioneer Dutch families who did so much for New Jersey
by carving out civilization from the primeval forest.

This is the estate which, several generations later, John
S. Ten Eyck in his litigious monomania mortgaged and
frittered away among courts and lawyers to the last pen-
ny and then parted with it to his brother, Tunis. One
cannot but marvel that any man in his senses, sitting at
his ease in so fair a place, could be led by an almost
childish chimera to throw away such a property and pau-
perize himself. But that is what John S. Ten Eyck did,
and yet he was always accounted a wise man.

32

AN OLD DUTCH ESTATE 33

This old Ten Eyck house, by far the most venerable
building in the vicinity, has many quaint reminders of the
past. It has two stories, with a very high attic and many
large windows, the sills of which, on account of the
thickness of the walls, are eighteen inches deep. In the
upper part of the massive front door are two large oval-
shaped panes of glass set in diagonally, which when lit up
at night look from the outside like the huge almond eyes of
an oriental giant. An old negro, sent there one night
with two dozen eggs from a neighboring farm, coming
suddenly upon the weird sight, dropped the eggs and ran
home yelling with fright:

*'Oh! oh!" he shouted, "a' seen de debbil; sho', sho',
a' did!"

There are four spacious rooms downstairs in the house,
and five, including the best room or parlor, on the sec-
ond floor. Around the parlor fireplace are forty-
eight blue and white tiles, evidently hand-made; for
although made in pairs, there are no two of them
exactly alike. Each tile has figures illustrative of some
Scriptural passage, with chapter and verse for reference.
A few of the latter still decipherable are as follows:
"Jona. I, 2, 15; Gen. 18, 2, 15; Luc. 5, 2, 3; Luc.
8, 2, 14; Luc. 8, 2, 44; Job. 15, 2, 25; Matt, i, 4, 2;
Luc. I, 9, 2, 4; Matt. 15, 2, 25 ; Matt. 25, 2, 37 ; Luc. 19,
2, 4; Mark 8, 3, 23; Gen. 14, 2, 6; Numb. 13, 2, 23;
Matt. 27, 25, 39; Exod. 3, 2, 4." The rest are illegible.

The mantelpieces, which are long, but not very high,
do not afford more than two inches deep of shelf room,
evidently not being intended as catch-alls. The front
stairs are very broad and stately, with fine, solid hard-

34 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

wood balusters. The back stairs are spiral, every step
being triangular. The garden is tastefully laid out and
bordered with long-lived boxwood. In it are two gi-
gantic, white mulberry trees; that is, they bear white
berries. These are said to be a rare species and coeval
with the house, or about two hundred years old.

In the lofty and spacious attic are many of the charac-
teristic relics left behind by old industrious Dutch families,
flax and wool spinning wheels, distaffs, etc. Among these
once upon a time were mementos of martial prowess in the
family. Captain Jacob Ten Eyck served his country
with distinguished valor in the Revolution. His sword
and pistols were preserved here with jealous pride, until
the inevitable scattering of such treasures that surely ac-
companies family decadence or disruption.

Tunis, the last Ten Eyck who owned the old home-
stead, had started out West on horseback and came home
a rich man — no one ever knew how rich — ^just in time
to save the grand old property from strangers, when his
brother John had squandered it all at law. Tunis took
the place in hand in worthy fashion and soon added many
other properties to it. In fact, whenever a farm within
range came into the market, there came Tunis with the
ready money jingling in his pocket and planked down the
necessary price, whatever it might be, to the confusion and
dismay of any or every other would-be purchaser. In
these acquired places he planted one or other of his poor
relations and set them up in the most generous manner,
living in the old homestead himself, a great landlord, but
a somewhat eccentric old bachelor withal, for he never
married. He must have been easy to get along with, too,

AN OLD DUTCH ESTATE 35

for he had many competent housekeepers, who never left
him until they got married. At these junctures he loaded
each of them with presents, almost enough, it is said, to
begin housekeeping with. But toward children he was
charged with being a regular cranky old gooseberry, fum-
ing and going on terribly, it is said, if they dared to pull
a flower or a single cherry on his grounds.

In a general way, however, he was an amiable man, as
appears verified by the affectionate cognomen of "Uncle"
Tunis, applied to him by all as he grew old and feeble.
As age crept upon him, all his wealth failed to avert an
inevitable fate which appeared to await all members of
the Ten Eyck family. A cerebral hemorrhage left him
blind. Then a burglar entered his house and robbed him
of $300. After that he was afraid to be in the house
without protection. A nephew, Marion Vanderveer, vol-
unteered to sleep in the house, and did so. He was a for-
tunate young man ; for so grateful was the old gentleman
for his kindness that he made a codicil to his will and left
his nephew the old house and about a hundred acres
of land. Tunis died and when he was buried it was the
departure of the last Ten Eyck from the old homestead
which had been so long associated with that name, and
Marion Vanderveer reigns there now, in their stead.

To the credit of the new owner be it stated, he seems
fully imbued with the laudable intention to preserve and
perpetuate as much as possible the picturesque features of
the old place's past. As an instant proof of this, lately
when the well required repairing, Mr. Vanderveer did
not have an up-to-date pump put in, but was at particular
pains to reproduce the good old well sweep — as nearly as

36 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

possible a duplicate of the worn-out one of old — and the
people praised it as a worthy deed.

When one of the farms belonging to John S. Ten
Eyck came into the market, about sixty years ago, it was
bought at auction by Cornelius Hall, the celebrated wit-
ness for Ten Eyck in the great river dam law suit. When
the hammer fell some one startled old Darkey Dick, who
had always lived on the place. ''There, Dick, now you're
done for!" the speaker said. ''The old place is sold now
and you've got no other home to go to."

At this old Dick set up a most dismal howl and cried
like a child.

"Here, hold on Dick; we must stop this noise," the
auctioneer said, with a wink at the purchaser of the farm.
"Step this way, Dick, my man," he said, and jumping on
his restrum again. "Now, gentlemen, how much am I
offered for Darkey Dick, an inseparable adjunct, part and
parcel of this farm?" he asked, looking smilingly at Mr.
Hall, with more winks.

"One dollar," bid Hall.

"Going, going at one dollar. Any advance? Going,
and sold to Mr. Cornelius Hall for one dollar," cried the
auctioneer, with a bang of his gavel. "Now, Dick, you're
all right again, ain't you?" said he, laughing. And Dick
danced around in pure delight. And he lived all his re-
maining days on the farm, doing such light, odd jobs as he
could, and was perfectly happy. This was probably the
last darky ever sold in New Jersey.

A TRAGEDY OF LONG AGO.

THE MURDER OF PAUL VON TREDER ON THE EVE OF HIS
MARRIAGE TO PHOEBE VANDERVEER.

Two doctors met In the road, near Pluckemin, one day
about sixty years ago. One of them was a tall, fine-look-
ing man, who was mounted on a splendid horse; the
other, a little, sickly-looking man, was seated in a two-
wheeled vehicle.

"Doctor," said the latter, *'It does one's eyes good to see
you. I wish I knew your secret of health."

"Doctor," the big man answered, "get out of that sulky
and seat yourself on your horse's back. Then you'll have
the whole thing — my secret and good health together."

The last speaker was Dr. Henry Vanderveer, a noted
physician of Pluckemin, who generally practiced what he
preached and lived to be almost a hundred years old. He
was a remarkable man in several ways. Besides having a
large and lucrative practise he owned an estate of about
one thousand acres. Half of this was kept under culti-
vation; the other half was fine timberland, of which the
doctor was very proud. All his work was done by negroes,
of which he owned some thirty or forty. His house with
its lordly entrance hall and Immensely high-posted rooms
is still much the same as it was when he and his sister
Phoebe lived In It, and when each used to pay the other
a formal weekly visit in full dress. This they did by
crossing the hall, upon either side of which each had sep-
arate living rooms. The rooms are twelve feet from floor

37

38 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

to ceiling. Half way along the hall is a fine arch, from
which a candelabrum once hung. The little pulleys, by
which the ponderous mass of cr}^stals was raised and low-
ered, are still there.

Bordered by trees, a quiet spot some distance from the
back door contains the buried bodies of the Vanderveer
slaves of generations. Elias Vanderveer, the doctor's
father, \^'as also buried somewhere nearer the house. The
exact location of his grave, is however, unknown ; but
his gravestone, broken in halves, lies sometimes here, some-
times there, and one half of it was in the house-cellar when
last seen.

Neither the doctor nor his sister ever married and
both, as they grew old, became eccentric. Miss Phoebe,
like her handsome and polished brother, was also tall and
refined, but in her later > ears she was extremely faddish
aiul peculiar. For many years, for instance during hot
weather, she kept men and women slaves continually fan-
m'ng her day and m'ght. She had a large walmit cradle
maile tor herself and slept in it. This had to be rocked
without ceasing all through the night while she slept. An
aged resident here saw the cradle sold at auction a number
of years after the brother and sister had died.

'I'here are two colored women still living who were
\\'uuler\eer slaves. Kfiie, one of them, now a sen^ant for
Dr. Heekman, of Hedminster, waited on Dr. Vanderveer
until she was twenty-five years old. She is now sixty-iive,
and although a bit slow at comprehension, is still a good
worker, acconling to Dr. Heeknian. Her sister, Li/zie, is
employed by the family of Dr. James Cornell, of Somer-
ville. These women say Miss Phoebe used to measure

A TRAGEDY OF LONG AGO 39

out the thread for the seamstress when she had one. She
would never shake hands with a caller nor handle money,
until her perfectly fitting lavender kid gloves were drawn
on and buttoned without a crease. Miss Phoebe did not
wash her own face. That was part of her maid's duty,
and it had to be done very methodically. First one eye
and then the other was washed and perfectly dried. Her
nose was dealt with as a separate operation. One ear
was similarly treated as a distinct study, and then the
other, and so on.

In the days when Henry and Phoebe Vanderveer lived
at home with their father, the young man, after deciding
on the healing art as his profession, studied medicine with
his uncle for some years and was subsequently given a
course at some of the German college hospitals. Mean-
time Phoebe had been kept at the Moravian Sisters' Sem-
inary in Pennsylvania. Henry went a second time to Ger-
many, this time taking Phoebe with him. He was liberally
supplied with money, so as to be able to fully reciprocate
social kindnesses. This they did in so regal a manner that
their stay proved an almost continuous round of brilliant
society fetes and functions.

Among Henry's college chums there was one that clung
to him from the first with an almost brotherly love. He
was Paul von Treder, a tall young fellow about Henry's
own age, of athletic and splendid physique. He was a rich
provincial burgomaster's son, whom the father chose to
make a physician. The first evening this young man met
Phoebe Vanderveer he fell desperately in love with her,
and quite as certainly she sincerely admired him.

Not long after the brother and sister returned home

40 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

their father, Ellas, died leaving them equally interested
in the paternal estate and both rich. Paul von Treder did
not long delay follow^ing Phoebe to her home for the pur-
pose of asking her father for her hand in marriage. He
arrived on the very day of her father's funeral. Having
come over with his own parents' full consent to settle and
practise medicine in America and to marry Miss Vander
veer if she would have him, he delayed not to make his
plea to Phoebe's only guardian, her brother Henry. Of
course, there was no possible objection on the brother's
part.

"Phoebe," said Henry, **you are quite able to decide for
yourself. You know what I think of Paul. He is the
very finest and truest-hearted fellow I ever met. He is
my brother already, whatever you say to him. Just please
yourself, sister."

That balmy June evening was the beginning of a short
but sweet reign of bliss for Phoebe, as she and Paul
walked to and fro over the lovely green slope up the moun-
tain side, all carpeted with buttercups and daisies, and
looking out over a far-reaching landscape of unsurpassed
beauty. For there they told each other the old thrilling
story, which is ever new, and which, like fairy music,
turns the whole world into a poetic paradise. When they
returned the sun had long set. They went sauntering
arm in arm down a narrow lane toward the house, pass-
ing near a clump of trees which surrounded the colored
people's burying ground. Paul, who did not know that
the place was so used, stopped.

"What a curious light that is over there!" he remarked,
looking among the trees. "Do you suppose any one is

A TRAGEDY OF LONG AGO 41

walking about there with a lighted candle, my sweet
Phoebe?"

"I do not think so," she answered, looking intently in
the direction he indicated; "but neither can I see any
light. That place, however, has long been — "

Her words were interrupted by the most pitiful sound-
ing wail that Paul had ever heard. For a moment they
stood speechless and listened. Suddenly the young woman
was startled as her companion caught her convulsively with
one hand, and pointed into the darkness with the other,
exclaiming with great excitement:

"See, my dearest Phoebe! See that most extraordinary
moving flame! It now grows larger and brighter."

"It is — ach! himmel!" he cried, shrinking from a globe
of fire, which he declared flew straight for his face — some-
thing which his companion even then failed to see a ves-
tige of. She shivered at a momentary recollection of the
"corpse lights" her old nurse used to harrow her young
soul by telling about, and, involuntarily tightening her
hold of her companion's arm, she walked forward.

"Come!" she urged, "that sound is dismal and distress-
ing to hear. Do let us hurry home to brother; he is one
of the ancient magi, I think, for he can explain everything
and no doubt will do so now. Come!"

The matter was merrily laughed off with the doctor, in
rooms lit up with many bright candles and good cheer.
Phoebe, however, said nothing about something she herself
had seen. Upon arriving home she asked Harry, their
slave foreman, where the big, crazy, hunchback negro,
"Ethiopia," was. Harry, after looking, returned to say
that the negro was safe behind the bars of his room.

4

42 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

"Ethiopia," who had shown homicidal tendencies, was
worked every day, and afterward fed and locked up for
the night like a horse or an ox.

Phoebe was sorely puzzled, for, of course, the man
could not have been in two places at the same time. In
the light of her new and delicious life, which was filled
to overflowing with the joy of her handsome and devoted
lover's society, this fact, and almost everything else, was
forgotten. For two months they visited friends far and
near, riding on the doctor's fine horses, and enjoying that
untrammeled lovers' bliss preceding an early wedding.
Their marriage was arranged to take place in August.

Everything took on a gala appearance as the glad time
approached for the nuptials of the universally beloved and
pretty young mistress of the old Vanderveer mansion. The
slaves, who simply worshiped their "Missy Phoebe," were
granted very special privileges. A tent was provided for
them in the rear garden, where old "Bandy," the Bed-
minster fiddler, nightly discoursed dance-compelling music,
and there they danced and sang for hours every evening.
It was a gala time for all save one, who could only look
out through his barred window and gnash his teeth in
jealous rage — the dangerous hunchback, "Ethiopia."

When these festivities had gone on every night for a
week, and the wedding was just three days distant, the
demented creature howled so much as to drown the mu-
sic, and not until he was beaten and even gagged and
bound would he be quiet. After that there was not a re-
bellious sound from his little room-cell, and nobody
thought more of him until the evening preceding the wed-

A TRAGEDY OF LONG AGO 43

ding day. Then Harry, the foreman, called one of the
hoys.

"Here, Tom," he called, handing the boy a yellow
striped mug of cider, "take this up to 'Ethiopia' and tell
him to drink Miss Phoebe's health. We musn't forget
nobody to-night."

Soon Tom came back with the news that "Ethiopia had
done gone and broke out."

About 8 o'clock that evening Paul von Treder, excus-
ing himself to Phoebe and two of her intended brides-
maids of the morrow, said he would walk up and meet
the doctor, who was a little late in returning from a pro-
fessional call at Eli Smith's, who lived about a mile away.
Phoebe kissed him and fondly followed him with her
eyes till he turned to take the lane. Then, just as he was
about disappearing, he looked back and they waved to
each other a little adieu. Then he was gone.

In less than an hour, uttering a heartbreaking wail of
woe, Phoebe fell senseless across the bleeding breast of
her lover. He had been brought back to her door a corpse.

When it became known on the Vanderveer estate, in
those days of long ago, that Phoebe Vanderveer's hand-
some and much respected sweetheart, Paul von Treder,
had been murdered, a thrill of horror vibrated in every
heart. It was regarded as such a diabolical deed that noth-
ing but the blood of the assassin could satisfy the cry for
vengeance. Nobody stopped to ask who did it.

"Where is 'Ethiopia?' " the slaves demanded, seizing,
one his cutlass, another an axe, and the others whatever
came handy, and one and all started out to find the power-
ful but demented black man.

44 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

Dr. Vanderveer, who had come upon the scene almost
In time to see the murderous blow struck, saw the terrible
black hunchback diving Into the wood just after his victim
fell. The doctor feared the worst and sprang to aid
his friend who had uttered that short, sharp shout of
surprise and pain which invariably escapes the man who is
fatally struck with blade or bullet. Being slightly and
gently raised, von Treder spoke:

"The hunchback negro — stabbed me;" he gasped. "He
crept — up behind me!"

"He stabbed me," repeated the young man and falling
back he expired In the doctor's arms.

"Now, Harn'," the doctor said to his managing negro,
after his friend's body had been brought home, "we know
that 'Ethiopia' has committed this awful crime. The big
brute Is a maniac and should not have been allowed at
large. That cannot be helped now. But we must get
hold of him as quickly as possible. Then we'll hand him
over to the jailers and let the law punish him."

The colored man mumbled something incoherent, end-
ing In "po'r ]\IIssy Phoebe," and left, as the doctor sus-
pected, in tears. But once outside that room, black Harry
was king. Law Indeed ! No law was needed but his, he
said, for the blacks, whom he ruled with an imperial rod
of Iron. There was a dangerous gleam In his big brown
eyes, as he armed himself and started with a dozen of his
men, to find "Ethiopia." A significant part of the equip-
ment of the hunting party was a detachment with pickaxes
and shovels. That night the big hunchback negro breathed
his last. He was burled where he fell, his hands still red
with the blood of his innocent victim, Paul von Treder.

A TRAGEDY OF LONG AGO 45

The shock almost killed Phoebe Vanderveer. She
showed no outward signs of grief, but seemed dazed or
paralyzed. For months she took no account of time or
circumstance, whether it was night or day, or time to eat
or drink or time to sleep. She would eat a little when
repeatedly urged to do so. She would lie down upon her
bed and close her eyes at night, but she slept only a very
little, if any at all. All through the night, at intervals,
as through the day, she would rise and walk as if in a
dream to the place where the blood-stained corpse of her
lover was laid that fatal night.

With unstinted, loving sympathy from her brother and
from every colored person on the estate, and with as many
women of the latter as she desired to attend her, Phoebe
managed to live, or, more correctly, to exist in spite of
the sincere wish of her broken heart that she might be
permitted to lay down the burden and rejoin her lost
love. This despondency eventually culminated in an ill-
ness that seemed a complete collapse of both body and
mind. At the beginning Dr. Vanderveer had called in the
best medical aid. When a critical stage was reached and
the patient lay at the point of death, the physician in
charge called in Dr. Cornelius C. Suydam, of Lesser Cross
Roads. Heroic treatment recommended by the latter was
adopted, and the patient got well, at least, physically.

Dr. Suydam, who was somewhat younger than Dr.
Vanderveer and had studied with him, had a large prac-
tise and was a man of note. Six feet four inches in height
and weighing about 250 pounds, he was acknowledged
to be about the handsomest man, as well as the most splen-
did horseman, anywhere in Bedminster Township. Rich

46 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

or poor patients were all alike to him. Wherever his aid
was asked, near or far, he pointed his horse's head and in
the shortest possible time, generally by a course straight
across as the crow flies, he was where he was wanted. At
the bedside he combined the consummate skill of the
physician with a woman's gentleness. Having been born
in affluence, of a highly respected old Somerset family, he
was immensely popular and much sought after. And yet,
like his professional neighbor. Dr. Vanderveer, he was a
bachelor.

During Phoebe Vanderveer's convalescence Dr. Suy-
dam, on one plea or another, had found himself frequently
calling at the Vanderveer homestead, where, naturally
enough, he was made particularly welcome. He had
heard, of course, in a general way about the tragic end of
Phoebe's love affair, and was honestly moved to great
pity for the suffering she had undergone. Affairs like
hers are always appealing to people of sentiment, particu-
larly when the surviving party of the drama is as inter-
esting as Phoebe Vanderveer was. Pity is proverbially
near akin to love; and, behold, before the doctor had a
suspicion of the fact, he was hopelessly in love with Miss
Vanderveer.

As soon as that developed into an unmistakable truth
in the doctor's mind, he felt called upon to declare him-
self, like the honest and true-hearted gentleman that he
was. And as he did when called professionally, he 'arose
and made a bee line for the Vanderveer mansion and pro-
posed to the fair Phoebe that she should become his wife.

Thus much has filtered down through devious tradition.
But how the proposal was received or what the final an-

A TRAGEDY OF LONG AGO 47

swer to the physician was can only be Inferred from sub-
sequent events in the doctor's life. These were thought
remarkable enough, even when considered apart from their
romantic origin. They were considered so strange that
they were written In the book of the chronicles of Bed-
minster Township. But how Immensely more interest-
ing are extraordinary actions on the part of a man, if we
see in them the desperate consequences of a woman's
"No!''

Hitherto Dr. Suydam had lived in the old family home-
stead with his aged mother, a sister and several slaves
inherited from his father. About the time mentioned, the
mother having died, his sister went to live with a married
sister and he was left alone with the blacks. Soon they
began to hang their heads in heaviness and look exceed-
ingly sad at being left by the mistresses they loved.

"Away with the lot of you; out of my sight!" the doc-
tor, out of patience, one day exclaimed, and he bound
every one of them out to service elsewhere. Living now
entirely alone, he turned morose and sulky. Patients sent
for him, but he answered the messengers without opening
the door that he would not come. He declared that he had
gone out of practise. Some few poor people came and
begged so hard for him to prescribe that he relented, but
when he had attended them he told them they must never
come again. One of his rich patients, for being too per-
sistent after a flat refusal, received part of a pail of water
on his head as a prescription.

The doctor fed his own horses, milked his own cow,
cooked his meals, and. In fact, did all his housekeeping
for himself. Occasionally he saddled his fastest horse In

48 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

the night and rode long journeys, never once stopping to
speak to mortal man. Sometimes he hitched up a pair of
his roadsters to a bolster wagon without springs, and sit-
ting on a rough board laid across it, he would drive like a
very jehu all around his former haunts. But the greater
part of his time he spent shut up in his house reading the
Bible and studying, especially, passages referring to fa-
miliar spirits and the casting out of devils.

Bleeding was common in medical practice in those days.
Every now and again the doctor would slit the vein in his
own arm and bleed himself copiously. Sometimes he
bandaged the arm carelessly and more than once the vein
opened again. Not infrequently that occurred when he
was out on his wild rides, and the result was that he him-
self and the horse or vehicle was often marked with blood
to the terror of people who saw him. This often placed
his life in imminent danger; but he seemed perfectly in-
different whether he lived or died. There was only one
man with whom he would hold any converse and that was
Dr. McDowell, the man who had been invited there to
take up the fine practise that the hermit doctor had so unac-
countably thrown away.

One day he took Dr. McDowell more closely than
usual into his confidence. In the matter of dishwashing,
for example. Dr. Suydam had a plan which was all his
own. He had bought a great three-bushel basket and a
whole lot of plates and dishes for table use. As he used
these be put them away in the big basket. When the re-
ceptacle was full he carried it to the river which passed
near his house, dumped them all in and washed the whole
pile at once.

A TRAGEDY OF LONG AGO 49

"Do you see that large box doctor?" the visitor was
asked one day. "Well, that box has two compartments;
both are full of evil spirits — little devils! I'm not afraid
of them; oh, no! I know every one of them by name, I
don't fear them, though they are my deadly enemies.
They raise their trap-doors and come out at night, going
round the house screaming and blaspheming horribly, and
trying all the time to tempt me to do evil things. But I
won't! I won't!"

With his long straggling hair and emaciated frame, the
once erect, broad-shouldered, handsome, graciously man-
nered doctor looked pitiful indeed. He was now such a
nervous and physical wreck, that his uncouth look and
jerkiness of manner suggested the movements of some big,
moulting bird of ill omen.

"Hark!" he cried with raised finger and dilating eyes
one night. "Harl?! do you hear him, doctor? That's
'Darkness.' He's always out first and is rather a pleasant
little devil; but he's soon followed by 'Doubt' and 'Des-
pair,' and then the trouble begins. I call them the three
double D's. There they go! Do you hear them? Aren't
they enough to drive a man mad?"

"Dear me! dear me!" the visiting doctor interrupted;
why do you indulge in such rank folly, Suydam ? You are
far too wise a man to thus deceive yourself. Those rat-
tlings and squealings, you know, are made by common rats
and not by any spirits. Why do you — "

"I won't! I won't!" the demented man shouted, seem-
ing to forget his friend's presence and answering the de-
mons again.

"Begone! you ugly little devil, Despair! I hear what

50 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

you say: 'Marry for spite! Marry for spite!' you tell
me. But I won't! I tell you I won't!"

The recital from time to time of these and many more
details of Dr. Suydam's horrible condition to Phoebe
Vanderveer, plunged her deeper and deeper into mental
agony. At first she believed it was merely an original
plan on the part of the doctor to bring pressure to bear
upon her heart.

"Alas! alas!" she would complain. "What futility it
is thus to press his suit upon a bride of heaven ! Paul, my
dear, etherealized husband, 'tis but a narrow stream
that divides us — a mere thought, a passing breath. Soon
it will be over; then forever and forever we shall be
united !"

But though it was impossible for her to listen to the
doctor's suit, the kind soul of Phoebe Vanderveer was
burdened with great sorrow for the fate of the man who
evidently gave up all earthly joys because he was denied
the heart which she had not in her power or keeping to
give him. This ever-increasing weight of woe, added to
the unquenchable grief for Paul, in time so sapped the
foundations of her reason that she became the picturesque
prey of supercilious eccentricity in her later life. As long
as she lived, however, in all her most fantastic vagaries
and pitiful whims, it is pleasant to know that she had the
loving forbearance, sympathy and indulgence of that
splendid type of gentleman of the old school, her loyal
brother, Dr. Henry Vanderveer.

Even after all was over, when Death in his peaceful
guise came and took poor Phoebe to the man she loved, her
brother, faithful to the last, remembering and respecting

A TRAGEDY OF LONG AGO 5 1

her little weakness as to her age and much to the disap-
pointment of many curious ones of her sex, did not men-
tion it on the tablet which he lovingly raised over her grave
in Bedminster churchyard.

It is pleasant to relate that Dr. Suydam in time arose
from his despair and once more "clothed and in his right
mind," resumed his practise, married a very estimable lady,
attained the highest place in his profession and died at a
ripe old age, beloved and respected by every one who knew
him.

DR. VANDERVEER'S ROMANCE.

SOMERSET COUNTY PHYSICIAN OF LONG AGO WON FIGHT
AGAINST DEATH BUT LOST IN THE BATTLE OF LOVE.

One of the interesting tales of bygone days that were
recalled by Mrs. Hugh Hartwell, of Somerville, when the
writer met her recently at the old Van Nest homestead,
where "Prince" George was born and brought up a fam-
ily, was about a romance in the life of old Dr. Henry
Vanderveer, of Pluckemin. It was a story that Mrs.
Hartwell's grandmother, Mrs. Davenport Van Nest,
never tired of telling, and one that my informant never
wearied of hearing.

It will be remembered by readers of this series that Dr.
Vanderveer lived and died a bachelor. This was not
really surprising, when his many eccentricities were con-
sidered. But, after all, it seems that it was not by any
means through choice that he lived in celibacy. On the
contrary, at least once in his life he appears to have made
truly heroic efforts to join the noble army of benedicts.
It was, of course, only another of his oddities that he de-
layed this move until he was far advanced in life and that
the lady of his choice, so far as age was concerned, might
have been his great-granddaughter.

On McDougal street, only a block or two away from
Abraham Van Nest's fine old homestead in ancient Green-
wich, N, Y., lived a family named Angevin, a daughter of
which, called Mary, was a beautiful and cultivated young
woman, but extremely delicate. Mary was a niece of

52

DR. VANDERVEER'S ROMANCE 53

Mrs. Davenport Van Nest, and often visited the Abraham
Van Nests, her near neighbors at old Greenwich. But
her favorite visit was to her aunt at the old Van Nest
homestead, in lovely Somerset. Here at the age of twenty
she met Dr. Henry Vanderveer, who was then seventy.

One evening while she and her aunt sat by the open
parlor window enjoying the cooling breeze, a man on
horseback rode up the avenue. He was Dr. Vanderveer.

As the wonderfully preserved doctor appeared in the
hall, with fine, erect form, tight-buttoned coat, shining
top boots and gilded spurs, a step as firm and buoyant as
most men have at thirty, and without a silver thread in
his wavy hair, he was a striking figure. Holding his
low-crowned silk hat and silver-headed riding whip in one
hand, with the other he handed Mrs. Van Nest some
nostrum that he had come to deliver. Then with apologies
for his haste and with the usual polite conventionalisms,
he was bowing himself out from the entrance hall, when
his hostess stopped him.

"Doctor," she said, "I would like you to see my niece.
Won't you step in for a moment?"

"Ah! how do you do?" the physician said with his most
courtly bow when he was presented to Miss Angevin.

"My dear Mrs. Van Nest, your niece is very beautiful,"
he remarked on leaving. "We must relieve that cough
of hers or she will die of consumption."

On a subsequent visit and while in consultation with the
aunt the doctor stood a moment looking down in silence
and tapping the floor with his foot.

"I — I — that is, Mrs. Van Nest," he said, haltingly,
"you've known me a long time as being always sincere, and

54 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

perhaps Impetuous. The fact is, I'm an old fool, no
doubt; but something tells me I shall marry this most
lovely young creature! No such thought or consciousness
ever before possessed me. Pray, my dear friend, be my con-
fidant. As physician, I propose to attack and conquer
what will otherwise steal away this incomparable bud
of womanhood. If I succeed I shall ask her to be my
wife."

I'hen commenced the duel between death and Dr.
Vanderveer for a bride. Those who knew the doctor and
his secret knew that he was a physician of deep and re-
sourceful skill and they felt confident that his grim an-
tagonist, though sure to win in the long run, would find a
doughty opponent. The fight went on and the doctor
seemed to be clearly winning until in the succeeding fall
the fair prize had such a relapse that death seemed an
easy victor. But the doctor, with unabated ardor, so
effectually drove back his terrible antagonist that his pa-
tient came again on her annual visit to Jersey, really better
in health and more radiantly beautiful than ever.

Dr. Vanderveer was jubilant. At all times fastidious
in dress, he now kept pace as it were with nature's re-
freshing rejuvenation everywhere, and burst forth into
full blossom in suit after suit of the most exquisite effects
to be had in New York. Perhaps the most striking and
for potent reasons his favorite suit included a blue swal-
lowtail, silk-embroidered coat with brass buttons, yellow
plush vest, ruffled shirt front and wristbands and drab
shorts, or kneebreeches, with broad silver knee and shoe
buckles. Miss Angevin had complimented him upon his
appearance in this suit and so he wore it more than any

DR. VANDERVEER'S ROMANCE 55

other. He also chose it for the occasion of his first plain
declaration of his love for his fair patient.

It must be admitted, despite the disparity of no less
than fifty years in their ages, that when they came through
the hall on their way to the garden, after that important
conversation, they were a striking looking couple. What-
ever had been her answer to the doctor's proposal it cer-
tainly could not have been unfavorable, for they were dis-
tinctly more joyous in each other's society than ever be-
fore.

Dr. Vanderveer was a rich man, and now that he had
declared himself a suitor for her hand, he loaded his
fiancee with costly presents and sparkling trinkets.

As the summer merged into autumn, Mary again de-
veloping unfavorable pulmonary symptoms, this being her
weak point, and the doctor fearing phthisis, he determined
and insisted on taking her to Niagara for her health. She
assented, on the understanding that she should first be
allowed a few days at home, in New York. He de-
clared it to be an unnecessary delay, but took her to her
home and arranged to call for her the following week.

Sad comment as it is on a beautiful girl's sense of honor,
the truth must be told. And this is it: Long before Dr.
Vanderveer could have reached home, Mary Angevin had
arranged a meeting with a young man — a handsome young
fellow he was admittedly, and of most engaging presence,
but in all other respects an utter failure, if ever one lived.
Soon they were together and rapturously he folded her in
his arms, almost before a word was spoken.

"Darling Mary!" he exclaimed, in the midst of con-
tinued caresses, "how cruel of you to stay away so long!"

56 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

"Poor, dear, big baby Billy!" responded she, with her
brightest smile. "And so you missed me?"

"Did I miss you! Well, I wonder what you think of
a fellow anyway!" he exclaimed, with an injured look.
"But the truth is, I suppose, that after all your fine prom-
ises, you're going to throw me over and marry this rich
old Somerset doctor!"

"No, big, beautiful Billy," she answered. "Fm bad
and heartless enough in a variety of ways, but I'll never
marry the old doctor. He insists on believing I will, and
my aunt is as determined as he is that I shall do so, but
I would not marry him if he were covered with dia-
monds!"

"And what about this idiotic Niagara trip?" Billy
asked. "I suppose the amiable physician is getting up this
grand expedition just to get you completely away from
your friends and then — "

Just then Mary was seized with a severe fit of cough-
ing, so hollow-sounding that it frightened even Billy.
They were in an arbor of her McDougal street home, long
after sunset, and though it was moonlight the air was
damp and chilly. Mary told her companion that her
uncle, Samuel Davenport, was going along with them to
Niagara, and that otherwise she would not go at all.

"Run into the house, Molly, dearest; don't stay here,"
said Billy. "You are taking cold. But wait. Listen,
Molly, just a second. Keep me posted, darling. If I can
raise some money that I have in view, I'll meet you at any
time and place you desire. Let it be at your aunt's, Mol-
ly, after your return. Then I'll come again to the Pluck-
emin tavern, but this time with my own horses and —

DR. VANDERVEER'S ROMANCE 57

Hark! It's your mother, Molly. Farewell! We'll meet
at Pluckemin!"

In consequence of this exposure to the night air Mary
suffered a serious relapse and when she was later taken to
Niagara, a trained nurse was engaged to take care of her.
After a comparatively short stay there the young woman's
health seemed miraculously restored again. The doctor
again pressed his suit and proposed that they should return
home as a married couple. Still she hesitated and dallied
with her aged lover, not seeming to have the moral cour^
age to broach the truth to him.

Finding, however, that she could no longer stave off
the inevitable, she wrote to Billy full particulars ^f the
position in which she stood. Hearing from hin? m reply
that he had obtained the money he had spoken t*f and was
therefore ready to fly to her side, she w^rote informing
him on what day she would arrive at her aunt's house
near Pluckemin and urged him not to fail to meet and
rescue her from her terrible predicament.

His reply came promptly. In it he begged her to pos-
sess her soul in peace and urged her on her arrival at her
aunt's to say nothing and retire as usual to her room, but
to look out into the night on hearing the call of the whip-
poorwill, which bird Mary knew he could imitate per-
fectly.

"Doctor," she said one morning, "if you will promise
not to mention the subject of our marriage until two days
after I get home to my Aunt Van Nest's house, can you
guess what I'll do now? I'll tell you, for you never could
guess, I will faithfully and seriously promise you to go
then and be married."

5

58 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

"You will?" asked the doctor earnestly.

"I will!" answered Mary seriously.

''Then, I do promise," said the doctor.

"And I do so in all sincerity." Mary said.

The subject as to the date of their marriage was there-
fore dropped for the time being. After their return to the
Van Nest homestead and when the doctor had made his
adieus to his young bride-to-be he extended his hand to
Mrs. Van Nest and thanked her heartily for her vast
kindness, which, as he said, had "contributed so much to
bring about this great happiness." He would devote the
intervening short time before the marriage, he said, to the
still further embellishment of his hitherto silent and deso-
late house.

That night Mrs. Van Nest lay awake longer than was
her wont. She felt an unaccountable restlessness.

"Dear me!" she said at length, raising her head from
the pillow; "I could be sworn I heard the whippoorwill.
Late in the season to hear that bird!"

Again she dozed, and again she awoke, this time with a
start, at hearing a strange grating sound against the side
of the house.

"There's something wrong going on about this house,"
the good lady said, and getting up she hastily donned some
of her clothes. It was bright moonlight. She threw up
the staircase window and peered out.

"Lawk a mercy on us! Thieves! Robbers! House-
breakers on horseback!" she screamed. "Sam! Brother
Sam! Wake up and call the servants! Help! help, for
mercy's sake!"

"Dearest auntie," said a voice in the darkness, "don't

DR. VANDERVEER'S ROMANCE 59 >

be frightened or angry. It's Billy and I. He came a lit-
tle late and so we thought we'd not disturb you. Good-
by, auntie dear, and please tell the doctor that I've kept
my promise; for I'm now going to be married. To-mor-
row I shall be Mrs. Billy Elderson!"

Then the clatter of horse's hoofs was heard on the frost-
crusted ground, and in a moment the couple were out of
sight.

Mary married the young and handsome, but worthless,
Billy. Her career was short. It was filled with priva-
tions and pain, and she went to an early grave.

OUR GRANDFATHERS' PURE POLITICS.

A TALE OF THE GRAFT UNEARTHED AMONG THE DEMO-
CRATS OF WARREN MANY YEARS AGO.

It is the wail of the pessimist that everything is in a
bad way and steadily growing worse. The political croak-
er particularly, as a rule, with some disappointment rank-
ling in him, looks around and sees nothing but grasping
cupidity and venality, or rampant "graft," everywhere
among the servants of the people, and this every day in-
creasing enormously.

''It's no use talking," he tells you; "we're a long way
down grade from what our grandfathers were. People
had consciences in those days and inflexible principle, upon
which were established a just pride and honor which were
dearer to them than their lives. Now," he avers, "we
are the abject slaves of money. Every hour more and
more brazenly we bow the knee to the golden calf. Those
glorious twin sisters. Honest Integrity and Honor, are
browbeaten, insulted and pushed aside in our wild scram-
ble for filthy lucre. Now, there is absolutely none that
can be trusted, no not one!"

All right, Mr. Sorehead Demagogue, but talking of our
grandfathers, it might not be out of place to offer you a
retrospective peep into political doings of those halcyon
times you mention. We'll pass over the hackneyed story
of iniquity of the Tweed gang in little old New York.
Of course, cities always did and always will have rings
of idle schemers on the lookout for money without work-

60

GRANDFATHERS' PURE POLITICS 6i

ing for It. Let the cities take care of themselves and
come along, Mr. Sorehead, out into the sweet, uncontam-
inated atmosphere of the country of our grandsires.

Here is a county surely favored of the gods for purity
for Is It not elevated toward heaven upon the everlasting
buttresses and bastions of the Pohatcong and KIttatlnny
mountains, with Mount Jenny Jump keeping her towering
watch and ward in the centre? See also how It is
washed clean on nearly all Its sides by the stately Dela-
ware and Musconetcong rivers, while the pleasant Pau-
lins, winding through the once famous Walnut Valley,
cleanses and refreshens it Internally.

It must have been the creation of patriotic men, too,
this county; for among Its towns and townships we find
the proud names of Washington, Columbia, Franklin,
Frelinghuysen, Independence, Hope and Harmony. Here
from Jenny Jump's mantling donjon let us survey this
pleasant land. It Is the fair county of Warren, N. J.

From time immemorial Warren was nothing If not
Democratic. Generally it went Democratic to the tune
of two to three thousand majority. A Democratic nom-
ination in Warren used to be equivalent to election. In
fact, at the period mentioned a Republican was literally
so great a curiosity that if one was announced In town,
all the women and children turned out to get a glimpse
of him, really believing, it is said, that he must be exceed-
ingly dark with kinky curled hair, or at least with a black
streak on him somewhere.

All went well and merrily as the proverbial marriage
bell for the sleek and joyful old, trusted Democratic
family party, until one day by a mere accident the tax-

62 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

payers discovered something that proved like a lighted
match dropped in a powder magazine. That is to say
they found that their freehanded representatives had paid
a contractor's bill of $500 twice over and had never so
much as noticed the slight mistake. This set the people
thinking, then to doubting and finally to looking into
money matters for themselves. And lo, an explosion fol-
lowed that blew open the doors of the State prison and
penitentiary and swept into their cells, amid filth unspeak-
able, most of the honored officeholders of the Warren
County of our grandfathers.

What furnished the $500 fulminate spark to the mag-
azine was a contract for the building of a bridge over the
river at Newburg. The contractor, happening to be a
poor man, ordered a large consignment of pine wood to
be sent along for the new bridge to be paid for C. O. D.
He had arranged with the freeholders for an advance of
money toward the work, and on arrival of the lumber two
of them handed him $500. Notwithstanding this when
the bridge was finished and taken over by the county the
contractor was paid the full amount the contract called
for, not a cent being deducted for the $500 advanced on
account. This coming in some way to the ears of certain
taxpayers, they first questioned the freeholders about it
and not receiving satisfactory answers they demanded an
investigation and a committee was appointed to make it.

The cat was out of the bag. One discovery followed
another of fraud upon fraud and such abandoned rascality
that the committee stood dumfounded. They could not
easily realize that these men, their chosen representatives,
their intimate friends and neighbors, could be guilty of

GRANDFATHERS' PURE POLITICS 63

such crimes. But they waded through books of account,
bills and vouchers and could not shut their eyes to what
they saw in black and white before them. It was evident
the methods used in the expenditure of the public money
were through and through so grossly bad that in view of
the persons involved it seemed perfectly incredible, in-
conceivable.

Checks were raised to many times their original amounts
in the most barefaced perpetration of common theft. To
give a few from endless examples, a check for $7 on ac-
count of the bridge work was raised and cashed as $70.
For another similar bill, a check for $3 was put through
as $300. Bills for hundreds upon hundreds of dollars
for expensive carpeting charged against and paid by the
county, purported to be for the court-house, while not a
yard went to that building, but was all used to carpet the
parlors of the officeholders. It was ascertained beyond the
possibility of a doubt that over several years the confiding
taxpayers of Warren County were robbed by their trusted
Democratic representatives of upward of quarter of a mil-
lion of dollars.

As the investigation committee proceeded, unearthing
batch after batch of these terrible facts, the taxpayers went
wild. They demanded instant prosecution of every of-
ficial on the political roster. Henry S. Harris, a rising
young lawyer, was appointed public prosecutor for War-
ren County. His was a difficult and painful task, for all
of the suspected men in office were his intimate acquaint-
ances, many of them personal friends. But he buckled
unflinchingly to the work and did his duty, facing fierce
attempts at intimidation and even veiled threats against his

64 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

life. Several times on dark nights anonymous missiles
bearing the gruesome skull and crossbones were pushed
underneath his door, but he never swerved to the right or
to the left till his work was done, and done well.

It was a tremendous sensation when every officeholder
in Warren County was indicted and haled before the grand
jury to answer for malfeasance in office. There were no
protests of innocence heard from the accused. The proofs
of their guilt were far too palpable and direct for that.
But they weakly whined a request that the investigators
should extend their search back for fourteen years and
prosecute their predecessors in office.

"That might not clear us of blame," they pleaded,
"but it would show that we are no worse than others
who were in office before us; for they did the same thing
we have done. We have simply followed in their foot-
stesps," they said.

Although their plea for retrospective justice could not
be granted, seeing that indictments were inoperative for
offenses committed beyond the space of two years, yet the
investigators did probe the accounts away back as re-
quested, and they found the statement true, that the same
rottenness of maladministration had been sapping their
county's foundation for over fourteen years.

All the accused officers were arrested and lodged in
jail, but admitted to heavy bail. And, of course, most
of them had no difficulty in finding sureties ready to go
upon their bail bonds, and were liberated pending trial.
But one of them, a prominent professional man, finding
himself unable to procure bondsmen, had to remain in
durance. Not being disposed to submit to this indignity,

"You are my prisoner," he said.

GRANDFATHERS' PURE POLITICS 65

he foolishly resorted to the vulgar plan of breaking his
way out of jail, and fled through the fields and over the
Oxford Mountains to his home in Washington, Warren
County.

His heart yearned, how^ever, not for his home and be-
loved ones there, but for his wife's pocket money. He
stole into his home like a burglar, extracted $160 of his
wife's savings from her little private cupboard, and, sneak-
ing away as he had come, went presumably to New York
to another woman he had been supporting there. His es-
cape from jail nettled, as well as mystified, the court when
it was found that the fugitive had not been seen at his
home. But the public prosecutor was an astute man, and,
being put upon his mettle, he sent for a young man of
whom he had the highest opinion in such matters.

"Bob," he said, when the young man came, "you're
the very man for this job. I mean ," said he, nam-
ing the prison-breaker. "He has been foolish enough to
break jail and has taken to his heels. He did not go
home, I find, but is in hiding somewhere. You bring that
man back here to his cake and milk, and your fee, what-
ever the amount, will be ready, waiting for you."

Bob, who was almost entirely without a clue, started
first to ferret out the woman in the case. It was an in-
tricate and diflScult piece of dovetailing disjointed facts
into one another that led him to the then highly fashion-
able London Terrace, between Ninth and Tenth avenues
in New York. In a select boarding house, about the mid-
dle of the row, a tall, auburn-haired, elegantly attired
woman had been residing about a week when she came
under Bob's close observation. At the old Fog Horn Inn,

66 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

on the corner of Twenty-third street and Ninth avenue,
where the young sleuth, Bob, put up, the lady in whom
he was so interested was much discussed in the bar as
the "strawberry blonde." She often walked up and down
Twenty-third street and the "boys" over their cups were
enthusiastic over her charming appearance. Bob joined
with zest in the conversation, but all the time was in
despair because his man did not put in his expected ap-
pearance along with the woman. Suddenly, however, the
strawberry blonde, rolled away in a cab with trunks on
top, and though the "boys" did not have even an inkling
of it. Bob promptly bowled away in the same direction
in another cab.

The result was that two mornings later when the lady
left her hotel in Richmond, Va., for a walk, accompanied
by a dark smooth-shaven man wearing green glasses. Bob
came sauntering up behind, tapped the man on the shoul-
der and addressing him as , the man he wanted :

"You are my prisoner," he said.

The man indignatly protested that he was not the
person named.

"Never mind," said Bob, coolly snapping an iron on
his arm. "I'll take all the chances. This way, please."
And he marched his man off to the station. The fugitive
had had a long, black beard and was totally unlike the
captured man, but Bob was relentless and paid not the
slightest heed to the continued protestations and the ex-
cited threats of the strawberry blonde, and next day de-
livered the real runaway culprit into the hands of Mr.
Jlarris^ public prosecutor of Warren County, and was

GRANDFATHERS' PURE POLITICS 67

highly complimented and paid double the modest fee he
asked.

"And, Bob, let me tell you, my boy," Mr. Harris said,
heartily shaking the young man's hand, "I prophesy that
the name of Robert Pinkerton will soon have national
fame." And who that knows the widespread ramifications
of the great Pinkerton Detective Agency of to-day but
will admit that Mr. Prosecutor Harris's was a true
prophecy ?

Eleven men were duly tried and every one of them
convicted — all except one, and he, the master mind and
arch conspirator oi the whole gang, by turning State's
evidence went Scott free. The eleven were drawn up in
a row before Chief Justice Beasley for sentence. He first
read them collectively a severe moral lecture. Then ad-
dressing by name the prominent professional man who had
vainly tried to escape, after some scathing personal re-
marks the judge said:

*Tor your crime I sentence you to serve two years in
the State prison at hard labor." There was a pause, and
the prisoner, evidently surprised at the lightness of his
sentence, took upon himself to thank the judge in flowing
terms. But the justice, not noticing the interruption in
any way, went on:

"And for breaking jail I also sentence you to two more
years, making in all four years for you in State prison at
hard labor." At which the prisoner hung down his head
and offered no further remarks whatever. The nine oth-
ers were also sent to the State prison, and one to the coun-
ty jail. Their sentences varied from eighteen months to
four years. ,

68 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

As might well have been expected, the smashing of the
ring utterly demoralized the Democratic party of Warren
County; and the next Senator, Peter Cramer, of New
Hampton, was a life-long Republican. Benjamin F.
Howey, also an out-and-out Republican, was elected
sheriff. This was the first time in the history of Warren
County that a Republican ever beat a Democrat at an
election.

The prosecutor of the ring rose to well earned fame and
was elected to Congress. When his first term expired he
was renominated. But the men he had sent to prison
were now free again and being past masters of the art of
politics, and as they were banded together as one man to
be revenged, they effected their purpose by defeating him
and sending a Democrat in his place.

And as time, the great mollifier and mellower of all
things temporal, jogged along and the horror of the old
ring gradually died away, the Democrats began to come
into their own again. So now, once more, Warren County
usually goes, as of old, decidedly Democratic.

Warren County's plan of providing for its poor about
forty years ago, at the time of the ring's operations, was
and I believe, still is unique and highly commendable. A
very large farm, over six hundred acres, it is said, was
fully stocked and equipped with proper implements, barns,
etc., and was operated entirely by pauper labor. Every
pauper in the county was brought to the farm, and each
one allotted his work, according to his age and strength;
and they all took kindly to it, as enabling even the oldest
and weakest of them to preserve their self-respect, through
participating in some small way in productive labor.

GRANDFATHERS' PURE POLITICS 69

Thousands of bushels of grain and tons upon tons of
beef and pork were produced annually, besides much fruit,
vegetables, milk and butter for market, after supplying
their own needs. It was governed by a board of directors,
who elected a resident steward, and was all, of course,
ruled by politics. In fact, the fate of the ring hung in
the balance over the election of sheriff, for which office the
farm steward was the Democratic candidate. The bosses
made sure that if their nominee was returned for this
office they would be able to upset and prevent the then
impending investigation. So they made tremendous ef-
forts to effect their purpose.

My informant in these matters, then a callow and un-
sophisticated youth just arrived at voting age, was ap-
proached and made a delegate by the eager ringsters, who
felt bound to have a man who would do exactly what he
was told. The big boy was, of course, pleased at their
choice of him, while having no more idea than one of his
father's goslings what it really meant. His father was
warned :

"Don't you let your boy be seen with those

rascals!" a prominent citizen cautioned him.

But it was then too late to prevent it. Samuel Frome,
the ring's choice, had served a term as steward of the
poor farm and was immensely popular, especially with the
paupers. For among other amiable features of his man-
agement of the farm, he always had the traveling tobacco
wagon drive up and supply sufficient of that seductive
weed for all, men and women alike. Everyone that wanted
tobacco could have it. In some quarters complaints were
occasionally made that too much tobacco was used; but

70 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

Sam Frome always met them with the same prompt an-
swer:

"As long as I'm steward the old folks shall have their
'baccy.' If you don't like it, choose my successor. There
are plenty aching for the job."

The election came off; the boy delegate did as he
was told, but alas for the ring! The public rose up in its
wrath and overthrew them. For the first time in the mem-
ory of man the choice of the Democratic bosses of War-
ren County was beaten. The trial, as before stated, went
on and the malefactors were sent where they rightly de-
served to go, to State prison.

But as to that great coup it was very likely true, as
very many Warren County people claimed, and as, in-
deed, only too frequently happens in wholesale punish-
ment, that at least one righteous man suffered with the
wicked. Simon A. Cummins, who held the office of coun-
ty collector, was verily believed to have been the innocent
victim of the frauds with which he was too hopelessly and
incongruously mixed up ever to be able to shake off the
contaminating filth and right himself. Yet, that he could
have done so is pretty widely believed, though he never
put it to the test; a thing that many still regret. For
"Honest Simon," as he was admiringly and universally
called, was held in the highest esteem. The great nervous
shock and strain of the trial completely demoralized and
ruined him.

Hufty Thaw, who was overseer of the poor at that
time, had some amusing whimsicalities of character not
out of keeping with his peculiar name. As a matter of
fact, it may be noted that the country people of these parts

GRANDFATHERS' PURE POLITICS 71

are particularly happy in the aptness of their choice of
nicknames. Hufty was a spare little, dried-up looking
man with bushy eyebrows over little keen gray eyes, a
long nose with a round knob on the end and rather fat,
mobile lips that were usually pushed out with a self-
satisfied pucker, expressive of great importance and in-
tolerance of contradiction. He was hot-tempered but
quick to change his choler to a smile, especially when the
opposition proved too strong for him.

For a time his wife lost much crockery in arguments
with him, for if she crossed him too much he would at-
tack the china and smash plates, cups and saucers, etc.,
to smithereens — probably some of the Thaw "brain
storms" of those early days, ere yet blood and boodle had
lent them lurid fame. But one day when he began it
again, the wife started also and smashed away harder
than he did. Stopping immediately:

"Oh, lan's sakes, Mary; let up on this!" he implored
with outstretched hands. "It do look so durned foolish
to see you breaking things. Do stop, Mary, and I'll never
break another thing in all my life!" And he never did.

At one period he quite frequently and grossly exceeded
the bounds of temperance in liquid refreshments, and after
a specially wet day always used to rise from his bed some
time in the night to quench his raging thirst from a crock
of buttermilk which was kept standing on a stone bench
behind the kitchen door. One night after a whole day of
unusually liberal potations, he arose with his mouth so
parched that he did not detect the least difference in the
flavor of his favorite teetotal beverage, though it was very

72 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

decidedly different, and gulped down about a quart of it
from the old familiar crock.

As he was returning to bed his wife woke up, who,
thinking her husband had just that moment arisen:

"Oh, Hufty," she said, "are you going for a drink?
Don't go to the crock, for I put the soiled clothes to soak
in it. The buttermilk is in a pail on the — oh, what's the
matter, Hufty? Are you ill?" she cried, springing to the
floor as Hufty threw himself half out of a window, al-
most retching his heart out.

Tradition has not set that down as a wifely artifice in
the good cause of temperance. But a decided preponder-
ance, at all events, of masculine opinion, ascribes it to
deliberate design with the qualification added that though
it did cure Hufty of excessive drinking, it certainly
reached the extreme limit of what might be called palat-
able discretion on his wife's part.

While it is of unhappy record that there were a good
many unfaithful public officers in Warren County at the
time mentioned, Hufty Thaw was certainly not one of
them. All men's characters, good, bad and indifferent,
are matters of gradual evolution. And after the toning
down from crockery brain storms and his drastic ex-
purgation with soap suds, Hufty did duly develop into a
steady and shining light and very slave of arduous duty.
Perhaps a beacon light would be the more apt physical
interpretation. For the knob of his nose end, notwith-
standing the new leaf he had turned, loomed in purple
warmth over a bluish-white background of nose and
cheek, that, like summer sunsets, suggested the embers of
hot days that had been.

3
o

C

o

GRANDFATHERS' PURE POLITICS 73

Hufty's office entailed the gathering of paupers from
all quarters of the county into the fold of the poor farm.
When he found new candidates he went to a justice of the
peace of the district to have the proper papers made out.
Justices were then called squires in Warren County. So
one day early in the morning Hufty climbed the stoop
and gave a loud knock at the door of the Squire of Beatty-
town. The Squire, who was a fine stately, well-groomed
looking man, had one cardinal weakness; which was a
kind of dread that sooner or later he would fall a victim
to one or other of the infectious diseases, which in those
days so often swept whole communities into their graves.
Answering the knock in person:

"Why, good morning, Hufty," he said. ''You're
abroad early. Won't you step in? We're just eating
breakfast. Ah, a little business. That'll be all right.
But breakfast first, business after's my plan, always. Step
right in, Hufty."

Hufty did step in and was pleasantly greeted by the
lady of the house and her rising family, all seated around
the amply furnished table.

"Take that chair, Hufty, and sit up," said the affable
squire, resuming his own seat. But the faithful overseer
of the poor seemed to remember something that ought to
be mentioned and stood tapping the rim of his old high-
crowned beaver hat against his puckered lips.

"I — I hope you'll really excuse me, squire," he stam-
mered, "but, in point of fact, I have already had break-
fast and, thank you kindly all the same, while you finish
^ours I think I ought to be looking to see if a wagon can
je hired in the town. For, you see, m'am," he said,

6

74 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

bowing slightly to the hostess, "the poor people I found
up at Port Murray this morning, a family of ten they are,
m'am, are very sick. In point of fact, I helped turn the
poor man on the bed myself, m'am, before I left the house
to come here. He is dying, I think, and tell the truth, I
don't know how they can be moved; for more than half
of the family are down with it. I mean with the small-
pox and — "

"What!" thundered the squire, jumping to his feet;
"smallpox! You — scoundrel! You in that house and
came straight to mine I Get out of here, or by — Away !
or I'll kick your contaminating little carcass into the
street! Don't touch that 'door knob! Confound you!
for two cents I'd — " and he chased the alarmed Hufty
down the stoop and half a block away, the poor little man
still hugging his stovepipe hat, with his long hair stream-
ing back as he barely escaped with his life.

RANDOM TALES OF HORACE GREELEY.

HE WAS A DEVOTED LOVER AND AN EARNEST LECTURER,
BUT HIS TABLE MANNERS WERE VERY BAD.

His Wife Trained an Angel.

The little village of Lamington, near Pluckemin, was
once a familiar and favorite resort of Horace Greeley. In
the midst of his labors in building up the farbric of a
great metropolitan newspaper — one that will always be
associated with his name — from the piles of correspond-
ence mounting on his desk, which included dispatches
from the highest in the land, Mr. Greeley would often
select for first perusal, a little, daintily addressed envelope
which he knew came from Lamington. Then for a brief
moment, forgetting the glorious grime and grind at the
galleys of Printing House Square, through which he of-
ten swayed the trend of even national affairs, there would
be a softening of the lines of the great man's counten-
ance, as from all these he "lightly turned to thoughts of
love."

Some time in the early thirties Mr. Greeley happened
to dine at a vegetarian hotel in New York, where he met
Miss Mary T. Cheney, a school teacher, a native of Wa-
tertown, N. C, at table and promptly fell in love with
her. Miss Cheney, who was spending her vacation in
the city, soon returned to her charge, which was at the
little Foot of the Lane School, close to Lamington,

75

76 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

whither she appears to have taken the great editor's heart
along with her.

For at frequently recurring intervals thereafter he ap-
peared at Bound Brook in his familiar white overcoat
and with a tuck on the right leg of his trousers and none
on the left, and would scale the mountain ; or, if coming
by Somerville, would trek his way, often on foot, the
ten or more miles to Mr. Kennedy's house at Vliets Mills,
about half way between Pottersville and Lamington,
where Miss Cheney dwelt.

For some time before Mr. Greeley and she were mar-
ried Miss Cheney lived with a Mrs. Duickinck, close to
the Foot of the Lane School. This woman's descendants
relate some interesting things about the Greeleys. She
used to say they were very fine and most agreeable peo-
ple, but both full of fads of their own. From her de-
scription, Miss Cheney must have been a typically strong-
mined person, with her full share of advanced ideas about
woman's proper sphere, etc.

Facetious persons will say that Mrs. Duickinck has
left corroborative evidence of the truth of this in the fur-
ther information she supplied that Miss Cheney, who
built her own fires In the school, one day most terribly
alarmed a few of her early scholars by fainting dead
away at the sight of a little mouse. The moment she
opened the stove door the little rodent bounced out and
the teacher collapsed.

After the Greeleys were married and their first baby
was about a year old, Mrs. Greeley came to see Mrs.
Duickinck and other old friends and to let her first born
breathe the salubrious air among the well remembered

TALES OF HORACE GREELEY 77

rural beauties of fair Somerset. Early in the visit she
astonished Mrs. Duickinck with a minute account of the
system on which she would bring up her little one — "the
only rational and proper system," she declared it to be.
The child was fed, not when it cried for food, but when
the hands of the clock pointed to certain hours. And as
soon as fed, instead of being dandled or rocked to sleep,
the little thing, clad in very loose and spare swaddling
clothes, was laid on the floor of an adjoining room, to cry
and kick and sprottle at its own sweet will, until it tired
itself and lay still, or kept on rolling or creeping and cry-
ing as it pleased. In other words, it was allowed to "de-
velop itself," the mother explained.

Another part of the system was in operation one morn-
ing, just as Dr. Cornelius C. Suydam happened to be pass-
ing in his gig. That is to say, Mrs. Greeley was holding
her screaming infant under the pump with one hand,
while with the other she vigorously worked the handle,
sending a flood of almost ice cold water over the little
martyr.

"For God's sake, madam, what are you doing to the
poor child?" the physician shouted.

"I'm going to make a perfect woman of my baby girl,
when she grows up, sir," the mother proudly answered.

"You'll make an angel of her long before that; and
that's more than any woman ever was! Take my word
for it!" the doctor said and passed on.

When able to walk, after the pump bath the child was
made to run naked a certain number of times around the
table — not a lap more or less than the strict regulation
number. Another phase of Mrs. Greeley's system — but

78 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

this she acknowledged to be experimental— was that of
keeping her little one entirely isolated from speech of any
kind from any one, so as to find what sounds it would
naturally invent to make known its wants. This, accord-
ing to the testimony of both the daughter and stepdaugh-
ter of Mrs. Duickinck, was carried out until the child
was quite large— at least four, or probably, five years of
age. Up to that age, they say, the child never uttered any
more intelligible sound than "oo-oo!" whatever wants it
wished to express. But the humane Dr. Suydam proved
to be right; for the poor child died, while the extraor-
dinary experiment was still in progress.

Mrs. Greeley utterly condemned the use of any kind
of shortening in bread. In fact, she preferred wheat
kernels in their natural state and ate great quantities.
One day, on a visit at Dr. McDowell's, at Larger Cross
Roads, when helped to bread she smelt of it :

"I cannot eat this bread," she said, "there's lard in it."
The incident very much discomposed the hostess and prac-
tically spoiled the visit.

On January i6, 1872, the last year of his life, Horace
Greeley gave a lecture on temperance in the Second
Church of Mendham. He stayed over night with Rev.
T. W. Cochran, of that place, who gathered a number of
friends to meet his distinguished visitor. Tea was an-
nounced soon after Mr. Greeley's arrival. After a bless-
ing was asked the host passed a plate of cold chicken to
Mr. Greeley, who helped himself liberally. As the plate
was passed to another guest, the host attempted to hand
Mr. Greeley the bread, but before he could possibly do so

TALES OF HORACE GREELEY 79

the great editor reached with his fork nearly across the
table and harpooned a slice from a full plate.

"How do you take your tea, Mr. Greeley?" the hostess
asked.

"Thank you, I don't take any," he replied.

"What, then, will you have to drink?" Mrs. Cochran
asked.

"A cup of hot water with milk and sugar — and plenty
of milk," he answered. "I left off tea a long time ago and
have not taken coffee in thirty years," the great man said.
"If I hadn't I know I could not have done the work I
have ; nor would my hand be as steady as it is."

"You don't mean to say," said the host, "that your
hand doesn't shake any?"

"It does not!" Mr. Greeley declared most emphatically.

Just then noticing that his chief guest had finished his
bread, Mr. Cochran put out his hand to pass him some
more, but Mr. Greeley with his dexterous fork and long
arm again forestalled him.

Seated in the parlor, after the meal —

"Mr. Greeley," the host said, "where do you live now,
if it's a fair" — but before the question was fairly put —

"I cannot be said to live anywhere!" he answered.
"My wife has been an invalid for many years and for six
years has been in different parts of the world, seeking the
most congenial atmosphere for her lungs — the West In-
dies, Florida, England, France, Italy, etc."

"Mr. Greeley," one of the company said, "I heard you
twenty years ago at a teachers' institute at Somerville."

"Oh, yes," he replied, "I used to come to Somerville
quite often thirty years ago, or perhaps nearer forty years,

8o WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

it'll be! I married my wife in Somerset County. She
taught school near Lamington."

A man who attended Mr. Greeley's lecture said he was
a much larger and finer looking man than he expected;
and he noticed no oddity about him, except that one leg
of his pantaloons only reached to the top of his shoes. On
the drink question Mr. Greeley took the position that al-
cohol is poison.

"Don't take poison into your system," he said. *'You
don't take strychnine, nor arsenic, nor corrosive sublimate.
Then don't take alcohol, either!"

"There are two things for temperance folks to do,"
he continued. "First, men are ignorant of the true char-
acter of this poison and you must teach them. Second,
they won't know and believe and you must persuade
them. There are thousands wilfully blind," he said, "as
was the man who got up before daylight to do his fall
killing. A hog was nicely dressed before breakfast, and
he 'hadn't had fresh pork in so long' he must eat a pound
or two to breakfast. At dinner, spare-rib and pluck of
course made the meal. For supper his good wife thought
something lighter would do; but no, he 'hadn't had fresh
pork in so long' he must have some for supper, too. All
went well so far, and about 9 o'clock he topped off with
a couple of baked apples and went to bed.

"In the night he had — as he richly deserved — a violent
attack of cholera morbus, from which he just escaped
with his life. His comment was: Well, it was them
baked apples that like to have killed me. I'll never eat
any more baked apples!'

"So kidney complaints, inflammations, nervous weak-

a>
o

3"

TALES OF HORACE GREELEY 8i

nesses and a thousand other ailments are all mysterious
visitations of Providence. No, they ain't" the lecturer
shouted. "They are far oftener visitations of rum!"

The lecturer held the close attention of his audience
for an hour and a half. In his delivery there was fre-
quent hesitation, or waiting for the right word, my in-
formant says, which in one so used to public speaking
seemed remarkable. But that the thoughts and deduc-
tions were worthy of the great and good man that de-
livered them was the unanimous conclusion of his hearers.

At breakfast, next morning, allusion was made to the
unveiling of Franklin's statue, which was to take place
that same day, January 17, 1872, in Printing House
Square, in New York. Of this Mr. Greeley remarked :

"As a member of the press I must be there. I don't
mind that; but the dinner after it is the trouble — I hate
public dinners!" he said.

On the twenty-ninth of November of the same year
Horace Greeley was dead; just thirty days after the
death of his wife. She died on the thirtieth of October.

A LEGEND OF PLUCKEMIN.

THEIR TRYSTING PLACE ON ECHO LAKE SAW THE DEATH
OF THE INDIAN MAIDEN, WINONA, AND HER LOVER.

The visitor to Pluckemin would miss its most roman-
tic attraction should he fail to see Echo Lake with its
Buttermilk Falls. This charming spot is at the base
of the northern termination of the First Watchung
Mountain, between which and the Second Mountain is
the notch opening into Washington Valley. The limpid
little lake received its name doubtless on account of its
remarkable manipulation of sounds; for through some
peculiar acoustics of the beetling mountain brow, with
its shelving and perpendicular rocks on one side, and
the dim, cloister-like windings of the other shore, from
certain points the human voice is echoed and re-echoed
as many as seven distinct times.

As might be expected, this spot has traditions of its
own, some of them of Indian origin. The same never-
failing spring, which, on account of its healing virtues
the red men came from afar to drink, still gushes from
their old Father Watchung's side into Echo Lake and is
today tapped at what is known as the Culm Rock Spring.
Nor were the Indians free from superstitious beliefs in the
wonderful curative efFects of its outward application,
when made with certain forms and ceremonies, one es-
pecial virtue being its supposed power to quench the
pangs of misplaced or slighted love.

One legend bearing on this propertv of the waters to
82

A LEGEND OF PLUCKEMIN 83

the Indian mind has it that Cannackanuck, one of the
last Raritan Kings, was grievously weighed down with
trouble, in that his beautiful and only daughter, Winona,
loved Thingerawso, an inferior chief of their own, the
Delaware nation.

"Thingerawso shall never wed thee, my daughter,"
the King said. "That he is a comely youth and well
favored, I grant; but he is not of thy station. It cannot
be. Of this distemper thou shalt be relieved. For by
advice of my faithful medicine man we shall journey into
the wholesome land of the persimmon and thou shalt par-
take of the cooling waters that flow from old Father
Watchung's bounteous springs, and peradventure thou
may'st be restored to salubrious sanity. Up, let thy
maidens make ready, for to-morrow at sunrise we shall
set out."

With a bodyguard of threescore braves the King next
day moved his family and court to the Watchung Moun-
tain top, overlooking Echo Lake, and encamped there.
Each morning Winona and her favorite maid descended
the mountain and according to the medicine man's pre-
scription the King's daughter, strewing persimmon leaves
on the surface, lifted water from a spring in a natural
cup in the rock with her hand and drank, uttering a
short incantation between each sip and turning her face
to the east.

"I thus perform my hard task, my Senseta, as you see,
faithfully," Winona said to her maid, "because my revered
father wishes that in this way I should renounce my own
Thingerawso; but, alas! the purpose is at war with my
heart, for I only love him still the more."

84 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

Meantime the King, who seemed to have had the royal
instinct of matchmaking, came home from the hunt one
day with a handsome young brave, whom he had casually
met in the chase, and presented him to Winona and her
mother as Connosota, the warlike son of Unawanda, a
powerful Seneca chief of the Mengwe nation, beyond the
Delaware. The elder woman directed a startled glance
of inquiry at her husband, which he perfectly understood
and answered, by announcing that their guest's puissant
father, though wielding the highest power among a people
not over friendly to the Delaware nation, yet was a tried
and true friend of the Raritan Kings.

''Therefore I do truly delight to honor his son," the
King said, and filling two richly chased horns from a
little rill that trickled from a fissure in the high rock that
formed a side of the wigwam, and handing one to his
guest: "Let us drink," said he, "from Father Watchung's
unequaled vintage to the health and unending glory of
thy right noble sire."

The young chief and his company were lodged in one
of the State wigwams, and had such distinguished enter-
tainment that they stayed many days and were frequently
joined by the King in their hunts along the North Branch
River. The young man's presence there was really
brought about by the King's special and pressing invita-
tion, who judged that the presence of so princely a youth
might aid .in his design of turning the unfortunate current
of his daughter's thoughts from Thingerawso, even better
perhaps than his medicine man's prescription could; and,
further, such a union would go a long way to cement the

A LEGEND OF PLUCKEMIN 85

friendship which he so much desired with the powerful
and domineering Mengwe tribesmen.

Meanwhile Thingerawso, being a fearless and adven-
turous young chief, and fully assured of Winona's love
for him, he let no opportunity slip of meeting her. Hav-
ing learned of her enforced observances at Echo Lake, he
soon gained the connivance of her maid to his beloved
spending some precious time each day in his company.
To this end a trysting place was arranged between the
lovers, which was at the top of a high rock that rose prone
from Echo Lake on the south side. The same rock is
there still, but considerably lower, and whereas its top is
now shaley, with only a few scrub oaks around, at the
time mentioned it had a fort-like crown embowered by
stately forest trees, wherefrom a lovely view was obtained
of the opposite shore and the lake beneath. Here the fair
Winona and her cruelly forbidden lover met almost daily
and basked in the sunshine of each others smiles. This
was until the coming of Connosota. After that event, as
the young guest plainly showed a deep interest in the
beautiful girl, by her father's directions her visits to the
lake were fewer and of shorter duration and soon termin-
ated altogether. So that Winona's Rock, as their meeting
place was ever afterward known, often had now the dis-
consolate Thingerawso waiting alone and lingering long
for his love in vain.

It was not long before the impetuous guest asked the
King and was readily promised his daughter in marriage.
Then was Winona in great tribulation, for she could no
longer go to the lake at all, but was continually called
upon to contribute to the entertainment of their guest,

86 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

who though of fine manly form and martial bearing, had
the proud and somewhat contemptuous manner invariably
in vogue among the Mengwe toward all the Delawares
without exception. She was not consulted, however, and
had to take part even in rejoicings over her betrothal to
one man while passionately in love with another. Every
day now she felt unspeakable woe to think of her true
lover vainly waiting and watching for her coming, and
having to go away without a word of explanation and
perhaps doubting her fidelity.

At last, on the brink of despair, one day when her
father and his guest were again in the hunting field,
Winona contrived a meeting with her lover. Nothing,
she told him wringing her hands in anguish, could now
rescue her from the detested Seneca chief's son, but his
death.

"Would that I could meet him in single combat. I
would lower his proud crest or perish in the attempt!"
exclaimed her lover.

"Thou shalt meet him, my brave Thingerawso! To-
morrow an opportunity shall be given thee to prove thy
love in prowess and to rid me of this insufferable burden."
Then shading her lustrous brown eyes with her hand in
hurried scrutiny that they were unobserved, in a tense
whisper she unfolded her plot. On the morrow, she told
him, she would lure Connosota to come to the spot where
they then stood, on Winona's Rock. "And," said she fer-
vently clasping her hands and looking upward, "may the
Great Spirit deliver this, our mortal enemy, into thine
hand!"

She further explained that the exact hour when her

A LEGEND OF PLUCKEMIN 87

lover might expect his victim vv^as beyond her powder to
name, but just as he should start out to see her favorite
seat, which short pilgrimage she vi^ould exact of him in
proof of his devotion — then she would spill milk Into the
stream that ran near their camp and which fed the falls.
''Therefore," she said, "let my beloved Thingerawso
tarry by the falling waters and what time they turn white,
even with the milk, then may'st thou walk straight to
the rock here and find the enemy who must be slain and
cast over the precipice into the lake, to the end that thou
and I shall be made happy."

Next day at the prearranged signal, when Thingerawso
saw the water running over the falls white with milk,
knitting his brows and clenching his teeth, he made for
the place of deadly tryst. Arriving at the spot, there,
gazing at the fair scene, in obedience to his enforced be-
trothed, stood Connosota. Grasping his tomahawk in a
hand of iron the Delaware swooped down the slope.

''Death to the miscreant! Thingerawso, a Delaware
chief, decrees It!" Thingerawso shouted, and sv^ng his
weapon to dash out his enemy's brains. But quick as
thought the wily Connosota whipped something from un-
der his cloak that no Delaware had ever heard of, and
shot the advancing chief with a white man's pistol.
Thingerawso fell, calling Winona's name, and by his
own Impetus rolled over the cliff, a dead man, into the
lake below.

From the mountain top the waiting Winona ran to
meet her lover, though terrified at the awful sound of the
unknown firearm, which she mistook for thunder and
which echoed and re-echoed, not seven but seemingly sev-

88 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

enty times seven times among the mountains and distant
hills. She ran on until she reached the fatal rock, where
she had promised to meet her victorious lover and had
likewise but faithlessly promised to meet Connosota,
neither wishing nor expecting to see him again alive. But,
alas! there stood, not the man she loved, but her hated
betrothed, with a ghastly stream of blood beneath her
feet; whose blood! Pointing dramactically at the tell-
tale gore:

"What hast thou done, oh, murderous Mengwe?" she
screamed, on the point, as it seemed, of flying at his
throat like a lioness robbed of her whelps.

'1 have slain the cut-throat Delaware, Thingerawso,"
he answered. ''That is his blood; be it upon his own
head ; his body is there," and he pointed to the lake.

Speechless she passed him, and peering over the cliff
saw the dear dead face she loved so well in the water far
below. So near was she to the brink of the dizzy preci-
pice that Connosota, brave man as he was, covered his
eyes and called in abject fear for her:

"Winona! Oh, Winona!" But she neither heeded or
heard him.

As she gazed down in rapt agony, the dead face sank
out of sight just as weird, answering echoes came back
over the water, calling pathetically, "Winona! Win-
ona!"

"Thou callest me, my love," she said with a smile of
sweet contentment, "and I come to thee!" and she plung-
ed over the precipice to death with her lover.

.i

to^g

Thingerawso fell, calling Winona's name,

A NIGHT OF TERROR.

THINGS SEEN AND HEARD BY "dICk" LOUD IN THE SO-
CALLED HAUNTED INN AT CHERRYVILLE.

Things left undone that we ought to have done are
often brought home to us In this sublunary sphere. It
ought to have been and was Intended, but forgotten, to
be mentioned In my last article, that I was Indebted to
two aged men for the bulk of what was said about the
old Cherryvllle tavern, namely, to J. Rutsen Schenck, of
Clover Hill, and old Garret Docherty, the constable, of
Montgomery. The latter, who gave me much of the
data, I regret now to learn, died several days ago. In
fact he seems to have told me his story and died almost
with the last words of It upon his lips.

Long before he became a constable himself, "Gat"
even as a boy took great Interest In the tales of men who
had grown old and gray In that office. One of these.
Constable Durham, had a seemingly Inexhaustible fund
of story about all sorts of queer things In his own and
others' experience. Among many other stories he told
"Gat" about some happenings of a ghostly kind at the
Cherryvllle tavern, while It stood empty, after old "Abe"
Skinner's somewhat dramatic end there.

Naturally, after what happened there, a kind of awe-
some feeling among the neighbors made them stand aloof
from the premises; so that grass and weeds were soon
springing up In the yards and between the bricks and
stones of the pavement In front of the house. In the late

89

T

90 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

fall, when the wind has final tussles with the trees for
possession of their last leaves and the sun begins to sulk
behind cold, leaden clouds, almost making night of it about
5 P. M., it is a pretty bleak place around Cherryville.
If a man has ridden far and has had little to eat since
an early breakfast, he's apt to feel hungry and cold up
here; something like the wolves did of old when they
used to skulk down from these hills in great numbers,
to the level where Flemington now stands so gracefully,
or father on, down the sheltered vale of the South
Branch River, for their suppers.

Not unlike one of these in the demands of his inner
man was Richard, or "Dick," Loud, as he was called, an
extensive cattle and horse dealer from Pennsylvania, who
happened here one bleak day as he was passing through the
State. It was one of "Dick's" boasts that he knew more
of tavern life than any other man in New Jersey. "Big
Bill" Armstrong and his tavern were a combination af-
ter "Dick's" own heart. He knew them both well,
though he had not seen one or the other for some years.
On this occasion he rode eagerly toward the inn and fin-
ally reached it.

"Hallo, the house!" the rider shouted as he reined up
in front of the tavern. Then he noticed the closed blinds.
''Hey! my man," he called to a farmhand passing,
"What's to do here? Has Armstrong put up the shut-
ters for the night already?"

"Armstrong, said ye?" asked the man; "why he's been
dead more'n two year. Another falla, Abe Skinner, kept
place since him. He's dead, too. Place has been shet
goin' on six months."

A NIGHT OF TERROR 91

"Here! don't be in such an all-fired hurn*!" demanded
■"Dick"" as the stranger walked on. "I want supper and
bed for myself and horse, and I'm bound to have it."

"There was light in the tavern last night," said the
stranger, walking on. "Mebbe somebody's a-kepin' it
again, ^e might get in if ye tried."

The fact was the young man thus questioned, Tony
Trimmer by name, was so filled with superstitious fear of
the inn that no money could have bribed him to stay
longer. He really suspected that the mounted man was
only a phantom of the haunted place.

'"Well. I like this — over the left I" said "Dick." ''Tom,
my friend, this is tough," he murmured, addressing his
horse as if he were a human companion. "Come, get up
with you to the barn, Tom. You're the first to be con-
sidered, an)"way. We'll storm the old place for a night's
lodging whatever comes."

Having found everything necessan," and stabled his
horse comfortably, "Dick" next thought of his own needs,
and, with his big stock whip doubled up in his hand, he
marched across to the inn he had known so long and liked
so well. First he tried the front door, but, getting no re-
sponse to his knocks, he went 'round to the back.

"By Jiminies!" he cried, at last, "I wonder if the old
string arrangement is here still!''

He found that it was. Then he pulled the bobbin and
"open sesame!" in he walked, just as he had done many a
time in former days.

All was quiet and as dark as pitch in the house, but
out from ''Dick's' capacious pocket came his portable
tinderbox and steel, and a light was struck in no time.

92 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

Candles of all lengths were there in their candlesticks,
just as they had been blown out long months before.
After lighting a couple of these he lost no time in making
for the bar. There on the counter and tables stood stone
and pewter mugs, covered with dust and dried-up dregs
of long ago potations. Each vessel, when lifted, left a
little circular island of clean wood amid the dust that
covered everything. "Dick's" eye, however, wandered
in search of something more potent than stuff usually
slopped out in stone and pewter pots.

"Aha! here she is!" he exclaimed, bringing out a high-
shouldered, green bottle from the dark recesses of a closet.
Pulling out the cork, he sniffed at the contents and smiled.
With this and a couple of silver-mounted horn noggins
"Dick" made his way to what used to be his favorite table,
where he and "Big Bill" Armstrong had sat many an
hour together. He pulled up two chairs, for a strange
fancy got hold of him to imagine that his old favorite,
"Bill," sat there facing him, as of yore. Having wiped
the thick of the dust away with his sleeve, he put on the
table the candle, the green bottle and the two drinking
vessels. Then, filling both measures to the brims, he
raised one, tipped its top and bottom in a convivial way
against the other and nodded smilingly across the table.

" 'Biir Armstrong, mine old friend and host," he said,
"your jolly good health." Then he drained his noggin
to the dregs.

"You see, 'Bill,' we're mostly great fools in this stupid
old world of ours," Dick went on pleasantly, refilling his
glass; "but to me, now, the trifling fact of j^our having
kicked the bucket needn't interfere at all with our socia-

A NIGHT OF TERROR 93

bility to-night. This house without you is an impossibil-
ity— quite out of the question. If you've thought proper
to change your coat, what of it? You're there, all the
same. I cannot see you as plainly and distinctly as be-
fore, but that's my fault and not yours. Here's to you
again, my good old host, and may your shadow never
grow less!" and again Dick's glass was emptied.

Then there came three loud knocks on the door or
under the floor — Dick hardly knew which. But he went
to the door and opened it.

"Come in, good friends," he called, being anything but
averse to one or two more for company; but nobody
was there, and the only response to his invitation to en-
ter was made by a great gust of wind and pelting rain.
It took all his strength to close the door again against
the blast which whistled and whined through windows
and keyholes like voices of goblins.

"That must have been old Simon, your cellarman, that
knocked, 'Bill,' " Dick said, returning to his imaginary
host. "I remember his knock full well, when he used to
summon you below stairs. Never mind, 'Bill' just keep
your seat; I'll run down for you. I'll wager Simon just
wants you to stand me a magnum, eh? What! Excuse
me, 'Bill,' I'll return anon." And away went Dick with
the second candle.

"What, ho! Simon! Didst knock, man?" he called,
but he got no answer.

"Out on thee, thou baron of bungholes!" he shouted.
"I believe thou livest and growest fat on the mildewed
cobwebs and dust of thine ancient and fruity treasures
down here*

94 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

Then seizing the wooden hammer used by cellar-men,
he hit a half-empty hogshead a few resonant bangs, sing-
ing what was probably the fag end of some old bacchanal's
sentiments :

O never a church bell sweeter rung
Than the sound of his hammer on a brandy bung —
His old wooden mallet that so long he's swung —
Sing ho! for old Simon the cellarer!

Walking forward he saw and seized a goodly sized
wine bottle.

"See, mine host 'Bill,' " he shouted; "a magnum, with
the jolly old Simon's compliments. Good old port; im-
ported port, of Oporto! Selah!"

By the time he had finished the port — all but the one
glass duly set before his invisible host — "Dick" had jab-
bered himself tired and somewhat sleepy. About mid-
night, with many apologies for leaving what he called his
"entertainer's very agreeable company," he took his candle
and started upstairs.

"I know my old bunk, 'Bill.' Don't move a step!"
"Dick" said at parting. "It's like going upstairs in my
own home. I never had a real home in my life, though ;
but that's the very reason I know so well what a home
should be. A fair good-night to thee, friend 'Bill,' and
happy dreams."

"Dick" Loud seemed to hugely enjoy his merry conceit
of thus conjuring up his old host for company and chuck-
led over it as he shambled a little unsteadily toward the
hall leading to the stairs. He held in utter scorn all

A NIGHT OF TERROR 95

tales about ghosts and had many a time gloried in telling
of things like what he had just done as a proof that all
such beliefs were fit only for weak women and children.

From the room where "Dick" was to the hall, there
was a drop of about two Inches in the floor. This to
most people Is worse than a clearly apparent drop of three
times that depth; and It proved somewhat of a pitfall to
''Dick," for he stumbled to his knees and let his candle
fall, extinguishing his light. Scrambling quickly to his
feet, an imprecation died on his lips as he beheld a lighted
candle In the hand of a thin, bent old man who was slowly
mounting the stairs. Grabbing up his broken candle he
hurried toward him.

"Hallo, there! friend Simon; stop and give us a light,
won't you!" cried Dick; but the man took no notice and
went on up the stair.

"Deaf as a doornail!" thought "Dick" as he rattled
pell-mell up the stair in pursuit, "but I'll make him hear
me!

He reached the top step only just in time to see the old
man disappear through a door a few feet away, leaving
the hall in utter darkness. Lighting his candle In his own
way, "Dick" determined to see more of the unsociable old
man and proceeded to pound on the door. Stopping to
see if there was any response and putting his ear to the
door, he couldn't hear a sound within. Then reaching
down to shake the latch, he found there was none there ;
and more, a cold shiver ran through him to find that it
was no ordinary door at all, but a dummy or blind door
that had been nailed up and not opened for scores of years.

"By my halidom, Dick Loud; brave man as thou art,

96 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

this seemeth to down thy proudest philosophy!" Dick
muttered to himself, considerably sobered. "Through the
very timber of this door that old man passed, as sure as I
live and breathe the breath of a mortal man. Humph!
methinks port on top o' brandy and no supper withal doth
unman me! Sleep — sleep only will correct this brainless
phantasy."

Another surprise awaited him, for as he approached the
room he had formerly occupied, the door, which had been
closed, slowly opened with a long "sque-a-k," of its own
accord. "Dick" stared hard at the door, looked behind it
and everywhere, to find if anybody had moved the door
and hid afterward, but he could see nobody and nothing
to account for it.

"Humph !" said he again in a dissatisfied way. "Enough
of this. I'm in my own room of old now and there's my
bed. A truce to this humbug!"

With that he banged the door shut, locked it, set the
candle down on a chair and flung himself, all as he was,
on the bed. He couldn't sleep, however. An unaccount-
able restlessness so pervaded his whole system that sleep
was impossible, excepting little cat-naps, out of which he
woke every few minutes with a start.

This astonished him greatly, but it might not have
done so had he known that the floor and walls of his room
were stained with spatters and splashes of human blood.
Of course he knew nothing of it, but that was the room
where old Skinner's housekeeper was said to have been
murdered. The very bed where he lay had been satur-
ated with blood and remained as It was left after that

Bill Armstrong, mine old friend and host,
good health."

he said, "your jolly

A NIGHT OF TERROR 97

tragedy. But a half-drunk man with a broken, sputtering
candle for light is not very discriminating.

One shadow on the white wall "Dick" had been watch-
ing for some time. He thought it grew larger and larger,
and he could have sworn he saw it move.

"Only the flicker of the candle," he thought at last,
and dozed again.

Presently he awoke with a spring. Half conscious, he
had heard a moan for some time; and now that shadow
had turned into a crouching woman, evidently in an
agony of fear at the sound of approaching footsteps in the
hallway. Then, before "Dick" could collect his wits, the
old man he had seen on the stairs burst into the room
and while the woman dropped on her knees with clasped
hands, he raised a heavy cleaver and dashed out her brains.

With cold beads upon his brow, "Dick" sprang from
the bed at the ruthless murderer; but he grasped only
empty air. His rage and horror turned to dread. He
seized the candle and held it down to find the woman.
She, too, had vanished ; but there, where she fell was
the mark of a pool of blood. Holding the light to the
dark smudge on the wall, he saw that that was blood, too.
Other stains were everywhere.

"Even on the bed where I've been lying; Zounds! it's
■a human shamble!" he exclaimed, backing out shivering
and aghast. But once outside the door he stopped in
breathless astonishment.

At the other side of the passage the same old man, now
with a noose of stout rope around his neck, was in the
act of tying the other end to the stair banister. The man
then deliberately flung himself down the stairway. Dick

98 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

was filled with horror. He rushed to cut the man down,
but neither man nor rope w^as there; everything was still
as the grave.

The first gray streaks of morning discovered a man on
horseback, riding with all speed away from the haunted
Cherryville Tavern. It was **Dick" Loud, and it was
the last time he was ever seen in that vicinity.

WHEN TALMAGE WAS YOUNG.

INCIDENTS IN THE FAMOUS CLERGYMAN S LIFE WHEN

HE ATTENDED GREEN KNOLL SCHOOL, NEAR

SOMERVILLE.

In the year 1817 only one lonely house stood facing
the sea on that part of the Jersey coast now occupied by
Long Branch. The inmates of the house, being fisher-
folks, always cast their eyes to seaward with the first
streaks of daylight, for they knew it was a treacherous
coast, that often proved fatal to ships that tried to pass
in the night.

One of the first of this family to be out on this morning
was the old grandfather, who had been a sailor for many
years. On a level spot commanding a good sea view he
would walk up and down studying the wind and weather
and watery horizon, just as he formerly did on the slip-
pery deck of his vessel, and he as faithfully reported each
passing craft to his family in the house, as he was wont to
do to the captain in his cabin, when he kept larboard or
starboard watch aboard ship.

"Ahoy, below there, shipmates! Slip your cables!" he
sung out one morning before the others were astir: "Ship
dismasted and driving ashore, going down fast by her
head! Wind east, blowin' a whole gale!"

The son and son's sons were soon rushing down to the
shore where the mighty breakers came bounding, roaring
and hissing in. What were their little fishing boats
among such raging billows? They could do nothing!

99

loo WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

But there was no signal of distress nor other sign of life
on the ship. The waves broke in seething mountains over
her and rolled her hull like a huge log before them. Evi-
dently all on board had perished.

Presently a man was seen in the surf, buffeted by the
waves, but clinging tenaciously to a broken spar. After
many disappearances and reappearances, each time flung
by the waves nearer land, he was finally seized and hauled
ashore. Then it was found that he was lashed to the spar
with a stout rope and that he was to all appearance dead.
They, however, bore him to the lonely house, where kind,
expert treatment restored him to life.

The rescued man proved to be Francis Hastings, about
twenty years of age, a native of Cheltenham, Gloucester-
shire, England. Having lost everything he possessed in
the wreck, the young man, when recovered, was given
food and clothes; and as he was of superior education, he
soon set about maintaining himself by teaching school.
As time went on he enlarged his work and later he taught
a goodly number of pupils in a building which stood near
where the Green Knoll school now stands, about half way
between Pluckemin and Somerville.

The late Dr. T. DeWitt Talmage was one of Mr.
Hasting's pupils in that school. Living with his parents
in the house now owned by Frederick Potts, on the Tal-
mage road out of Somerville, until he was about fiftten,
the doctor used to go across lots to the Hastings School.
Dr. Talmage was born on a farm near Somerville, on the
Pluckemin road. When he was about ten the family
moved to and lived In the toll-gate house, on the old New
Jersey turnpike from Easton to New Brunswick, where

WHEN TALMAGE WAS YOUNG loi

they kept the toll-gate. The boy, who afterwards rose
to fame, used often to relieve his father by keeping the
gate and taking the toll money.

For these and many other interesting facts I am m-
debted to John A Powelson, a cousin of Dr. Talmage
and a nephew of Francis Hastings. Mr. Powelson has a
fine farm and a pleasant residence about a mile and a half
out of Pluckemin on the Somerville road. Being intensely
interested in the folklore of his native State, and of this
section in particular, he desired some years ago to verify
the statement as to Talmage and Hastings, and wrote
the doctor asking if he remembered going to the Hastings
school. To this a manuscript reply was received. It is
said to be the last autograph letter that the doctor ever
wrote. The missive is dated at Washington, April lo,
1 901, and is addressed to "John A. Powelson, Esq." In
it the doctor wrote:

"Your letter received concerning Mr. Francis Hast-
ings. Yes, I remember Mr. Hastings as my teacher in
the schoolhouse on the road between Pluckemin and Som-
erville. It was then called Herod's school, a man by the
name of Herod living near. I remember Mr. Hastings
opened the school eveiy morning with prayer, putting his
foot on a chair and his elbow on his knee and his hand
before his eyes, but often looking through his fingers while
he prayed to see if any of us were behaving badly, so that
he literally fulfilled the injunction, 'Watch and pray.'

"I am glad to know that he is being held in remem-
brance, for he was a good man and faithful. Yours,

T. DeWitt Talmage."

"Big Jim Quick," as he is called, one of Talmage's

I02 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

playmates and school-fellows, is now eighty years of age,
and a resident of Somerville. "Big Jim" is six feet three
inches in height and of proportionate build. He and De-
Witt, as Talmage was called in those long ago days, at-
tended the "Herod" school at the same time.

"He was a good boy, was DeWitt," Jim says, "but he
was full of harmless mischief just like most other boys. He
was a born leader, though, wherever he was."

It seems that old "Herod," who lived near the school
and had a nice apple orchard, was a lame and crusty indi-
vidual. It is broadly understood that this dangerous
combination, coupled with a stout cane, such as lame men
usually carry, probably impressed the cruel name of
"Herod" upon many another boy's mind, as well as on
that of the lad who, after rising to world-wide distinc-
tion, so well remembered him.

The old man's name was not "Herod," however, any
more that it was "Old Gooseberry," which the boys also
called him. His real name was Herrlot. But the nick-
name "Herod," even In the great preacher's memory,
seems to have outlived all others.

One night "big Jim" and his favorite playmate, De-
Witt Talmage, were left alone at the former's home to
amuse themselves, while David Talmage and Mr. Quick
senior went to make a call. After many games and
tricks, the irrepressible DeWitt inserted a lighted candle
into his mouth and then dared Jim to do it. Not to be
outdone, Jim grabbed the candle and did the same thing,
intending to quickly withdraw it as DeWitt had done;
but the latter, really with much greater force than he in-
tended, struck Jim's hand and sent the blazing candle

WHEN TALMAGE WAS YOUNG 103

into his throat, quite severely burning his tonsils. That
was one of the many Talmage stunts that old Somerville
residents still talk about.

Another man who remembers Dr. Talmage's boyhood,
though he was much younger than the doctor, is Van
Nest Garretson. He well remembers a trip that DeWitt
made with him and Mr. Garretson to North Branch in a
wagon drawn by a team of oxen. The trip was made to
get a load of wood. On the return journey the oxen be-
came unmanageable and ran away. DeWitt and Van
Nest were much alarmed, but the latter 's father, who was
quite calm, laughed at them.

''Never mind, boys!" he shouted. "We can ride as
hard as they can run! Hold fast and let them go!"

At a turn in the road, however, the wagon was upset
and they ail w^nt rolling into a ditch, but no one was
injured.

When the Talmages kept the tollgate, the women folk
sometimes took the money. One day when Mrs. Talmage
was on duty, a Mr. Gaston came through. He happened
to be carrying a cat in his wagon, intending to drop it
somewhere to get rid of it. He was a droll man and ex-
ceedingly fond of a joke, and so when Mrs. Talmage had
politely opened the gate and reached out for the money,
much to her horror, Gaston dropped his cat in her hand
and drove ofi. Upon returning, however, he paid his
proper dues and said the laugh he had had was good inter-
est on the money. The old wooden cradle in which Dr.
Talmage was rocked in his babyhood came into this Mr.
Gaston's family and is still carefully preserved by them.

Francis Hastings, who so pathetically landed in this

I04 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

country, stripped by the merciless waves of all but life,
had been given a liberal education before he left his native
England. This was done in preparation for a high sta-
tion which he was almost certain to succeed to, and it
stood him in good stead in the profession he immediately
took up — that of teaching. After working at this calling
for fourteen years he purchased a small farm in Bridge-
water Township, on the Pluckemin road, and married
Ann Powelson, who was a great-aunt to my informant,
John A. Powelson. Hastings was a man of the deepest
piety and never engaged in any undertaking without first
seeking the Divine guidance in prayer. He was chosen
one of the first elders of the Pluckemin Presbyterian
Church.

There was an additional pathos added to the life of
Francis Hastings in the fact that, through powerful oppo-
sition and malfeasance brought to bear against his inter-
ests in England, his legal heirship to titled revenues and
valuable estates there was overridden and lost.

On the death of his uncle, the distinguished nobleman
and soldier, Francis Hastings, Marquis of Hastings,
Baron Rawdon, Earl of Huntingdon and Moira, etc., in
the year 1825, William Hastings, brother of the deceased
Francis and father of Francis Hastings, who taught school
here, became the just and legal heir to the baronies of
Hastings, comprising the earldoms of Huntingdon and
Moira, but in consequence of the malversations then
made use of he was deprived of his rights.

The claim stands recorded in the College of Heraldry
in London and was prosecuted to the utmost of the heir's
ability. It, however, failed, probably for lack of sufficient

WHEN TALMAGE WAS YOUNG 105

funds to set In motion the very cumbrous legal machinery
necessary to be moved in his behalf. There were many
personal letters on the subject from Lord Lyon, and all
of them went to show the validity of Mr. Hastings's just
claim. These letters are still among Mr. Hastings's pa-
pers, which are now in the possession of his grandchildren
in the West.

After his father's death, Hastings made several visits
from his Am.erican home to England in the hope of es-
tablishing his rights as direct heir, but these trips were
all in vain. His first trip over on this special quest was
made in the well-known first leviathan steamship Great
Eastern on her first return voyage from New York to
England.

After the death of his wife in 1854 Mr. Hastings
moved with his family to Fulton County, 111., where his
children and grandchildren still reside. He returned to
this State and died in Jersey City about fifteen years ago
at the age of ninety-seven years. His remains and those
of his wife are buried in the Pluckemin Cemetery.

PRINCE" GEORGE OF SOMERSET.

PICTURESQUE CHARACTER WHO WAS WELL KNOWN IN

PLUCKEMIN AND WHO FOUND A BRIDE IN

UPPER NEW YORK.

In his time George Van Nest, or "Prince George," as
he was commonly called, was unquestionably one of the
most picturesque figures of Somerset County. Born in
1736 he was the son of Peter Van Nest, after whom
Peter's Brook, near Pluckemin, was named. He was also
a great-grandfather of the Rev. Dr. Talmadge. Peter's
father, also named Peter, was the original, or pioneer,
Van Nest in America. He emigrated to this country
from the Netherlands in 1647 and lived in Brooklyn, N.
Y.

Peter Van Nest, the second in America, was the first
of the family in New Jersey. He owned a large tract of
fertile land along the north branch of the Raritan River,
between the village of North Branch and Somerville, and
in time his estate was portioned off among his sons, whom
he left all well to do.

George, especially, lived so sumptuously, dispensed
such a royal hospitality arid moved at all times with so
much pomp and dignity, that nothing short of the title of
prince seemed to fit him. Naturally, it rose to people's
lips in speaking of him. When he went out driving, one
of his many slaves in high hat and stifif "choker," held the
reins; another in equally correct garb sat by the driver
with folded arms, bolt upright, ready at all times to get

106

"PRINCE" GEORGE OF SOMERSET 107

down and open gates, brush off stinging flies from the
horses, or clear away any obstruction, alive or dead, from
their path. Alongside the lordly master himself sat his
little darky page, who always followed close at his mas-
ter's heels at home or abroad, ready to fill his pipe, hold
his great coat and cane, open and close doors and perform
the thousand little offices of personally and obsequiously
waiting upon him.

"Prince" George's picture hangs in the fine old home-
stead of his great-grandson, Henry Van Nest Garretson,
near North Branch, where a number of Talmage's youth-
ful years were spent, and where the old-time upper and
lower half doors are still to be seen. Over the latter of
these the doctor (Talmage) used to swing when a little
boy and look longingly down the road for the return of
his parents from church. At the height of his fame the
great preacher delighted in going over this and other
familiar scenes of his early youth, in company with friends
from the great cities.

Any one who knew Dr. Talmage, and who looks at the
portrait of "Prince" George, can hardly fail to see a
striking family likeness between the two. The doctor
was taller and his countenance showed greater mentality,
but in his great-grandfather's face in the picture the same
strong lines of intellectual individuality and force are
plainly discernible.

With all his magnificence, "Prince" George fell an
easy victim to the charms of Catherine Williamson, an at-
tractive young woman who lived with her parents in
Seneca County, N. Y. His parents had taken him there
on a visit when he was a mere lad, and he and Catherine

io8 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

played together with other children. Young as he was,
however, George was deeply impressed with his play-
mate, and more than once he told her with what must
have been comical gravity that he considered her a very
nice girl and that when he was big enough he would
come all the way from Jersey on a prancing steed to get
her for his wife.

"And," said he one day, "I'll bring a fine horse and a
side saddle for you, so that you can ride back with me."

Catherine was then swinging on the garden gate. She
stopped her swinging to listen and stood demurely look-
ing at her little cavalier. Suddenly her mother burst out
laughing just behind her:

"Oh, for goodness sake," the mother cried, "look at
George and Cattie sweethearting!"

Instantly and without a word Catherine hit George
a stinging smack on his cheek and ran into the house cry-
ing. That was the last George and Catherine saw of
each other for more than ten years. But George had not
forgotten her. When next they met his face was pro-
tected by a beard, and the red marks of Catherine's fin-
gers seemed to have been transferred to her own cheeks.
The chubby little boy was now transfigured into the
handsome, rich and regal-looking "Prince George." The
girl had become a charming woman.

This time she did not smite him upon the cheek, al-
though he had the temerity to repeat the very same pro-
posal that he made to her that other time, when she, in a
dimity pinafore, was swinging on the garden gate. It is
freely admitted that her mother did not make fun of her
on this occasion^

"PRINCE" GEORGE OF SOMERSET 109

As a result of the talk that the couple had on this oc-
casion "Prince George" rode away to his Jersey home as
happy as a lark. He had Catherine's permission to bring
to her that horse and side saddle, and in his heart he knew
that she would return with him as his wife. Early in
the following summer — that eventful summer of 1765,
just when the news was permeating the indignant colo-
nies that the British Parliament had passed the stamp
act — "Prince George" appeared at her home once more,
and they were duly married. Catherine, an expert horse-
woman, vaulted to the back of the shining and fiery bay
mare which George had brought for her, and dashed out
over the meadows for a preliminary or trial spin. There
were ejaculations of wonder and fear from the town-bred
visitors for Catherine's safety. After a number of evo-
lutions and sprints, with the mare under perfect control,
she rode back at a canter, patting and stroking the arched
neck of her mount. Then, reining the horse, the young
woman jumped to the ground.

"George!" she cried to her husband, "I'd follow you
on that mare around the world! She's my queen! And
the saddle like herself, is second to none. It is the blue
ribbon of perfection!"

The long wedding march from the young bride's home
in New York was commenced immediately and continued
daily until the travellers finally reached their home, within
about a mile of Pluckemin. The only roads to follow
were bridle paths or Indian trails. As the Indians were
then plentiful and in an ugly mood, the "Prince's" escort
of four mounted and armed blacks in advance and four

I lo WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

following his wife and himself and their two pages, was
no more than the case called for.

The red men had been growing more and more dan-
gerous since the termination of the French war in 1760,
until in 1763 that able and warlike chief, Pontiac, arose
and fell upon the English in the Northwest, capturing all
their posts west of Oswego, except Niagara, Fort Pitt and
Detroit. Following the tremendous prestige and daring
this gave them, the Indians were scouring the country in
bands far and wide, plundering, murdering and burning
all before them, determined, as they said, to exterminate
the white grovelers, who were increasing and multiply-
ing so alarmingly.

If the wedding party had delayed setting out just one
day longer, in all likelihood it would never have readied
the "prince's" home, but would have perished as so many
other parties did in those perilous times, leaving no rec-
ord behind of what had befallen them. As it was, at the
end of their first day's ride, "Prince" George and his fel-
low-travelers put up for the night at a little settlement
village called Painted Post. They left the next morning
at daybreak, continuing their journey by forced marches
along the Susquehana River and through Pennsylvania.
It was well for them that they did so, for they just es-
caped a desperate gang of more than fifty savages, wlio
the very next night surrounded Painted Post, killed evcr\
white person they could find and burnt the place to tlv
ground.

Fortunately, "Prince George" and Catherine's honey-
moon in the saddle ended propitiously and all arrived at
the old homestead in safety. If, as so nearly happened, it

"PRINCE" GEORGE OF SOMERSET 1 1 1

had been otherwise, the whole Christian world would
have been the loser, for it would never have known T. De-
Witt Talmage.

"PRINCE" GEORGE'S SONS

HOW THE OFFSPRING OF A FAMOUS SOMERSET COUNTY
MAN PROSPERED IN THE DAYS OF LONG AGO.

When George Van Nest, otherwise known as "Prince"
George, and his fair bride, Catherine, arrived at his an-
cestral home in Somerset County; it may be assured that
he was ignorant of one thing, and that was that his great-
grandson, John Van Nest, would live in that same old
homestead, and would have the distinction in this, our
day, of being a near neighbor of Tunis Melick, the far-
famed and hilariously popular "Mayor of Pluckemin."

Were the present Mr. Van Nest disposed to shut his
eyes to this fact — which I feel sure he is not — his ears
would inevitably remind him of it, for the jolly Mr.
Melick has a singularly far-reaching and pleasing baritone
voice, which floats on the ambient air to incredible dis-
tances, especially when, with reassuring and resounding
laugh, he declines some proffered favor with his famous
recitative: "Later on, boys! later on!! later on!!!"

"Prince" George and Catherine had seven sons and
two daughters. According to a family tradition one of
the daughters, Jane, was always terribly afraid to go up
to the garret of their home, because of a peculiar fore-
handedness on her father's part. He owned much timber
of the finest kind, but prided himself particularly in his
great store of black walnut. One tree pleased him so
well that he had a number of slabs carefully sawed from
it, and these, after inspection, he labeled, "For my coffin."

112

"PRINCE" GEORGE'S SONS 113

Then he stored them away in the garret. Jane dreaded
to enter the garret on this account, and whenever un-
avoidable duties took her there she kept a wary eye on
those black boards, usually finishing her visits by scudding
from the room as if the slabs were following her.

All the *'princes's" sons became rich men. This, how-
ever, was not due to the proverbial ''silver spoon." Abra-
ham, the most pronounced success of them all, ran away
from home when he was twelve years old and with only
one dollar in his pocket. Like many another adventurous
boy since his day, little Abe landed in New York, but
unlike most runaways of these latter days, he was not
fired with dime novel ambitions.

On the contrary, Abe set out to find employment. He
soon obtained a position, and, going earnestly to work,
he saved what remained of his scant capital. Soon he had
his dollar back again, and then he began adding bit by
bit to it from his small pay as errand boy in a harness sup-
ply store. He stuck to his work, never once asking for
a day off. His pay grew with his stature, up and up,
until at last he was made manager of the concern. Then
he worked harder than ever, and in time he became pro-
prietor of the business.

In 181 9, when he was forty-two, and had been thirty
years in New York, he bought the old Warren mansion,
which, surrounded by beautiful grounds, stood in what
was then a rural hamlet on the outskirts of New York,
and was known as Greenwich Village. He paid $10,000
for it. This house was built in 1740 by Sir Peter War-
ren, vice-admiral of the English navy, who at that time
was in command of the British fleet in New York. It

114 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

was the admiral's summer home, his town house being on
Bowling Green. Long years afterwards, when the city
eventually crept up and absorbed Greenwich, Mr. Van
Nest's property formed one whole block, surrounded by
Bleecker, Fourth, Charles and Perry streets.

When Mr. Van Nest bought Warren House it was
two miles beyond the city limit. The family, according
to Mr. Van Nest's daughter, Mrs. Ann Van Nest Bus-
sing, used to go to it every summer from their city home,
the latter being where the Corn Exchange Bank now
stands on William street. Kip & Brown's stage coaches
then ran every hour between Greenwich Village and New
York, and those desiring to take the trip were obliged to
give notice at the company's office, so that the coach might
call for them. So lonely and dark was the road from the
city at night, Mrs. Bussings says, that when her father
was detained later than usual her mother anxiously
awaited the return of his carriage.

The house stood in a perfect forest of grand old horse
chestnuts, willows, poplars, sycamores and locusts, form-
ing in places an impenetrable shade. Besides these, there
were cherry, apricot and peach trees, always laden in their
season with delicious fruit. The garden, which extend-
ed the whole length of the two-and-a-half-acre tract, was
in summer a very fair^dand of flowers of the good ohi
kinds — hollyhocks, coxcombs, sweet William, bleedinj
hearts, ragged sailors, maid-o'-the mist, bachelor buttons,
wallflowers, old man, mignonette, lilies, clove pinks,
phlox, poppies, larkspurs, strawberrv^ shrub, etc. All the
old favorites were there in abundance, in boxwood-bo r-

"PRINCE" GEORGE'S SONS i' ,

dered beds of fanciful shapes. In June the whole garden
was pink w^ith the loveliest roses.

The carriage drive which at one time wound grace-
fully through the extensive woods of the Warren estate
in later 5^ears ran straight through from one street to the
other. A wide hall extended from the front to the back
of the house, and on the first landing of the broad, old-
fashioned staircase a tall and very ancient clock sedately
checked off the passage of time.

Many changes had the old sentinel seen from its sta-
tion in the hall during its stately tour of dut^' through
nearly fifty years. It had heard voices of gladness and
moans of sorrow. Four times it heard glad marriage
bells rung for one after another of four happily married
daughters. It also heard many other rejoicings. Oftener,
however, it marked the heavy presence of grief and woe,
when the dread reaper came beckoning for the infant, the
child, the youth and man and woman, and bore them off.

The Christmas gatherings, when children, grandchil-
dren and great-grandchildren — in later years numbering
nearly fifty — met at the old homestead and clustered
around the beloved patriarch with "Merry Christmas"
greetings, the house rang with joy. In those days the
little ones loved to stand by "grandpa" and see in answer
to his gentle "coo-coo!" clouds of pigeons — thousands of
them, a relative says — fluttering from their houses to pick
up the handfuls of corn that were showered among them.
John A. Powelson well remembers seeing these things on
his visits to his great-uncle. His mother often antici-
pated with delight that outing of outings, "going to
Greenwich to see Uncle Abraham." Their last visit there

1 16 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

was made in 1863, when Mr. Powelson helped the old
gentleman to feed the myriads of pigeons, and saw the
cow and many chickens as peacefully feeding, as if they
were out in the balmy and far-off country, instead of
being in that marvelous oasis in the very heart of New
York. Mr. Van Nest was then in his eighty-seventh year
and rather feeble, but he was as kindly genial as ever,
especially to his young visitors.

Always the doors were thrown open to clergymen who
were welcome and frequent guests. Closeted with his
clerical friends in the quiet retirement of his library, Mr.
Van Nest spent many of the happiest hours of his life in
taking counsel in devising and perfecting plans for pro-
moting the welfare of the Reformed Dutch Church, the
best interests of which were so dear to his heart.

An interesting reminder of the past was often to be
seen at the old homestead, in the person of the old colored
"Aunty" leaning on the Dutch half-door that opened
gardenward. "Aunty" had lived as a slave in "Prince"
George's family and afterward served nearly forty years
in that of his son Abraham. Her descendants were with
him to the end of his life.

Abraham Van Nest was especially blest in his choice
of a wife. She was Miss Margaret Field, of Fieldville,
near Bound Brook, where she was born in 1782. She
was married when she was nineteen years of age. Beauti-
ful in character, as she was universally acknowledged to
be in person, for fifty years she looked well to the ways
of their household, and as wife and mother she as nearly
approached perfection as it falls to the lot of humanity
to be in anything.

"PRINCE" GEORGE'S SONS 117

Mr. Van Nest was one of the founders of the old
Greenwich Savings Bank of New York, and served as its
president a great many years. He made his will in the year
1807, which was fift>^-seven years before he died. At the
same time he wrote beautiful letters to his sons and daugh-
ters, sealing them and laying them away with his will,
with instructions that they were to be handed to each at
such time after his decease as his executors might deem
expedient. The letters were couched in most aftectionate
terms of advice, breathing forth the deepest piet}-. They
were duly delivered by the executors and have all been
preserved.

Mr. Van Nest died in 1864 in the eighty-eighth year
of his age. Shortly afterward the old homestead, which
cost him $10,000, was sold for upward of $500,000. Soon
the fine old trees fell, the house was demolished and the
garden was blotted out. Then the last long lingering
relic of old Greenwich, a place which was filled with
sacred associations to many a heart in New Jersey, was
known no more.

TALES OF THE PAST.

REALISTIC MANNER IN WHICH A VENERABLE HILLSBOR-
OUGH COUPLE RECALLED THE DAYS OF THE LONG
AGO.

It was my privilege, and certainly my pleasure, to be
present the other evening at a very unusual and most in-
teresting gathering. Unfortunately my admission as a
guest was circumscribed by certain conditions, among these
being an exacted understanding on my part, that neither
the names of the host and hostess nor those of any of their
guests should be given in any printed reference I might
make to the function. It was also understood that I was
not to give any more definite designation as to place than
to say that the house where we met is an old-fashioned
and well-preserved homestead in Hillsborough Township,
of Somerset County, in this State.

The idea occurred to the proprietor and his wife,
both aged and excellent descendants of some of the first
settlers in these parts, that it would be pleasant to recall
old associations and memories in a realistic way. They
accordingly began their preparations by pulling out the
fireboard which had been so many years papered out of
sight like a dead wall, and again exposed the wide old
open fireplace to full view. Then they refurbished a long
disused, old iron pot, hung it up by its pothooks from the
sooty beam and crossbar in the chimney, put in place the
andirons, piled upon them a goodly heap of logs and when
the proper time came set them ablaze.

ii8

TALES OF THE PAST 119

Ancient candelstlcks, tall and short ones, the latter
with trays and snuffers, real tallow candles alight, many
pewter dishes, old-fashioned blue plates, dish covers and
mugs, a brass preserving pan and copper teakettles
adorned the tall mantelpiece. Depending therefrom w^as
a pair of bellows and at each end of the expansive grate
stood the poker, shovel, tongs, etc., that had seen many a
year of active service where they were now reinstated.

The room was also given over to high-backed chairs,
long hair-seated sofas, old pictures, several samplers and
quaint ornaments. In the room there were two spinning
wheels, one for flax and the other for wool. At the lat-
ter, as I entered the place on the long-to-be-remembered
occasion, a grand dame in "tallying" ironed cap, brocaded
gown, little shawl and mittened hands, sat and spun
woolen yarn. It was no make-believe attempt. The
worker made the wheel whirl merrily and the bobbin hum
with the genuine purring sound of real spinning. The
host in a great oaken arm chair, sat smoking a long-
stemmed Dutch pipe. He wore the same kind of knee
breeches, white silk stockings and buckled shoes, and the
same cut of high-necked, broad frocked coat that were
used by his grandfather over a hundred years ago; the
grandson being, himself, now a great-grandfather.

The hostess wore a cap with lavender-colored bows and
ornaments, such as adorned married women's heads some
fifty years ago. In fact every woman present wore a cap
befitting her age. Besides the aged matron presiding at
the spinning wheel, three other venerable dames wore the
old-fashioned white caps with fluted borders. Which ap-
pealed most to the eye, the very old ladies in those ador-

I20 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

able white caps and ancient gowns, the middle-aged ma-
trons in most becoming colored caps and rustling silks, or
the several maidens in very good imitations of the old-
time short-waisted homespuns — it was hard, indeed, to
decide, for all were interesting in their several ways.

After a while the spinning wheels, embroidery reticules
and knitting kits were laid aside, and two old colored
men, for the nonce supposed to be slaves, laid the shining,
homespun linen tablecloth and supper, setting out all the
pewter ware and old delf that was to be had. On the
table, which was liberally supplied with tall candles, were
heaps of brown bread, johnnycakes, cookies, home-made
cake, doughnuts, baked beans, fruit tarts, gingerbread
horses and men. Cider was served in pewter and old
china mugs.

Supper over, in lieu of a dance, a grand-daughter of the
host played a slow march, using the muffled, low pedal of
the piano in imitation of the harp. The host drew the
arm of the senior dame through his own and was followed
by the rest of the company in couples in a procession
around the room, giving one a very interesting glimpse,
as it were, of the past. After several turns, chairs were
arranged in a wide semi-circle about the fire, and as if
nature itself seconded the idea in hand, a storm seemed to
work itself up as a background for the entertainment.
The wind rose high and began to roar through the trees
outside. It whined and whistled through the keyholes
and rumbled in the chimney. Then the colored man
brought in word that a big snow storm was in full swing.
"Let it come, Uncle Tom, my hearty!" cried the host.
"How seasonable it is! Pile on more logs, Tom, and

TALES OF THE PAST 121

'Sing ho! the green holly!
For this is most jolly!'

*'And now, my dear friends," the ruddy-faced old gen-
tleman went on, "let's be seated around the fire and be
comfortable; for Tom is making it outroar the storm
itself, and nothing beats good spruce logs for a merry
crackle of a welcoming fire!"

Then settling himself cozily in his ancestral chair and
making an elevated, acute angle of his meeting finger tips,
with his elbows resting on the chair arms, thus displaying
to great advantage the delicate lace ruffles at his wrists,
and also airing his silver shoe buckles and tights by cross-
ing his legs, the jolly host, his face beaming and rosy with
good humor, set the ball rolling in what he said was de-
cidedly the most important of their evening's amusement.
He explained that each person present should tell some
tale of his or her own experience, or something each must
have heard others tell of their long past — ^let it be an old
song or sermon or sentiment, legend or ghost story, any-
thing, long or short, tragic or comic, of the years gone by.

"And," said he, "as example, however poor it may be,
is ever better than precept, I will tell you that very early
in life I heard a story about one Theophilus Thistle:

"Theophilus Thistle, the successful thistle sifter in
sifting a sieve of unsifted thistles, thrust three thousand
thistle thorns through the thick of his thumb. What did
Theophilus Thistle, the successful thistle sifter, do with
the three thousand thistle thorns thrust through the thick
of his thumb?

This the young folks had never before heard and great

122 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

fun resulted from their unsuccessful attempts to say it
quickly as it had been given. The Thistle story, with sev-
eral other meaningless compositions of the kind, the host
said, used to be given to children to test and improve cer-
tain difficulties of English pronunciation.

"And now," said he, "having exposed my own weak-
ness in ancient lore, and as any one can easily beat me at
it, I propose that we all take turns around the circle as
the sun goes.

"Therefore, my charming and very dear friend," he
said, with a graceful inclination to his next neighbor, the
oldest woman present, a woman in her eighty-eighth
year, "this gives me the honor and pleasure of calling upon
you. Permit me to suggest, 'Aunt Jane,', that there must
be some subtle secret whereby you so wonderfully pre-
serve your youthfulness. That, now, would be the most
interesting of all things to tell us."

Mrs. D., the venerable but sprightly dame thus ad-
dressed, said she would gladly tell them that secret, and
to do so she would give the very words her mother used in
answering a precisely similar question put to her just loi
years ago as follows:

When hungry, of the best I eat,
And dry and warm I keep my feet;
I shield my head from sun and rain,
And let few cares perplex my brain.

That, the old lady said, equally applied to her case and
very completely set forth the only secret as to her own
health.

TALES OF THE PAST 123

The next one called upon in rotation was another
Mrs. D., aged seventy-eight. She related some facts that
seemed of considerable interest and which probably missed
getting into histories of Readington church.

''Casper Berger," she said, "was stolen from Holland
when a little boy, early in the seventeenth century. He
was brought to New York, and, like many other helpless
people in those early times, was sold as a slave. A farmer
on Long Island bought him, and with him the boy worked
until he had bought his freedom, after which he hired
himself for good pay and soon laid by some money. Then
he migrated as one of the earliest settlers in what was af-
terward called Readington. There by great industry and
enterprise he became a rich and prosperous man. He built
the Ten Brook Inn, which soon became a thriving hos-
telry, and in time attained considerable celebrity as a
house of call for coaches and other vehicular traffic be-
tween Easton and other Pennsylvania centres to Newark,
New Brunswick, Elizabethtown, etc. He owned several
hundred acres of land and donated to the village of Read-
ington the church land on which the present Reformed
church stands, as well as the greater part of the surround-
ing cemetery.

"While breaking in a colt Casper Berger had the mis-
fortune to break his leg, and he made a phenomenally bad
patient, being so self-willed and excitable that nobody
could do anything with him. The doctor said that he
should keep to his bed for a length of time, but Mr. Ber-
ger treated such advice with scorn. He insisted on being
out and about and hobbled around with two canes before
the bone was properly set. In doing that he fell and

124 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

broke his leg again. This brought him to his senses and
he lay quietly on his bed until the bone was properly
united and became as gentle and tractable as any man
need be."

Subsequently inquiry among old Readington people
confirms the statement as to Mr. Berger's benefactions,
and points him out as having been to all intents and pur-
poses the founder of that village. He seems to have
owned nearly all the land which the village now covers
and was unquestionably the most generous friend that the
church there ever had, not only in the granting of land,
but by liberal contributions toward church expenses. 1
have frequently heard remarks of astonishment that these
facts seem to have been generally overlooked in most an-
nals of that rural retreat.

The next call was upon Mr. A., who gave his age as
seventy-six. He was, however, a long way from looking
it. He said that one thing he could recall was about the
way a minister many years ago got a call to old Neshanic
Church. In his father's time, Mr. A. said, the pulpit
of the Reformed church at Neshanic became vacant
through the death of their much beloved pastor. The
congregation invited a young clergyman to preach on proba-
tion and they liked him. But having had a pastor for many
years so exactly to their liking, they were inclined to be
jealously exacting about choosing another. . Some of them
argued that it was hardly a sufficient test, to bring a man
there and judge him on the delivery of a few sermons
from texts of his own choosing, doubtless all cut and
dried and well rehearsed for the occasion. They said they
would like to see a text chosen for the candidate, then let

TALES OF THE PAST 125

him preach an extemporaneous sermon therefrom. To
this the minister signified his ready agreement.

"If you will allow me a suggestion," the young man
said, "I propose that I now withdraw from this meeting.
You are all here; suppose, then, that you agree upon a
text among yourselves; then just mark chapter and verse
on this piece of paper and have it laid on the pulpit on
Sunday morning. Whatever is there set down I shall do
my best to preach from."

This being acceptable, the minister left them to their
deliberations. But they were unable to agree on a text.
So when Sunday came one of the deacons folded the blank
paper and laid it on the pulpit. When it came to sermon
time the minister unfolded the paper and found it per-
fectly blank. Taking the paper up and examining one
side of it,

''Here is nothing," he said. Then turning it over:
"And there is nothing," he added. Then after a mo-
ment's pause, he said:

"Brethren, out of nothing the Lord created ever}^-
thing;" and using that as his text, the young man went
on and preached an eloquent sermon. The result was,
Mr. A. said, that the young man was unanimously given
the call; and in a long succeeding pastorate fully justified
the people's choice.

Others told tales of the past and then Miss V., who
was quite elderly, knowing the next and last turn to be
hers, did not wait for her call, but without preliminary,
started off with this :

"Seven brave maids sat on seven broad beds, braiding
seven broad braids. I said to the seven brave maids braid-

126 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

ing seven broad braids: 'Braid broad braids, brave
maids!' "

This was rattled off rapidly without a single slip. If
any reader tries it, as some in the room did, it will not be
found as easy as it might appear at first sight.

The same lady said her father used to point to the
icicles hanging from the eaves of their house and say :

"As long as the icicles down from the eaves.

So deep will be snow^ yet before there are leaves."

A ROMANCE OF OLD BERGEN.

THE SEVEN JENKINS SISTERS, OF JERSEY CITY, AND THE
PRANK CUPID PLAYED ON ONE OF THEM.

At the old homestead gathering already mentioned
Mr. T., a middle-aged man, occupying about the centre
of the large circle surrounding the blazing log fire, in
answer to the host's call for something about old times,
said he did not know exactly whether a story would be
acceptable if it began in that vicinity and ended, say, in
Timbuctoo. I don't suppose it would, he said. But
there's a tale of rather unusual happenings, which com-
menced in Somerville and continued in Jersey City, that
might not be considered quite so remote; so, if it is not
too long I'll give it for what it may be worth.

I am somewhat at sea as to the exact date of the oc-
currence, Mr. T. said, but as near as one can come at it
by a sort of dead reckoning, it must have been some twen-
ty-five years after the Revolutionary War, or roundly,
say, about a hundred years ago, when Somerville began
to assert its claims as a trade centre, that one Abraham
Van Clief had a flourishing general store there.

Besides many other kinds of merchandise, he dealt large-
ly in hats, which he bought of Jeremiah Jenkins, a Welsh
hat manufacturer of Jersey City. The manufacturer and
his good Somerville customer were both prosperous and
fine-looking young men; and in their frequent meetings
at the latter's store, where Jenkins came on his rounds

127

128 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

for orders, they used to joke one another about getting
married.

One day the tu^o men when about to part stood just
inside the store door. At that moment a young woman
passing in the street stopped to look at some article in
the window.

''By Jove!" Jenkins exclaimed, "that's a fine lookinf^
girl;" moving up close to the door the better to see her.
"Now, if I were really in the market," said he, coming
back, "that's about the kind of dainty goods I'd be apt to
consider," He did not seem to notice that Van Clief
colored a little and rather dryly changed the subject. The
truth was that the young woman happened to be the ver^''
person of whom, after a long acquaintance with her. Van
Clief not only held a precisely similar opinion, but he
had latterly been telling himself that as some convenient
season he might ask her to be his wife.

Although the details are unknown, a romance undoubt-
edly followed ; for in the course of a year or so from that
time the affable Mr. Jenkins came to Somerville, courted
and carried off as his wife the pretty girl with whom Mr.
Van Clief in his over-confidence had been too long dally-
ing, and made her the proud mistress of his fine suburban
homestead in what was then the village of Bergen, now
known as Jersey City Heights.

Thirty years after these events, Mrs. Jenkins died,
leaving her husband and seven daughters. The widower
and his motherless girls, with two faithful colored ser-
vants in the kitchen, lived together a long time; in fact,
until the youngest girl Frankie was tw^enty-five years old,
tind the eldest thirty-five. Most people remarked how

A ROMANCE OF OLD BERGEN 129

fortunate Mr. Jenkins was to have his house so well
looked after when he lost his wife; but there were others
who said that sooner than live in the same house with
seven "old maids" they would live with seventy-seven
cats. For that opprobrious title was already freely ap-
plied to the whole seven sisters. Frankie was rather un-
der the usual height, small boned and had what many
would call a pretty face and figure, as well as a youthful
and engaging manner. The rest were just well bred and
well educated, pleasant young w^omen. But, though each
and ever)^ one of them was eminently suited to make
some man a thoroughly good wife, strange to say, not one
man, so far as known up to that time, ever seemed brave
enough to face that battery of seven marriageable spin-
sters all in one house, and risk proposing to one of them.
Nor should it be forgotten that the father was well
known to be what was then considered a very wealthy
man and well able to portion them all off in a highly cred-
itable maner for his enviable station in life.

For live years after Mrs. Jenkins's death the family
lived mostly to themselves in quiet, refined happiness,
with no disturbing thoughts about matrimony or any
other subject. But a surprise was in store for the seven
beautiful daughters. If they had exchanged ideas and bits
of gossip with the people at the one grocery of Bergen,
who called the girls proud because they did not do so,
they would have heard shrewd guesses that would
have intensely surprised them as to the reason why
their father had lately been so frequently out of an
evening. They shared the usual fate of many an exclu-
sive and home-centred family. That is, something which

I30 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

was quite rife for a long time among the gossips of the
place came upon the seven sisters very much like a clap
of thunder from a blue sky.

To explain, one day Mr. Jenkins, in sitting down to
dinner, laid a packet of legal-looking papers by his plate
and appeared a little more thoughtful and taciturn than
usual. After the meal was over, laying his hand on the
packet, he invited his daughters to come with him into the
drawing-room, for he had something important to tell
them.

*'My dear daughters," he said, "you are all now of full
discretion and quite competent to judge as reasonable and
right what I have decided to do. Mary Eliza, my dear,"
said he, addressing his first-born, *'to you first, but to you
all, my dear, good girls, equally, I wish to say with the
proudest love of a father's heart, that no daughters that
ever lived could surpass, none could equal the perfection
with which you have acquitted yourselves, every one of
you, since the cares of this household devolved upon you;
nor can your most affectionate and untiring devotion to
myself ever be sufficiently praised. It has been perfect,
and quite beyond the power of praise to do it even partial
justice."

Then he told them that he had built seven detached
houses in a row, each of seven rooms, and each having a
pretty lawn and flower garden. It was the first row of
houses ever built in Bergen. They stood on the brow of
the hill, commanding a ^vide and pleasant view of the
far-reaching meadows, Jersey City, the noble North Ri-
ver, with its moving panorama of white sailed clipper ships,

A ROMANCE OF OLD BERGEN 1 3 1

forests of masts and what was even then the imposing sky
line of the great metropolis.

The seven houses and gardens, situate near what was
then the junction of Washington, Palisade and Hudson
avenues, later called Jewett, Summit and Storm avenues,
were exactly alike and they are to this day called the
"Seven Sisters," though now probably few if any there
know the origin of the name. Mr. Jenkins told his daugh-
ters that he had caused the houses to be furnished com-
pletely and precisely the same. Here, he explained, he
wanted to establish each one of them in a home of her
own.

"But why, dear father, do you wish us to leave you?"
several of his daughters pleaded with astonished and
tear-filled eyes.

Then he told them that he was going to marry a young
widow whom they all knew and who was younger by
several summers than some of themselves. At first there
were bitter tears and anger, but the daughters soon
thought better of it; for never, never could one of them
be made to live with a stepmother, especially with Mrs.
in that odious position.

After the first little storm subsided, the father put into
the hands of each the title deeds for their several houses,
as well as government bond certificates or other gilt-
edged scrip, to each $10,000 worth. And soon the seven
sisters packed up their belongings and took possession of
their seven pretty houses. The father married and set-
tled down with his young wife in the old homestead, and
after the proverbial nine days' talk everything went on

132 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

as naturally and quietly as if they had never lived any
other way.

The sisters even sooner than might have been expected
became v^^onderfuUy reconciled to the pleasant novelty of
each being absolute mistress of her own house. They
seemed to play at housekeeping, having pleasant after-
noon teas and evening parties among themselves, as well
as occasionally entertaining a few select friends.

Death is said to have a way of sparing some families a
visit; but once he makes a call he is apt to come soon
again. Much the same is said to be true of that far more
agreeable visitor, the little rosy-cheeked, chubby chap with
wings, who wounds people so painfully but pleasantly
with his arrows.

Now, one winter evening, Frankie, with one of her
sisters, went to the store to make some purchases. Any
of them could go alone anywhere except Frankie. She
was still the baby; and even now, with a house of her
own, for her to have gone alone to the store would have
shocked the sisters from one end of the row to the other.

This night the eldest, Mary Eliza, accompanied the
"baby" to what was still th^ only grocery store. It was
on Bergen square. After their separate small purchases
were made, the elder sister politely declined having the
orders "sent," and each took up her own parcel. When
leaving the store, Frankie, who was in front, stopped
short to look at some fruit on the stand outside.

" 'Ave a happle. Miss," a tall, lanky ruddy-cheeked,
rather long-nosed young man in charge of the stand said,
offering her a very fine one. Frankie, instead of taking
the offering, tittered a little and affected not to see the

A ROMANCE OF OLD BERGEN 133

movement; but the stately sister condescendingly took the
apple and thanked the youth, who blushed very much at
the "baby" sister's rebuff.

"Oh! Isn't he the funniest greenhorn!" Frankie gig-
gled, loud enough to be heard by the young man.

"Hush, Frankie, instantly! I'm ashamed of you!" said
the severe sister, hurrying her charge off homeward.

The fresh-complexioned young man who bit his lip and
looked after the retreating customers, was indeed a green-
horn in America, for he only a few^ days before landed at
Castle Garden, in New York, from England, and this
had been his first day in his present position as grocery
clerk. Knowing not a soul in all this new world to him,
he felt strange and awkward, for whenever he spoke peo-
ple couldn't help laughing in his face just as Frankie had
done. Yet this positively gawky-looking stranger in a
strange land muttered, as the prettiest of the sisters after
snubbing him hurried away:

"My word! how pretty she is! I'll marrj^ that girl as
sure as my name is Lilly." George Lilly was his name.
But when one of her sisters told Frankie the young man's
name she screamed with laughter.

"Mr. Lilly!" cried she. "Nobody could ever call that
man lily. Mr. Poppy you mean!" And Poppy she in-
sisted on calling him, too, for a long time.

It was only a short time — a month or so — when the
scattered residents of Bergen w^ere astonished to see a
brand-new sign over the grocery store bearing the name
of George Lilly as proprietor. Evidently the young man
had brought a little money over the water with him and
had bought out Mr. Meyer, the late proprietor. For in

134 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

time the latter left for parts unknown and in his place
behold the florid Englishman, assisted by a tow-headed
German boy apprentice.

In his bashful way Lilly, at once after seeing Frankie,
had tried to gratify his burning curiosity to learn her name
and where she dwelt. But what with his difficulty of
making himself understood to the German Meyer and
the big, round grocer's massive stupidity, the result of the
inquiry was very disappointing. Making the best of such
information as he got, Lilly's nearest approach to a defin-
ite conclusion was that the girl he had hastily vowed he
would marry must be Selina Schmock, the daughter of a
junk man living near where the old glasshouse then stood.

"Not a very pretty name," he thought, "and I may
have to break my shins over a yardful of scrap iron and
old junk to find Selina in a dog kennel, keeping accounts
for a fright of a father. But Selina, if that's her name,
I'll find, and Selina Fm going to have, wherever I find
her."

The worst of it was that, with all his vigilance, for a
long time the ardent youth did not lay eyes on the two
customers he so feverishly longed to see. The fact was
that the eldest sister had felt so scandalized by the apple
incident that she was ashamed to go again to the store, or
to allow Frankie, to do so, until their most unseemly
encounter with the strange clerk there should have time
to be forgotten. So the alpha and omega of the sisters
stayed at home and had their groceries bought for them
by the others. And poor Lilly, as yet, knowing nothing
of the family, was left to the forlorn conclusion that he

A ROMANCE OF OLD BERGEN 135

would probably never again see the face that continued
to haunt his thoughts.

His new sign had been up some time, and his predeces-
sor's customers came to him in gratifying numbers, but
George Lilly was an unhappy young man, for Frankie
came not. One evening, with a miserable, drizzling rain,
feeling tired and dejected, he determined to close rather
earlier than usual, and delighted the heart of young tow-
head by saying:

"Louis, you may put up the shutters and then go
home." The boy, with a glad look of astonishment at
the clock, bounced open the door, and, "Ach himmel!" he
ejaculated, running into some one, while a lady ex-
claimed :

"Dear me, boy! Why are you so violent?"

Lilly came forward instanly. Berating Louis for
floundering against people, he held the door open, and
was politely closing it behind the lady, with many apolo-
gies for his boy's awkwardness, when he felt a gentle push
at the door, as he thought, of the unlucky towhead to
get in again.

"Can't you let the door alone, blockhead?" he hissed
in a wrathful undertone. But before crashing the door
shut on the supposed towhead, the irate master, happen-
ing to look down, saw by the store light a dainty bracelet
on the wrist that pushed against him.

"I humbly beg your — oh!" the poor fellow exclaimed.
His first words were to ask another lady's pardon for ob-
structing her entrance; the "oh!" was his exclamation
when he was confronted by the very young person he had
been so fervently longing to see.

1 36 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

Around the blazing fire in the old Hillsborough home-
stead Mr. T. and his auditors sat in sudden silence. It
was just after he had finished his storj^ of the seven old-
maid sisters of Bergen — now Jersey City Heights — the
narrator having stopped at the point in the tale where
my last article left it, saying that his throat felt dry.

Doubtless he had his own suspicions about the danger-
ous combination of so good a fire and prolixity. At all
events, the moment he ceased speaking he slyly glanced
along the line of his audience and, I feel sure, saw as I did,
plainly, that several drooping heads suddenly bridled up,
very much as if their owners were coming out of a cat-
nap. So suddenly did he stop that the silence seemed to
command attention, and after moistening his lips with a
sip of cider he continued his story, evidently enjoying his
little ruse to have his listeners all safely awake again.

"When I stopped," Mr. T. said, -'I was telling you
how George Lilly, the fresh-complexioned young English-
man, who had bought the grocer\^ store in Bergen and
had fallen in love with a young woman customer the
first time he had seen her, was at last assisted in his dili-
gent inquiry as to who she was, and so forth, by finding
her in his store again. In fact, through an accident he
found himself unintentionally almost swearing at her for
pushing open his door when he was closing it, he think-
ing it was his erring apprentice, Louis, that so opposed
him. When he discovered his mistake he uttered a loud
*oh!' of genuine surprise and actually staggered back a
pace or two.

To any one but himself, there seemed no call for such
a shock as he appeared to receive; but only he himself

A ROMANCE OF OLD BERGEN 137

knew how absorbing had been his thoughts about the
girl, and, of course, he couldn't very well explain that he
had hardly thought of any other person, place or thing but
herself since she so coldly snubbed him by ignoring his
offer of an apple from the stand some weeks before. Al-
though Frankie could not help coloring a little at her
theatrical reception, she evinced no other sign of noticing
it, but walked demurely up to her eldest sister who stood
at the counter. The latter thought it necessary under the
circumstances to be even more starchy and frigid than
was her wont, and gave her orders for both herself and
sister as if she spoke from an iceberg a hundred miles
out in the Arctic Ocean. In vain Mr. Lilly begged to
be allowed to deliver the ladies' purchases.

" 'No, indeed ! Thank you !' the elder and taller and
much the primmer of the two answered at last, and the
two customers departed without another unnecessary

word.

" 1 really wonder if that girl is Selina Schmock, an

old junkman's daughter, as I've been told?" Lilly

thought, after closing the door behind them. I'd give a

whole lot — Louis! come here!"

" 'Louis,' said he, hastily getting into his coat, 'I must

go down Bergen Wood avenue. Look after the store.

I'll be gone only a few minutes.' And out he strode with

steps about two yards long. Once outside the drizzling

rain reminded him that he had no hat on.

" 'Why didn't you tell me I had forgotten my hat,

Louis?' he said, coming back and seizing his headgear.

'You're an absent-minded rascal, Louis!' and out he

darted again on no other errand than to follow the two
10

138 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

customers he had just served and see where they, or, at
all events the smaller and prettier one lived. They car-
ried a lantern and v^ere still in sight as he turned out of
the square and soon he discovered that whoever they were
the taller one entered and probably lived at the first, and
the other in the fourth house of the row of seven houses
on Palisade avenue.

" 'Well,' thought he, as he returned to his store, 'I
didn't see any sign of a scrap-iron yard near where she
evidently lives. That's one consolation. And I don't
suppose her name is Selina, after all. I hope not, for
really I don't fancy the name.'

*'He was not much longer left in the dark as to the
whole history of the rather remarkable family that he had
become so deeply interested in. For a smart young Irish-
man, James McConnell, who was farmer for a New
York merchant in the vicinity, and who was a customer
of his, told him their name and all about them. McCon-
nell, like almost every one else, thought and spoke of
the seven old maid sisters as the best joke of the neigh-
borhood. Among other things he told Lilly that in their
really clever management and peculiar arrangements
about their houses, the seven sisters had shown them-
selves so original as to produce a kind of uncanny feeling
in people's minds.

"For instance, he explained that the seven houses were
all connected by a system of strings and bells, arranged
in such a way that any one sister could secretly call up
any other or all the others, at any time, by a regular code,
entirely of their own invention. By this contrivance, if
any stranger, especially a man, called at No. i, in less

A ROMANCE OF OLD BERGEN 1 39

than no time sisters from Nos. 2 and 3 would walk into
the room, exactly as if they lived in the house. It was
really, however, by a quiet little jerk of a certain string
that they were summoned from their own houses and
came through the gardens and in by the back door. Every-
body admitted that this was a wise and prudent plan ; but
the neighbors thought it was almost superhumanly clever
for ordinary, natural women to concoct.

"Then, again, there was a finished dovetailing about
the way they managed their help that almost took one's
breath away. Their ideas of economy did not admit of
employing more than one woman servant for the seven
houses, and their selection of their several domiciles was
made with a strategic eye, particularly, so Lilly was told,
for offensive and defensive tactics against male humanity.
The two wings of the maidenly camp, the end houses, No.
I and No. 7, were tenanted by Mary Eliza, the eldest
in No. I and the next eldest in No. 7 ; in Nos. 2 and 6 the
two next eldest lived ; in Nos. 3 and 5 the two next, and
Frankie, the 'baby' sister, lived in the fourth. By this
formation the tender fledgling of twenty-five and upward
was flanked on both sides by three sisters, whose ages in-
creased as they approached the outer or skirmishing points
of the north and south wings.

"Now, the able-bodied woman who served them all
as a servant always slept at No. 4, in Frankie's house.
On Monday she worked at Mary Eliza's, at No. i ; on
Tuesday in No. 2, Wednesday in No. 3, Thursday in
No. 4, Friday in No. 5, Saturday in No. 6, resting on
Sunday in No. 7. Then she would work in No. 7. on
Monday, No. 6 on Tuesday, No. 5 on Wednesday, No.

I40 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

4 on Thursday, No. 3 on Friday, No. 2 on Saturday,
resting at No. i on Sunday, commencing work again on
Monday at No. i. Thus she went the same round week
in, week out, with the regularity of the sun.

''The same nicety of cut-and-dried co-operative, eco-
nomic and tactical discipline ruled in everything in the
seven sisters' row, the complete details of which would
fill a small volume. The enumeration of them was a
common theme of conversation in the village and was
said to strike a kind of superstitious awe to the breasts
of men in general. But George Lilly's faith and inter-
est were unshaken.

" Trankie,' he conned over to himself, after McCon-
nel had told him these things and left him alone, 'Frankie!
What a nice, sprightly kind of name! And so exactly
appropriate to the very prettiest little thing I ever did see.
Heigho! I only fear she'll never have me. However, it
will not be my fault if she don't. I'll try, anyway; ''faint

heart never won fair lady !" ' \ .

"Then the young man, surveying his features in his
six-by-eight-inch looking glass, ran his fingers through his
fair hair, patted his quite promising side whiskers and
slightly smiled a little encouragement to himself.

"The sisters came and went to the store, as had long
been their wont; and beyond allowing Lilly in a distant
way to feel that they appreciated his assiduous business
efforts to please them, there was neither in word nor
look any attempt at bridging over the gulf that, at all
events in the elder sisters' minds, must forever yawn be
tween them and any tradesman. That there was an ex
ception in some manner, either in her eyes, speech or

A ROMANCE OF OLD BERGEN 141

some mysterious way, in Frankie's case, might be inferred
from the fact that as time wore on, her sincere admirer
plainly gained in good spirits and hopefulness.

"When Christmas came this assumed practical shape,
in the good old custom of Christmas boxes. And though
he was a trifle green and awkward-looking, when Lilly
did a thing of that kind he did it well. He sent all the
sisters beautiful, seasonable presents. Young tow-head
had to toil all the way to the row seven times with them,
and the last box, which the donor took good care should
not be the least, almost proved the proverbial last straw
to Louis. It was addressed to Miss Frankie Jenkins, at
house number 4, of the Seven Sisters' row.

"Thus did treason first insinuate its daring front within
the battlemented ramparts of the immaculate row.
Frankie, being courtmartialed about it, read her sisters
a declaration of independence, and declared further that
'Mr. Poppy' should have an invitation to call at the New
Year, even if she had to extend the request herself. With
more sorrow than anger, Mary Eliza, to save the family
escutcheon from utter disgrace, conceded the point, and
Mr. Lilly called on New Year's Day at No. i and re-
ceived the thanks of the seven sisters, then and there con-
vened for that purpose. Once the awful trial of enter-
taining a man was over, and after the room had had a
thorough cleaning and the windows had been left open
for two whole consecurive days, the ordeal was considered
over and done with, and a struggle was made to forget
it.

"Things were again passing along in the ordinary way
in the row, when one day, perhaps a week after Mr.

142 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

Lilly's visit at No. i, that martinet of spinsterhood,
Mary Elisha, happened to run in at No. 4 with some
fond and trival message for Frankie. As soon as she
entered the hallway she sniffed around with an exceed-
ingly wry face.

"'Sister Frankie!' she cried, horrorstricken, 'there's
been a man here!'

" 'Yes, Mary Eliza,' answered Frankie, 'it was only
Mr. Pop — Mr. Lilly, I mean. He very kindly brought
me my unbrella, which I had forgotten in his store. That
was nothing to be alarmed at, was it?'

"The elder woman could only express her feelings by
a shudder and a suppressed moan, as she dropped weakly
into a chair.

" 'Yes, sister,' Frankie continued, 'and do you know,
Mr. Lilly has asked me to go to church with him. I
saw no harm in that either, so I said "Yes," and that I
had no objection ; and he's going to call for me next
Sunday morning.'

"Mary Eliza got to her home by a great effort; ex-
actly how, she never knew. No suddenly dethroned and
disgraced monarch ever more completely collapsed than
she did. Her rule was over; her prestige trampled in the
dust; her scepter had passed from her into other hands
— into a man's hands! and that man a plebeian, country
grocer! It was too, too much! She immured herself
in her north-wing redoubt and was ill and unapproach-
able for several days.

"Meantime the persistent 'Poppy,' now, however, no
longer so dubbed, but given the full benefit of his own
proper name, Mr. Lilly, duly appeared at No. 4 on the

A ROMANCE OF OLD BERGEN 143

following Sunday, arrayed In what he had considered In
England his unimpeachable Sunday-go-to-meeting best.
It was only to meet another rebuff, even more stingingly
humiliating than that at his first meeting with the dam-
sel of his choice. For Miss Frankie had a decided will
and mind of her own, and withal, certain definite ideas of
the proprieties. The result of this was that the moment she
set eyes upon her would-be cavalier. In his Imported, tall,
narrow and almost rimless stovepipe hat, flaring, checked
trousers and a coat that seemed to have been made for his
grandfather, she was completely shocked, and frankly told
him she would never go to church or anywhere else with
such a hat and coat as she then beheld. The poor young
man blushed crimson and went home, utterly crestfallen
— and 'never to come back again!' some would probably
say. But those who thought so did not know Mr. Lilly.
He was irrepressible, Indefatigible.

"Not in the least offended or discouraged, he turned
up at No. 4 on the following Sunday, dressed from head
to foot in brand-new New York clothes of the very latest
cut and pattern. And Frankie accompanied him, as she
had promised, to church.

"Furthermore, in due course of time, with several of
her elder sisters as bridesmaids, she met him at the same
old Dutch Reformed church that stands In the same place
still, and became his wife. Then, as I have hinted, once
the rosy-cheeked little Cupid got In some of his handi-
work, he looked around for other victims. And in this
quest Brother-in-law Lilly became his right-hand man
and sworn ally among the sisters.

"In the first place, with good common sense and

1 44 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

liberally broad, democratic views, and a very modest and
persuasive w^ay of expressing them, Mr. Lilly completely
won over all of his six sisters-in-law to a more reasonable
and kindly estimate and regard for their natural, best
friends and helpmates, men. Not only this, but he held
briefs, as it were, for other young fellows like himself — ■
not rich and high-minded swells, as he said, who thought
only of themselves and knew nothing but how to spend
money — but honest-hearted young men who were ready
to work and make money, and who made also, he de-
clared, the best husbands in the world.

"Furthermore, quite accidentally, as it seemed, he
brought just such young fellows to his house, and with-
out any. palaver or preparation, introduced them and his
wife's sisters over cups of tea and cards, and in evening
walks in the summertime, and lo, the result! Weddings
became the rage in Seven Sisters' row until, to the joy of
them all — yea, even of the dethroned queen of spinster-
hood — of Mary Eliza herself — they were every one of
them mated and made happy wives, one of the husbands
being James McConnel, the very youth who had all un-
wittingly but sadly misrepresented as good and true a lot
of women as ever were misunderstood and underesti-
mated by their neighbors."

Mr. T. added that Frankie was the only one of the
seven sisters surviving when he was a small boy. He re-
membered her perfectly, he said. She never had any chil-
dren, and when he knew her she did not live in the some-
what famous row. In fact, the seven houses, although
still there, had long before his time passed into other
hands.

A SHATTERED ROMANCE.

DRAMATIC TERMINATION OF A YOUNG PHYSICIAN S LOVE-
MAKING ON WHAT IS NOW CALLED JERSEY CITY
HEIGHTS.

After the members of what has come to be known as
the Reminiscence Club had exchanged greetings at their
regular gathering, and had taken seats around the cheery
fire at the old Hillsborough Homestead, Mrs. S. was
called upon for a story of bygone days.

''Twenty years ago," she said, after a moment's thought,
"I lived in a haunted house at 91 Storm avenue, on Jer-
sey City Heights, which in my young days was still called
Bergen. The house long ago disappeared and now a trol-
ley line runs over the place where it stood. On the lawn
were a few large, old cherry trees which bore very fine
and delicious fruit. One day as I sat under the biggest
of the trees enjoying its cool shade, an old, white-haired,
well-dressed man, stopping at the garden gate, wished me
a good morning and said he would very much like to taste
the cherries that hung in ripe clusters on the tree over my
head. He added that his wish was really only a senti-
mental one. He had planted that and most of the other
trees around there when he was a young fellow in his
teens, he said. Having been down at that time in Vir-
ginia he had brought back a lot of young trees of very
choice kinds. Among them were several 'lady heart' cher-
ries, all of which he planted; but, he explained, the tree

145

146 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

underneath which I sat was the only one of them that
had lived."

" 'My father built this house,' went on the stranger
as he sat down and began to eat some cherries; *it must
be a hundred years old. My father was John Mandeville.
He's been dead these many years. I'm his son James.'

"Now, thought I," here is the very man to ask about
the things I have heard in this house. I had been thor-
oughly frightened at night several times by the most inex-
plicable sounds, and without loss of time I asked my vis-
itor about them.

" 'Well,' Mr. Mandeville answered, 'I cannot say that
I ever had direct proof of anything unusual about the
house. But I'm not going to deny that such things have
often been told about it by very credible and level-headed
people. For my part, I was born here and I spent my
childhood and boyhood here, but I cannot say that I ever
saw or heard anything out of the common. But that does
not gainsay others' experiences. There have been great
changes here, and everywhere else, since I was a boy.
That's a long time ago. I'm eighty-one now; and many,
and some of them peculiar, people have lived here since
those days. By the way, do you happen to know crazy
Gussie ?'

" 'Well,' he continued, when I replied in the affirma-
tive, 'poor old Gussie was born in this house. That fact
of itself hasn't much to do with the subject, but there
were some pathetic incidents in her life, poor thing.' "

"Being urged to proceed, he told us that his father had
sold the house and lot we then occupied, together with
much more land, to a well-to-do man, named Everett.

A SHATTERED ROMANCE 147

When they went there, the Everett family consisted of
Mr. and Mrs. Everett, one son and five daughters. In
the first year of their tenancy one more child was added
to the family. It was, according to my visitor, the tiniest,
sweetest little doll of a girl baby that ever was seen. The
little thing was perfectly formed, but so small that she
could lie at full length on her father's slipper. Her ad-
vent created quite a sensation and people went miles to
see her. Perhaps no baby ever born before or since in
Hudson County had so many callers and admirers. Her
big brother and sisters became very fond and proud of
her, and as she began toddling about, she was beloved
and petted by all.

" 'She was an apt pupil at school,' continued the old
man, 'and there as elsewhere everybody admired and gave
way to her, as if she were a little fairy queen. She had
refined parents and a happy home, and by the time she
reached her sixteenth year, she was a lovable and pretty
little thing, but in appearance she was like a child of
twelve. As she approached her seventeenth year, Au-
gusta, or as she was affectionately called, little Gussie,
looked out upon the world through the eyes of a woman
and fell in love.

" 'A young doctor having appeared upon the scene
to begin practise, there was a flutter of excitement among
all the marriageable daughters and their mothers in the
growing village. There was much speculation as to which
girls said he thought her nothing but a mere child, and
at once look out for a wife. Gussie's parents were not,
however, among those given to speculations of that kind.
They were the old-fashioned, prudish kind of people, with

148 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

a horror for 'bringing their daughters out,' or having them
in any way invite the notice of men. Their diminutive
and pretty daughter, however, had her own ideas of these
things, but kept her own counsel, and though none of her
own people suspected it, she was *just dying' to meet the
doctor, whom she had already seen several times.

" *At last Gussie's dearly wished for opportunity came.
One of her girl friends had a birthday party, to which
she was invited, and at it she met the doctor. To her su-
preme delight he paid her marked attention. The other
girl said he thought her nothing but a mere child, and
they were, perhaps, not far astray. When men find
themselves cornered in a tight place and clearly in for it,
among many fair ones, all over-anxious to please, they
will sometimes make a "dead set" in the most frivolous
and unmeaning way in some perfectly safe quarter. What-
ever may have been the doctor's ideas that evening, and
however childish-looking the object of his particular no-
tice was, his blandishments entirely transfigured the quite
womanly and all too susceptible heart of little Gussie Ev-
erett, and the result w^as that she went home "head and
ears in love" with the young physician.

" 'Her time being quite her own — for her tiny, deli-
cate hands had never been soiled by work of any kind —
she soon learned the doctor's ofKce hours and made up
little fictions of errands, so as to meet him in the street.
And in time, seeing plainly the complete conquest he had
made, the budding physician, like many another young
fellow, encouraged the girl and really fostered the flame
he had kindled. He thought it an excellent joke.

" 'Unquestionably there are great numbers of both

A SHATTERED ROMANCE 149

genders of the human race who, though they may be per-
fectly alert and circumspect, in all other ways, are utterly
irrational and apparently blind as soon as the heart is in-
volved. Pretty little Gussie was clearly one of the num-
ber. For nothwithstanding her practical common-sense
bringing up, all the usual shrewdness and judgment for
which she had been remarkable on all other matters were
seemingly cast to the winds at the very first show of the
young doctor's preference for her. On any other subject
she would have confided in and advised with her fond
parents or sisters, or at least with her girl friends. But
the moment the heart's great realm was invaded she was
deaf, dumb and blind to all else but a headlong pursuit
according to its yearnings and dictates. The doctor un-
scrupulously continued to hum.or her, giving her flowers
and bonbons — ^just as he would do with any other pretty
and interesting child, he told himself — yet knowing quite
as well as she did that in doing so he was really toying
dangerously with a woman's heart.

"After a lapse of a year, and when the young man
had established a fairly promising practise, he announced
his intention of going to his former home on a visit. It
was the balmy beginning of June and the evening before
his departure. He was strolling along a favorite walk
of his out toward Claremont. The robins were In full
song, the air delicious, with that delightful modulation of
light and heat, so refreshing at the close of day. His ter-
rier gave a short bark, then, wagging its tail, the animal
ran to some one it knew, and the doctor saw^, only a short
distance off the path, Gussie Everett, seated under a leafy
canopy, making a nosegay of flowers she had gathered.

I50 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

" *A little fairy in her bower!' he exclaimed, and seat-
ing himself on the log beside her, he said many other
fond and pretty things which Gussie, many a year after-
ward, used to recount. They exchanged little keepsake
flowers, and the young man declared he would treasure
and preserve the delicate exotic forget-me-nots which she
unpinned from her dress and gave to him. The two
parted, poor little Gussie's head swimming and her eyes
dimmed in the blissful conviction which she rightly or
wrongly entertained that the doctor was her own true
lover and that he was coming back from his vacation to
make her his wife.

"The weary month of his absence, though appearing
an age to Gussie, was but a prolongation of painful bliss
to her. Every carol of the robin, every tuneful anthem
of the thrush, every delicious roundelay of the oriole
seemed Nature's accompaniment to the all-absorbing love-
song of her soul. The weeks had dragged heavily past
until one more only remained. Then came an Invitation
to all the leading families from the absent man's landlady
to a little reception which the good lady was getting up
as a surprise for the doctor on his return.

"The little ripple of Interest, as to this home-coming,
among her girl friends rather offended Gussie at first.
She wondered why any one but herself should aspire to
welcome the doctor back again. Soon, however, she was
made happy by the usual make-believe policy so success-
fully practised on children and for the remaining few
days of waiting she composed herself Into a serene assur-
ance of her pre-eminent position among those who were
to surprise the home-coming doctor with a welcome.

A SHATTERED ROMANCE 1 5 1

"At last, at 8 o'clock in the evening, when the doctor
was expected, a goodly company of heads, of families and
young people sat around the large parlor of his boarding-
house, waiting to greet him. As usual, the village pet
and favorite of every one, little Gussie, who this night,
all agreed, looked radiantly beautiful, was the centre of
attraction among them all, and she was given the seat of
honor, among a bevy of pretty girls in the middle of the
wide circle facing the door.

"Soon a carriage was heard to stop. The door knocker
rapped out a brisk summons and then footsteps were
heard in the hall. The company rose to greet the re-
turning traveler. The landlady threw open the door and
the doctor, accompanied by a lady, stepping over the
threshold, stopped and glanced in astonishment around
the circle.

" 'Why, bless my soul!' he exclaimed. 'Oh, now I see!
Well, truly, my friends, this is beautifully kind of you.
It gives me the greater delight to receive such a very
agreeable and genuine surprise as this, because I have now
somebody here to help me in the appreciation of it.

" 'My dear friends,' he added, motioning to his now
blushing companion, 'let me introduce to you my wife!'

The last words had but left his lips when a low moan
of pain was heard and a girlish figure dropped senseless
to the floor within a yard of the doctor's feet. It was
Gussie."

" 'The heat was too much for her,' said the doctor as
he raised the slight figure in his arms. 'Please open the
door and bring me some water!'

"Then he carried her out to the little lawn. Gussie

152 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

soon recovered consciousness. She, however, greatly as-
tonished her anxious friends by a somewhat dramatic
procedure. The doctor, still kneeling by her side, was
sprinkling her face, chafing her hands, etc., to restore
animation, when the little patient, suddenly rousing her-
self, fixed dilating eyes upon his face, wrenched her hand
from his and, in a high key, dared him ever to lay a finger
on her again. He looked seriously at the girl's father
and mother and, rising to his feet, he told them in an
undertone that Gussie had better be taken home and put
to bed. The carriage in which he and his wife had but
a few minutes before arrived at the house was still at the
gate, he said, and he urged that it be used for taking the
patient home.

"This advice was followed, and soon Gussie, under the
influence of a composing draft, dropped quietly to sleep
in her own room in the so-called haunted house. The
Everett family, though seriously concerned about Gussie
that evening, thought the worst was past, and about the
usual hour all retired. But they were doomed to a rude
disappointment. About 2 o'clock in the morning Mrs.
Everett, who had been somewhat wakeful, at last awoke
her husband, and, trembling in every limb, told him she
was sure some one was walking on the roof of the ver-
anda, which was very flat and went completely around
two sides of the house. Mr. Everett pooh-poohed what
he called his wife's imagination, and said it was only the
result of her disturbed nerves. But as they thus whis-
pered, their very hearts stood still on hearing a girl's
scream, and then footsteps running swiftly along the ver-

Mr. Everett dashed to the window, flung up the sash and got out,

just as Gussie, in her night robe, took a flying leap from

the roof to the ground.

A SHATTERED ROMANCE 153

anda roof. This was followed by a wild call for help
and a girl screaming that a man was going to kill her.

"Mr. Everett dashed to the window, flung up the sash
and got out, just as Gussie in her night robe took a flying
leap from the roof to the ground. Without searching for
any man, the father rushed back through his window and
down to the lawn, where he found his daughter, moan-
ing and shivering, in a perfect frenzy of fear, but, mar-
velously, with no broken bones. At first she only shrieked
and shrunk away from her father. But when he took her
up in his arms and put his face against hers soothingly,
kissing her forehead and disheveled hair, all wet with
cold beads of terror, she suddenly knew him and became
calmer. Then she was carried back and quietly laid in
her bed like a tired child and soon she fell asleep.

"Awaking in the morning Gussie gazed for some time
in a dazed way from one to another of those she loved.
Then burying her face in the pillow she wept and sob-
bed as if her heart would break. For over a week she
continued in bed, spending most of her waking hours
either in tears or in fits of uncontrollable laughter.

"When in the course of some weeks she was again able
to be about, she showed unmistakable signs that her mind
was unbalanced. So pronounced was this that her girl
friends began to shun her, and the doctor finding his
name publicly associated in a more or less compromising
way with her mental state, soon gave it out that because of
his failing health he was going to leave the neighborhood.
It wasn't long before he departed, and when he had
gone most of the villagers said : 'Good riddance.'

"In the course of years the harmless vagaries of the
11

1 54 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

erstwhile pride and pet of the village were so persistent
as to gain for her the title of 'Crazy Gussie.' As she grew
older she seemed particularly fond of children. Almost
every fine day when school was dismissed she was to be
seen awaiting the little ones coming at her front gate. Her
head barely reached above the palings and her hands were
at such times always full of decayed fruit, faded flow-
ers or trimmings from vines or shrubbery. These she
would hand in a kind of surreptitious and cautious way
to the little ones.

At other times she would invite the children inside the
gate, and having arranged them in a row on the bottom
step of the front stoop, with many warnings to be very
quite lest her sisters should come out and be upon them,
she would tip-toe around as if in the garden of Blue-
beard, and come back chuckling and whispering over the
prizes she brought. These would be only some worth-
less flowers, shriveled berries or the like. The children
were amused and pleased, for child-like they knew by
instinct that Gussie meant well and dearly loved them.

"At Christmas or on some child's birthday Gussie
would manage in some way to make her little favorites
presents of one kind or another. Once a lady was sorely
grieved over the loss of her canary. Gussie, who was
very sorry for her, purchased a young chicken and brought
it to the bereaved lady to put into the empty cage. As
the years went by and when Gussie's hair had silver
threads, the village girls of fourteen or fifteen used to
find great amusement in teasing her about her beaux. At
times they would have her in their homes and while they
played the piano she would sing and dance for them.

A SHATTERED ROMANCE 155

Then while they would put up her thinning locks in
curl papers she would chat gaily about her approaching
marriage, generally giving broad hints that the unmarried
doctor of the village was to be the happy man. Again,
when her professional choice married some one else, as her
first love had done many a long year ago, she would fume
about it terribly and threaten dire vengeance.

"One doctor in the village was twice left a widower
and often he was annoyed very seriously by Gussie, who
made it a practise to ring his door bell and send him
threatening letters. Once she hurled a piece of brick
through his window. It smashed the glass to shivers and
narrowly missed his head. At length he was driven to
apply for police protection. That was a blow to Gussie,
for it dispelled her last hope of matrimony in that quarter.

"And then began the breaking up of the family. The
mother died. Very soon afterward the son was dis-
owned by the father and went West. He wrote for mon-
ey, but got no answer. Then a stranger wrote to Mr.
Everett informing him that his son was dead and asking
if he would not send money enough for his burial. The
father sent the sum named. After another year or two
he received a second request for money to bury his son.
This the father answered by requesting his correspondent
to see that young Everett was buried and send him (the
father) the bill. No such bill came and that was the last
ever heard about the son.

"Then the father died, and from that time not a blind
or shutter of the house was ever opened. The sisters kept
house as best they could. Louise was the only one who
could cook. Matilda and Euphemia did the shopping and

1 56 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

attended to other outside matters, among which was the
marketing of their crops of cherries, quinces, berries, etc.,
which brought them in many dollars a year. Gussie just
roamed about wherever she listed and was a well-known
figure in the streets of Bergen for many years. Always
with a happy smile and a kindly greeting for everybody,
ever hastening to somewhere which never was reached,
she made a round of errands that never ended. The two
elder sisters seldom left the house.

"Eventually Louise died. Then, as no one else could
cook, and the family exchequer was getting low, the home
had to be broken up. It was then that the house was of-
fered for sale. The sisters went boarding ; but they were
difficult to please. They would eat nothing cooked on
Sunday, even if the gravy was warmed they would refuse
their dinner. Not long after the home was vacated, the
doors were all found open and on the floor in one of the
rooms was the body of a man. The man had evidently been
murdered. There were evidences of a fierce struggle. The
body had many stab wounds while the head was beaten
almost to a pulp. No clue was ever found to the identity
of either the murdered man or the murderer.

"Even before this gruesome discovery the house was
looked upon as haunted. From that time, however, school
children ran past it on the further side of the street, and
neighbors declared there were lights and peculiar sounds
in it at night.

"One night for long hours a dog seemed to be dying of
strangulation in the cellar. The next door neighbor was
unable to sleep because of the noise. Procuring the key
he went into the cellar, but in it he found no dog. Then

A SHATTERED ROMANCE 157

he searched the rambling empty rooms upstairs with no
better result. But he felt his flesh creep several times,
for it seemed that an invisible dog ran at his heels. He
heard it perfectly trip-tripping after him, but try as he
would to throw his light on it he could see nothing. He
left everything locked up, yet in the morning every door
in the house was open.

''Gussie, who at that time w^as about fifty years old,
went regularly every day to the house and locked the
doors, and just as regularly the next morning they were
found wide open.

*'That," Mrs. S. continued, after a pause, "was the
condition of things when I came from a distance, knowing
nobody in Bergen and nothing about the house which I
hired from an agent. Our family consisted of my hus-
band, daughter and myself.

"Before we had lived there many days we found that
we might close the doors between the kitchen, dining-
room and parlor as tightly as we chose when retiring,
but they would be open in the morning. One night
my husband, being out later than usual, and my daughter
having gone to bed, I sat by the dining-room stove wait-
ing Mr. S.'s return. On the parlor door close behind me,
which was shut, I heard three distinct knocks, as if made
by the knuckles of one finger. Thinking it must be
my daughter, I said, 'Come in.' I got up and opened the
door. Nobody was there; but from the farther darkened
end of the parlor I heard a deep sigh and the rustle of a
dress, as If some one passed out Into the hall. Taking up
the lamp, I followed as quickly as I could, through the
parlor into the hall, but I could see no one. Going up-

158 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

stairs to my daughter's room I found her in bed. The
bedclothes were pulled over her head and she was all
of a tremble. She had heard three taps on her door, ex-
actly as I had heard on the door below, and from the
silk-like rustle that followed the taps she was certain that
some one had entered the room. We made a careful
search, but could not find any one.

"Another night, after we had all retired, there were
sounds of merriment down stairs in the dining-room.
These were followed quickly by a quarrel and a heavy
fall. My husband crept down stairs, but found every-
thing in order and everything perfectly quiet. But be-
neath his feet, in the cellar, a dog was howling, evidently
in great pain. The howling ceased as he descended the
stairs, but no dog was to be seen anywhere.

"Gussie sometimes called at her old home to see us, but
she always seemed ill at ease and nervously watched each
door that opened. Pleading haste to finish her imaginary
errands, she would soon hurry away. At last she went
on another real errand and returned no more; for she
found, surely if ever any one did, what she and many a
wiser head have vaguely searched for and which this
world cannot give, that peace which 'passeth understand-
ing.'

"Matilda, Gussie's next older sister, who outlived her
and who was the last of the family, boarded and grew old
and gray with an aged couple. At last the man's wife
died. Then when Matilda was over eighty years of age,
she and the venerable widower married and cared for
each other to the end."

CALVIN CORLE.

HOW HE PLAYED A PRACTICAL JOKE ON HIS COUSIN IN
THE DAYS WHEN THEY WERE YOUNG.

The venerable Calvin Corle, mentioned in my last ar-
ticle as having overstepped by nine good years man's al-
lotted days, must by no means be understood as having
always been a strait-laced disciple of all work and no
play, which, as has been truly said, makes Jack a dull
boy. Far from that, he and his cousin, John L., the in-
separable "old boys," had their share of youthful fun and
frolic.

Though the two were so undivided all their lives, in
their young days they were never slow to take advantage
of favorable circumstances to play practical jokes on each
other. Calvin, especially, was much given to this kind
of fun. In those days, though not as large as many youths
of his years, he was of a clean-cut, athletic figure, and
lithe and supple as a cat. He was also full of sparkling
good humor and of nimble wit. His particular chum,
on the other hand, had an almost comical gravity of man-
ner and great deliberation of speech and movement. Al-
though one might suppose that butter wouldn't have
melted in his mouth, he was deep and astute and had a
keen relish for fun, with a dry way of expressing himself
that was the essence of comedy. But he was always
so earnest and unsuspicious that Calvin found him an
easy victim for many a joke.

One fine moonlight night an opportunity of this kind
159

1 60 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

occurred in one of their expeditions to see their sweet-
hearts. There were in those days no such things as bug-
gies or runabouts, in which a man might take his best
girl for an outing. He rode his horse instead, and his
lady love, poising herself on the horse-block, if there was
one, or in lieu thereof on the rails of some convenient
fence, sprang nimbly on the horse's back behind him.

A great degree of satisfaction is said to have inured
to the young lords of creation from this arrangement, in-
asmuch as the fair one's sidewise seat behind the saddle
usually proved sufficiently precarious to produce a certain
clinging dependence upon the superior horsemanship of
her escort that was highly agreeable to him. It has been
claimed, indeed, to have been one of the most favorable
of all possible situations for those irresistible little, timid
appeals for help and protection on the one side and the
gratified vanity and fearless rescue promptly rendered
on the other, which always did and always will go, the
old folk say, so far toward warming and welding to-
gether the hearts of pretty maids and valiant men.

On the night in question the two cousins, having ar-
rived at the house where Martha, John's Dulcinea, dwelt
with her prosperous parents, they dismounted and were
received with the greatest good-will. Having propounded
their project, they found it quite agreeable to the family.
Their plan was for Martha to accompany John on his
horse to the home of Calvin's sweetheart, where all were
to spend the evening together. This being settled, Cal-
vin suddenly bethinking himself of an errand he had to
make for his father to a place about half a mile farther

CALVIN CORLE i6i

on toward their intended destination, excused himself to
host and hostess, and moving to the door, called back:

"You and Martha come along, John. I'll trot on
ahead as far as Brokaw's and after delivering dad's mess-
age I'll meet you at the road end."

Assenting, John and Martha's father began chatting,
w^hile she and her mother stepped out on the porch with
his cousin. ''Don't be long, Mart," John requested as
the young woman neared the door, ''and put a shawl
about you, for it's a bit chilly to-night."

Martha replied that she would so array herself and
would be ready in a moment. Then she closed the door.
As John sat talking he heard the mother and daughter
laughing at something.

"One of Calvin's jokes," John thought. "He does
tell such good stories. He makes every one laugh as no
one else can."

Then he pursued the thread of his argument and for
some little time, it must be confessed, he was oblivious to
how really long Martha was in merely donning a shawl.
But suddenly the mother rallied him in a way that made
him jump almost out of his skin.

"Fie on you, John Corle!" she cried excitedly. "How
long will you keep our Martha standing out there on the
horse-block awaiting her escort? A cold night like this,
too! Upon my word, sir, when Martha's mother was
her age I doubt if she'd waited half as long for any man
that ever breathed!"

But John didn't wait for the rebuke at full length. It
was about the liveliest piece of work he ever did the
way he dashed out through the kitchen, jumped on his

i62 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

dappled gray and came bounding around the house to the
horse-block, where, sure enough, his fair partner for the
ride, wearing a shawl and a large bonnet, demurely
awaited him. If there was any anger of impatience in the
face above the shawl the bonnet hid it, and John began
honestly to tell his girl of his heartfelt sorrow for his
remissness.

"Well, now, Marty," he began, "it was very stupid
of me and I ask your — "

"Oh! for goodness sake, John, don't ask anything of
anybody; but let Martha get on the horse!" broke in the
mother with considerable asperity. She had followed to
the mounting place, evidently quite cross about things,
and, as John inwardly remarked, put herself to quite un-
necessary trouble about Martha, who, poor girl, seemed
so hurt and embarrassed that she said not a word.

"And now, John Corle," continued the matron as a
parting word, "you know Martha's my only child. Be
very careful, and bring her safe back to us."

With this the two rode away, John not unreasonably
indignant at what he felt to be most unusual and uncalled-
for excitement and the upbraiding of himself by Martha's
mother. He could not understand it.

"And here's Marty, poor thing, crying, I suppose, or
•she'd never be silent like this," he thought bitterly as he
rode on and on, really afraid to break the silence for fear
of another rebuff. The longer the silence continued, the
harder it seemed to break. At length they were actually
drawing near to where the merry Calvin would meet
them, both as dumb as if they were chief mourners at a
iuneral.

CALVIN CORLE 163

"This is something awful!" John thought desperately.
"What villainous fun he'll make of us! I must do some-
thing. Oh! how I wish I had only Calvin's ready wit
and knack of saying the right thing in the right place!"

Dozens of times he had turned stealthily around and
tried to peep under Martha's bonnet, in the hope that she
would make some little remark to break the ice for him.
But it was all in vain, for she only appeared to cover her
face with the one hand that she could use for that pur-
pose as if actually weeping. In fact, the devoted and
almost distracted young man would have sworn he heard
her sniffing and sniveling and that he positively saw a
quiver of suppressed emotion the last time he looked. She
must be heartbroken ! And here he was approaching the
trysting place, where Calvin would see his distressful
plight and would laugh at him for the next year about it.
Something must be done! At last, feeling himself to be
the most cruel and utterly heartless man that ever lived,
he decided to speak.

"Heigh-ho!" he sighed very audibly, and turning as far
as possible around to his partner, in a very timorous,
pleading voice he ventured to ask:

"Marty! Marty! W — ^won't you speak to me?"

Not a word of answer did he get, but there were more
sniffs and plainly more spasms of grief. Then, nerving
himself for a last heroic appeal for reconciliation, John,
almost crying himself, tried to take hold of his sweet-
heart's hand.

"Oh! Marty, if you only knew — ," he was saying,
when, with a screech wild enough to petrify the very heart
of the bravest man, his companion sprang down and com-

i64 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

menced a wild, high-stepping dance, with such unmaidenly
gyrations of limbs as almost paralyzed John's senses to
behold.

Just as the horse, which was almost as terrified as its
rider, seemed gaining the mastery and was on the point
of running away — which in truth John himself was about
ready to agree to — the mad dancer, from sheer exhaustion
and suppressed laughter, unable to keep it up any. longer,
fell against a tree for support, and with the unmistakable
voice of a man, roared with laughter.

"Oh! oh!" he laughed. "Oh, help! or I'll die!"

And with apparently the last breath left in his body,
Calvin, for no other was the dancer, cried:

"Oh, John! John! I fear this will kill me!"

Then did that wicked cousin betake himself swiftly to
the woods, whither John could not penetrate with his
mount in pursuit. And thus did Calvin save himself
from being ridden down to the earth in John's fiery indig-
nation.

The next day those two faithful cousins laughed loud
and long in unison, as they continued to do for fifty-odd
years thereafter over that and many another frolic of the
days when they were young together.

The cousins worked as well as played together. Those
were the days when the many large grist mills dotting the
South Branch River used to gather in the bountiful wheat
and corn crops of their farmer customers and afterward
hauled the grist products to New Brunswick, which was
then the shipping port for a wide stretch of New Jersey,
including Somerset and Hunterdon counties. Mr. Corle
genior did a large business in this way, and it just suited

CALVIN CORLE 165

his adventurous son, Calvin and his cousin to do the haul-
ing.

Mounted on their immense wagons, loaded high with
multitudinous sacks of wheat, bags of flour, bran, mid-
dlings, corn, cornmeal, cracked corn, oats, oatmeal,
crushed oats, buckwheat, buckwheat flour, etc., etc., all
built firm, like bricks in a wall, and covered with tar-
paulins, roped around stanch and strong and lashed to the
vehicles like the halyards of a ship, Calvin and John, each
with two or four horses in front of him, were in their ele-
ment. At 4 o'clock in the morning they gathered up their
lines and cracked their whips for the start. They liked
the work, not because it was easy, for it was not. In the
late fall, when the business really began in earnest, the
weather, then as now, was often made up of blustering
bastings of rain, hail and snow and keen, biting frosts,
that made travel anything but child's play for man and
beast. But it was full of blood-stirring action and excite-
ment that just suited brawny young fellows of spirit.

Outward bound they had to be expert drivers to navi-
gate the imperfect roads of those days, and had to guard
their valuable loads from free-handed plunderers, many
of whom then infested lonely roads. Many stops at road-
houses along the way were necessary to breathe their
horses, if for nothing else. It was a hearty relief of the
long tedium of the journey, to pull up at any hour of day
or night, where a big sign invited all and singular to come
in out of the rain or biting blast and be warmed and re-
freshed. And every man who has tasted the bitters and
sweets of such travel will readily admit that a foaming
tankard of good nut-brown home-brewed helps amazingly

i66 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

to thaw out one's limbs, and sends the blood tingling Into
his fingers and toes on such occasions.

No hostelry door was kept shut In the face of a wearj^
or shivering traveler at any hour In those days. Were It
the posting horseman, In need of a fresh mount and a
hasty meal, or one of the roving tin peddlers, or any
of the horse traders or cattle dealers then continually
moving hither and thither before dawn, at high noon
or black midnight, the clatter of horses' hoofs or the
rumble of wheels, with a halloo from the driver, always
brought prompt answer, a wide-open door, inviting
warmth within and a cheery word of welcome.

Thus would young Calvin and John, even before the
half-awake crow of the earliest rooster, pull up on the
first leg of their voyage at Flagtown and brace up with
an eye-opener from the cozy and glittering bar of the
hail-fellow-well-met landlord. Will Hall.

The next stop would be at the justly famous Wood's
Tavern, a landmark even to this day, but only a milk-
and-water-dead-or-alive affair, compared with the all-
day, all-night warmth, good cheer and bustle of the place,
when the prosperous and jovial old bonlface, Isaac Van
Fleet, smiled broadly his welcome to his many patrons.

Early risers would be literally ''striking a light" from
steel and flint into their tinder boxes and lighting there-
from there tallow dip candles to dress by the time the cou-
sins arrived at Millstone, with the river in front of them
to ford, for there was no bridge over the Millstone River
at that time. A word as to the state of the ford from
mine host. Captain Wilson, was of course, but natural
and reasonable. Who knew, as the merry captain did,

CALVIN CORLE 167

the height and breadth and strength of the current of the
Millstone River? No man that ever lived. Nor did any
exist that knew as he did its every twist and bend and
every creek that fed it, from Kingston and Rocky Hill
(places immortalized, he would tell you, by their asso-
ciation with the name of the Father of His Country)
down to the Raritan and on to New Brunswick. Woe
to the misguided teamster, whoever he was, that, in the
season of freshets, took other word than that of the
stanch old pilot with the rosy nose and foghorn voice,
mine host of the Millstone Inn!

Cornelius Williamson, an old friend of Mr. Corle's,
once did that. He asked a woman, who stood at her
door, if other drivers were able to go through, and, be-
ing answered that they were, for she had seen them,
he made a dash for it, and just missed losing his team and
his life. Had the old captain been asked, he would have
warned the questioner of his danger, for in but a few
minutes the river had risen more than two feet.

"A trick of hers — quick up, but mighty slow down, is
the Millstone River," the captain would sometimes say.
"Her twin sister is getting my supper yonder!" he would
add with a wink, after a careful look over his shoulder,
to make sure that his wife could not hear what he said.

Across on the other bank John Bellis's house of call
was visited by the cousins and other drivers, sometimes
going and always coming homeward. The next stop
was at Middlebush, where Landlord Fisher's sign held
out it's welcome. Then came the last stop at Dick De-
mont's, about two miles from their destination.

Arriving at New Brunswick, the travelers, thankful

1 68 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

for their safe journey, put up at the Bull's Head, on
Burnett street, which was kept by the genial Henry
Smith. This old hostelry still stands, among other an-
cient houses, on the same little narrow, winding, old-
fashioned street, with sidewalks not much over a foot in
width.

COLONEL SANDERSON'S MAIL COACHES.

COMMODORE VANDERBILt's METHOD OF CRUSHING A
COMPETITOR, AND A TRIP TO CONEY ISLAND.

There is nothing, perhaps, short of a journey in one
that could conjure up the genuine stage coach of the
olden time better than meeting a man who has so traveled
— not one who did so for the fun or novelty of it, but a
man who paid his fare and rode in earnest, thus using
the only means then available for transporting himself
from one place to another across the State. I had the
pleasure of meeting such a man lately. He is Henry
Vanderveer Van Liew, now of Clover Hill.

Leaving, when he was fourteen years of age, the school
that he had been attending at Easton, Pa., young Van
Liew took the stage from there to Somerville. As he
is now seventy-four, that was sixty years ago. He re-
members that he was the only passenger in the coach on
that long ride. He thus saw a plain evidence of the sure
decadence that had already set in for the old mode of
travel, and he has lived long enough to see the good old
stage a thing of the past and all but forgotten.

The coach Mr. Van Liew sat in and the man who
drove it were types of the passing age— an age when men
of standing and large means thought it not beneath their
dignity to own stage lines, as well as to drive their own
horses. Colonel D. Sanderson was the owner and driver
of that coach. He was the proprietor of the main stage
line then connecting New York and Philadelphia, and

169

U

I70 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

he owned six subsidiary lines as feeders thereto. The
most important stage, that from Elizabeth to Easton,
Pa., he drove himself, and long before Mr. Van Liew's
ride with him home from school and long after the col-
onel was famous for his splendid horses, and also for hav-
ing cut down the record in crossing the State to a tritle
under two days.

In the earlier and more prosperous part of liis coach-
ing career, Colonel Sanderson had personally superin-
tended the travel over his line of such illustrious men as
Lafayette, Jackson, Van Buren, Polk, Taylor, Richard
M. Johnson and other notables, as they passed to ami
fro between the two great cities. In the election of Pres-
ident Taylor, Colonel Sanderson took an active part. He
voted for Jackson in 1824, and though the latter was
then defeated he was elected President four years later.

Besides his stages, the colonel was interested in other
enterprises, particularly hotels. The old Union House
at Elizabeth belonged to him for over twenty-five >ears
and was justly celebrated at that time as a first-class hos-
telry. When New Jersey was crossed only by stages the
single trip cost $7. This the colonel reduced to $5. ]\Ir.
Van Liew paid $2 for .his ride from Easton to Somerville.
The stage then carried the mail under government con-
tract. It also transported express matter and baggage.

Notwithstanding the fact that many of the earlier
Western stage routes had made fortunes for their pro-
prietors, Colonel Sanderson eventually lost heavily by his
enterprise here in the East. By the time he finished with
the business he found himself out of pocket over $25,-
000. In the heydey of his coaching, when his horses

SANDERSON'S MAIL COACHES 171

were the admiration of every one for beauty and speed,
he had the distinction of selling a superb pair of bays to
the French Emperor for the handsome sum of $4,500.
The transaction resulted in all probability through his
pleasant and intimate relations with the Marquis de
Lafayette.

Colonel Sanderson's was a well-known and genial face,
and his figure a commanding one as, seated on his raised
"box," with fares to right of him, fares to left of him
and more on a second seat behind him, he swung into
view on the front of his glistening coach. Added to these
passengers w^ould generally be six or eight *'insides," and
two or three more alongside the conductor, perched up
high on the "boot" behind.

Thus came the great chariot, tearing down the street
of the town or village, behind magnificent, foaming
horses spurred on by the blasts of the bugle. The crash
of wheels of the towering equipage — the splendid con-
necting link between the two great cities of New York
and Philadelphia — was inspiring and electrifying to every-
body. And as for the brilliant captain of all this, the
prince of good fellows, the fearless, dashing jehu, whose
hand was on the reins, the gallant colonel, who hobnob-
bed familiarly with great soldiers, statesmen and noble-
men, he appeared to the country townsmen — especially to
the flourishing tavern keepers, whose houses he filled with
distinguished company, as little less than a god.

To the passengers, whirled along by those mettled
steeds, there was a sympathetic thrill of admiration and
a sort of heroic fellowship with the noble animals, in
their breasting of terrific steeps and their breakneck thun-

172 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

dering down duplicate rock-bound descents, with, all the
time, a delectable kaleidoscope of pleasant, pastoral
scenes, forests, mountain gorges, crests, crags, tumbling
floods, sparkling rills and fairy dells. Then there was
the exhilarating clatter of hoofs, the rattling, banging
and swaying of the laboring vehicle, the merry whistle
and crack of the driver's whip, with his horsey quips and
quiddities of stableisms, which the fuming chargers un-
derstood perfectly and responded to with the strength of
fiery demigods and the docility of children.

With all these tingling the blood in the veins and mak-
ing fresh and ruddy the cheeks of travelers, top coats
were buttoned high; rugs were reefed tight, hats were
jammed down hard against the stinging gale and pelting
showers of the driving blast, and all sat snug as the great
stage coach, like a resistless juggernaut, swept along in
the old days through the State.

Starting from the Old Union at Elizabeth, the out-
ward journey was by way of Plainfield, Bound Brook,
Somerville, skirting the Cushetunk Mountains to White-
house, then on to Clinton and Perryville; then over
the Musconetcong Mountains to Bloomsbury, Spring-
town and Shimers, with many a short stop at welcoming
roadhouses between, arriving in good time for an early
supper at Easton on the second day. Here they were
met by another of Colonel Sanderson's stages that traveled
from Easton to Philadelphia.

On the colonel's return journey some of his passengers
would branch off at Bound Brook to another of his
stages that ran to New Brunswick. Mr. Van Liew ac-
companied his father on this branch line when he was a

SANDERSON'S MAIL COACHES 173

boy of six. Arriving on that occasion at New Bruns-
wick, the coach was met by old Commodore Vanderbilt,
who then ran a ferryboat from there to New York. Wav-
ing his hand to the passengers, he cried :

"This way! This way, all of you for New York!
My boat is ready. Have a free sail to New York!"

The secret of this touting was that another boat had
been started in opposition to the commodore's ferry. The
new boat had had the audacity to lower the ferry fare
to six cents. When it did this the peppery commodore
met it by taking passengers free of any charge at all. He
not only did that, but he provided all his patrons with a
substanial dinner. Mr. Van Liew says he perfectly re-
members the commodore's figure as he saw him shouting
from the deck of his boat to the people on the wharf and
vigorously waving his arm:

"Come on! Come on!" he cried. "Every one of you!
This way for a free sail to New York and a good din-
ner!"

This soon had the desired effect. The new boat, un-
able to fight on such terms, was before long taken off,
leaving the commodore an undisputed field.

Another man, who many a time rode in Colonel San-
derson's coach and who knew the colonel well, is Calvin
Corle. Not only did Mr. Corle know the colonel in-
timately, but he has still sundry bottles of champagne
which he received from Mr. Sanderson. These were
known to be of very mature age when they came into
Mr. Corle's possession. They are now estimated to be
over a century and a quarter old.

It seems truly difficult to quite realize how far back in

174 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

history this combination of ages and acquaintances brings
us. Here are Mr. Corle and Mr. Van Liew, neither of
whom looks a day older than sixty-five, who have been
on intimate terms — at all events, Mr. Corle was — with
the famous coachman, Colonel Sanderson, who several
times had Lafayette on his coach, and who, no doubt,
"talked horse" with the famous Frenchman in that in-
timate way that horse-lovers always fraternize. And
here, to-day, can be seen in Mr. Corle's hands some
of the complimentary wine with which the generous
Frenchman loaded the colonel on his return from de-
livering the horses to his august purchaser In Paris. La-
fayette was a distinguished contemporary of George
Washington, as well as of Colonel Sanderson. And
here is Mr. Corle, who knew the colonel intimately for
a number of years. It may not strike others so, but It
does appear to me to be the nearest that I have ever ap-
proached to those two great generals who co-operated so
well In laying the foundation of the American nation.

It Is doubtful If many men like Messrs. Corle and Van
Liew are left; that is, men who made their adieus to the
departing stage and to the gallant colonel as the last true
type of Jersey coaching days of old, and then stepping
across the breach, welcomed the new era of railroads.

The formal transfer of Mr. Van Llew's allegiance
was when he took advantage of the offer of the South
Branch Railway of a free ride to New York and Coney
Island at the completion of Its line In 1864. The ride
Itself was all right and would have been enjoyable but
for a defect, so to speak, in its trimmings. At all events

SANDERSON'S MAIL COACHES 175

there was this qualification necessary in speaking of his
own particular experience.

Putting $100 in his pocket and taking every one of his
workmen for a nice treat, Mr. Van Liew and his party
started from home at 4 o'clock in the morning for a day's
outing at Coney Island. After a very early and imper-
fect breakfast they had the long ride and then the sail
from Jersey City, and by the time they reached the now
famous watering place they were all in great trim for
their dinners. This Mr. Van Liew was determined
should be the very best that money could buy. They
had little difficulty in selecting the tavern for their feast,
for there was only one to be seen, and that was not of
the most promising appearance. Indeed, there was no
other house of any kind but that solitary, ramshackle
one. Half a dozen little bathing boxes, not unlike cof-
fins standing on end, were stuck up here and there on
the sandy beach. This completed the accommodations
of that day at Coney Island.

As m.ay be supposed, the eager party quickly sur-
rounded the only visible table at the inn ; but their hun-
gry chops fell and their hearts sank when they were told
that they could get nothing whatever to eat, not a drop
of anything but "soft," very soft stuff — mere luke warm
emetics — to drink. There they were, out for a feast
and, hungry as cormorants, landed on an almost desert
island. On one side was the broad, hungry ocean and
long stretches of beautiful white sands, whetting their
already voracious appetites into an agony of hunger, and
nothing, not even a pretzel or a cent's worth of pea-
nuts, to eat! On the other side was a trackless wilder-

176 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

ness of wild weeds, sand dunes and swamps, and no
mortal means to escape till 6 P. M.

They wandered up and down all that long day by
the sea in a state of suffering that not one of the party
ever forgot. Nor did any of them ever forget the pain-
ful eagerness with which they cast lots — not to deter-
mine which of the party should die and be eaten — but
to settle which should be the fortunate man that should
devour an oyster, which in parsimonious mercy the sea
gave up to them.

Then when at last the steam packet got up steam and
took them away from that place of torment, their hearts
leaped within them at the thought of what they would
do at a restaurant at Jersey City. How they longed
to be once more back on dear old Jersey soil again!
Then they'd be happy again! But, alas! for the vanity
of human wishes. No sooner had their faltering feet
touched the wished-for soil of Jersey than a stentorian
voice came from the railroad station gate:

"Train for Elizabeth, Plainfield, Bound Brook, Som-
erville, and all stations on the South Branch Railroad.
Step lively!"

By a truly heroic spurt they reached the train just as
it moved out of the station and secured only standing
room. It was lO o'clock at night, when Mr. Van Liew,
with the $100 still unbroken in his pocket and with his
famished men, disembarked at Neshanic Station, wiser,
perhaps, but certainly hungrier men than they ever were
before or ever were again.

BOGUS PARSON MURDERED HIS WIFE

MARY HARDEN, THE TEETERTOWN MILLER S DAUGH-
TER, DONE TO DEATH WITH A POISONED APPLE.

About sixty years ago, ''Rev." Jacob H. Harden, a
young man of fine appearance, very engaging manner
and great eloquence, preached a few times on probation
in Somerville. For some reason he was not chosen. A
dark rumor of bogus credentials floated among a limited
few, but little was said and the candidate soon after re-
ceived a call to Mount Lebanon, in Morris County.
There his remarkable power in the pulpit attracted im-
mediate and absorbing attention and he was widely hailed
as the most brilliant speaker in the county or even in the
State. Especially was this the case among the fair sex,
who, all in a flutter of excitement, elevated the young
Apollo of a preacher to the very pinnacle of their most
exuberant admiration.

The church filled and flourished and for some time
the poor little hearts were legion that went pitapat
through long vigils of soulful agitation and alluring arti-
fices, conning speculations as to who, oh which of them
all was to be the happy girl to be glorified to the seventh
heaven of bliss as his chosen one? To some natures this
kind of wholesale adulation is the sweetest of incense,
which they would fain prolong over all their lives. To
others, and happily they are in the majority, it is pain-
ful in the extreme and they are miserable and impatient
to undeceive such of the fair as have been too indulgently

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178 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

kind in their judgment. Jacob Harden, though a born
wholesaler in that line, saw the plain necessity to evolve
from general suavity his particular attention to one, in
order to socially save his face. But the truth really was
that one or two motherly dowagers cogently impressed
that upon his mind as an absolute necessity, and at length
he took their advice.

So one evening, bracing himself up to what was an un-
pleasant as well as a serious step in life, he walked out
to the Teetertown mill and engaged himself to Mary
Darling, the miller's daughter. Sam Darling, the mil-
ler of Teetertown, owned several farms, besides the mill,
and was well known to be in very comfortable circum-
stances. When consulted about the minister's proposal:
"All right, Mary, lass," he answered in his kindly, gruff
way. "If thee like the domine and thou'st sure he likes
thee and thou'st sartin he's good sound grain an' not
chaff, why go ahead, lass, and hitch up wi' 'im. Wind
jammin' ain't much in my line," he went on. "As the
man said, 'I hardly ever open my mouth but I put my
foot in it;' but some can talk the hind leg off a cow and
coax millions out of people's pockets, and this domine
chap seems like one on 'em."

As time went on and on and the preacher made no
show of carrying out his promise of marriage, seeming
instead rather more than ever infatuated in other quart-
ers, old Sam Darling thought it about time to remind
him that he was unfairly neglecting his daughter. The
young man was penitent, renewed his proper attention
to his betrothed and in due course married her. She was
a beautiful girl, both in character and person and, though

BOGUS PARSON MURDERED WIFE 179

at first not quite as accomplished and at her ease as some
in society, she was so lovely and good that any trival
deficiencies were amply compensated for, and if she had
had a sympathetic and true man as husband, as every-
body admitted, she would have been one of the brightest
ornaments that society could boast.

Her marriage was the cause of much bitter enmity
toward her and, as her husband still continued, or rather
increased, his blandishments among other women, mar-
ried as well as single, the poor wife soon keenly felt her
dishonored position, but never complained. At last it
was supposed some desperately wicked scheme brought
on a crisis. He was then preaching in Andersontown,
Warren County. One Sunday evening, just before
church time, he came hastily into his home, telling his
wife that a member of the congregation had sent her a
beautiful apple.

*'I have one, too," he said, "and I feel just like sam-
pling it," with which he commenced eating his own.

"My! but, wifey, they're fine fruit," he remarked with
gusto. "No, no!" he answered to her request for a bite
of his, "just to taste." "No, you must eat your own,"
he said, "they're simply delicious."

Although not caring much for the apple, she ate it,
really because she saw that he wished her to do so. That
was ever her one thought, just to be agreeable and please
him. They had barely time left to hurry into the church
in time for service. He climbed to the pulpit and she
sat facing him in the third seat from the front. His
sermon, on a text chosen from the Beatitudes, was more
eloquent and touching than usual, with fervid appeals

i8o WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

to the hearts of his hearers for the exercise of all the
benign virtues, which ought to reign in their lives, he
told them, so as to culminate in the beautiful chaste life
of truly Christian homes. It was particularly remarked
that on this occasion the gifted preacher often turned his
eyes devotedly upon his wife. Several fair ones, who at
other times flattered themselves that the minister, as it
were, sought inspiration in their bright eyes, felt chagrined
and neglected. So pathetically pleading was this discourse,
however, that the congregation was deeply moved, many
of the ladies being in tears.

At the height of his pathos, when the very atmosphere
seemed vibrant with tense feeling, he paused. A few
stifled sobs were heard. His eyes were calmly regarding
his wife. He had noticed a pallor come over her lovely
face; he saw her whole frame quiver and her eyes turn
up white and deathlike. But without further notice and
with a beautiful smile he raised his face and hands for
the benediction. At the same instant his wife moaned:
''Oh, father, I'm dying," and fell to the floor.

"Bless her," her husband unctuously remarked, as
many hands bore her from the church, "she will soon be
better. She is an intensely receptive hearer; that is all."

His wife was carried into the house of a Mr. Ramsey,
where in about twenty minutes she died. Harden ap-
peared shocked, but next morning he could not be found.
Suspicion was aroused. Dr. Enos T. Blackwell, of Ste-
phenstown, assisted by Dr. Crane, of Hackettstown,
made a post-mortem examination, suspected poison and
sent the stomach to Philadelphia for analysis of its con-
tents. It was found to contain sufficient of a deadly

BOGUS PARSON MURDERED WIFE 1 8 1

poison to cause death. Then detectives were put on the
case and the country was notified. The suspected preacher
was traced to Virginia and captured within a week. He
readily surrendered himself.

*'I am glad you've come," he said. "Take me to prison
and hang me, for I am guilty, guilty of murdering a
good, beautiful and loving wife. I dare not ask even my
God for forgivenness for so heinous a crime. No matter
where I go I hear her innocent, dying moan — the wind,
the brooks and trees all continually repeat it: 'Oh,
father, I'm dying!' Ah!" he half groaned, 'Tve often
tried to define hell. I know it now! I have lived its
worst torments from that awful moment when in her
dying agony she called, not to me, her natural protector,
but to her good father, whom she knew she could trust,
for help. She knew that I, vile beast that I am, wanted
her out of my way: but like an angel, never spoke it. I
poisoned the apple which I pressed her to eat before en-
tering church that evening, and it killed her."

He v^as tried at Belvidere, Warren County seat, and
on his own confession of wilful murder was sentenced
to be hanged. Executions were then in public, and
never before was there such a mighty throng at Belvi-
dere as came to see the hanging. Even the day before,
people began to pour into the town by hundreds, even
thousands. By the early morning of the appointed day
the place was packed, housetops, barns, fences, trees,
every available point, literally swarming with sightseers.
Lines of wagons extended, it is averred, for miles in
every direction on the highways, filled with people, who
had not the remotest hope of seeing the scaffold. So

i82 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

great was the crush and so many were there who ought
to have been cared for In their homes, Instead of fighting
their way for twenty-four hours in such a place, that
there were no less than three deaths and four births
amid the surging crowds.

The culprit at once after capture began writing a long,
detailed confession. But it was so morbidly frank, and
involved so many reputations besides his own, that It had
to be suppressed. He had never been ordained, it tran-
spired, and had cleverly imposed upon everybody — except
the circumspect Somervllle folks. After making a clean
breast of it, he died an abject penitent.

Over poor Mary Harden's grave. In Pleasant Grove
Cemetery, in Morris County, is still to be seen her mem-
orial stone. In the stone the sorrowing father, old Sam
Darling, had a space chiseled out, four inches deep by
six inches square, in which he placed his beloved Mary's
picture. My Informant tells me that, whenever he finds
himself in that vicinity, he never fails to go and look at
that pathetic memorial of a great tragedy.

DR. JOHN ROCKHILL.

ADVENTURES OF HUNTERDON COUNTY's FIRST PHYSI-
CIAN AND HOW HE WON THE FRIENDSHIP OF THE
INDIANS.

One day, a good many years ago, a sturdy Indian sud-
denly and mysteriously appeared at the home of Dr.
Rockhill, in Hunterdon County.

"Papoose! papoose! Kup-paum-unum-woo!" cried
the man, making wild gesticulations and evidently asking
medical aid for a child.

For a moment the athletic young doctor thought it
was an intended decoy to lead him into ambush and mur-
der him. But young though he was, his varied and some-
times thrilling experiences as the pioneer physician among
the wilds of the then sparsely settled Hunterdon County,
made him able to read human nature better than many
an older man.

He saw in a twinkling the yearning sincerity of a par-
ent in the red man's behavior; and in a very few min-
utes, with a small materia-medica and a few instru-
ments in his saddle bags, sufficient to meet any ordinary
demand in medicine or surgery, he was plunging along
through the woods following the fleet-footed red man
he knew not whither. The Indian amply made up for
his lack of mount by slipping through thickets and be-
neath branches which frequently almost tore the white
man from his horse.

After a ceaseless swinging trot of several hours, every

183

i84 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

foot of the way being through seemingly pathless woods
and uncultivated wilds, the untiring Indian at last stop-
ping in front of a wigwam, signed dramatically for the
doctor to enter, again crying, "Papoose! papoose!" and
then fell exhausted upon the ground. Inside the hut the
squaw-mother was supporting the head of their daugh-
ter, a really pretty little girl of twelve, on her lap. She
looked up as the doctor entered, the picture of hopeless
despair. It required only a cursory examination to prove
that the child had smallpox. That disease had wiped
out whole families and even villages of the red men.
They claimed that the white men had sold them that ter-
rible disease along with the match-coats given for their
land.

The little sick girl was the apple of the Indian father's
eye. He had several sons, but this was his only daugh-
ter; and, as he had seen that the medicine men of his
tribe could do nothing to fight the deadly malady, he had
footed it more than thirty long miles to enlist the skill
of the white man to save his child — the first known in-
stance of this kind, perhaps, in all Jersey. Through the
agency of a tribesman, who knew more or less English,
the doctor was enabled to prescribe and give directions
as to treatment, and left promising to come again in a
day or two.

This was Dr. John Rockhill, the first man to estab-
lish himself in practise as a physician in Hunterdon
County. After studying medicine under Dr. Thomas
Cadwallader, of Philadelphia, he had migrated to Pitts-
town, Hunterdon County, and in the year 1748, when
twenty-two years of age, began practise there as a phy-

DR. JOHN ROCKHILL 185

sician to the Society of Friends. Tradition says he was
a man of fine physique, with an Iron nerve and great en-
durance, and was therefore well equipped for the toll-
some and frequently hazardous journeys he was called
upon to make to see his patients.

The red man's call for medical aid was a novelty.
Hitherto the doctor's acquaintance with the Indians had
been anything but agreeable. It was the time of their
greatest unrest, when they began to realize the serious-
ness of the white man's encroachments upon their do-
mains, with the gradual destruction of their only means
of living — their hunting grounds. He had often been at-
tacked on his errands of mercy, which at one time cov-
ered great distances; for when he started practise there
was not another medical man from the Delaware as far
east as New Brunswick, or from Trenton to the Blue
Mountains on the north. All the paths along the Dela-
ware and near the mountains were unsafe from the roving
hordes of exceedingly hostile Indians that came over the
borders from Pennsylvania and New York State, Infest-
ing the fastnesses on New Jersey's boundaries. But the
doctor, who was as handy with his sword as with his scalpel
and also a dead shot, was soon known a;s a dangerous cus-
tomer to interfere with.

Passing on one occasion by the path leading through
what later became Spring Mills, he suddenly found him-
self almost surrounded by red men, who greeted him with
a perfect shower of arrows. One of these picked a piece
of flesh from the back of his neck, another went through
the rim of his hat and a couple stuck In the saddle, one
on each side of his leg. In reply to this he shot two of his

13

1 86 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

assailants dead — one while his horse was going at full
gallop through a group of them. He seemed to bear a
charmed life, and hit back so effectually when attacked
that before long the white ''medicine man" was marked
as one that was better to keep clear of than to attack.

As good fortune willed it, the doctor's first Indian pa-
tient, the little girl — who proved to be the daughter of an
influential chief — responded splendidly to his treatment,
and when he paid his second visit the child's parents were
so over-powered with gratitude and admiration that they
literally kissed the hem of his garment and sent men laden
down with presents to his home. Moreover, Chief Shack-
amaxo, whose daughter the child was, sent out runners in
every direction advertising the inestimable goodness and
god-like powers of the great white medicine man of Pitts-
town and making known that he was the red man's best
friend and hence must be protected at the hands of all
good Indians thenceforth and forever. After that Dr.
Rockhill's life was much safer on his travels; yet, never-
theless, he was afterward fired upon by more than one of
the roving gangs of mountaineer red men who for years
harassed the northern and western boundaries of the State.

In those days there was also more or less danger from
four-legged marauders. The few families then settled
where the prosperous little town of Flemington now stands
had to guard themselves and their children and live stock
from the wolves that in the winter came prowling down
the valley from the big timber of the Round Mountain
and Cherry Hill. There is a tradition that Dr. Rockhill
was once hard pressed by a hungry pack of these on his
return from visiting a family, supposed to be that of Abra-

DR. JOHN ROCKHILL 187

ham Van Horn, near Whitehouse. Leaving there early
on a winter night, he was making his way with a clear,
full moon In the sky, to visit an Indian village on the
MInlsI Creek, about two miles above the present Fleming-
ton. His way lay along the skirt of Cushetunk Mountain,
which was well known to harbor many wolves. There
had been a long spell of very severe weather, with a deep
coat of snow on the ground, and the doctor had been cau-
tioned about the danger of attack if he took the path he
did. But, as he said, the snow was hard, he was well
armed and well mounted, and really enjoyed risking It.

The physician soon perceived, after proceeding some dis-
tance, that several wolves were trotting behind him ; but
they kept too far off for him to get a shot at them, though
he tried more than once to draw them within range. As
the Round Mountain loomed against the western sky, de-
ciding to push on, the doctor put spurs to his horse for
a spin across what appeared a nice open space. But be-
fore he well knew what had happened he found himself
unhorsed and partially stunned at the bottom of a deep
washout, with the horse overturned on Its back partly over-
lying him in deep snow and plunging madly to regain his
feet. Fortunately the hole into which they fell being at
the base of a giant oak tree, a hollowed out recess, big
enough to admit his body, extended inward below the roots
of the tree. He had just got into this hole and saved him-
self from destruction from his horse's wild kicks, when a
wolf sprang on the prostrate animal, burying its gleaming
fangs in the fleshy part of the beast's hing leg. The doc-
tor's pistol rang out sudden death to the Intruder, and It
fell limp and dead into the hole at his feet. But the bite

1 88 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

had so maddened the horse that, with one frantic effort, It
gained Its feet and went snorting away at full gallop for
its life.

With a second pistol cocked ready for the next wolf,
the doctor was about to peep over his entrenchment when
the glaring eyes of another of his hungry followers met
his. Over rolled that one with another well aimed bullet
In its head, and, while several of Its brethren sniffed at
the dead, licking its blood preparatory to devouring the
body, the doctor clambered from the roots to the branches
of the oak to a place of greater safety. Perched on a
branch, just out of reach, and after emptying his pistols
into one after another of the animals with deadly effect, as
they slunk up at the smell of blood, he kept on reloading
and firing away at his leisure, until dead wolves lay thick
on the blood-bespattered snow all around him. Not be-
fore his powder-horn began to feel light and almost his
last ball was gone, did it ever occur to the sport-loving
doctor about the precariousness of his situation. But al-
most as soon as he thought of It he was saved from anxiety,
for he even then heard the friendly whoops and halloos of
men evidently seeking him.

The doctor's horse galloping up without a rider to Sam-
uel Fleming's stables, at the Flemington House hostelry
— the first house, and then the only house, in what is now
Flemington — created quite a furor. The horse knew the
stables and was known, having been put up there on for-
mer visits of Dr. Rockhlll In the neighborhood. Flem-
ing, having notified Philip Kase, the nearest settler, as
well as Chief Tuccamurdan, who happened to be at
Kase's at the time, the three, having with all haste

DR. JOHN ROCKHILL 189

mounted horses and leading the doctor's runaway by the
bridle, set out as a search party to find the physician.
Following the horse's tracks they were not long in find-
ing the treed doctor with a record slaughter beneath and
all around him.

As it was to Tuccamurdan's village Dr. Rockhill had
been journeying, he was now escorted thither by the chief,
who was overjoyed at the wonderful healing of the child
of his brother-chief, Shackamaxo. He assured the doc-
tor that he had bespoken all his tribesmen's hearts and
hands in whatsoever way it might be possible to serve
him. Immediately on arrival at his village, Tuccamur-
dan dispatched several of his braves for the teeth of the
wolves the doctor had slain. These he ordered his men
to drill and string up as beads as a commemoration of his
guest's prowess, and afterward he presented to him the
unique memento of the event. It was on one of these
professional visits of Dr. Rockhill to Chief Tuccamur-
dan's village that that typical grand old man of the Del-
awares made some philosophical observations which be-
came historical.

Kase being exceedingly thoughtful and taciturn, was a
warm friend of the chief's and delighted at all times to
hear the sage enlarge upon the old traditions and glories
of the Indian people, merely answering in appreciative
monosyllables. Fleming, on the other hand, could not
help Indulging in the dry humor for which he was justly
celebrated as the entertaining landlord of his famous "cas-
tle." Answering one of his good-natured jibes, the stern
old chief, who, like all his race, was utterly incapable of

igo WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

understanding jest of any kind, replied, addressing him-
self, however, to Dr. Rockhill:

"No; much as we admire the white people, we can-
not admit that they are superior beings. The hair of
their heads, their features and the various colors of their
eyes plainly declare that they are not as we are, Lenni-
Lenape — an original people, a race of men that hath ex-
isted unchanged from the beginning of time — but that
they are a mixed race and therefore a troublesome one."

After a few meditative puffs at his long pipe, and
without the slightest change in the sober gravity of his
commanding features, Tuccamurdan's eye, with that
steady, eagle-like dignity of gaze peculiar to him resting
again on the doctor, went on:

"The white race are my friends and I love them. But
wherever they may be, the Great Spirit, knowing the
natural wickedness of their disposition as a race, hath
found it necessary to give them a great Book and hath
taught them to read it, that they might know and ob-
serve what He doth wish them to do and what to refrain
from. But the Lenni-Lenape have no need of any such
Book to know the will of their Maker; for they find it
engraved on their hearts; they have had sufficient dis-
cerment given to them to distinguish good from evil, and
by following that unerring guide they are sure not to
err. Such are our Unamis and Unalachtgos, the peace-
ful dwellers of the plains, who love and are beloved of
the white men. But like the white man's great Book
telleth of, we have our descendants of Cain, who slew
his brother, among us. The Minsi are of our kindred,
but are turned to ravening wolves. They are gone out

DR. JOHN ROCKHILL 191

from the fold, a lost and bloodthirsty people. We abhor
and reject them."

It was but a short time after this meeting that Dr.
Rockhill was summoned in great haste by a white family
in woful distress, more than forty miles distant, between
what is now Marcella and Split Rock Pond, in Morris
County, A man named Wedge living there had had his
house sacked and burned to the ground by Minsi Indians,
who came suddenly down upon them from the Copperas
Mountain. On the approach of the savages the family
fled to the woods, being fired upon as they ran. Only
one shot took effect. Their little daughter of ten, Elsie,
fell, shot through the lungs. Thinking the child was
dead the parents hastily covered her with leaves and con-
tinued their flight, intending to bury the body on their
return. But behold, when they came early next morning,
Elsie was breathing and even recognized them. The over-
joyed father bore his child to the nearest house and im-
mediately set out all the way to Pittstown for Dr. Rock-
hill, whose fame, mainly through the agency of the In-
dians, extended far beyond the confines of his county.

It is an impossible effort for the imagination to picture
the difficulties of the journey that Samuel Wedge, with-
out a moment's hesitation and with no more preparation
than saddling a horse and stuffing some rye bread into his
pockets, set out upon in the hope of saving his little
daughter's life. Even now, with roads at least of some
kind for wheeled traffic, a horseback ride over the same
ground is no slight undertaking.

What then must it have been, when the best available
highways were mere blazed paths through almost con

192 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

tinuous forests, with considerable risk of at any time
meeting a scalping party of Indians or skulking wolves?
But from the Northern part of what is now Morris
County almost to the Delaware River, through tangled
forests underwood, across unbridged rivers and over or
around mountains, for forty tortuous miles, went Sam-
uel Wedge, with probably as little thought of difficulty
as most people nowadays think it to go half a dozen
blocks over paved streets, hopefully pressing on for the
doctor by whose skill his little Elsie might live. Surgery
alone could save her; for the cruel lead that had pierced
her back about the fifth rib had not gone all the way
through but lodged somewhere in the little body, and of
course meant death unless extracted.

In less time than would perhaps be credited, Dr.
Rockhill was there and performed the delicate opera-
tion, which involved the difficult problem of probing and
locating the bullet without X-rays or any of the other
helpful improvements of modern times. But the marked
success of Dr. Rockhill's surgery through the troublous
times covered by his practise would almost justify the
thought that the increase of novel appliances may not
increase the cunning of the hand; for an undeniable his-,
torical fact it certainly is that his success in the treatment
of, for example, gunshot wounds, was so remarkable as to
win him wide distinction.

In little Elsie's case the bullet was found to have
passed through the left lobe of the lungs and embedded
itself in the breastbone near the diaphragm. From this
vitally difficult position the doctor extracted the leaden
ball, declaring his confident belief that the child would

DR. JOHN ROCKHILL 193

recover. The little patient lay for weeks, part of the
time just hovering betw^een life and death. In time the
high fever began to abate and Elsie got stronger and
stronger and at last was quite well. Before the age of
twenty she was married and in time became the mother
of a large family. Moreover, she married into a well-
known family, for her husband was Edward Marshall,
the son of the man who made that historic walk along
the bank of the Delaware for William Penn, whereby
was measured the extent of land to be included in one of
the great Quaker's purchases from the Indians. Elsie
lived and reared a family of twelve children on the com-
fortable estate won by the stout day's walk of her father-
in-law. It was her daughter who told Mrs. Swallow,
the grandmother of Mrs. George Kinney, now living
in Three Bridges, the story about the elder Marshall's
famous walk. Mrs. Swallow used to do spinning for
Elsie's daughter.

Dr. Rockhill married a Miss Robeson, who was grand-
aunt to the late Secretary Robeson of the United States
Navy. Miss Rockhill, sister of Dr. Rockhill, married
his wife's brother, who was Secretary Robeson's grand-
father, making Dr. Rockhill double great-uncle to the
Secretary.

Dr. Rockhill died April 7, 1798, and was buried in
the Friends' burial ground at Quakertown.

THE "MAYOR OF PLUCKEMIN."

A FAMOUS HUNT THROUGH THE STREETS OF NEWARK
IN WHICH TUNIS MELICK WON ALL HEARTS.

Some years ago, when the writer lived in Newark
and was all unconscious of the existence of the classic
Pluckemin, something from that village caused quite a
lot of excitement at the famous "Four Corners." I was
walking up Market, from Broad street, when there sud-
denly developed a peculiar commotion among pedestrains,
which shifted its centre curiously, now to the sidewalk,
now on the street, while men plunged wildly and grabbed
at something on the ground that seemed to elude all
their attempts to catch it. And in the wake of the ex-
cited people, whichever way they surged, tripped up men
sprawled on the street amid peals of laughter.

Many like myself halted, wondering what the unusual
stir was about. A loud squeal solved the mystery; no-
body could mistake the sound; a pig was running loose,
and a young fellow just then caught it. Scores had tried
it and come to grief, for a pig is an awkward, naked
kind of thing to catch, having neither horns like the cow,
nor the mane-forelock of the horse, nor any tail to speak
of by which to grasp It. But the young man had found
a handle somewhere about the vociferous porker, which
he marched off with as if he knew well where to take it.
This I later learned was one of a dozen or more young
pigs which "Mayor" Melick, of Pluckemin, had carted
all the way to the Newark market.

194

"MAYOR OF PLUCKEMIN" 195

Being a well-known figure and a great favorite in
Newark, the jovial Mayor has often had to pay the price
of popularity by succumbing to the good-natured adula-
tion of his city admirers. And it so happened that day
when he came with his pigs to market that just as he
turned out of Broad street, past the end of Military
Park, he was recognized and immediately pounced upon
by three old friends. In utter defiance, it appears, of his
pleading business first and pleasure after, and though he
tried his best to push ahead past them with his famous
"Later on, boys! later on! later on!" it was no use. They
insisted, seizing his horses' heads and actually compelling
him to descend from his wagon, so that they might treat
him, after his long drive.

No sooner, however, had he entered a convenient hos-
telry with two of the friends than the other, a regular
mad wag, opened the rear fastening of the wagon, and,
tipping up the huge crate, poured out as it were an aval-
anche of squealing pigs on the street. The Mayor, hear-
ing the deafening chorus, rushed out to find his whole
stock of porkers running away, belter skelter in all direc-
tions.

Pigs and perversity being inseparable, and every one
of the swine race being bound to take his own course, in
this case with all that could be done, escaping porkers
were chased for hours through Newark toward every
point of the compass. In their terrified career they
dashed into stores, dwellings, offices, restaurants, etc., up-
setting tables, chairs and stools, throwing men to the
floor and sending women into hysterics. The pursuit
and catching of those Pluckemin pigs was said to be a

196 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

great hunt; a chase that for exhilaration of numbers and
multiplicity of exciting espisodes, has been claimed to
rival if not completely eclipse the very best Black Forest
boar hunt ever enjoyed by his imperial highness, the Em-
peror of Germany.

To have missed the sight of Mayor Melick acting as
w^hipper-in in his famous Newark pig hunt was, they say,
the loss of a lifetime. In his shirtsleeves, his hat in one
hand, a coil of rope in the other, his broad and amiable
features fired with eagerness in the chase and dripping
perspiration, the devoted man led his cohorts of small
boys with such shouts as never before awoke the echoes
of old Newark town. If nothing else had ever occurred
whereby to estimate the man, assuredly this trying ordeal,
through which he displayed such boyish hopefulness and
even the keenest enjoyment of the fun, would have
stamped the "Mayor of Pluckemin" as far removed above
the common mediocrity of mankind.

People who saw it said it was truly inspiring to see
the panting owner, when he and his followers managed
to surround one of the runaway pigs in some blind alley
or corner, where they seemed sure of catching it. Stand-
ing at bay, with head lowered facing his pursuers, the
pig watched with the eyes of the basilisk, for an open-
ing to make another dash, while its distinguished owner,
with intense anxiety, approached, a la professional
wrestler, with hands spread and stooping low, ready to
seize him. Then, when with running squeal, the ani-
mal made a plunge and the Mayor of Pluckemin, in-
tending to fling himself bodily upon the pig, missed it
and rolled in the dust, there were frantic cheers and

"MAYOR OF PLUCKEMIN" 197

laughter from his valiant henchmen and from hundreds
of onlookers. This, which would have covered any other
man with confusion, s( emed meat and drink to the
Mayor. For, rising, he bowed his acknowledgment of
the plaudits, and again rallying his ranks like an un-
horsed general, he renewed the chase with redoubled en-
thusiasm. Tunis Melick was pretty well known long
before that in Newark. But since the spilling of his
pigs on the street and the memorable hunt for them, his
place is among the immortals.

Experiences like those are merely incidentals to Mr.
Melick's business as an agriculturalist. Thousands of
other farmers can drive into town and do the same things,
unnoticed and unknown. The great public makes its
own estimate and for inscrutable reasons fixes its partic-
ular attention upon certain personalities and makes them
famous. The rule seems to be that he who seeks it find-
eth it not; while he who does things in utter disregard
of what any one but himself may think, and flavors his
actions with a strong individuality, as Mr. Melick does,
shall have good measure, pressed down and running
over of notoriety wherever he turns.

But Tunis Melick's fame far oversteps the great city
of Newark, Morristown and other large centres of New
Jersey, reaching out beyond even the confines of the
State. Take, for instance, the great exposition at James-
town, Va., of late. He went there, I have been told, by
special invitation of the most influential people, and was
practically the guest of the city. His acceptance of the
invitation, as well as his subsequent progress thither, was
noted and heralded by every newspaper of importance

1 98 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

in Virginia under flaming headlines. On his arrival he
was met by an immense concourse of people and was
wined and dined and generally lionized throughout his
entire stay.

In argument Mr. Melick is invincible. Yet he ac-
knowledges complete defeat on one occasion. His op-
ponent in this memorable bout was an Englishman. Just
for argument's sake he was laying out the Britisher for
coming over here to America to share in its blessings, in-
stead of being born to that right as he, Mr. Melick, was.

"But I claim a better right," the Englishman said, "to
prosper here than you have, and that for the reason
that I started on better terms."

"I defy you to give us one scintilla of proof of that!"
Mr. Melick shouted, and the audience were all attention
to hear the answer.

"That's easy enough," said the Englishman, with a
wink to the bystanders. "When I came to this country
I had at least a shirt on my back and that's more than
you had when you arrived." A salvo not unlike a gat-
ling gun broadside, which people have become used to as
the Melickian laugh, greeted the answer, and "You've
bested me, my boy; here is my hat! Take it, take it!
take it!" he cried, offering his opponent his sombrero.
Which action as symbolical of surrender I confess to hav-
ing been heretofore ignorant of. I never saw it before
nor heard the expression. "Take my hat!" To me it is
purely Pluckeminese, but of course, it may be widely used
for all that.

In his lighter moods Tunis Melick has been known to
be wonderfully facetious, even to the point of playful-

"MAYOR OF PLUCKEMIN" 199

ness. Most people hereabouts are well aware that Pluck-
emin is peculiarly subject to high speeding automobiles.
The "mayor" is on bowing terms with all either fast or
slow machines, and, indeed, with every person of high or
low degree that passes through the village.

"Watch me stop this racer!" he said one day, throw-
ing up his arms and waving frantically to a machine com-
ing at reckless speed. Pulling up with heavy jerks and
jars, the begoggled driver demanded:

"What's the matter?" with great impatience and im-
portance.

"Why, you've not got j^our linen duster on!" the
"mayor" megaphoned at him; and, as the man muttered
and turned on the power:

"That'll do; that's all," Mr. Melick said; "go ahead!"

Another time, while walking with a friend along the
road, as the result of a wager, Mr. Melick pulled a rail
from the fence and carried it along so awkwardly that a
speeding auto coming behind set up a perfect howl of
honking for him to get out of the way. He kept on his
devious way with the rail, however, until the machine
was close upon him. At the last moment he flung the
rail down right across the road and ran for his life up
the bank. This brought the automobile to a dead stop,
with a volley of anathemas. But Mr. Melick won his
wager, and furthermore parted with all in the machine
on the most amicable, not to say hilarious, terms. All
that was needed to bring that about was for the travelers
to learn, as they did from the other man, that they were
confronted by the "Mayor of Pluckemin."

To any one who has ever heard Tunis Melick talk, it

200 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

must seem astonishing and altogether incredible, to be
told that his resounding voice "is nothing to what his
father's was." The father, Peter W. Melick, who lived
at Barnet Hall, was the leading spirit in having the old
Rockaway Railroad opened up between Whitehouse and
New Germantown.

It was a single track, with practically no grading. So
the old engine used to go walloping up hill and down
dale, lugging two or three ancient cars behind it and
emitting unearthly howls and screeches as if it were
some hideous wild animal. It spoke volumes as to Peter
W. Melick's vocal powers, that the Rockaway engine
was named after him.

"Here comes old 'Peter W.,' " people would say, when
they heard the loud blast of the engine miles away.
There was no particular schedule as to old "Peter W's"
movements, it is said. If it happened to be a fine morn-
ing the train hands might have to get in several loads of
hay that had been cut the day previous, before starting.
Then, again, they say that when some farmer's cows had
broken into a neighbor's cornfield, or the like, the train
would stop and both train hands and passengers would
get out and help for a half-hour or so to put things to
rights, before they got aboard and started again.

One amusing illustration of the railroad's reputation
for speed is told in connection with a resident alongside
the line who had set out on foot on day to go to a fu-
neral at Whitehouse. Old "Peter W." coming up in the
same direction with a tremendous snorting, made a spe-
cial stop where there was no vestige of a station.

"Hello, John," the engineer shouted, hailing the pedes-

"MAYOR OF PLUCKEMIN" 201

train, whom he knew, "going to town? Come on, jump
in. You may as well ride as walk."

"Not this time. Bill, thank'ee all the same," the man
afoot answered. "I'm on my way to my mother-in-law's
funeral at Mechanicsville (the old name of Whitehouse),
and I'm bound to be there on time. I know I can do it
afoot, but if I let old 'Peter W.' steer me, the Lord only
knows when I'd git there."

When Peter W. Melick was comparatively young, a
man named Ezekiel Wooley was sexton of Zion Church,
at New Germantown. Contrary to what is possibly a
reputed somberness of sextons generally, Ezekiel was a jo-
vial man for a gravedigger and delighted in playing prac-
tical jokes on people. One of these had reference to
rat-catching, and is claimed, though on doubtful grounds,
to have originated a very widely used and well-known
saying.

Henry Miller, who kept the village store, finding his
place infested with rats, offered a reward of ten cents
a head for every rat any one caught on the premises.
Ezekiel set a trap, caught one and, presenting it, got his
ten cents. After receiving pay he threw the rat outside.
Later, on going home, he saw it lying on the ground and
immediately detected the chance for a good joke. Pick-
ing up the rat, he took it along with him and next day
exhibited it as a second catch and got paid another ten
cents for it. He repeated this process day after day
with the same identical rodent he had caught at first, un-
til Mr. Miller growing suspicious, hesitated, and smelt
the rat. Then the game was up, and Ezekiel's laugh
came in; and it is seriously claimed that there and then

14

202 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

was created that figure of speech denoting aroused sus-
picion— "smelling a rat."

A new family, man and wife, came to live next door
to the Wooleys. Ezekiel called in and made their ac-
quaintance. He told the lady of the house that his wife
would shortly make a friendly call, but the pity was, he
said, that his wife was almost stone deaf. Then going
home he told his wife that he had dropped in to see
their new neighbors. They seemed very nice people, he
explained, but said the worst of it was that the new
neighbor's wife was so very hard of hearing that it was
painful to talk to her. Notwithstanding this serious
drawback, Mrs. Wooley soon called and she began shout-
ing to the woman and the woman bawled at her so dread-
fully, that when the host came home both women were
almost exhausted and as hoarse as crows. From the
loudness of their voices he really feared they were quar-
reling and hurried into the room.

"This is my husband!" the hostess yelled to her caller
and then in her natural voice, "John," she said, "this is
Mrs. Wooley, from next door," and a moment later con-
tinued: "Lord! John, how deaf she is! And she must
think I'm as deaf as she is herself, for she's been shout-
ing at me till I'm most crazy."

"Mercy sakes alive!" cried Mrs. Wooley, who, of
course, heard what the wife told her husband; "I'm not
the least bit deaf! What on earth made you think I
was?" The new neighbor stared at her in astonishment.

"Why," they both cried, "your husband told us you
were as deaf as a stone!"

"Oh, may heaven forgive my poor, foolish 'Zekiel, with

"MAYOR OF PLUCKEMIN" 203

his jokes! He's just too bad," Mrs. Wooley exclajmed
impatiently. ''Why," she said to the wife, "that's exactly
what he told me you were!" And thereupon while both
mopped the perspiration induced by their great vocal exer-
tions from their faces, the two women laughed themselves
into a lasting friendship.

The irrepressible Ezekiel was once employed to dig a
well for Dr. Hazelius. When the digging was about
finished and the well, a pretty deep one, the doctor who
was said to be unusually close-fisted, having expressed a
wish to descend the shaft, was accommodated. But when
he wished to come up again, Ezekiel turned quite deaf,
nor would he heed requests, entreaties or even threats as
to getting his prisoner out again. Not till the doctor had
faithfully promised him a brimming bumper of his best
apple whiskey did the inveterate joker comply and bring
him to the surface again.

Many of the world's great minds even at the zenith of
their powers, have delighted, in moments of relaxation, to
slip their collars, so to speak, and play the boy again and
have, at such times, perpetrated jokes and frolicsome tricks,
just to recall their happy memories of exploits and fire-
side tales of their meriy youth. And it may be safely
conjectured that some such tales as above mentioned and
many others, about the facetious sexton and so forth, re-
lated by Tunis Melick's father, must have made a lasting
impression upon his son. For multitudinous are the
stories told about little playful lapses in such off moments
or hours of ease in the mature life of Tunis Melick, the
renowned, of Pluckemin.

But talking of voices, as this article commenced, it

204 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

must surely be that time's distance lends some wonderful
enchantment to the memory of Peter W.'s voice, when
any one can dream of its having eclipsed that of Tunis,
his son's, in sonorous power. For he that hath ears to
hear, let him hear, if only once, Tunis M click, when he
mounts his chariot, and as a pleasant valedictory, throws
out his broad chest and spouts a verse or two, or all of a
poem of his, as follows:

Stand up, my boys! Stand up, boys!

Help bear the heavy load ;
Toiling along the river side

And up the mountain road.

We cannot all have millions;

We cannot all be IT;
But courage, boys, and steady!

We all can show our grit.

When something's to be boosted

Heave, O boys! heave away!
All shout and pull together,

Then sure we'll win the day.

Pluck fortune by the forelock.
Pluck hard, boys, and we'll win;

That'll pluck from all the truth, boys,
There's pluck in Pluckemin.

Let any man hear that declamation, as the writer has
in part, with a few genuine Melickian oratorical flour-

"MAYOR OF PLUCKEMIN" 205

ishes, before he makes the rash asseveration that there ever
was, or ever will be, another voice, enunciato — perfecto,
to compare with that of Tunis Melick.

Whenever a traveler, whose eyes are open, for the
first time mounts the good old Peapack stage at Somer-
ville and winds pleasantly along by what is called the
mountain road to Pluckemin, before the journey is much
more than half finished, he is pretty sure to ask:

"Whose house is that over there on our left, so ideally
situated?" and is duly informed by Mr. Layton, the po-
lite coach driver-proprietor, that it is the old Duchess
homestead, the residence of Tunis Melick, "Mayor of
Pluckemin." A prettier pastoral vale it would be hard
to find than that which slopes gracefully down to the
south from the Duchess, hedged on the east by the Wat-
chung Mountains and rolling in pleasant undulations
southwestward to meet the Cushetunk and a long border-
land of Hunterdon Hills.

As one approaches Pluckemin, Mr. Melick's house is
a prominent feature of the landscape, as he is himself of
one or two townships, if not of the whole county and
even beyond it. The name of Melick, or Moelich, Mel-
lick, Meelick, Melegh, Melich or Malick, as it has been
variously spelled in this country, has been closely asso-
ciated with the early history of

"Peapack on to Pluckemin,
Somerville and back ag'in,"

as the old ballad had it; but it was so in the first in-
stance through another family, or another branch of the

2o6 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

same family, which settled in the Peapack glen. De-
scendants of that line seem to have either died out or
migrated to other regions. The facetious and famous
Tunis Melick came here from New Germantown in
Hunterdon County. His great-great-grandfather, Jo-
hann Peter, came over from Germany early in the eigh-
teenth century and settled there, probably at the same
time that his uncle or cousin, Johannes Melick, settled
in the Peapack Valley and built the old stone house.

The original Melick homestead, at New Germantown,
was built by Ralph Smith in 1700. Smith owned at one
time nearly all the land around this village, which ham-
let he determined should be called Smithville or Smith-
field, but in that was disappointed. The old Smith-house,
which became the Melick homestead, was sold to Dr.
Oliver Barnet, but after the doctor's death and a short
occupancy of his nephew, the property again reverted to
the Melicks and has remained in the family.

When Dr. Barnet bought the place in 1765, he made
it a beautiful residence, which was known as Barnet Hall.
After the doctor's death, Dr. Oliver Wayne Ogden,
who married Miss Wisner, Dr. Barnet's niece, secured
possession of Barnet Hall by litigation, as his lawful inheri-
tance. He practised only a short time there and be-
came disastrously involved in real estate speculations at
Perth Amboy, where he died. After being rented to sev-
eral tenants and after standing vacant, eventually the hall
came back to the Melicks and Tunis Melick's father,
Peter Melick, died there not so many years ago.

Barnet Hall was therefore the birth-place and boy-
hood home of Tunis Melick, who was destined to add

"MAYOR OF PLUCKEMIN" 207

luster to the name of Pluckemin. From the earliest rec-
ords of New Germantown, the hall was a noted place
and became the repository of immense stores of interest-
ing old historic records and relics, most of which have
been unfortunately lost in the turmoil of the many
changes of ownership and tenancy the property has passed
through. One document, picked up from a lot of old
papers in the attic, reads as follows:

"Morris Town, May 6th, 1777.

"The General will esteem it a singular favour if you
can apprehend a Mulatto Girl servant and slave to Mrs.
Washington, who eloped from this place yesterday, with
w^hat design cannot be conjectured, though as she may
intend to the enemy and pass your way I trouble you with
her description; her name is Charlotte, but in all proba-
bility will change it, yet may be discovered by question-
ing. She is light complected, about 13 years of age, Pert
and amorous, dressed in brown cloth westcoat and pet-
ticoat: Your falling upon some method of recovering
her should she be near you will accommodate Mrs. Wash-
ington and lay her under great obligations to you, being
the only female servant she brought from home, and in-
tending to be off to-day had she not been missing. A
gentle reward will be given to any soldier or other who
may take her up.

"I am with Respect, Your most Obedt. Servant.
"Richard Everid Meade,

"a. d. c.

"Col. Spencer at Eliz. Town."

When Dr. Barnet came to New Germantown he was

2o8 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

a poor young man, having nothing in the world but his
slender medical skill and a little Maryland pony. Soon
after he started practise he had a tilt with Dr. Viesselius,
the "red cheeked doctor" of the Old Stone House in
East Amwell, at Three Bridges. As the story is told, a
man living at Fox Hill had a very painful and much
swollen gum. His neighbors told him he had cancer,
and that he must consult the "red cheeked doctor," who
was very clever and of wnde renown. He went to do so,
but having been unable to find him, and meeting Dr.
Barnet, he showed his gum to him. The young doctor
honestly told him it was nothing but a gum-boil, and that
it would be all right in a few days.

On returning and telling this to his neighbors, the
sufferer was told that Barnet was only a boy and knew
nothing, and that he must hie away back and find the "red
cheeked doctor," which he did. Dr. Viesselius was in-
formed that people said it was cancer and, looking into
his patient's mouth, the doctor shook his head ominously
and said it was a bad case, but he thought he could cure
it. He prescribed, and at once the man was cured.
When he came and delightedly paid his bill he told Dr.
Viesselius what Dr. Barnet had said, that it was only a
gum-boil, etc.

"Will you be so kind as to call on Dr. Barnet on your
way home and tell him that he is a fool?" the physician
asked. This the man did, and it so roused the young
man to wrath that he declared he would thrash the "red
cheeked doctor" for such an impertinence. They hap-
pened to meet shortly afterward.

"MAYOR OF PLUCKEMIN" 209

"Did you send a man to tell me I was a fool?" the
young man hotly demanded.

"Yes," Viesselius said, "I did. You told a man he had
a gum-boil and got nothing for it. The man told me he
had a cancer. I said I could cure his mouth, and did
so, and I got a guinea for it. You," said the "red cheeked
doctor," laughing, "were a fool because you did not take
the man's guinea." Dr. Barnet, who loved money, saw
the point and never forgot the lesson.

Ever since Dr. Barnet's death Barnet Hall has been
said to be haunted, and the house, the old mill and the
family cemetery, according to tradition, have been the
scenes of many supernatural appearances, wonderful
sounds and mysterious demonstrations. When the doctor
died he was supposed to have left more than $80,000 in
gold behind him, and as the money was understood not
to have been found by his successors, people got talking
about its being buried in the ground somewhere about the
premises, and many stories have been told about noc-
turnal search parties and how many a deep hole has been
dug by them, here, there and everywhere in the vain hunt
for the hidden treasure.

The delvings w^re all or mostly conducted, it is said,
under superstitious guidance. A sprig of witch-hazel
was borne in a certain way in the hands of one of the
company who was versed in divination. Absolute silence
of the company was an imperative requisite and as the
little twig inclined to left or right the searchers followed ;
when it dipped toward the ground that was taken to be
the infallible proof of the spot where the treasure was
buried. And there, after drawing a fairy circle around

2IO WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

the place, they began digging. But the utterance of one
word would break the charm and the hole, no matter
how deep it was, would fill up in a moment.

It is told that one party was so successful that they
actually discovered and bared the top of the iron chest
containing the gold, when one of the company, happen-
ing to look up, saw a little black goblin on the limb of a
tree right over their heads sawing away with a red-hot
knife at a rope, which suspended an enormous millstone.
Next moment the great mass of rock would fall and
crush them ; the man gasped a warning, when, instantly,
out went their lights, the hole filled up and the company
was scattered hither and thither in terror, and in total
darkness, groping their way, not one having the remotest
idea where the spot was that the hole had been.

Whatever practical-minded people of to-day may think
about this manner of search, it is unquestionable that as
late as the last decade of the nineteenth century it was
firmly believed in and put in practise at Barnet Hall,
as can be attested by a living witness, who was let into
the secret, and was privileged to watch the movements
of such a party one night only a few years ago, which
expedition, needless to tell the initiated, was barren of
any successful result, as, of necessity, it was bound to be
in presence of such oversight of unbelievers.

JUDGE AARON ROBERTSON, OF WARREN.

A FAMOUS FIGURE OF OLDEN TIMES, WHO EXERTED A
MIGHTY INFLUENCE.

"The evil that men do lives after them.
The good is oft' interred with their bones."

It is the lot of few men to leave behind them the
record of so useful and altogether benevolent a life as
did Judge Aaron Robertson of Warren County, who
at the ripe age of eighty died at his Beattystown home
about thirty years ago. When it was said that his loss
was mourned by all who knew him, it was not a careless,
conventional use of the phrase, but the earnest, sorrowful
truth. He was a man of unusual stature, standing six
feet three inches in his stockings and of proportionate
build. He had a strong face and fine athletic figure,
both being sujfficiently rounded for physical grace. Alto-
gether he was a large, erect and handsome man ; a fitting
tabernacle for the big sympathetic heart and wonderful,
master-mind that dwelt in it.

In several ways Judge Robertson was unquestionably
a very remarkable man. Though he never systematically
studied law^ nor graduated as others do to become law-
yers, he became, as it were, by intuition, such an expert
on all nice legal points and intricacies, that, as an oracle
or living manual of cut and dry jurisprudence, he was
consulted by practically every practising lawyer in the
county. It is also a well-known fact that he wrote more

211

212 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

wills for people than all the county lawyers combined ;
and further, though many a time the wills he drew were
contested in court, not one with a single flaw, technical
or otherwise, was ever found by which it could be broken.
Judge Beasley, commenting once upon an action brought
for such purpose, said to the assembled counsel:

"Any four of you may just as easily go, one to each
corner of this courthouse, put your shoulders to it and
move the whole structure a hundred feet from where it
now stands, as you can break a will drawn by Aaron
Robertson."

His advice was sought and freely given to multitudes,
and as a fact whatever construction he put upon a legal
point invariably stood in court. He never took a fee, of
course, for he neither was nor wanted to be a member
of the bar. Yet those who know it declare that as many
as a dozen vehicles would frequently be seen waiting at
the judge's gate for his coveted advice — advice that gen-
erally tended to steer its recipients away from rather than
into litigation. It is said that if he had charged even fifty
cents apiece to all who consulted him, he could have
made a fortune.

Yet, strange and incongruous as it must seem, very
often his importunate callers would find him with his
sleeves rolled up, out in his yard among his pigs. He
rarely had fewer than a hundred of them and it was his
particular hobby to feed them with his own hands. He
had two capacious butter-tubs bound with iron hoops and
fitted with strong handles. With one of these in each
hand, filled with milk, he delighted to regale his splendid
hogs. When the first corn came in from the field in

JUDGE AARON ROBERTSON 213

autumn he would make his men back a whole wagon
load of ears into the yard at a feed for them. He also
had many cows and churned for his own use; so there
was plenty of milk and butter for the house, with oceans
of skim and butter milk for the pigs. There were also
fat beeves of mighty bulk in stalls, which, with the hogs,
went to fill many huge provision barrels in the judge's
cellars and joined in a plenteous decoration of his
kitchen's ceilings with the toothsome shoulders, flitches
and hams of his porkers.

There was nothing small, mean or contemptible about
him. He was big and ample-looking himself and every-
thing he had in hand shared in the same large and liberal
solidarity and breadth of beam, as it were, of his person.
All his life he wore an old-fashioned stovepipe hat, in the
top of which were always stowed away a fistful of cigars
which rested on a bulkhead made of his big bandanna
handkerchief. Late in life he gave up cigars and took to
a clay pipe, the stem of which he bandaged at the mouth-
piece with a piece of linen to save his teeth.

When any one came to buy suckling pigs as ''keep-
overs," the judge would bring out the New York Tri-
bune and look up the price per 100 pounds of live hogs
in New York. At the same price per pound he would
then weigh out and sell the little bits of pigs, receiving
a mere trifle apiece for them; whereas, usually such pigs
brought about $5 a pair. He owned a fine stable of
horses which he never drove. When he went, as he did
frequently, to Hackettstown, three miles distant, he in-
variably walked both ways, using a walking stick which
was as long above as below his hand.

214 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

He got a complete surfeit of driving in an amusing
experience he had with a friend's horse — that is to say,
amusing to others, but to himself so annoying that he
never got over it. Thomas Shields, a friend of his,
wanted the judge to try his favorite roadster for a drive
to Hackettstown. At last the offer was accepted. All
went well on the outward journey, but returning, the
horse, being impatient to get home, quickened the pace
a little beyond the judge's liking. Following the usual
plan he drew the reins to restrain the animal, whereupon
it decidedly increased its speed. He pulled harder, but
only faster went the horse. He hated to be seen dashing
along at such speed, and, getting a good grip, pulled till
he feared the reins would break, but to his great disgust
the brute, which seemed to have a mouth of iron, put on
a sprint faster still, and they came tearing into Beattys-
town at a rate that to the judge's mind was utterly dis-
graceful and even dangerous. People rubbed their eyes
and looking again:

"Was that really and truly the judge?" they asked
one another between amazement and doubt, gazing after
the flying vehicle. They could hardly credit the evidence
of their own eyes.

That was enough. The judge, who was highly in-
censed and scandalized, thereupon took a rooted dislike
to the whole equine race and vowed he would never
drive a horse again in his life ; and it is a fact that though
he always had good horses, he kept his word.

"After this I'll walk," he said, and he did. Mr.
Shields, who had trained this particular horse to do
exactly as it had done, forgot, he declared, to mention

JUDGE AARON ROBERTSON 215

that peculfarity to the judge and expressed his deep re-
gret at the occurrence. And no man doubted his sincerity,
nor has any one ever harbored the slightest suspicion that
he or any other man drawing the breath of life could
have been so inhuman as to think of playing off a prac-
tical joke on a man so universally beloved and revered
as was Judge Robertson. He w^as so regarded by rich
and poor alike and never wearied in helping all and
singular, the poor especially, by his counsel and guidance;
and many he saved from expensive and barren lawsuits.
So marked was his goodness that a gifted preacher, Rev.
Thomas McCauley, drew pointed public attention to it
in a pulpit illustration, urging his hearers to bring their
spiritual cares to the great Shepherd of Souls.

"You know," he said, "how you all go with your
troubles to the good Judge Robertson and how kindly he
listens to your tales and helps you out of your temporal
difficulties." Then he called upon his hearers, as to those
infinitely more important burdens of the soul, to go and
do likewise and thus find peace and rest eternal.

The judge, who, as is averred, could any time have
been Governor of the State, but would not allow such a
thing mentioned in his hearing, was a man of far-reach-
ing and supreme influence. When, for instance, the
Morris and Essex Railroad first came through Warren
County their survey called for a continuation of the line
alongside the Musconetcong River from Washington to
Hackettstown. This would have brought it close to
Judge Robertson's residence, a thing he utterly disap-
proved of; for he hated the howling and hurly-burly of
railroads with a great hatred. This, coupled, per-

2i6 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

haps with a little pardonable pique, at the high-handed
methods that railroad companies have always displayed
in doing about as they please, fired the judge to oppose
their plans. That meant abandonment of their chosen
route, though at first they did not think it would ; nor
would the judge's opposition have been so uncompromis-
ing, but for their want of tact, possibly.

The result was that the company was defeated and
was compelled to lay its track from Washington by way
of Rockport. This cut off the Musconetcong River Val-
ley, from Washington to Hackettstown, along which
there were eleven mills in as many miles, all in active
operation, leaving them about two miles distant from the
railroad, to which they soon found they had to cart the
bulk of their products.

JOHN DAVENPORT.

WORK OF JOHN DAVENPORT IN THE EARLY DAYS OF
THE TOWN OF PLUCKEMIN.

With the advance of refined civilization every nation
sooner or later develops a strong interest in the incipient
stages of its growth in which, standing out in bold relief,
are the names and deeds of leading pioneer progenitors of
the race. Here in America more and more attention is
being devoted to this study, which is gradually asserting
itself as a right which every one not only owes to himself
and his descendants, but is also demanded as a filial mark
of respect to his ancestors.

No country in the world was ever populated as Amer-
ica has been; no nation was ever formed of such com-
posite elements, and no other country can compare with
it — in the interesting revelations to be found as to the
ancestry of multitudes of its people. And, although at-
tempts have been made to promulgate baseless claims
through the mistaken ambition of vain persons to gain
prominence through misrepresentation of the importance
and station of their progenitors, and although such things
will doubtless occur again, yet that should not be al-
lowed to stand in the way of people honestly desirous of
satisfying themselves as far as may be as to who, what
and whence were their forefathers.

One hundred and eight years ago John Davenport
came from Manchester, England, where he was born in
1777, and in the year 1800 settled in the thriving little

217

17

2i8 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

village of Pluckemin, a place made famous by General
Washington having encamped there In 1777. This John
Davenport was the progenitor of probably all the families
of that name to be found In Somerset County, If not of
all those of that name throughout the State. Unlike a
great many other Imported names, that of Davenport has
never apparently been changed In a single letter. And
while It Is unwise to be too much elated over such mat-
ters, it Is unquestionably true that so far as a legitimate
pride In an Intellectual and practical as well as ancient
ancestry Is concerned, the descendants of this long and
distinguished line have every reason to be satisfied.

The family name of Davenport originated In the coun-
ty of Cheshire, In England, where the township, and the
little river Dave running through It, have taken their
names from the family. The manorial history of the
seat of the Davenports presents what is almost unique
even In the United Kingdom, an uninterrupted descent
In the direct male line for very nearly eight and one-half
centuries, or from the year 1066, the first of the reign
of William the Conqueror, down to the present day.
The family archives contain a complete series of original
title documents which prove the possession of its old
feudal powers and manorial estates with which they were
invested.

In 1086 the crest of the Davenports was conferred by
the sovereign and ordered Inscribed upon the helmets,
shields and regalia of that house as a tallsmanic warrant
against the roving robber bands which then infested the
country. The family coat of arms, among the most an-
cient in England, Is a shield with sable, crossets, crest, a

JOHN DAVENPORT 219

falcon's head coupled at the neck, signifying magisterial
"sergeantcy." The feudal service exacted was that of
ridding the district of all nefarious highwaymen and
marauders of every kind, with vested and absolute pow-
ers of jurisdiction. In the old manor house of the ancient
family seat is still to be seen the long parchment scroll on
which is quaintly inscribed the portentous list of names
of "master robbers," who were hunted, taken and be-
headed under this charter.

Through connections by marriage the Davenports have
at times been brought into close relationship with the
English crown. Edward Hyde, Lord High Chancellor,
married Margaret, daughter of Sir John Davenport, an-
cestor of Mary, the wife of James H. and mother of
Mary, the consort of William of Orange, who, together,
sat on the British throne, and also of Queen Anne, suc-
cessive sovereigns of the kingdom.

The Davenports have been constantly represented in
the English Church and frequently in the peerage. But
as has been said of this, "no boastful claims are put forth
as to aristocratic distinction." The family, here at all
events, have no higher ambition than that of belonging
to the great middle class — that of merchants, artists,
artisans and scholars — always loyal to the ruling powers,
yet ever stanch advocates and defenders of free and equal
human rights.

Close intermarriage relations between the Wedge-
woods, of ancient Staffordshire pottery fame, and the
Davenports have existed from remote days, the Daven-
port works there being, perhaps, still the largest in the
world. The firm of Davenport Brothers, of New York

220 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

— fathers and sons — have represented their Staffordshire
house here for more than sixty-five years.

The first of the name that came to this country was
Rev. John Davenport, the distinguished minister of that
celebrated company of Christian heroes who landed in
New England in 1637, "to whom," says an authority,
"may be well and truthfully accorded the fame of being
the fathers of the American commonwealth." This emi-
nent divine was born in Warwickshire, England, in 1597,
of wealthy parentage, graduated at Oxford and occupied
the pulpit of St. Stephen's Episcopal Church in London.
His fervent piety, eloquence and profound learning, to-
gether with his fearless advocacy of puritanical doctrines,
aroused the enmity of Archbishop Laud, of London.
Persecution soon followed. Davenport, with many of
his adherents, fled to Holland and in that renowned asy-
lum of religious liberty, was met with open arms. After
a brief stay they returned to England, where, after col-
lecting their scattered band and holding frequent confer-
ences, they resolved on emigration to America.

At this time the leader was subjected to a renewal
of persecution and had a narrow escape from arrest, even
when they had all packed their belongings ready for sail-
ing the next day. A few friends were chatting with Mr.
and Mrs. Davenport that afternoon, when suddenly a
lady friend rushed into the house.

"Oh, Mr. Davenport! fly!" she cried in great ex-
citement and in a tragic whisper. ''The officers are com-
ing to arrest you; they are already in the garden walk."

"Let them come!" said the reverend gentleman,
calmly; "I'll not attempt to elude them."

JOHN DAVENPORT 221

"No, no!" cried two or three of his adherents, who
were all ready to sail with him on the morrow. "For
our sakes, for the sake of the cause, fly or hide — anything
but be arrested!"

"I have It!" cried Mrs. Davenport. "Come, sister,
help me!" And In a twinkling an immense packing-box
which as yet only contained a few things, was overturned
and emptied. "Now, John, dear, we mustn't lose you at
the eleventh hour. All Is lost If we do. For my sake,
do you sit down on the floor and allow us to cover you
with this box and take tea over your head, and we'll
defy them."

Down the great man sat and the large box was quickly
turned over him, a tablecloth spread over It and tea
things set. In half the time It takes to tell It. When the
emissaries of his persecutors were admitted, the company
were seated around this improvised table, apparently en-
joying their afternoon tea. When the officers asked for
her husband Mrs. Davenport truthfully informed them:

"Mr. Davenport left the house Immediately after our
midday dinner." But she did not feel called upon to
add that he had returned again.

"Well, our orders are to search the house, madam,"
the leader said.

"Search the house by all means," said the lady, "If It
Is your duty. Mary!" she called to her maid, "show
these persons into every room, please."

They searched every place in the house but the right
one, of which they did not have the least suspicion, and
went away as they came. As soon as they had gone, Mr.
Davenport lost no time In getting aboard their chartered

222 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

ship, where In the bay he safely rode at anchor until all
joined him before dawn the next day. That packing-box
in the fair hands of Mrs. Davenport was a maker of
history. If her husband had been taken, possibly neither
he nor any of his illustrious companions would ever have
seen America. As it was, they hoisted sail for the New
World early that morning in the spring of 1637, and
after a tempestuous voyage of three months landed at Bos-
ton.

As these immigrants were known to be highly con-
nected, of great learning and rich, strong inducements
were offered to persuade them to settle within the con-
fines of the Plymouth colony, but after full discussion it
was deemed best to form a new colony. This they did
on the Connecticut seaboard, founding New Haven. All
authentic records fully accord to Mr. Davenport the
honor and credit of leadership in the great movements
toward civil and religious freedom, which resulted in
establishing and developing that important colony.

A continuous line of ministers have succeeded in the
family, and others have met success as members of col-
leges and other institutions of learning. They have also
served their country in the army, navy and legislative
halls, both in national and State government. They were
whole-hearted supporters of the colonial cause in the Rev-
olution as well by pen as sword, and fought in the Con-
tinental army as officers and private soldiers. Two of
the name were in Congress in the administrations of
Washington, Adams and Jefferson. The Rev. James
Davenport (grandson of the Connecticut pioneer), sta-
tioned at Southold, Long Island, was a preacher of great

JOHN DAVENPORT 223

power. His fame It was that attracted Whitefield hither
from England, In 1739. Shortly after his arrival on this
side the latter wrote home:

"I am comforted exceedingly and encouraged by meet-
ing my dear Brother Davenport, by whose hands the
Lord hath already done such mighty things here."

They organized a great missionary tour, and for a
while together held Immense meetings In the leading
cities of New England, New York, New Jersey and
Pennsylvania. After the end of the tour, Davenport
preached to a congregation of over three thousand In con-
nection with the church of Mr. Cross at Basking Ridge.
Here Whitefield again joined him and aided In the work
with wonderful success. In the fall of 1739 these two
evangelists passed along the Old York road here, through
Reavllle and Three Bridges, on their way to New York.
Their coming had been anticipated, evidently, for at the
Presbyterian church at Reavllle, then the only church of
the denomination in the Amwell Valley, they preached
In the open air to a great concourse of worshipers. In
Whitefield's diary it was noted that "some thousands of
people" awaited them "at the small village of Reavllle."
In after years Davenport preached for a time In Con-
necticut, and finally was stationed at Hopewell, just be-
low here In Mercer, near the border of Somerset, where
he died In 1753.

Another celebrated member of the family was John I.
Davenport, a direct lineal descendant of the founder of
New Haven, who distinguished himself for fearless fidel-
ity and honesty as chief supervisor of elections In New
York, toward the end of the eighteenth century. As an

224 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

honest man, he naturally met tremendous difficulty and
opposition in that office. But in the end he triumphed
by causing his worst enemies, as well as committees of
Congress, to fully acknowledge that, although he had
been strictly right in law, justice and honesty in his great
fight for an honest and free ballot, in and through all
of which he fully exemplified the true, sterling qualities
he had inherited from his righteous ancestors.

To Jersey people, however, the chief interest in the
past of the distinguished family must centre on John
Davenport, of the same lineal stock as the great Con-
necticut Puritan, but who came among his many rela-
tives in that State half a century after their first Ameri-
can progenitor had landed there. The newly arrived
John first lived at Danbury, in the same State, but after
a short stay there he decided to look further afield for a
more favorable locality for trade. Being young and ad-
venturous and of shrewd observation, he soon perceived
the superior advantages of New Jersey in her milder cli-
mate and prolific soil, but particularly in her geopraphi-
cal position between the two great cities — New York
and Philadelphia. He traveled considerably in Jersey,
exploring toward the centre of the State. On arriving
at Pluckemin, already a thriving little village, he judged
it to be full of promise of becoming in time a good busi-
ness centre. After fully studying the situation, he set-
tled there in 1800 and engaged in general merchandise.

After three years, noticing the rapid rise of Somerville,
the county seat having just removed there, he concluded
to branch out in that town, with a view to possibly per-
manent removal to it as a more promising centre. He

JOHN DAVENPORT 225

bought a fine farm facing on Main street and running
north a full mile. The next year he built and occupied
a house on the farm. Then entering into partnership
with George Vannest (one of that numerous family
naentioned in my last article, and whose son afterward
married Mr. Davenport's daughter Margaret), he ex-
pended much capital in establishing a hat manufactory
in Somerville, while still conducting the Pluckemin busi-
ness, traveling to and fro in the arduous work of attend-
ing to both. After a few years' experience, he found
many and great difficulties in managing two plants thus
separated. Without severing in the least their warm
friendship, Mr. Davenport wound up his business affairs
with Vannest, sold his Somerville farm, moved back to
Pluckemin and permanently concentrated his energies
there.

He purchased an extensive farm adjoining the village
and commenced its improvement. There were tanneries
and currying works on the place, and these he had thor-
ough repaired and enlarged. He also built a flouring
and grist mill, also a cider mill and distillery, and erected
as well a new and extensive hat factory, putting into it
the most improved machinery, with buildings properly ad-
justed to every department. Over and above all these,
he embarked in a perfectly new and separate trade, that
of chemically treating sumac to meet the requirements of
morocco factories in Philadelphia. This itself grew into
a large and profitable trade.

Operating all these branches of business at the same
time, Mr. Davenport employed a great many hands, and
by his industries alone made Pluckemin a place of con-

226 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

siderable importance at that time. Splendid as was his
constitution, the strain of constant application necessary to
successfully conduct so many distinct enterprises brought
on a sudden calamity. While in apparently full vigor of
health and strength, he was stricken with apoplexy and
died at his homestead at Pluckemin on September i8,
1830, in the fiftj^-second year of his age.

John Davenport was twice married, first in 1804, to
Margaret Traphagen; she died in 181 1, leaving two chil-
dren, Ralph and Sarah Ann. The latter died in 1829, un-
married. Ralph, born in 1805, married Phoebe A. Voor-
hies, in 1827; in two years she died, without issue. Ralph
married again, in 1838, Sarah Drake; they had two chil-
dren, Ralph and Mary; the former married Ellen Van-
nest ; Mary became the wife of William Jeroloman. The
father, Ralph, born in 1805, lived twenty years in New
York, after which he spent the rest of his life farming at
Pluckemin.

John Davenport's second wife was Mary Boylan
whom he married in 1813; she was the daughter of John
Boylan, of Pluckemin, and according to tradition was a
most estimable woman. She died in 1848, leaving six
children, namely, Margaret, born 18 14, who married
George Vannest In 1839. He died In 1864, leaving six
children, most of w^hom made their homes In Somerset
county. John married Hester Voorhees in 1838; he died
In 1848, leaving five children. Of these James proved
himself a brave and patriotic youth. He enlisted when
scarcely eighteen j^ears of age for service in the Civil
War; was captured and shut up in Andersonvllle prison,
where he died In delirium from Inhuman treatment In cap-

JOHN DAVENPORT 227

tivity. Thomas married Frances Smith in 1851 and had
six children; Eleanor married William L. Jones in 1836,
lived in Plainfield and had two children, one of whom
died in infancy; the other, Eliza, married Lieutenant-Col-
onel Janeway, of the First New Jersey Cavalry, who fell
bravely leading a charge at the battle of Jettersville, Va.,
the last battle of the War of the Rebellion. James S.
married Maria Remsen in 1845, lived in Raritan and
had three children; Samuel W., born in 1822, married
Amelia Besteda in 1846 and lived in Somerville. They
had seven children, four daughters and three sons.

These are the first branches from the New Jersey stem
of the Davenport family tree. The aged lady who kindly
furnished this information and who is herself a Daven-
port, says that it was impossible for her to keep track of
the multitude of younger generations. She also says that
so far as her knowledge goes the members of the family of
Davenport in this country waste but little if any time
thinking about their ancient lineage. But they do take
sincere pride, she says, in the fine representation of the
name among those who, in the hour of their country's
greatest need, responded with heart and hand to the call
of Abraham Lincoln.

OLD DAYS AND WAYS IN PATRIOTIC
PLUCKEMIN.

HOW THE SOLDIERS WERE FED AND CLOTHED IN THE
WINTER OF 1776 THE CAPTORS OF ANDRE.

Emerging from exceptional winter scenes in Plucke-
min, where for a number of days lately neither bread,
meat, potatoes nor oil could be had for love or money,
and when no roads were opened through the snow to
enable people to help themselves, one is strongly prompted
to hark back to that other and historical January, 133
years ago, and wonder whether, in this section at least,
the world has really advanced along the path of progress.

There are probably more houses than when Washing-
ton sent a commissary in advance asking the people to
prepare food for his victorious soldiers coming hither from
Princeton ; but if such a demand were made to-day, would
it or could it be as liberally responded to as it was then?
In those days few country people did not have well-filled
beef and pork barrels. Mrs. Sarah Connover, late of
Pluckemin — a daughter of Ida V. Gaston, of the historic
Van Arsdale family — used to repeat what her mother of-
ten related of those stirring days in Pluckemin.

When word came about the coming of the troops, she
used to tell, all the farmers and villagers filled their great
ovens with bread and pies and hung huge pots, measuring
about two and one-half feet in diameter, filled with meat
over their open hearths. But the half-clad and starving
soldiers came before the meat was sufficiently cooked,

228

OLD DAYS AND WAYS 229

and, as famishing men might be expected to do, unable to
wait, they fished out great collops of beef from the pots
with their bayonets and devoured it raw.

If such a call had come in our late weather siege, every-
body would have had to wait for Williams, the butcher,
to come from North Branch and wait in vain; then run to
the grocery store for a few little cans of trust corned beef
and find, as villagers did even for their own supply the
other day, that it was all sold out. Is it not wonderful
to think how substantial and self-contained country peo-
ple were in those old days, when hundreds of soldiers were
not only well fed upon short notice, but clothed as well?

Robert Little was a big Scotchman in the ranks that
came that time to Pluckemin. Although "of powerful
build and a lion in courage," big Bob was handy with
the needle. (It is a queer thing that in such companies
it alwaj^s happens to be a Scot that can do a bit of sewing
at a pinch.) Long after the war was over Little used to
tell his children and friends many a tale about the shifts
of the patriot army. He lived all his later life in Branch-
burg Township, just below^ here, where descendants of
his live still.

"When we got to Pluckemin," he used to tell, "our
company was as ragged as beggars. How could we help
it? Our pay was poor; our clothes worn out, with
nothing to replace them. At last the colonel issued an
order that our men were to be sewed up a bit. I was
then the tailor of the company. It was easy to issue the
command ; to carry it out was a different matter. We
could easily sew and patch, but cloth was required and
where was it to come from? We hunted around and

230 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

gathered what we could from families and friends, who
gave wonderfully of their stout homespuns and linen,
and with my assistants I went to work.

"We overhauled, patched and mended until we got
the clothes so far decent that no rags were seen. A
grand dress parade was then ordered. Our boys marched
with heads erect and proud step. For once in a long time
they had clothes without any bad holes in them. The
light-horse saw them and were envious. Then came a
second order, 'Private Little must fit up the light-horse
in as good shape as the infantry.' This was harder to
fulfil than the first order. We ransacked all the houses
a second time and again found cloth enough ; so we
patched up the light-horse. But something more was here
wanting. The cavalry wore helmets, in which were
intended to be worn tufts of horsehair. We had no more
horses' tails to borrow from; but I hit on a plan. Select-
ing twenty of the smartest men, I woke them up at mid-
night. Together we scoured the country 'round for
miles, looking for cows. Every cow we could find lost
about eight inches of her tail end that night, and the light-
horse were turned out with plumes that looked fine."
Where could cows enough be found now by which to do
such a thing?"

Stewart Brown, who came here from Ireland about
the middle of the nineteenth century, as a lad eleven
years old, tells me that even as late as that, Pluckemin
had three large, well stocked general stores, a hat manu-
factory, a first-class millinery store, two shoe shops, two
tailor shops, a slaughter-house and butcher shop, two
wheelwrights, two blacksmith shops, a cooper shop, a

OLD DAYS AND WAYS 231

paint mill and brickyard. All that remains of these to-
day is one slenderly stocked grocery and blacksmith shop.
Even as late as 1863 this village made and supplied
large quantities of clothes and shoes for the army in the
Civil War, Mr. Brown says.

In Revolutionary days the two storekeepers, John Boy-
Ian and William McEowen, one at each end of the vil-
lage, were merchants carrying immense stocks and doing
very extensive businesses. John Boylan's was for many
years the only store of any account between Somerville
and Newton. He had everything "from a needle to an
anchor" in his capacious store, at the same time operating
a large granary and an extensive potash manufactory.

Mrs. Paul Van De Vort, of Burnt Mills, is the oldest
living descendant of John Boylan, who was her grand-
father, and acted as a commissary for Washington's
army. General and Mrs. Washington were several times
entertained at Mr. Boylan's house, and Mrs. Van De
Vort's grandmother had the distinguished honor of danc-
ing with the general. The white satin slippers, with
square silver buckles, which she wore in these dances are
still preserved in the family. The china, a beautiful blue
and gold set, together with the silver service, used in en-
tertaining General Washington, are or were in the home
of Horace Bannard, of Long Branch. The old secretaire
used by John Boylan throughout his business career and
many of his account books Mrs. Van De Vort has at
Burnt Mills.

When the British raided Pluckemin Mrs. Boylan had
been baking, Mrs. Van De Vort tells me, and had just
withdrawn a lot of bread and pies from the oven. She

232 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

hurriedly hid all she could of these in the window seat,
and, taking her knitting, sat over her hoard, hoping it
would not be found. But when the Hessians came their
scent was too keen to miss the freshly baked food. They
made her get up and cleaned out not only her baking,
but everything else eatable in the house. They also
helped themselves to a favorite and very valuable horse
from the stable.

I am told that social life in Pluckemin in those days
was at its most refined stage, and that the Boylans were
its acknowledged leaders. There were sixteen children
in the family. One daughter married Mr. Parker, a
clothier, of New York. Their daughter, Eliza, was sent
to an academy at Litchfield, Conn., at the same time that
Harriet Beecher Stowe attended there. Eliza used to
talk a great deal about the afterward famous Harriet,
long before her celebrity, and often related how exceedingly
smart and bright she was, and that she never came to
school with an imperfect lesson. Miss Parker, who was
an accomplished musician, inherited the old Boylan piano,
upon which she used to play most exquisitely at the age
of ninety. She died at ninety-six.

Mr. Van De Vort has the powder horn that belonged
to and was used by his uncle, John Pauling, and which
hung at his side when he and two others captured Major
Andre. History gives the three men's name who did
this as "John Paulding, David Williams and Isaac Van
Wert." The correct spelling of the three names is John
Pauling, David Williams and Isaac Van De Vort; the
latter also being an ancestor of my informants.

On the powder horn is inscribed "Daniel Hay, his

OLD DAYS AND WAYS 233

horn, 14th, 1758. Gift by John Pery." The

rest of the horn is covered with rude figures of animals
and hieroglyphs, which might have been done by Indians.
Mr. Van De Vort has also a musket with bayonet,
w^hich was hidden by the British in a haymow. It has
the letters T. H. roughly cut on the stock. The barrel
alone measures six feet.

16

DOMINE FRELINGHUYSEN

OLD TIME SCHOOLS AND SCHOOLMASTERS IN AND NEAR
READINGTON THE DEATH OF ONE INSTRUCTOR.

Readington School, whose known history dates from
1805, had been taught for the first seventy years almost
exclusively by male teachers. That is to say, out of for-
ty-five instructors employed in that period only four were
women.

The record of the school as to its product of scholars
over that time, seems well worthy of mention. Twenty-
seven of them became successful teachers, nine of them
clergyman, three lawyers, two judges and two physicians,
while many others rose to an enviable place in the busi-
ness world.

From these statistics it seems that Myron T. Scudder's
statement as to the desirability of employing male teach-
ers in country schools might be well worthy of earnest
consideration. For certain it is that during the long
male administration of Readington School its record is
one that much larger educational establishments might
well be proud of. Perhaps, too, there is something in the
uneventful monotony of the real country village life that
helps boys in the absorption of learning, in the same way
that the dim serenity of the sequestered cloister was con-
sidered an indispensable aid to the studies of the monks
of old. There is at all events even to this day an earnest
and reverent belief in the serious things of life in this
village which, whatever may be said or thought of it in

234

DOMINE FRELINGHUYSEN 235

other places more "careful and troubled about the many
things" of rushing modern civilization, has at least turned
out many men of the true sterling stamp, men who have
left or will leave behind them splendid records, who
were as certain to rise in whatsoever spheres their lots
were cast as sparks are to fly upward.

It is always interesting to trace back to their origin
such useful institutions as Readington School has been. I
stated lately that prior to 1806, little or nothing was
known about school matters there. On further research,
however, I find that unquestionably the first schoolmas-
ter who taught the people's children of what is now Read-
ington Township, was Jacobus Schureman, who came here
from Holland in company with Theodorus Jacobus Fre-
llnghuysen early in the year 1720. They were married to
sisters. Schureman was a finely educated and pious man.
It was an arrangement between the brothers-in-law that
wherever the one preached the other opened and taught
school. So Mr. Schureman's labors were not confined
to one place, but distributed wherever Dr. Frelinghuy-
sen preached.

History says: "Before 171 7, about which time the
Readington church was organized, the people of that
township had to go to Raritan church (Somerville) for
public worship." The first church organized was the
Reformed Dutch Church. It was started perhaps two
years before there was any place of worship for the regu-
lar use of the inhabitants. Their first church edifice
was begun in 1718 and was a log building; it was com-
pleted the following year. It stood near the junction
of the North and South branches of the Raritan River

236 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

about two and one-half miles distant from the present vil-
lage of Readington, in what is now Branchburg Town-
ship.

The first sermon preached in the original Readington
log church was delivered by the celebrated Dominie Fre-
linghuysen, who was its first settled minister. That
building, under the name of the North Branch Church,
was used for about twenty years, on Sundays as a church,
and on certain week days as a school, which was taught
by Jacobus Schureman. He was indubitably the very
worthy and accomplished pioneer schoolmaster of Read-
ington.

In the olden time or beginning of things, many com-
munities had to make great efforts in order that their
children might receive instruction. For instance, in the
district covering what is now known as New Centre Dis-
trict, Flagtown Station and part of Bloomingdale, in
Somerset, it was determined in 1790 to build a school
for the benefit of the large numbers of children there. A
building about twenty-four feet square, with a thatched
roof, was put up, having an immense wide fireplace on
one side and desks around the others. It was painted
red, with white casings to the door and windows. It
was known as the Red Schoolhouse, and in later times
as the Old Red Schoolhouse.

Old "Master John Warburton" was the first teacher.
He was English by birth and had served in the British
army in the Revolution. He had taught school there
in a barn before the schoolhouse was built, and was a
well-known and respected man everywhere. While gen-
erally kind as a teacher, he was something of a martinet

DOMINE FRELINGHUYSEN 237

on discipline and believed thoroughly in the efficacy of the
birch. Tradition says that some of the boys after a can-
ing, when they got well clear of the school, used to shout
back loud enough for "Master Warburton" to hear, some-
thing like this:

Old crazy British Wabberton

Licks little boys for spite;
Because their dads and Washington

Licked England out of sight.

In those days the Revolutionary struggle was not quite
so far oft as now, and we can easily imagine that young
America would be susceptible to strongly indignant feel-
ings at being basted by a former wearer of the red coat.
The English primer, Dilworthy spelling-books and arith-
metic and the Bible were the only books that Mr. War-
burton used, and he was wonderfully successful with his
pupils. Their writing books were patterns of neatness,
every line being fixed by scale and dividers. He made
the children proud of themselves and their work. He
did not "board around," as was the usual custom with
teachers of the old time, but lived in the schoolhouse.
Each family supplied him with food for a week. On
Sunday morning he would breakfast with the family
whose turn it was to supply him for the coming week,
and he would then carry away his basket of provisions.
He slept in a little garret over the schoolroom.

Later, as he began to lose his hearing poor "Master
Warburton" had to give up teaching. He bought a few
acres of ground on the Second Mountain, near Somerville,

238 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

and there he built himself a small house and also dug a
cave and lived in one or the other as the whim took him.
At last he was missed from his daily walks in his garden,
and his nearest neighbors, about half a mile away, hav-
ing gone to inquire if he was sick and whether they might
not do something for him, found the white-haired old
schoolmaster sitting in a natural position on an old wood-
en settle in his cave, with the Bible open upon his knees.
His visitors spoke to him but he made no answer. They
thought he was asleep and touched him; but he did not
move. The old man was dead.

At Three Bridges the first record of a school is that
left as a reminiscence by a pupil who afterward taught
school at Readington and later became a widely known
and quite distinguished man, the late Judge Joseph
Thompson. He said that in 1813, when he first attended
the school there, the building was 16x16 feet with eight
feet posts.

"The walls," he said, "were lined with boards to the
height of four feet, with writing tables fastened to them
on three sides. The seats were slabs from the saw mill,
supported by legs of hickory, two feet in height. All the
seats were destitute of backs. The ceiling was of un-
planed oak boards, laid on beams eight inches thick. The
teachers of that time were men — generally English,
Scotch or Irish, with a few stray Yankees. The former
were good penmen and the Irish good arithmeticians.
Grammar and geography were not taught except in a few
instances and for extra pay. The teacher collected his
own bills for tuition, which were from $1 to $1.25 per
scholar for a term of thirteen weeks. Every alternate

DOMINE FRELINGHUYSEN 239

Saturday was a holiday. The teachers boarded with their
employers pro rata."

The first written record of any kind found bearing on
the subject of school in another district, now known as
Washington Valley, between First and Second Moun-
tains, is a receipt as follows:

"Rece'd, Mar. 15, 1771, from Jeromes Van Nest, by
the hands of George Fisher, schoolmaster, the full sum of
four pounds, Jersey Light Money, in full for my de-
mands from said Jeromes Van Nest.

"£4. OS. od. Folkert Tunison."

The minutes of a monthly meeting held in Quaker-
town, Franklin Township, Somerset, in 1752, have an
entry which seems the first reference to school matters
there. It is as folows:

''We have likewise considered the proposal for settling
a School, But, being few of us and so remote from each
other and Some of us under Low Circumstances, so that
it seems unlikely to us that we shall be able to raise suffi-
cient salary to Support Such School, otherwise we should
be Very free and Heartily join with the Proposal, believ-
ing it would in some good degree answer the Good Pur-
pose intended."

In an old account book of Dr. Samuel Wilson, of Alex-
andria Township, there are two charges set down, one
against ''William Rennels," and another item to the debit
of "Rennels, the schoolmaster," in the year 1752. These
are the only documentary evidence that a school existed in
Alexandria Township as early as the date named.

The earliest record of a school in Bedminster is given
in a description of a road laid out January 6, 1759, "be-

240 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

ginning at the westerly side of the river that divides Bed-
minster and Bridgewater Township at the schoolhouse."

From an account of an entertainment and ball given
at Pluckemin in the year 1779, as published in the New
Jersey Gazette of that year, it appears that pyrotechnics
were in vogue a long while ago as well as schools. The
report states that "The entertainment and ball wrere held
in the academy of the park;" and with many details it is
stated : "After fireworks in the park in the evening the
company returned to the schoolhouse and concluded the
celebration by a very splendid ball."

Among the teachers at this "academy" was an old
stickler for order and discipline named "Master Welsh."
He wore a black gown during school hours, and when he
deemed it necessary, vigorously wielded the birch.

At Little York in 1809, and at Minchel's Grove about
the same date, the first schoolhouses were "roofed with
straw" — that is, thatched.

Sixty years ago Rev. Hugh Frazer, minister of a Pres-
byterian church in the Schooley Mountain, feeling ag-
grieved at the lack of proper instruction for the many
children in the vicinity of his church, decided to start a
school himself. He went to New York and raised $300
among his friends, with which he set up a school near his
church and himself taught there for many years. Mrs.
Davis, of this village, w^ho went to this school says it
was well conducted and well attended. She says Mr.
Frazer's scholars almost idolized their pastor-teacher, and
that many of them, to her knowledge, carried into their
subsequent lives a respect and affection for his teaching,
preaching an exemplary life that never left them. She

DOMINE FRELINGHUYSEN 241

emphatically believes, she says, that the adoption of Mr.
Frazer's method — that of having teacher and preacher
combined in one person — would be the true solution of
bringing up the children of to-day more like they ought
to be brought up.

TALES OF THE PAST.

TOLD BY MRS. ASHER KELLY, AN AGED RESIDENT OF
WERTSVILLE VALLEY.

In the Wertsville Valley, at the Hunterdon base of
Sourland Mountain, not far from the farm where she
was born a little over eighty-one years ago, resides Mrs.
Asher Kelly, formerly Jane Quick. Having a wonder-
fully retentive memory and a great facility of expression,
she has long been looked upon as the local authority par
excellence upon all matters of antiquarian and general
interest in her pleasant green valley.

Among the earlier things impressed upon Mrs. Kelly's
memory is the tremendous snowstorm of 1836, which,
she says, was far greater than the later and much more
discussed blizzard of 1888. In the storm of 1836 it
commenced snowing one Friday at 3 o'clock in the after-
noon and continued, she says, without cessation until the
following Sunday morning at 9 o'clock. All this time it
was impossible for any one to see even a few feet ahead.
The snow covered up all the fences entirely, and when
afterward it crusted over the people rode their horses
and drove wagons across them as if crossing a trackless
desert.

At that time Mrs. Kelly lived with her father, Charles
Quick. One of their men, John Mitchell, who lived in
a cottage up the mountain slope, was rather an elderly
man, and on the day the storm began her father gave him
a bag of flour and sent him home much earlier than

TALES OF THE PAST 243

usual. But poor John never reached his cot. His wife
thought he had been stormbound at the farm, and his
master thought the next day, when the man did not turn
up, that he had wisely stayed at home. When the truth
was known it was useless to search for him. It was
only when the snow thawed away in the spring that
John's body was found. He had perished quite close to
another house, in the opposite direction from his own
cottage, and had been buried many feet deep in the snow.
It was supposed that he had seen a light in the house
that he had almost reached, but that he had been too ex-
hausted to cover the last few yards and save his life.

Mrs. Kelly came from a quite distinguished ances-
try. John Manners, one of her forefathers, the first of
that name to come to this country, belonged to an aris-
tocratic and titled family of Yorkshire, England. He
was probably a great-uncle of Lord John Manners of
that ilk, who was, if I remember rightly, closely associ-
ated with Mr. Gladstone in the latter's palmiest days.
John Manners came to America in 1679 and first set-
tled in Monmouth. In October, 17 18, he came to
Wertsville, bought an estate, built a fine homestead and
married Rebecka Stout, the daughter of David Stout,
who was the seventh son of Richard Stout, the pioneer
of the Stouts in America, and Penelope Von Princes, his
heroic and famous wife. Captain David Manners, son
of John Manners and Rebecka Stout, married Mary
Schenck, the daughter of that highly distinguished officer
and patriot, Colonel John Schenck, of Monmouth and
Princeton fame. Adah, the daughter of Captain David
Manners, married Charles Quick and had five children,

244 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

two sons, David, only recently deceased, and Horace, and
three daughters, Mary, Mrs. James Wyckoff; Ann
Eliza, and Jane, Mrs. Asher Kelly, the eldest of the
family.

Captain David Manners, who married Miss Schenck,
was a surveyor, and being a very devout and highly re-
spected man, was often called upon to wind up and set-
tle estates. His wife, who came of a rich and proud
family, had never been taught to do housework. When
she went to live at the Manner's homestead, as the cap-
tain's wife, it was deemed necessary that she sould begin
to learn household work. She found her very practical
mother-in-law, Rebecca (Stout) Manners, aghast at her
ignorance and very exacting as her tutor. The young
wife would try her hand at turning griddle cakes like the
others did, by tossing them up without fingering them,
but they inevitably landed among the ashes. When
given a tub of clothes to wash, and after she had toiled
heroically with them, the mother-in-law would throw
them all back and make her wash them again.

When, in the fulness of time, she became mistress of
her house, however, she kept many slaves and seldom
went downstairs into her kitchen. In the course of
years she had ten children, and as they grew up, she in
her turn became "the old lady." All of her boys and
girls were given the finest education obtainable at col-
lege and seminary. The youngest daughter, Jane (Aunt
Jane, as Mrs. Kelly spoke of her), seemed to have been
a mischievous miss and, unlike her mother, dearly liked
to make visits to the kitchen. One of the colored girls,
named Kate, who was about Jane's own age, and who

TALES OF THE PAST 245

lived to be a great age, delighted to the last of her days
to tell of the tricks she and "Missy Jane" used to play
on the "old lady."

Making candy was a favorite and frequent diversion of
theirs, and great diplomacy had to be used by them in se-
creting it and drawing from their sweet store in the old
Dutch cupboard. Then they would bake a big cake on
the sly, and if they heard the mistress approaching would
hide it under a chair and sit down, covering the contra-
band goods with their dresses.

One day when Jane's father and mother went away,-
she and her faithful Kate had a grand play at having a
party. They killed a chicken, made a cake and put the
best linen and silver on the table. They also adorned
themselves in their very finest clothes. Then, just as the
feast was spread and the two were preparing to sit down
to it, they glanced up the road and saw Jane's parents.
The latter had returned much sooner than they were
expected. Jane and Kate made a lightning-like clearing
of the table and escaped the reprimand they feared. Kate
used to tell how she hated to scrape and wash the big bell-
metal kettle in which the mighty messes of mush were
made. Once she hid the kettle in the swill barrel. The
humorous old darkey, after every tale about her misbe-
havings, would laugh heartily and ask:

"Now, shouldn't I have been whipped; now shouldn't
I?"

There being such a houseful of young people at the
house, it was a lively place, and there were continual
rounds of parties and entertainments in the old lavish
style. The young folk used to go sleigh riding all togeth-

246 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

er in a large sleigh, and nearly always wound up by re-
turning by way of Larison's hotel, at Pleasant Corners,
about three miles from home, where they frequently
danced all night.

Adah, one of these girls, afterward mother of Mrs.
Kelly, when fifteen was sent to the Moravian Boarding
School, at Bethlehem, Pa. The following letter of hers
to her parents, written in a beautiful hand, almost equal
to copperplate, Mrs. Kelly has preserved, and was kind
enough to allow me to copy:
"My dear Parents,

"Not having heard from you since your return home I
take this opportunity to inform you of my health; I have
been informed since you left Bethlehem that Mrs. Stronge
intends bringing her daughter here to school very soon,
and if you can make it convenient please to send me two
pair of shoes, my worsted cape and something for pocket
handkerchiefs. I have begun drawing, which I am very
fond of. I would thank you, my dear Parents, to inform
me whether I am to begin embroidery, and how soon.
Ann Kershow desires me to give her love to you and all
the family; also give my love to my Brothers, Sisters and
all enquiring friends and accept the same yourselves
"from your ever affectionate

"and dutiful daughter

"Adah Manners."

This was addressed on the back of the double sheet
in the same hand, which any one at first sight would think
lithograph, "Mr. David Manners, Amwell, Hunterdon
County, New Jersey." To compare the writing with that
of our day almost makes one think that penmanship must

TALES OF THE PAST 247

be a lost art. The Moravian teachers wore white caps,
Mrs. Kelly says, and their pupils had blue caps.

Before Adah was married she had spun and woven all
her linen and bed quilts. Many of the latter are still in
use. A little slave boy, a cripple, born on the estate — of
whom every care was taken up to his death and burial,
at the age of thirty — used to creep on his hands and knees
to the wagon shed to wind the yarn for Miss Adah.

Mrs. Kelly had her father's and mother's wedding
clothes until quite recently. Her mother wore a white
crepe dress, white silk stockings, white kid slippers and
gloves, white satin and lace shoulder cape and white crepe
shawl. Her father wore white broadcloth knee breeches,
a blue coat of the high neck and swallow tail cut, with
brass buttons, and a long, white, figured vest. His shirt
had ruffles down the front and around the wrists and he
wore broad silver knee and shoe buckles. The metal of
these is still in the family, but in the less ornamental if
more useful shape of spoons.

All the Quick family were great dancers. Often Mrs.
Kelly's parents would send for an old colored fiddler to
come from Ringoes to play at their parties, where dancing
was the principal pastime. But they often had the old
darky for a dance among themselves. At their gatherings
they had also games, of which Mrs. Kelly remembers
"hurly-burly," "hunt the button" and another in which
it was asked, "How far from here to Barnegat?" This
was answered by "Three score miles and ten." Then
came the question, "Any big owls on the way?" An imper-
sonator of the bird of night would then burst in and chase
the company. Those who were caught would have to

248 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

pay fines. Parties and gaiety of all kinds had begun to
die out even in my informant's very young days and
nothing in that way in her time ever equaled the genera-
tion before hers, she says.

Charles Quick, Mrs. Kelly's father, bought the Ker-
show farm in the Wertsville Valley — nearer to the church
and store or village than she lives now — in the year 1839.
The house was then considered haunted. In it is a dark
closet, or room as it might be called, which opens out of
a bedroom ofi the kitchen. This room has never been
opened in years. Three generations of the family have
lived there, but that room has never been inspected. What
It contains no one knows, but are all afraid to open it.

Mrs. Ezekiel Quick, of a younger generation than Mrs.
Kelly, who now lives in the house, when asked whether
there is such a room in the place, said, pointing to the
door of it:

"Yes, that Is the room. I have never seen the Inside
of It; and I never want to!"

One can hardly help thinking that a sealed room of
that kind in the house of any daughter of Eve would in-
evitably play almost as strongly upon her curiosity as did
the one forbidden tree in the midst of Eden. But there
the locked and barred room is, intact, as it has been for
generations, and there the people are of this generation,
on the spot, and ready to answer about It for themselves.

A man named Jerry Van Pelt lived there many years
ago with his wife and family. One day a child of theirs
was taken sick and they sent for Mrs. Quick, Mrs. Kel-
ly's mother, who then lived near by. She responded as
promptly as she could, but when she arrived they had the

TALES OF THE PAST 249

child nailed up in a common box and were carrying it out
of doors for interment. She asked to be allowed to see
the child, but they refused this and hurried away with
the box, which they buried in the corner of the upper
cornfield, near Higgins's. Mrs. Quick thought there was
a nervous haste and mystery about the way they disposed
of the child. It sickened her with horrible suspicion that
they had knowingly buried the little one alive. She, how-
ever, w^as helpless and nothing was ever done about the
matter.

The pretty Wertsville Valley where this happened is
even to-day a sequestered scene, far distant from doctors,
coroners and other city resources, and hemmed in by the
most terrific hills and perhaps the worst roads in all
Hunterdon County, where roads are proverbially bad.
What, then, must have been the state of isolation of that
Vale nearly a hundred years ago, when these things
happened ? At all events nothing official was done in the
case, although a lot was thought by several others as
well as by Mrs. Quick, about the probability that the
hasty burial of that child had been a foul business.

Soon after that event it was that the house acquired
the reputation of being haunted. At the dead of night,
it began to be said, the voice of a sick child was heard,
wailing and crying. When at length the mother of the
child was on her deathbed, she sent for Captain Man-
ners, well and widely known as a kind, fatherly and
Christian man, and asked him to pray for her. After
this had been done the dying woman said:

"Oh, Mr. Manners, there is a dreadful secret — I want
to tell you something before I die — "

IT

250 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

"Now, Becky," harshly Interrupted her husband,
"you're just gettin' out o' yer head and ram'lin.' Keep
thee tongue quiet!"

"No, no, Jerry!" the sick woman wailed; "I am in
my right mind. Oh, Mr. Manners, I must, I must tell
you before I'm taken away. My time has come to die,
and—"

"Hold yer tongue, woman, can't you!" Van Pelt
shouted, and he went on talking so loud and at such a
rate that the poor wife's expiring words could not be
heard. She passed away with her secret untold.

This man, Jerry Van Pelt, seemed to have been an
odd character in many ways. It is said, for instance that
when the peddlers of fish came in his place, he would
call them into the house to have a drink and keep them
talking, while one or two of his negroes were sent by
him to steal supplies from the wagon.

A man named John Servis once had this farm. Just
as a large field of wheat of his became ripe, a hail storm
entirely destroyed it. This preyed on his mind, for he
depended almost wholly upon the wheat for ways and
means of livelihood. The following week his father-
in-law, Colonel Bishop, of Ringoes, who held a mort-
gage on the farm, died. This meant ruin. Servis took
a rope, saying he was going to catch a horse. He was
so long gone that a boy was sent to look for him and
found him hanging by the neck in the hogpen. The boy
fled and gave the alarm, but when help came Servis was
found to be dead.

Mrs. Kelly, who, after these events, lived a number
of years in this house — that Is to say, from her twelfth

TALES OF THE PAST 25 1

year until she was married and went to live at Penning-
ton— says that for her part she was always more afraid
to go near the hogpen that she was of the sealed closet
in the house.

Charles Quick, Mrs. Kelly's father, long a widower,
after his children had all married and left him, got a ten-
ant farmer to carry on the place. This man and his
family lived in a part of the house, and he and his folk
declared often that they heard peculiar and unnatural
sounds there.

Like most very old houses, this one was built into the
side of a low hill. The kitchen and one or two other
rooms were entered from a basement door, while the
other or upper rooms had an entrance from the higher
ground. The room which was nailed up is one of three
such basement rooms. In recent years a new kitchen
has been built as an extension to the upper part of the
house, the original kitchen being now deserted by the
family and used as a kind of workroom by the men, with
the adjoining bedroom as a storeroom. Of¥ this store-
room is the dark and mysterious closet, which, for more
than seventy years, no one has dared to open.

LOVE IN THE MOUNTAINS.

HOW JERSEY SWAINS WENT A- WOOING IN THE LONG
AGO. A boys' plot AND ELOPEMENT.

Garret Dougherty, well known as the Sourland
Mountain sleuth, has seen in his time some of the lights
as well as many of the shadows of country life. The
tragedies necessarily connected with his constableship
and his work routing criminals from his native moun-
tain were preceded by pleasant youthful experiences that
were lit up at times by light comedy and romance.

His mother having died when he was two years old,
at Post Town, now known as Planeville, he was taken
and brought up by his grandmother, who lived on the
mountain. They attended the Mt. Zion Church there.
Little Dougherty received his education at the Mt. Zion
school, which was near the church. His great-grand-
father, who was what long ago was known as a Metho-
dist exhorter, came here from Dublin, Ireland, at an
early date and settled on the mountain.

At the age of twenty-one. Garret, or "Gat," as he was
known from childhood, went to live at Sergeantsville,
where he took an active part in all the youthful amuse-
ments and gayeties of that neighborhood. These he de-
clares were incessant and simply wonderful as compared
with anything of the kind in the country in these days.
Young fellows thought nothing then of walking four or
five or even ten miles to see their girls. Then they
would escort them to church and afterward walk with

252

LOVE IN THE MOUNTAINS 253

them along the shady lanes and green fields. Eventually
"Gat" got a horse, the better to keep up with the social
engagements, and often on his rides his girl sat behind
him on the saddle. There were parties practically every
night at one place or another. Music was furnished by
violinists. No pianos were ever seen out there in those
days.

One frosty moonlight night a sleighride to the Dun-
ker Church was determined upon. But as there were
not enough sleighs and horses to go round an enormous
home-made sled was rigged up and hitched to a big
team of oxen. This was unanimously voted to be the
very acme of good, solid, sociability, and all went well
and smoothly until the church was reached ; then there
was trouble, A hymn was being sung with great vigor.
The volume of human voices evidently proved something
quite novel and startling to the bovine ear, for with
heads thrown up, distended nostrils and very staring
eyes, the animals approached the building with fear and
trembling, until some one opened the church door. This
produced a sudden burst of increased sound and cast a
flash of light on the road, which quite demoralized the
big bullocks. Swinging round with an irresistible rush,
they made for the woods. Amid general shouting and
terrified screams from the girls, some of the riders jump-
ing out and others clinging to one another, the cumbrous
vehicle crashed into the church railing, reducing a lot
of it to matchwood. Then colliding with a tree, it over-
turned, flinging its occupants out in a heap on the snow.

Attracted by the alarming sounds, Deacon Hoffman
ran out to see what the trouble was. After strongly pro-

254 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

testing at such a disturbance he took down all the sled-
riders' names, assessed them in damages and made them
pay sweetly for it.

The young men thoroughly resented this high-handed
treatment and made up their minds to be avenged. This
they decided to compass in a peculiar way, namely, by
fooling the deacon about his daughter. It seems his only
daughter, Eliza, though of distinctly mature years and as
"homely as a hedge fence," as "Gat" put it, was extreme-
ly susceptible to the thought that every young fellow that
looked at her was in love with her. As her father was
even more gullible on that score than she was the boys
made up their minds that this harmless little vanity was
a vulnerable point of the deacon's and that through it
they would wound his pride by having a laugh at him.

Their plan was for all six of them to pretend they had
fallen victims of Eliza's attractions and to call nightly
upon her, each to press his suit. Pursuant to this they
cast lots as to the order of their calls, and it fell to "Gat"
to go first. He went and was well received. Next night
No. 2 called with a like result, and next No. 3. When No.
4 came the deacon and his daughter began to smell a
rat, and without ceremony he was ordered about his busi-
ness. But according to contract they had all to call on
the deacon's daughter in their turns.

When No. 5 knocked at the door he was admitted. Al-
most immediately he was bundled out. Then, knowing
full well there was wrath in store for No. 6, "Gat" and
another of the boys crept up before-hand and hid in a
big empty flax box near the door to see what would hap-
pen. The sixth and last young fellow to call, though

LOVE IN THE MOUNTAINS 255

rather fat, was supple. He declared that he would run
before the fiery deacon could get at him. On his arrival
and when his inevitable ejection came, he dashed wildly
down the stoop, pursued, not only by the deacon, but by
the old lady with a broom. But as bad luck had it, the
little gate would not open. Then with the fair enemy
close at his heels he made a desperate vault and bravely
cleared the obstruction — all but part of his pants, which
caught on one of the pickets.

In this critical position, a perfectly helpless mark for
the old lady's broom, which she wielded with surprising
vigor, the young fellow hung and took his basting. The
stout cloth at length gave way and he dropped to terra
firma again. Then he took to his heels homeward. The
suppression of laughter in the flax box was meanwhile
painful in the extreme, until **Gat" and his companion
heard the last wallop and saw their friend escape. Then
they emptied the box of themselves by tipping it over and
fled, with farewell love messages shouted back for Eliza.
They considered themselves thus fully revenged on the
wrathful deacon, who stood in his door flourishing a stout
stick at the practical jokers.

Very early in life "Gat" acted a minor part in a ro-
mantic affair. That is to say, at the tender age of about
ten or twelve he became an unconscious accessory before
the fact in a case of elopement. Among the verdant hills
and valleys that buttress Sourland Mountain on its north-
eastern side dwelt Marjory, a maiden about ten years
"Gat's" senior. Her mother died when Marjory was only
ten years of age, leaving her to become a little mother to
her four younger brothers and sisters. This pathetic duty

256 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

she discharged so well for ten or more years, and she looked
so wisely also after the whole household, that her wid-
owed father prized her as the very apple of his eye. Per-
haps he treasured his eldest rather selfishly, for like many
parents he seemed to forget the flight of years and that
new conditions grew up demanding new considerations at
his hands.

Among other things that he might have known and
made reasonable allowance for was the fact that Marjory
was naturally of an extremely sociable and sentimental
nature, which, for her happiness, called for the society of
young people like herself. But anything in that way nev-
er occurred to him as at all necessary. He had a good
home and every comfort that Marjory or any of his chil-
dren could possibly need. Such a home was all he cared
for himself. How, therefore, could any of his family re-
quire anything more than he did himself? When friends,
especially young men, came home from church with Mar-
jory, and tried to edge into further acquaintance, they
found anything but encouragement at her father's hands.
In fact they were so coldly received that the visits were
rarely repeated.

The possible consequences of this unreasonable line of
conduct on a father's part are proverbial. Her would-be
suitors, whom Marjory ought to have been allowed to
entertain openly at her home, saw her clandestinely. When
the right man came along — "Rory," we'll call him, for
he is living yet and so is Marjory, and they might not like
their names given in full — he proved to be a stalwart,
rosy-cheeked son of Erin, proved to be as brimful of ro-
mance and sentiment as the girl herself. When two

LOVE IN THE MOUNTAINS 257

hearts so sympathetically attuned as these meet, events
are bound soon to develop. And so it w^as in this case.
There was only one way out of the difficulty — they de-
cided to cut such a Gordian knot by elopement.

Marjory's second-story window was not a very dizzy
height, but it was too high to take at a leap. For, though
his beloved was the nearest approach "Rory" knew to a
real angel, he also knew from several test balances he had
made of her good, solid avoirdupois on his knee, that for
her to attempt actual flight would only be to tempt Prov-
idence. So he either made or borrowed a rope ladder,
which Marjory secreted in her room, and the following
Thursday at midnight was set as the time for their flight.

It was here that "Gat" became an innocent agent in
the plot. He had been often sent down the mountain by
his grandmother to Marjory's house on messages, and
was quite a little favorite of hers. His appearance there
on the Wednesday morning, the day before her intended
flight with "Rory," she hailed as truly providential, for
her uncle was coming to visit her father, and was ex-
pected the very night that she and "Rory" had set for
their elopement. It occurred to her that their great pro-
ject would have to be postponed, or it would be discov-
ered, for her father and uncle always sat up till long past
midnight when they first met.

So "Gat" was entrusted with a letter to be delivered
to "Rory," informing him of the rock ahead, and saying
that if the following night would do she would be ready
at the appointed hour. Little "Gat" was solemnly bound
over as a good boy and true to serve this personally on
"Rory," and on none other, under the most awful pains

258 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

and penalties, and further, to bring back from the said
"Rory" an answer signed and sealed under his own hand.
Thus was "Gat," even as early as his tenth year initiated
into the serving of processes heavily laden with human des-
tinies. The momentous Friday came, and hardly had the
tall old hall clock chimed the witching hour of midnight,
when Marjory heard a low whistle beneath her window,
the preconcerted signal that her lover was there awaiting
her. With heart going pit-a-pat, she first inquired in a
whisper :

"Who's there?"

"Faith, and it's all that's left of your own "Rory,"
"Marjory Mavaumeen!" came the reassuring answer.

Having nervously secured one end of the rope-ladder,
the young woman lost no time, but scrambled out and
commenced the descent, "Rory" standing beneath with
outstretched arms ready to receive her. When less than
half way down the girl gave a sharp scream. The rope
had broken and she fell, not, however, to her death, but
safe and sound, though somewhat forcibly, into her lover's
waiting arms.

Suddenly sounds of a man's bare feet were heard stump-
ing on the adjoining room floor. Then came the sound of
steps on the stairs.

Away, hand in hand, like two children, the lovers
scampered, with all their speed, down the long lane to
the road, where Rory's fastest horse stood saddled and
ready.

With one bound he was in the saddle; with another of
equal dexterity, Marjory was on behind him, and away
they went.

LOVE IN THE MOUNTAINS 259

"Hallo! Stop thief! Help, neighbors, help!" cried the
enraged father, who, half-clad and cudgel in hand, came
tearing down the lane In pursuit, but his only answer was
the clatter and ring of the fast-moving horse's hoofs on
the frequent stones of the Pennington road over the Sour-
land Mountain.

The lovers w^re married and lived in Pennington for
many a year. And, contrary to all assumed, sombre pre-
cedents as to the unallowed nature of such unions — more
especially one made on a Friday — theirs was a happy and
prosperous married life. It is still so; and, as hale and
wonderfully well preserved octogenarians, they look with
complacent delight on their offspring, even unto the third
generation.

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tildi, tniniiil m (iiinj.; Imr.

IN THE "RED COATS' " POWER 261

One of the four, a tall, lanky youth called Hank,
was exceedingly awkward at drill but a "dead shot" and
proud of it. He was about to shoot when right in the
line of the target and not much beyond it, he saw some-
thing.

"Tom, do you see that 'redcoat'?" he asked in an ex-
cited whisper. "That's my target! I'm going to shoot
him!"

"No, don't!" ordered Tom, who was the instructor.
"I'hat's one of our men in disguise, most likely. Hold
on a bit till I see."

Hank frowned. He wanted to show his marksman-
ship on the real thing, and again he leveled his gun, de-
claring that he would shoot the man.

"Don't do it, I tell you!" Tom commanded, and again
Hank was restrained. But as Tom shifted his ground
for a better view, "Lanky Hanky," as they called him,
covered his man with his gun and was on the point of
firing when one of his mates interfered. It was lucky
he did, for at that moment a crackling of many feet over
the twigs behind them was heard and they found them-
selves surrounded and taken prisoners by a strong com-
pany of British soldiers. If Hank had shot the man the
five of them would have been shot or hanged on the
spot and this story would never have been told.

"Tom," the instructor of Hank and the others, was
Thomas Van Camp, who had served in the Continental
army from the first skirmish down to the glorious ac-
tions of Trenton and Princeton. His time having then
expired he had repaired to his ancestral homestead, which
is now the home of his grandson, Peter Van Camp, to
whom I am largely indebted for this story.

262 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

Thomas Van Camp's activity in collecting and drilling
men for the army he had fought with, showed that he
was a true patriot. But for the time his lamp was ex-
tinguished ; for he and his recruits were in the hands of
the enemy. And, as he used many a time to tell his
grandson, who now retells it, the worst of their capture
was that, being all big fellows, they were subjected to
far more indignities than if they had been of smaller
stature. For instance, they were made to run the gaunt-
let, one at a time, between two facing lines of their
enemies, every one of whom administered the best kick
he was capable of to each runner as he passed down the
line. The redcoats seemed to hugely enjoy the work,
too ; for with every kick they would shout some taunt.

"Why don't you fight, you lumbering rebels," they
cried. "You're big and ugly enough," etc.

But the captives soon had the satisfaction of seeing
their enemies themselves cowed. For they had only pro-
ceeded a short distance further up stream when suddenly,
like a clap of thunder, a cannon belched from the hills
to their left and a ball came whistling over their heads
and tore up the earth only a few yards beyond them.
Simultaneous musketry fire from a wood ahead of them
seemed to fill the invaders with terror, for sheltering
themselves in a convenient wood, they beat a double-
quick retreat along the river, taking good care, how-
ever, that their prisoners were well surrounded and made
to scamper away along with them. For some time that
well-planted cannon kept guessing their whereabouts, by
shot after shot. Just opposite the Van Camp home-
stead, where the river is now crossed by a fine bridge, a

IN THE "RED COATS' " POWER 26:;

ball went crashing among the trees right over their heads.
This brought down a heavy limb which pinned several
Britishers under it, hurting one or two badly, and nar-
rowly missing Thomas Van Camp.

The men thus sent back the way they came were a
force some seventy strong. They had been sent on a
reconnoitering and foraging expedition by General Corn-
wallis, who, with Colonel De Heister, was posted with
two divisions of their army at Middlebush and Som-
erset Courthouse. They had marched there from New
Brunswick in the hope of drawing Washington from his
stronghold at Middlebrook, which event they awaited
with impatience but in vain. At the same time General
Sullivan, by order of Washington, having come from
Princeton, had left small corps of observation on Haunts
Rock, on the Sourland Mountain, and encamped with his
main body at Clover Hill. It was from there that the
gun was sent by Sullivan, and it, with a few sharp-
shooters, successfully defeated the purpose of the for-
agers.

Nearly a hundred years after this occurrence, two can-
non balls were unearthed on the Van Camp farm. They
are still in the possession of Peter Van Camp, the grand-
son of that same patriot soldier, Thomas, at whose cap-
tors while he was among them, these very balls were fired.
As there is no record of any other engagement ever having
taken place in the vicinity, there seems to be no doubt as
to the origin of these balls.

When Cornwallis saw that Washington was not to
be enticed from Middlebrook he marched back to New
Brunswick, determining to move on Philadelphia by way

264 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

of the sea. Thomas Van Camp and his fellow-prisoners
were shipped under hatches in a vessel and taken to Long
Island. There Hank and three of his mates received bad
treatment in prison for five months; but Van Camp, who
was wonderfully good natured, did whatever was re-
quired of him, and knew so well how to humor his jailors
that he got off after two months of imprisonment. He
was paroled on leave to go and see an aunt, and needless
to say the moment his feet touched the Jersey shore he
took to his heels through swamps, rivers and woods, till
he got back to his home.

Peter Van Camp tells me that his grandfather lost his
gun and other equipment at the time of his capture, but
the musket used in the Revolution by his great uncle,
John Van Kampen, as well as the latter's sword, after
he was made an officer, is still preserved at the old home-
stead. Mr. Van Camp has also a very old French gun,
supposed to have been among the first firearms ever used
in Jersey. It was brought here by his great-great-grand-
father early in the seventeenth century, and is said to be
at least 250 years old.

It does not appear that Thomas Van Camp re-entered
the army. Subsequent to his capture and release from the
British lines, tradition and history seem to conflict a good
deal as to his movements. In the second series of New
Jersey Archives (as pointed out to me by Arthur S. Kim-
ball, a relative of the Van Camps, through the Halls)
there appears a letter, dated at Newark, February 7, 1778,
which says:

"A correspondent informs us that one William Pace,
of Schoolie's Mountain, and Thomas Van Camp, of Som-

IN THE "RED COATS' " POWER 263

erset County, both bound for Staten Island, the latter
with a quantity of flour, and the former with four quar-
ters of beef which had been stall-fed two years, and was
intended for a British general, were apprehended and
brought before the President and Council of Safety the
twenty-eighth of January last. It not fully appearing to
the board that their respective cargoes were to have been
carried into the enemy's lines, which would have been
high treason. Van Camp was adjudged to forfeit his
flour and to pay the fine prescribed by law for asking more
than the regulated price, and also the fine for asking a
higher price in continental currency than in specie and
Pace to forfeit his fat beef and to pay the fine for asking
for it more than the regulated price, and both being
bound over they were dismissed.

"Evidence being produced the day after that one Jacob
Fitz-Randolph, who lives at the Blazing Star, had met
them (Van Camp and Pace) at Spanktown (now Rah-
way) and engaged to take their cargoes if they would
bring them to his house, and to convey them to Staten
Island so soon as the ice would permit; the said Pace and
Fitz-Randolph have since been committed to gaol for pro-
curing provisions for the enemy, and as dangerous to the
present government ; and a warrant is issued to apprehend
the said Van Camp."

History failing to note any further penalty as inflicted
upon Thomas Van Camp, we may fairly assume that his
actions were satisfactorily explained to the authorities.

Tradition here enters and Informs us that Thomas Van
Camp conveyed Martha Washington in a supply wagon
from Princeton to Morristown In the month of Decem-

18

266 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

ber, 1779. Although there is no official record of this, it
had undoubtedly as good a chance of being authentic as
most other family traditions have. And as to Thomas's
attempted contraband transaction, perhaps he was not the
first loyal citizen up to that time or since then who has
been tempted into making large profits at the expense of
an enemy of his country — if he really did attempt that.
But the natural inference seems to be that he was ulti-
mately exonerated from everything, except, perhaps a lit-
tle pardonable venality in those hard times.

The present Peter Van Camp, Thomas's grandson, is
the oldest surviving descendant of two very old and im-
portant families, the Halls and Van Camps, or Van
Kampens. He lives at the original Hall homestead, one
of the first places of the kind established in Somerset
County. The Halls of this line especially have an ancient
and decidedly interesting lineage.

I have on several occasions noticed how remarkably old
people in these regions seem to carry their weight of
years. But wonderful as former instances have appeared
to me, I am bound to admit that they are surpassed in the
person of Peter Van Camp. He is eighty-three years of
age, or as he humorously puts it:

"Yes, next year I'll have come of age four times."

And yet he is so alert in mind and body, and so very
far from looking his great age, that no man could hon-
estly guess him to be over sixty. Though he does not
now do the heaviest work on his farm, he takes full care
of his own horse, cows and chickens, does his own garden-
ing and raises what are admitted to be the finest pigs to be
seen for miles around.

A HAUNTED MEADOW.

STRANGE HAPPENINGS WHICH ARE SAID TO HAVE OC-
CURRED NEAR THE GRAVE OF AN ECCENTRIC JER-
SEYMAN.

Across the South Branch River, opposite the place
where Peter Van Camp lives, there once resided an eccen-
tric character, named Joseph S. Pittenger. He was a
harness maker, and at one time had a good business; but
sometime in his career he became so odd in his behavior
that he was afterward best known as "Crazy Joe." When
he died he w^as buried in the peaceful little graveyard on
Mr. Van Camp's place, which, with the adjoining mea-
dow, has long been regarded as haunted.

"Crazy Joe," or his restless spirit, is said to be largely
responsible for the reputation of the place. It has been
declared by most reputable persons of the vicinity that
ever since his interment some person or thing has risen
from the grave or come forth from the darkness in such
questionable shape, and has disported itself in so extra-
ordinary a manner as to be easily recognizable as the veri-
table, dead Joseph Pittenger — himself or his ghost.

Pittenger's sobriquet of "Crazy" was largely acquired
through several exceedingly strong and unaccountable an-
tipathies which he developed and seemed to have carried
to his grave. Perhaps the full intensity of his objection
was leveled against three very dissimilar things; namely
cows, widows and geese. While living his abjuration of
these was shown in his intense dislike of butter from the

267

268 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

first, of the "weeds" of the second and the feathers of the
geese.

If, while eating at a friend's house, butter were un-
thinkingly brought on the table, Pittenger would hold up
his hands to hide it from his sight, at the same time mak-
ing exclamations almost as tragic as Macbeth's at sight of
Banquo's ghost. As to widows, tradition has it that
meeting a buxon young widow once on the highway, and,
in sight of several witnesses, he literally carried out what
had long been currently reported as his practice under
such circumstances. That is, on seeing her, suddenly
stopping, he spread out his hands as he was wont to do
at butter; then removing his hat, he deliberately took up
handful after handful of dust from the road and strewed
It thickly on his bare pate. After that he vaulted the
fence as if mad dogs were after him and disappeared In a
cornfield.

His antipathy in this direction has been said to have
had Its beginning In his rejection by a rich widow whom
he was courting by characteristic methods. They were in
the habit of walking a good deal together in the country
lanes, at which times, whatever might be the state of
the weather, Pittenger very frequently walked along in
silence, with his hat in his hand Instead of upon his head.
Being asked by his fair companion why he did so, he
answered that he would be candid with her. Then he
declared that at all such times he was petitioning the
fairies, In which he truly believed, that they would
influence her to love him Instead of Jacob, his
hated rival. At this, It Is said, she turned on her heel,
saying that she considered him more fit for a madhouse

A HAUNTED MEADOW 269

than to be her husband, and straightway she married the
said Jacob. This was such a heavy blow to Joseph that
many neighbors declared their belief that that and noth-
ing else was the cause of all his subsequent vagaries.

What turned him against geese has never had any
plausible explanation. But his virulence against the
feathers of those harmless birds is authenticated in sev-
eral quarters. It is well known that in olden times
feather beds were much more common than they are now-
adays. And on sundry occasions when Joseph slept at
friends' houses he was given a room with a good goose-
feather bed to rest upon. But just as soon as the eccen-
tric mortal discovered the nature of his bed he took out
his jack-knife, ripped open the ticking and dumped the
contents, worth probably a dollar a pound, out of the
window.

Another oddity of his was to hitch up his horse to a
sulky of a summer evening and drive for hours together
around one or other of the fields, with sleighbells jingling
on his horse, as if he was in his sleigh in midwinter.

Now, there is nothing more certain than is the fact
that in a field adjoining the little graveyard, which field
has long been called the "haunted meadow," some such
freaks as these are still enacted at the dead, witching
hour of night.

"Have you ever seen anything of this kind?" Peter
Van Camp was asked recently.

"Well — I — " he was saying hesitatingly when his wife
broke in.

"Now, Peter," she exclaimed, "you saw it. You know
you did!"

270 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

"Well, anyway," he said, "I'm not going to say any-
thing about that. I'm not going to stand for any
ghosts."

Most men in these times, like Mr. Van Camp, hesi-
tate about admitting any acquaintance with demonstra-
tions of the supernatural. But there need be nothing
of the kind, for, after a generation of ridicule heaped
upon occult matters generally the very vanguard of
science has arrived at the turning of the ways, and al-
ready freely admits certain evidences of powers and ex-
istence which are not accounted for in our recognized
code of natural laws. Although Mr. Van Camp de-
clined to tell something which it was plain enough to be
seen that he knew, he was far from denying such know-
ledge. Some neighbors were, however, more communica-
tive, and explained as nearly as they could what others,
as well as themselves, had seen. I say as nearly as they
could, for in observing such matters people are usually
under a high strain of nervous excitement, not so much,
perhaps, from actual fear as from a feeling of awe, which
undoubtedly possesses every mind in presence of plain
evidences of another existence than that in which we
live.

What has been seen in the haunted meadow was ex-
plained by one witness as some kind of combination of
matter and rapid motion, which they say is fairly well
presented to the mind by newspaper cartoonists' repre-
sentation of the wheeling scrimmage that takes place
when a bulldog gets a hold of a man's leg — something like
wheels of dust spinning around, with parts of the com-
batants occasionally visible in the mixup.

A HAUNTED MEADOW 271

This peculiar whizzing thing has been seen to come
from the little graveyard and to go round and round the
meadow at great speed. It is said to appear with cer-
tainty if cows are permitted to graze In the meadow at
night. In such a case great Is the effect among the herd,
for they bellow and run hither and thither like wild
steers on the plains of Texas, breaking all bounds and
scattering in every direction. All the time the thing
continues whirling and buzzing round and round the
meadow like a gigantic hornet on wheels.

One man who seemed to have had a better view of it
than others, said that It looked like a man riding on a rig
without horses or shafts to It, just as If he sat perched
about four feet above the bare axel, on which the two
wheels turned almost like lightning. In fact, he de-
clares, that there was a kind of blue light, as If from long
sparks which seemed to fly continuously from the hubs out-
ward along the spokes. On reaching home this man, look-
ing very white, told his wife that he had seen either
"Crazy Joe" or the devil — he didn't know which — on
wheels in the haunted meadow.

The general consensus of opinion is that It Is none
other than "Crazy Joe," and that he rises from his grave
and takes these nocturnal rides, just as he used to do in
the flesh with his sulky and sleigh bells. That theory Is
strengthened, too, they say, by the certainty of his ap-
pearance and the awful terror and stampede of the cows,
If by any chance the herd is left in that particular
meadow over night.

"Crazy Joe" Pittenger must have been an extraor-
dinary man in more ways than one. Another thing that

272 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

happened when he was alive, according to local tradi-
tion, was that on going one day into the graveyard where
later he was buried, he looked at the gravestone of one of
his fore-fathers, and it immediately fell down in many
pieces.

There were many peculiar people and strange hap-
penings in this neighborhood. For instance, Samuel Hall,
an uncle of Mrs. Peter Van Camp, was a decided ex-
ception to the ordinary run of men. He never married.
He was an estimable man in every way. But he never
behaved as other men do. He used to visit the Van
Camps before the old homstead was torn down in 1851.
Here 'and everywhere else that he visited he always had
his knitting with him, and while he sat chatting with the
ladies, his needles were kept busy knitting. As a gen-
eral thing he made stockings, mittens and such articles.
He was quite at home and happy with the womenfolk ;
would drink tea with them and join heartily in their
little harmless gossipings, just as if he were himself a
woman. He never seemed to have any great interest in
common with men.

Peter Van Camp's grandfather, like every one else in
those days, had slaves. One of his darkies, named *'Spike"
was one day engaged in splitting rails in a wood, near
which was a field of buckwheat. He repeatedly begged
his master for a gun, so that he might shoot some of the
wild pigeons that came after the buckwheat. At last he
was given the gun — that very long and ancient French
musket, which, as mentioned in a- recent article in this
series, the present Van Camp has still in his keeping. The
gun was several inches longer than the negro himself, but

A HAUNTED MEADOW 273

with a bundle of straw and the loaded weapon, "Spike"
went back to his work a happ)^ darkey.

Then he waited until the field was blue with the birds.
Carrying the innocent straw bundle in front of his body
he advanced and was able to approach near to his game.
Then taking deliberate aim he fired. The gun kicked
so violently that "Spike" was knocked heels over head.
But nothing daunted, he was quickly on his feet and pro-
ceeded to pick up the slain. It is solemnly declared that
when all of them had been gathered he had 103 pigeons.
This seems almost fabulous; but it has come down in
the family as an absolute fact that that was the exact num-
ber of birds killed by darkey "Spike" with one shot of the
old French gun. He came home, it is said, with all he
could string in couples on the gun barrel, from end to
end of it, and all he could possibly carry in his hands be-
sides. The old man was angry.

"Take the birds off that gun barrel, you villain!" he
cried. "You'll bend and ruin my gun. Where did you
get them all?" "Spike" told him. He also told him how
the gun had "kicked." His master could hardly believe
his own eyes. He had purposely overloaded the gun so
as to cure "Spike" of asking for it in the future. But
his plan did not have the desired effect, for the same
negro afterward borrowed the gun and with it shot an
immense otter. That was probably the last otter ever
seen in this region.

THE CASTNER FAMILY MASSACRE

A HORRIBLE TRAGEDY THAT OCCURRED IN WARREN THREE
SCORE YEARS AGO.

Half a century ago the gathering and publishing of
news was a very different business to what it is to-day.
Only the large cities had anything worth calling newspa-
pers in those days, and they only very imperfectly reported
their own city events, with little items of foreign news, us-
ually three weeks or a month old, brought by primative
paddle-wheeled steampackets. The most thrilling things
might, and as a matter of fact did, occur a hundred or
even fifty miles inland in their own country, and these
old-time newspapers never had an inkling of it, much
less their readers.

Such an event doubtless was the atrocious Changewat-
er murder, which occurred near the town of Change-
water, on the Musconetcong River, in Warren County,
just over the Hunterdon border. Probably not many
outside those two counties ever read a single line, or even
heard tell of this crime, which, though committed just
sixty-six years ago, no doubt, through the recital of the
tale by parents to their children, still continues to thrill
the present generation over wide areas around where the
deed was done. Not long since, after many a time and
oft hearing in a disjointed way about the tragedy, I found
two venerable Hunterdon County men, Mr. McPherson,
of Ringoes, ninety years of age, and W. C. Ball, of Lar-
rison's Corners, seventy-three, both of whom have still a

274

CASTNER FAMILY MASSACRE 275

vivid recollection of seeing the murderers, and who natur-
ally knew a good deal at first-hand about the case.

As they remember the circumstances, John Castnei,
the principal victim, a most estimable man, lived with his
wife and only son and a man and maid servant on a small
farm about a mile out of Changewater. He was formerly
in business in the town, but had sold out and retired, a
comparatively rich man, intending to take things easy
at his prettily shaded and well watered homestead for the
remainder of his life. It would have been difficult to
find another family perhaps in all Warren County, that
had better reason to be happy, or that really more nearly
approached that desirable condition, than did the Cast-
ners. They had all the wealth they cared for, and their
boy, already arrived almost at man's estate, was a good
son, a great comfort to them and a credit to their careful
bringing up.

Leisure and rest to Mr. Castner meant anything but
idleness; he was always busy at something. One day In
the spring of the year he and John had done a hard
day's work helping the hired man in opening up the vari-
ous drains and water-courses, so that the heavy rains
could flow off instead of lodging and spoiling the land.
It was about 9 that night when John, feeling particu-
larly tired and sleepy, bade his parents good night and
went to bed. The hired man had gone to his rest earlier
still. The husband and wife sat chatting by the cheer-
ful open grate log fire perhaps half an hour after John
left them ; and Jenny, Mrs. Castner's helper, was light-
ing her candle to retire, w^hen a knock sounded on the
door. Jenny answered it and came back saying that two

276 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

neighboring farmers, Ed Carter and Jim Parks, who
were Mr. Castner's nephews, had come to tell him that
the rain which had been falling heavily, was washing
out a ''sink hole" on his land and that it would soon be
undermining the public road.

"No, we'll not come in just now," they answered both
Mr. and Mrs. Castner's invitation ; "we've got to hurry,
but if you'll come on down right away. Uncle John,
we'll help you a bit."

"All right, boys; it's very kind of you. I'll follow you
in a minute," Mr. Castner said, hastening to pull on his
high boots.

"Hadn't I better call John to go with you?" the wife
asked. "I don't like you going down there this dark
night without him."

"Oh, no; don't disturb him, poor lad; he worked hard
all day and is tired out. Let him have his good sleep.
I'll manage all right and will be back shortly." With
which, lighting the candle in the old perforated tin lan-
tern, he hurried down the road in the pelting rain after
his nephews to the "sink hole."

When the winter's frost is in a fair way of thawing
out, the rush of surface water sometimes washes under-
ground through passages made by the frost having raised
several feet deep of the surface soil in a solid mass. If
this under current breaks its wa)^ through to the surface
again lower down, it boils up with great force like a
small geyser. Naturally this underground flood washes
away considerable soil, and as the thaw proceeds, certain
parts of the surface will sag or sink sometimes much be-
low its normal level, thus leaving more or less deep hoi-

o a

3 o

4 5*

■.'-'■:ggt.,¥f^T-ri

CASTNER FAMILY MASSACRE 277

lows or holes. These are what In Warren County they
call "sink holes;" and It was to prevent such an under-
mining of the public road opposite his land that Mr.
Castner followed his nephews down the road that dark,
wet night.

There Is dire reason why we cannot know for cer-
tain how long the Interval really was; but through
cross-questioning of those who were deeply involved in
that night's proceedings and through their talk with out-
side friends of theirs, we are able to state that Mrs. Cast-
ner must have sat alone for more than an hour wait-
ing for her husband's return, and still he did not come.
Often, It Is said, she went to the door and peered down
the road in the darkness and saw the weird glimmer of
the lanterns, but could hear no sound but the rising wind
moaning through the leafless trees and the dismal swish
of the heavy rain.

At last one light came bobbing along up and down and
In and out toward her, in that strange, Will-o'-Wisp kind
of way that a light appears when carried in the hand. But
though a cold, goose-flesh shiver came over her, she made
no doubt that the light was from the horn bullseye of her
husband's lantern, on his way back to her. Hastening
In, she heaped fresh logs on the fire; pulled the crane
round so that the hanging tea kettle would catch the
flames which, with the bellows, she soon sent leaping up
around It, making it sing. Then at the sound of the
gate and the expected foot-step, knowing that her hus-
band would be wet through and through, she threw down
the bellows, ran and opened the door to meet him, and.

278 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

without a word from any one or sound was struck down
dead with an axe.

Next morning Peter Petty, who happened to be passing
along the road, was shocked to find what he first thought
was a negro lying dead in the "sink hole." On nearer
view, however, he was horrified to find that the lifeless
body was that of his universally respected and beloved
friend, John Castner. The poor dead face was terribly
begrimed with mud and had been so pounded with some
blunt instrument as to be almost past identification. But
Petty, who had known him from childhood, as soon as
he had a good look, knew him at once. Later, when on
oath, Petty said that "the sun was half an hour high"
when he made the fearful discovery.

Immediately summoning two passersby to help, Petty
made all the haste he could to bring the dead man to his
late dwelling. There he expected the distressful duty of
breaking the awful news to Mrs. Castner and their son,
John. But his horror is easier imagined than described
when, on going to the house, he found Mrs. Castner also
dead lying prostrate in a ghastly pool of gore, evidently
foully murdered, just inside her own door.

Alarmed almost to frenzy at this awful sight, Petty
hardly knew what to do next and shouted :

"Is any one in here?"

Receiving no answer he turned and fled in terror to
summon more help. Loosing his horse from the wagon
that held Mr. Castner's body, he left his two helpers in
charge of it and went at a gallop to alarm the neighbor-
hood. The first house he came to was that of Jim Parks,
the dead man's nephew.

CASTNER FAMILY MASSACRE 279

"Hullo! Jim Parks! For God's sake, where are you?"
he yelled even before he reached the house. "Help, help!
Parks! Come quick! Your uncle and aunt are both dead
— killed, murdered by somebody! Do you hear?" But
no one answered a word. He got down from his horse
and pounded frantically on the door; to which uproar the
only response was the growling bark of a dog. Evidently
there was no one at home. Delaying not a moment, Petty
mounted and was off again full speed, this time to the next
farm, owned by Carter, also a nephew. The very peo-
ple, as Petty felt, who ought to be first to render assist-
ance in such dreadful circumstances. But arriving at the
house, after the same shouting and hammering as at
Parks's, there was no answer, not even the bark of a
dog.

"Well, if this doesn't beat everything I ever knew! Is
everybody dead, or what?" the desperate man exclaimed in
an agony of excited perplexity.

"They must have heard of it and gone through the
fields. But, stars ! it do look queer. Ed ! Ed-d ! ! Hullo,
Ed. Carter!" he j^elled once more and pounded again on
the door, but all in vain. So he jumped on his horse and
whipped him up to his best pace to the next farm again —
no relations of the murdered people. Here he found the
whole family and two hired men in, and they were tre-
mendously shocked and horrified at what was told them,
all rushing to assist in any or every way they could. Pet-
ty therefore soon arrived at the Castner house with many
neighbors from several other farms.

When a few of the assembled company entered the
house to explore, horror crowded on horror. Young John

28o Wn 1 UNA JERSEY CIRCLE

Castner, braiiifil w ith an axe like his mother, lay dead on
the lloor by liis bed. 'I'he hired girl had evidently been
chopped to ileath while asleep, as she seemed to have died
without a struj^gle. J'he hired man also had his head
gashed open, but he was the only one not killed outright.
His pulse beat feebly and he still breathed.

As the shuddering explorers bent over the man they
suddenly gasped :

"My God, what's that?" one asked in a hoarse voice,
holding up his hiinds and turning a shade paler than even
the dead hael made him. It was the merry laugh of a
child in the attic from over their heads, which was fol-
lowed by the familiar sound of little bare feet running
across the floor.

Creeping nervously up the stairs, the four men opened
the door, peered in and saw two little fair-haired tots
hilariously pillowing one another. At sight of the men's
strange, white faces the baby girl clung to her big broth-
er, of perhaps four years, and two pairs of pretty blue
eyes grew very wide open and rouiul.

"Dranma tome d'ess us," the little curly-wig cupid said,
looking disparagingly down at his long nightgown.

It was Friday morning sixty-six years ago, a black Fri-
day indeed, when the people of Changewater, in War-
ren County, ran breathlessly from house to house spread-
ing the astounding intelligence that, almost in their midst
the night before, five persons had been ruthlessly mur-
dered ; all but one savagely brained with an axe ; the one
exception being their ^^■ell-known and universally popu-
lar townsman, John Castner, who had been barbarously
beaten and mauled to death in a sink hole. It was so

■k

CASTNER FAMILY MASSACRE 281

monstrous, so utterly revolting, that it came upon every
one like a stunning blow.

But to be correct, only four were killed outright, Mr.
Castner, Mrs. Castner, their son John, and the servant
maid, Jenny, were dead. The murderer's axe had crashed
into the skull of the hired man, too, but by a miracle he
still hovered on the very brink of death. He was assidu-
ously attended by physicians and nursed with the utmost
care in the hope of bringing him back to consciousness,
so that if possible something might be learned from him
throwing light on the case. For at first the whole af-
fair was shrouded in utter mystery. The five mute vic-
tims were there, but not a thing as the least clue to
throw suspicion on any one.

At last, however, there was a faint glimmer of con-
sciousness shown by the maimed man. He was under-
stood to whisper, "Water, water."

"Ask him! Ask him who tried to murder him!" cried
every one. But the medical man said, "No, not yet.
Come to-morrow. We must by no means press questions
on him at once."

The morrow came with the patient decidedly stronger
and more lucid. But, alas, "No," he whispered; he did
not see any one strike him, nor even know that he had
been attacked, he answered in monosyllables. Evidently
he had been struck the terrible blow while he slept. But
the next question brought light.

"What," the physician asked, "is the last thing you
can recall? Do you remember going to bed that night?"

"Yes," the sick man answered audibly, "I went to bed
early and was nearly asleep when I heard a knock on the

18

282 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

kitchen door right below my window." (It seemed as
if the patient realized the dire importance of his speech,
for he visibly braced himself and spoke almost in his natural
voice). **I heard Jenny going to the door," he went on,
"and they told her about a sink hole."

'Who told her?" the doctor asked earnestly.

"The boss's nephews, Jim Parks and Ed Carter," an-
swered the sick man and his hearers caught their breath
and looked at each other. The man went on to tell that
he heard Mr. and ^Irs. Carter call to their nephews to
come in, that they declined, and he then heard his master
getting on his boots and going out to meet them at the
sink hole. That was the last thing he remembered "I
think I then fell fast asleep," he muttered, now quite ex-
hausted. It had been a great effort for him and he relapsed
into unconsciousness.

The minister who was present, when he heard about
Parks and Carter, two members of his church, calling
that night for their uncle, almost dropped to the floor.

"This is truly terrible," he said. "Of course, they
could not be guilty of the awful murders that succeeded.
But how will they ever to be able to clear themselves of
such a horrible suspicion?"

This important information was gained on the Satur-
day evening. It came like a bolt from the blue sky. The
few hearers of it agreed not to breathe a word of it to
any one until the proper authority should be brought to
hear it as the probably dying man's deposition. But se-
cretly a strict watch was kept on the two men implicated.

Next morning the minister preached a powerful ser-

CASTNER FAMILY MASSACRE 283

mon on the murders to a large congregation. As he
closed, looking sternly down the church:

"My brethren," he said, suddenly changing his voice
and attitude with dramatic effect, "it is quite possible
that, here with bold and hardened effrontry in our
midst in the house of God, may now be sitting the cruel,
cowardly fiends that did this foul deed. If so I hope they
will join me in the prayer, may God have mercy on their
guilty souls!"

The preacher, still regarding the dense rows of up-
turned faces, stopped speaking. The silence was painful,
until broken by the footsteps, audible all over the church,
of two men who rose and left the building. Immediately
everybody was craning around to see who they were.

"It's Jim Parks and his cousin Carter," was whispered
from one to another, and they all wondered why these
men should go out after such an eloquent tribute as the
clergyman had paid to their late uncle and so scathing an
arraignment of his murderers. To people outside, the two
said that the dominie had insulted the whole congregation
and that they, at all events, would not stay to hear any
more from such a man. They w^ould never again enter
the church door, they declared, and walked away together
homeward. They little knew how w^ell they would keep
their word ; but they w^re not long left in the dark. In
half an hour they were both arrested and lodged in jail.

When searched both had large sums of money hidden
in their clothes. This they accounted for by saying it
was the price of stock they had sold the day before. Asked
for the purchaser's name, they gave a name and number
in New York which proved fictitious. It was a private

284 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

house, and no such person as they named lived there.
Brought before a magistrate they were formally com-
mitted for trial on the charge of willful murder.

At the trial it was proved that John Castner had sold
a property the day before he was killed and was paid the
whole price in cash, and further, that the prisoners, Car-
ter and Parks, his nephews, had signed the deed as wit-
nesses, and saw Mr. Castner receive the money, after
which the uncle and his nephews drove home together.
As their farms adjoined, and they often came and went,
the prisoners knew that Mr. Castner and his son were
home all the next day and that consequently the money
was still in Mr. Castner's house when they called that
night and enticed him down the road to the sink hole.
Still, after all this was plainly brought out In evidence,
what proof was there that could convict them? "Hardly
sufficient," some said; "none!" said others.

But one morning the prosecuting counsel came to court
with a much more confident look and manner, which
produced a corresponding look of trouble In the prison-
ers. There was a new witness. Peter Petty, who had
found John Castner's body and gave the first alarm of
the murders, was recalled to the witness stand.

"Was it already daylight that Friday morning when
you found Mr. Castner's body In the sink hole?" he was
asked.

"Yes, broad daylight," Petty answered. "I remem-
ber perfectly that when I got down from my wagon and
went to see the body that my shadow lay right across the
hole, where I was looking."

CASTNER FAMILY MASSACRE 285

"You have already deposed that you judged the sun
to be about half an hour high at the time?"

"Yes; that's correct. I know it, because the sun was
up before I got started from my yard; that was a good
half hour or more before I found the body." Mr. Petty
was then excused.

"Smith Cougle!" the prosecutor called loudly; and he
and many others saw both prisoners give a start and turn
pale. They looked at one another significantly. The
new witness, who took the stand in a perfectly easy-going
manner, said his name was Smith Cougle, although with-
out his special permission most people called him
"Smitty." He was a hard working and hardly used
huckster by trade, he said. Asked if he remembered that
eventful Friday morning, he had no difficulty in doing
so, he said, and that on account of the pleasant and un-
usual circumstance that an acquaintance had stood him
a drink that morning. He went on to explain that he
had left home early on his way to Easton, Pa. ; and that,
arriving at Washington while it was yet quite dark and
noticing a light in Fechter's roadhouse, as he felt the
cold, he stopped there for a drink. When he gave his
order :

"'Have one with me, Smitty!' some one said that I
didn't quite see plain enough to know. Going nearer:

"Hullo Jim!" I says. "Who'd a thought o' meetin'
you here. For sure I didn't know who had me. What
say? Oh, who was Jim? Why it was Jim Parks, there
(pointing at the prisoner of that name). I've known Jim
ever so long. So we had a drink together and as we
come out, says he:

" 'Is you goin' on to Easton, Smitty ?'

286 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

" 'That's where I'm a goin',' says I.

"Then he asked me to see Squire Shrope for him. (It's
right, Jim, and you s'uddent look so black fer me to tell
de trut'. I didn't come here of me own accord no how;
but bein' here I'm not goin' to lie for nobody.) Well, I
was to see the Squire and tell him that Jim couldn't pos-
sible get to Easton that day because his uncle John had
got killed. But he would come sure in a day or two
and would then pay the judgment the squire hed again'
him."

"Now, when you left Jim Parks and resumed your
journey to Easton, was it then daylight?" the witness
was further asked.

"No, sir," Cougle answered, "it was still a good hour
and a half before sunrise."

"That's all, you can go, Mr. Cougle," the prosecutor
said, and shortly afterward in his address to the jury he
pointed out that here was a man who had been sued for
money and a judgment entered against him. He and
Carter had driven home with Castner, to whom the same
day they had seen a large sum of money paid. They
must have known that money was in their uncle's house
the night they called him out to the sink hole where, I
am bound to claim, they murdered him. The motive of
the crime was money ; but to get it safely, as they thought
they had to do away with, not only Mr. Castner, but his
whole household. It has been shown in evidence that
since the murder these men could not do their ordinary
work, but sat on the fences continually talking together.
They rose and left the church when the minister said that
the murderers might be there with decent people at wor-

CASTNER FAMILY MASSACRE 287

ship. When arrested they had large sums of money in
their pockets, each about the same amount; both amounts
added together amounting almost exactly to the sum that
Mr. Castner brought home with him. And none of that
money, not more than $5, can be found In Mr. Castner's
late home. For the people I say that these prisoners com-
mitted the crime of murdering these people to get that
money and having secured It they divided it equally be-
tween them.

'*And lastly," said the counsel, '1 have brought here a
witness who was told by Parks himself that John Cast-
ner, his uncle, had been killed two hours before Peter
Petty found the body, that is to say, before any other
man but himself and his accomplice could possibly know
of the deed."

The judge, in summing up, said the testimony In the
case was the strongest and most convincing circumstantial
evidence that ever came before him, probably the strong-
est of which there was any record. To him, he declared,
it was a more complete and unimpeachable fastening of
the heinous crime upon these two prisoners than could be
even the testimony of an eye-witness.

Yet the first trial ended in a disagreement of the jury.
But undue pressure and influence upon the jury was more
than suspected. The people went wild with indignation
and insisted on a new trial. This time the jury re-
turned In a remarkably short time with a unanimous ver-
dict of guilty. The two were hanged side by side on a
gallows specially made for them at Belvidere. The dou-
ble gibbet was finished and erected even before the first
trial ended in a disagreement.

288 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

Mr. McPherson, of Ringoes, saw the prisoners being
conveyed back in the old stage coach through Quaker
City, after their mistrial. He says the excitement was
terrible to behold. It seemed as if the people would
have torn the prisoners limb from limb could they have
laid hands on them. Mr. Ball, of Larison's Corners,
who saw them hanged, says that never in his life before
nor since did he see so many people gathered together as
were there to have the satisfaction of seeing the hanging
of Carter and Parks.

Strange and unusual taste had a monument erected
over the graves of the murderers. It is a heavy stone
arch like a small bridge and is visible from the railroad
going from Hampton to Washington.

EM OSBORN'S CHRISTMAS.

A STORY OF A QUEER OLD WOMAN WHO HATED CHILDREN
AND HER MYSTERIOUS VISITORS.

In an old, tumble-down house in the heart of the
woods about a mile from Pluckemin, up in the Wat-
chung Mountainside, a woman lives all alone. She is
known as Em Osborn, the "Em" being a contraction of
Emma or Emily; it is not certainly known which. How
she manages to live nobody knows, and if you ask Em
herself you're not much wiser, for she frankly tells you
she doesn't know either. She is said to have no bed to
sleep on, no chair to sit on nor a table on which to eat
a meal. Neither has she any fire to cook with or where-
withal to keep warm.

It is, however, a hopeless task to enumerate the things
that Em has not got, seeing that they include pretty
nearly everything else on earth. It is far easier to name one
or two of the things she is known to have. First, then, she
has two pitchforks, one for action and one as reserve, as
weapons of defense when any one knocks at her door for
admittance. For, while Em will speak to any one fair
enough in the open, it is a law like that of the Medes
and Persians, which altereth not, that no man, woman or
child, of whatsoever creed or kin or color, shall ever cross
her threshold.

Up to about a year ago there was the further deplor-
able peculiarity in Em's character that of all things on
earth or in the waters under the earth that she hated and

289

290 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

detested, it was children. In the summer she used to
pick a few baskets of blackberries and blueberries and
sell them from house to house in Pluckemin.

*'But drat them kids," she would tell you, ''they can't
let me alone, for every now and again a clod or stone
will hit me from behind a bush or fence from them little
devils."

The summer before last, however, and the follow-
ing Christmas she had a queer experience which com-
pletely turned the cat in the pan. That is to say, one
very warm evening when picking berries, in a beauti-
ful grove of cedars on the opposite slope of the mountain
from where she lives, when she came to the path called
Petticoat Lane, near where six mountain paths meet,
feeling tired and setting her large empty basket down,
she sat in the shade to rest a while and fell asleep. When
she awoke it was bright moonlight and she found two
children, a boy and a girl, beautiful flaxed-haired little
things, tugging at her hands and begging her to come
with them. They looked so lovely and pressed her so
hard that she could not refuse; so, giving them a hand a
piece, she went along with them. She soon saw there
were many other children, scores of them, there, skipping
about among the little tent-like cedars in light tissues
and tinseled dresses that shimmered like butterflies'
wings.

At an open space they came upon a large company of
the little things dancing in a circle, in the manner of the
grand chain in the dancers dance. Em stood looking on
in amazement, until at a sound as if some one clapped
hands, the gay circle broke up and the dancers all filed

EM OSBORN'S CHRISTMAS 291

past her in single file, each curtseying and emptying a
coltsfoot leaf full of blueberries into the woman's basket
and singing together:

We've picked you the berries, there's nothing to pay;
And we'll all come and see you on Christmas Day.

Em was a strong woman, but she had all the berries
she wanted to carry home that night. She also found the
fruit to be of the finest and sold it all readily; whereas
her own gatherings were usually inferior and hard to
dispose of. Such kindness at the hands of children quite
bewildered Em. She was much puzzled to know whether
they had been her old enemies, the Pluckemin children,
and narrowly she scrutinized every child's face she met
when selling the fine berries there. But she could not
seem to find one that she thought was among her beauti-
ful little mountain benefactors.

As the fall and bad weather came on Em was less and
less seen in the village; but the juvenile Pluckeminites did
not forget her. There was always a strong fascination
about her and her mountain hovel to them. So much so
that during recess they concocted and regularly acted a
burlesque, which they called "Em Osborn."

Dramatis personae: A girl having her head tied up
fantastically and wearing an old rag of a shawl; In her
hand a forked stick, to represent a pitchfork, would barri-
cade herself in the school woodshed. This was Em Os-
born. A little boy hopping about on one foot, was a one-
legged duck of Em's. A small girl limping badly and
having her arm In a sling was a lame, broken-winged fowl

292 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

which Em nurtured ; and two more boys with strings tied
to their coat-tails impersonated Em's two faithful cats
which had no hair on their tails, the latter being like tap-
ering whiplashes or rats' tails. The rest of the boys and
girls represented the Pluckemin children going to visit
the sibyl in her mountain fastness, the woodshed.

The acts of the play followed one another in quick suc-
cession; several children would advance and knock loudly
on Em's door.

"Who are you, and what's your business here?" she
would demand from within, not attempting to open the
door.

"We want to come in and see your nice house, Em,"
they would cry, knocking again. "Let us in; let us in;
we've got something nice for you." Here the rattailed
cats would slip out and run purring and meowing among
the callers and rubbing against them, like cats will do.
Also the one-legged duck comes up quacking and the
broken-winged hen busied herself picking up crumbs from
the crackers the children are eating. After more knock-
ing:

"Let us in; let us in, Em. Look what a lot of nice
things we've brought you," the visitors call persistently,
knocking louder and louder. Then the door would partly
open and the prongs of the pitchfork coming out first.

"I tell you to begone from here!" Em would scream.
"I don't want none of you bad Pluckemin childer 'round
here! Be off with you before I let the blood out of you!''
and the door shuts again with a bang.

"All right for you, Em," they answer. "You're
a, wild old hag ; that's what you are. You're always mad.

EM OSBORN'S CHRISTMAS 293

So we'll take these nice things back and eat them our-
selves."

"What's that?" the besieged would say. "Something
to eat, have you got? I haven't broken bread in three
days! Are you fooling me again?" And now, without
pitchfork, she comes out, looking eagerly from one to
another, one of her hands tightly grasping her chin, as if
to keep it from chewing even before she got anything to
chew.

"Gi' me it! Gi' me it!" she craves. "Gi me a bite to
eat!" Then they hand her an empty package of old papers
and run. Em makes a dive for her pitchfork and gives
chase, the two cats following with their rat-tails in the
air, the broken-winged fowl fluttering and cackling and
the one-legged duck bringing up the rear squawking furi-
ously. The mad chase continues till the pursued by round-
ing the end of the schoolhouse are supposed to be out of
the wood, and they barely save themselves. Then when
safe they turn and revile and jeer at Em and her half-rat
cats, her lame hen and the hobbling, one-legged duck, as
these go straggling back after their mistress to their den.

That was a favorite game of the Pluckemin school
children, and it is said to have been a realistic staging of
what often happened between them and Em Osborn, at
her old "shanty," as they called her house in the woods
high up on the Watchung Mountain. From this it is
easy to infer that between the two factions there was lit-
tle love lost, at all events, up to berry time last summer
but one, when, as described, there occured that fairy-like
bounty of filling her basket full and running over with
blue berries, which almost stunned the poor hermit. She

294 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

could do little else but think of it, and really for once In
her lonely life she longed like a child for Christmas to
come — not so much for what she might get, as to see the
proof of whether children ever could be so good and kind
and lovely again in this world as they had been that one
time to her — and further to find, as she was determined
to do, whether her benefactors on that occasion were or
were not Pluckemin children.

Em's way of keeping an account of the passage of time
was by cutting a hack in a long stick for each day; but
having been sick and sleeping irregularly she lost track
of the sunrises and had to trudge all the way to Bedmin-
ster to find what day it was and how many more days it
was to Christmas. She found that three more notches in
the stick and that day would dawn.

When Christmas eve came the ground was sifted over
with a deep coat of fresh fallen, dry snow ; this with a full
moon made the night almost as light as day. Em, as was
her wont looked around to see that her family were all
in their places for the night. The one-legged duck after
its supper with the broken-winged hen had hopped away
to its little straw bed In the parlor; the hen was perched
on the back of a seatless chair In the kitchen, and the
two cats lay close together for warmth on the log bench
whereon their mistress took her nightly rest and where
she wisely utilized the soft, warm fur of her two tabbies
to keep her own feet from freezing.

Having mounted to her place with the cats on the log,
although it was late, Em was reminiscent this night.
How could she be otherwise, seeing that It was the an-
niversary of w^hat ought to have and might have made

EM OSBORN'S CHRISTMAS 295

her the happiest of women, but for that one word of his
— "Ah, yes; he tried hard to recall it and to come to me
as before; but never!" she said aloud. "They tell me
I'm queer now. But — but — they don't know! Ah, they
don't know," she sighed. Then she thought of the happy
days of her childhood and girlhood, happy as the day was
long, with her dear parents; passing from one scene to
another of their girlish and joyous frolics, when she had
plenty good food to eat, fine fires to warm them and soft
beds to sleep in.

"Ah! Christmas was a gay time then, but all gone, all
gone!" she thought, gradually drowsing off into the land
of dreams, and soon she was laughing again with her
bright companions with "Merry Christmas" again ring-
ing in her ears and snowballs flying and horns braying.
She was back again among it all. It was very real ; so real
that she awoke with the excitement of it and, opening her
eyes, she became conscious with a start of real sounds of
that very kind outside her own door. There was the
merriest laughter with the greatest braying of horns she
ever heard all around her old hovel, while on the kitchen
door dozens of hands seemed to be pounding and dozens
of wishes of "Merry Christmas!" being shouted through
the keyholes and cracks.

Like King Saul, she slept upon her spear, or pitchfork,
and with this in hand she arose, forgetting all but the chil-
dren's former annoyances and dashed to the door with her
usual demand :

"Who are you and what do you want here?"

The only answer was peal after peal of children's laugh-
ter and invitations to —

296 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

"Come and see what we've brought you!"
Her cat's anxiety to have the door opened decided
Em that something good was really outside. She hastily
undid the bolts, expecting to see a crowd, but not a
soul was there. The cats were scratching at a big basket
on the step, however, which Em rescued from them and
opening which she found within a beautiful fat goose, all
ready roasted to a turn, cranberry sauce, potatoes, celery,
plum pudding, mince pies, apple and pumpkin pies, with
plates, bright knives and forks, all ready to sit down to
a real feast. She clapped the basket into her cupboard,
when her attention was arrested by similar cries "Merry
Christmas," laughter and horn blowing at a window at
the other end of the house. Em hastened thither and
found the plug of old clothes pulled out and, dropped on
the floor, she found bags of candy, rich cakes, nuts, ap-
ples, oranges, etc., and again not a vestige of a child to
be seen. But sticking her head out at the h^le in the
window, at a few rods' distance she saw a sleigh and a
prancing team of horses on the point of starting away.

"Now, children, all aboard!" Em heard from an adult
voice, among the merry prattle and laughter of little
ones. Then, with a tremendous blast from many horns
and cheer upon cheer, away went Em Osborne's mysteri-
ous visitors, with jingling bells and musical bugles mak-
ing glad the very woods and rocks, down the mountain
side, with a dash and a swirl that was worthy of old
Santa Claus himself in his palmiest days.

INDIAN LEGENDS.

THE SOURLAND MOUNTAIN HERMIT TELLS AN INDIAN
FAIRY-TALE.

According to the Sourland hermit chief, the Indians
drew on their imaginations in the way of fairy tales for the
amusement of their children, much as we white people
do in our Christmas story books.

One of these stories said to have been told by the cave-
dweller chief was that in the olden time, when the Rari-
tan Kings dwelt on the mountain and reigned over many
tribes and multitudes of people, Noorwadchantunk, the
greatest of the monarchs, had two very beautiful chil-
dren whom he dearly loved. One was a boy and the
other was a girl. The boy, named Wamba, he hoped
would succeed himself as king and chief of chiefs. One
day, however, the queen squaw, the children's mother,
died when the little girl, Vashtee, was only three and
the boy but five years old. Then the king took unto him-
self another wife to be his queen, and a mother to his
children. She was good and kind to the children until
one day when she had a little boy papoose of her own.

Then all was changed. One night an evil manitou
whispered in the mother's ear that if she were only to
get rid of little Wamba, her own son would, in the ful-
ness of time, be king. When she was brooding day and
night over this, the same bad spirit again came and told
her of a certain beldam that lived alone on the other moun-
tain. She could work marvelous changes and perform

297

298 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

wonders. To this very bad woman, the new queen-
mother repaired, taking with her many presents and
much wampum, which she laid on the shoulders of her
women.

"See," she said to the witch-woman, after describing
what it was she wanted, "make it that my son shall be
king when his father dies and, behold, all these riches
and more also shall be thine!"

Eagerly clutching the long strings of wampum and
feasting her bleary eyes on the burdens of presents which
the women took from their shoulders and spread out be-
fore her, the old hag gleefully gibbering, appeared to
bring her hooked nose and chin in touch, in a hideous
attempt to smack her puckered lips over such prizes.

"Oh, my sweet, honey queen, live forever!" she said,
between a croak and squeak of voice. "Leave it to thy
willing servant. Leave it all to her, sweet queen, and
verily thine own son shall sit on his father's throne."

Then the queen squaw and her women servants left
the sorceress munching her old jaws and jabbering her
joy over the rich haul of presents, and returned across
the Neshanic River again to the queen's home on the
mountain. The next day when little Wamba and his
sister Vashtee were playing by the brook, the boy shoot-
ing fish with the toy bow and arrow that his devoted
father had made him, the old hag crept stealthily up be-
hind them and touched each of them twice on the shoul-
ders. Wings at once sprang out on their shoulders and
their necks grew long and red and ugly, like turkeys.

The children's father, the great king and chief of
chiefs, happening to come along just then, beheld the

INDIAN LEGENDS 299

hag of ill-omen, and being filled with fear at the sight
of her, he ran to bring his beloved children away from
such danger, when, to his dread astonishment, they spread
out their newly acquired wings and flew away, high
over his head. He ran after them looking up and call-
ing to them to come down to him ; but after the manner
of such birds, when pursued, they soared high out of
his sight.

Filled with great grief at this, the king went home and
called his hunting braves together before him and com-
manded them that henceforward they should never shoot
or in any way harm or disturb a turkey-buzzard, but
must do everything in their power to catch those birds
alive. After this edict, whenever the hunters essayed
to catch them, the big birds would fly away far out of
reach.

So the hunters soon gave up all hope of ever recovering
the beloved children of the bereaved king-father.

Being in an agony of perplexity and distress over his
loss, the king at last went to an old medicine man and
inquired of him what should be done that his children
might be restored to him. The magician answered:

"Thy servant, O king, can turn thee into an eagle and
then thou shalt be enabled to outfly thy chidren and soar
above them; then, behold, thou mayst bear them down
beneath thee to the earth. And it shall come to pass that
as soon as their feet shall touch the ground they shall be
thy children again, even as they were aforetime. But
thou thyself shalt always remain a bird, even an eagle
as I shall make thee."

To this the distracted father assented, and immediately

300 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

he was transformed and flew up in the air and swooped
down upon the bird that was his son; and the eagle be-
ing the stronger, bore him to the earth, whereupon the
boy-buzzard turned at once into a fine young brave, the
very picture of his father. This done, the eagle-father
again flew up and likewise descending restored his little
girl.

Then the boy told all his father's braves what his step-
mother had done. Straightway they built a great quan-
tity of fagots into a pyre. They put the bad stepmothter
on it and fired the fagots, and she was burned to a cin-
der.

Wamba was then made king In his father's stead, and
his guardian eagle always floated high over his head,
ever watchful of his welfare, following after his son
wheresoever he went; thus showing his fatherly love.
Sometimes the eagle guardian threw down a feather,
which the young man carefully fastened in his hair as a
talisman. Thus In the course of time his head was cov-
ered with these beautiful plumes.

"And thus it was," the Sourland Mountain sage
averred, "that the Indians first adopted and ever after-
ward followed the practise of decorating their heads with
the feathers of what they looked upon as their fatherly
protector and the king of birds."

"DO YOU WANT TO BE SHAVED?"

TALE OF A HAUNTED ROOM THAT PROVED PROFITABLE

FOR A COURAGEOUS TRAVELER "jIM" FISK's GREAT

MISTAKE.

It is probably true, as remarked by some unknown
sage, long ago, that people's idiosyncrasies are largely in-
fluenced by topographical environments. Take, for in-
stance, a country made up of flat land, a dead level, ex-
tending on every side as far as the eye can reach, vv^ith
such sluggish rivers and streams that it is a puzzle to tell
which way they are supposed to flow. Such a land is apt
to produce a slow-blooded mediocrity of mental man,
living in a drowsy monotony where nothing ever hap-
pens. On the other hand, rolling hills, towering moun-
tains, beetling rocks and rushing torrents seem to stir
men's pulses making them imagine and dream and think
and do things.

Such a contrast, in a mild form, at all events, is met
by the man who leaves the painfully prosaic steppes of
Southern Long Island and betakes himself to almost any
of the counties of the State of New Jersey ; but, especially
so if he happens to make the upper reaches of Hunterdon
County his choice, and more so, still, if he crosses the
county line into Morris and pitches his tent in some of
the picturesque valleys of the Schooley Mountains. That
is just what a man named Katz did about a century ago,
according to unerring tradition, and the move was the
making of him.

301

302 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

Christopher, or as he was famllarly known, Chris Katz,
was born, and managed in spite of the mosquitoes, to live
forty years on the skirts of a Sahara of sand and salt
marsh swamp between Jamaica Bay and the Rockaways
on Long Island. He grew some potatoes and dug the
rest of his living out of the bogs in the shape of soft shell
clams. His mouth, which was immense, and could not
be made larger, his friends said, without displacing his
ears, strikingly resembled that of a fish — a consequence,
which, some naturalists claim, quite commonly succeeds
an exclusively fish diet. Chris had lived entirely on fish
and potatoes all his life. This mouth of his, with huge
lantern jaws and very high cheek bones, together with
big, round, watery gray eyes, really made his physiognomy
almost the counterpart of that of the catfish. There could
be no doubt at all that if Chris had met some of the pop-
ular strolling players of his day, or a little later, his face
would easily have made his fortune before the footlights.
As it was, he found, as they say in rural Hunterdon, that
there was "money into it;" but he had to carry it away
from the humdrum low level of his native Long Island
plains, and show it on the mercurial heights of the
Schooleys to realize it.

It is not of record what extraordinary circumstances
they were that took Christopher Katz so far away and
high above his native haunts; but there he turned up late
in the fall of the year. With a huge carpetbag in one
hand and what looked like the mother of umbrellas in
the other, he walked into the "Travelers' Rest" road-
house, a fine old-fashioned, roomy and solid looking inn,
in the thriving little town of Chester, about lO o'clock

"DO YOU WANT TO BE SHAVED ?" 303

one night. In answer to his inquiry, the smiling boniface
replied :

"For supper, friend, I'm heartily at your service; if the
best half of a venison pie, corn cake, hot waffles and a
tankard of my best home brewed to wash it down, might
like thee. But as to a room, I'm right sorry sir, to say it;
but we're full up, and — eh? What say, Mirandy? Now
hold hard a minute. Just wait half a jiffy till I see what
the woman says."

"The woman" was his wife, who had called him. He
hurried to her. Coming back shortly he drew a foaming
mug of his prime October to Chris's order, and the lat-
ter took a long pull at it.

"Now, about a room," mine host said. "We have
got an idle room, and the best bed in the house that room
has into it, too; but it's so long since it has been let to
any one that, by jiminy, I clean forgot it! Now, I'll tell
you about that there room, and, as the woman says, "when
you know all we know ourselves, why, you can suit your-
self whether you'll take it or not."

The landlord then explained to Chris that some years
before, an old barber had occupied the room in question,
and that he was either murdered or had put an end to his
own life in that room by cutting his throat from ear to
ear.

"Whether is was murder or he killed himself was
never proved, but anyway," said the innkeeper, "it makes
little difference now which way it was; the man is dead
and buried and there's an end o' the business so far as I
am concerned. But, hark ye, now, I always act fair and
square by every man. Every man Jack in this house but

304 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

myself, every customer that comes to it and every man,
I do believe, in Chester town, will tell you that the old
barber rises out of his grave and comes back to that room.
Several people tried to sleep in the room since the trag-
edy, but they all quit before the night was half through,
and they all said the same thing as to what drove them
out, and that was that the barber himself or his ghost
walked the room in his white winding sheet, asking in a
hollow voice:

** 'Do you want to be shaved? Do you want to be
shaved ?'

"Now," continued the landlord, "between you and me
and the bedpost, I don't give a continental cuss for all
their white-livered yarns; nothin' but fool talk, tommyrot,
I call it. Say, now, what do you think of it all, Mr. —
I didn't quite catch your name?"

"Katz, Christopher Katz, is my name," Chris an-
swered, "and as to what I think about the barber or his
ghost, the best way to give my opinion of the tales is to
say that I will sleep in the room to-night if you are agree-
able and you don't want too much for that privilege."

"Good! good! Bully for you; now, Mr. Skat — Mr.
Katz, I mean — excuse me, sir, but I do like to see a man
as is a man, sir! Here, Mary Ann!" called the landlord
to one of the hired girls, as he excitedly took down a cou-
ple of burnished copper warming pans from the tall man-
telpiece. "See, Mary Ann, clap a lot of red hot coals in-
to these and keep 'em going in the bed in No. i for a
good hour, do you hear!"

"Oh, mercy on us!" ejaculated the girl, catching her

"DO YOU WANT TO BE SHAVED ?" 305

breath, "in that room! All right, sir — but — but let Jenny
come along with me."

"All right, all right; get away about it, the pair of
you," grunted the good-natured host, "and I'll just have
to get the gentleman's supper myself. Such a set of
frightened babbies as I've to put up with, anyhow!"

"Now, you can see for youself," said he, turning to his
guest, "one of them's as bad as another all through this
house, and the whole town, I'll be sworn; which it dam-
ages my good wholesome house, sir, from the wine in my
cellar to the topmost shingle on the roof."

"Talking of ghosts," Chris said, "I'm a true believer
in what our old church sexton says and he's always mix-
ing among coffins and graves. 'Believe me,' the sexton
said one day I sounded him on the subject; 'believe me,'
says he, 'there's no such thing as people coming back as
ghosts. There's a good reason for it. For if a man goes
to the good place when he dies he wouldn't leave it to
come back to a worse place if he could; and if he goes to
the bad spot, why, they wouldn't let him out to come
back if he wanted to. Therefore,' says he, 'none of them
ever does come back nohow.' "

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed mine host; "that's about the
closest reasoning I ever heard on! And now for your
supper, friend; and it shall be worthy of the 'Traveler's
Rest.' "

The innkeeper, who seemed to take quite a liking to
his new guest, probably because he looked so simple and
was generally silent and listened at any length, appar-
ently with his mouth as well as his ears, told Chris that
his house was the headquarters for practically all

^^o6 WnHlN A jKRSKV CIRCLE

ilir tin peddlers that came into the School ey's, men who
in those days drove their iniiie wasions piled up high with
household necessities throuj:;h every hii2;hway and byway
ot the K>utitry. ( lood suhstantinl men of means they
jxenernlly were, too, and respected even where. But, like
nil other kinds of tradesmen, they had their hard drink-
ers, hraw lers and i;amhlers among them. And mine host,
riiihtly iudi^iint!: Chris not to be of that stripe, expressed
a hope that it would not i^reatly disturb him if soiue of
tht>se worthies were a bit late and noisy over their cards
and cups, to which the piest replied that if the old bar-
ber wouKl only let him alone he telt sure he would easily
i;et ahtiii: with the rest. At all e\ents. he would try it,
with which, takini: his candle, he repaired to No. i and
went to bed.

He h:\i\ not i;one asleep. howe\er. beiore he heard a
pecidiar sounil. such a sound as Chris had little doubt
that nervous people mi.cht easily mapiify into the dis:;-
nity of a huiuau voice; but it did not so appear to hiiu.
and, p:etting up, he detenuined to investip:ate. Locatinjx
the oriiiin of the soimd as beinc in one corner of the
room, he went near and listeneil. It certainly was sup;-
p:estive ot a half-whine, half-moan of an old tuan, and
not at all vmlike a kind of mumbling of "Do you want to
be shaved ?" But that was not enough for the hard-headed
"I.(Mig Island Yank," as Chris was sometimes called. He
studied the thing as he nu'ght n mathematical probleiu.
At last he openevl the window nearest the apparent
source of the disturbance, and, behold! sure enough,
there he saw the perfectly natural cause of what had ter-
rified a lot of people half out of their wits. It was noth-

"DO YOU WANT TO HK SHAVED?" 307

ing more than the rubbing of a limb of a lilckory tree
against the corner of the house near the window. With
a derisive snifF he shut down the window and went back
to bed.

Perfectly satisfied and at his ease now and assured of
enjoying the quiet rest he was greatly in need of, he was
in the act of tucking himself in nice and srnig for sleep,
when, to his intense disgust two or three loud-voiced men
came stamping into munber two, next door, and began
dragging chairs and tables about, evidently all uncon-
scious of Chris's occupation of No. i. He v\as not long
left in doubt of their intention, for among clinking of
bottles and glasses and big oaths he heard them settle
upon high stakes to be played for at cards; and it was
not long before the chinking of coin, periods of great
quiet interspersed by excited wrangles and blasphemy,
confirmed the suspicion that they were gamblers and
j^lainly meant to make a m'ght of it. Chris stood it
for about two hours, then suddenly a great idea came to
him,

(letting out of bed during one of the gambler's loud
arguments, he slipped back the bolt of a commum'catin;:;
door with next room, and finding it open easily, peeped
in and saw three men sitting close around a small table in
one corner. The feeble yellow glare of two candles,
one on each end of the table, showed the frenzied excite-
ment of the men's dissolute faces, as their eves strained
nervously from the cards in their hands to the piles of
gold atul silver before them, which were about to be lost
or won on the mere chance of a card. The pot was a
big one; one man was to be made rich and the olliers as

3o8 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

good as ruined. For the time, their liquor stood untasted,
the only sound being the flip of shufl[ling and dealing
and ejaculated curses at the tardiness of the winning
card's appearance. It was a supreme moment.

Withdrawing his head from the slightly opened door,
Chris hastily whipped a sheet from the bed and hanging
it over his head and in folds around his body, grasped
the washbowl in one hand and then slowly advanced into
the gamblers' room. When he had taken about three
steps in,

*'Do you want to be shaved?" he said as if out of the
hollowest tomb.

For a second or so the three pairs of eyes almost bulged
out of their sockets, as, forgetting the game, money and
everything else in the world, their owners opening wide
their mouths as well, stared at the awful white figure.
It made another step forward, and:

"Do you want — ?" but before the ghostly question
was finished:

"It's the barber!" "It's the ghost!" "Let me out of
here!" yelled the gamblers in abject terror as they fled
and fell over each other in the doorway in their wild
haste to escape from the room.

When Chris heard the last of the trio scampering
away for his life along the passage, he held his wash
bowl to the deserted table and swept the three piles of
money into it. Then he went back into his own room,
locked the door and went quietly to bed. All was silent
next door the rest of the night. Evidently the gamblers
did not dare enter the room again. If they did, Chris
said, they were mighty quiet about it, for he never heard

"DO YOU WANT TO BE SHAVED ?" 309

a sound. Next morning, when he went down to a late
breakfast, all the peddlers had long before departed on
their business rounds. After a comfortable meal, Chris
did the same, and his heart warmed at the very name of
the Schooley Mountains ever afterward.

Talking of peddlers, it is wonderful, old people here
say, how things have changed in the country. One of the
old standing institutions used to be the visits all around
of the tin peddler. Now he is never seen any more. His
big lumbering and crowded wagon once upon a time
would regularly heave in sight with all its shining tin
goods — the latest patent egg-beaters, nutmeg graters,
toasting forks, broilers and novelty helps of every kind
for the housewife. And she, ever looking forward to his
welcome visits, would be carefully saving up her white
rags in one bag and her colored clippings in another,
against the day for the pleasant banter of exchange and
barter with the well-known tin peddler — not some jab-
bering and suspicious foreigner, but Mr. A. or Mr. B.
of some good old native American family, on his time-
honored and regular rounds.

Indeed, some of New York's richest men of the past
had their first start in life in such a business. For in-
stance, the well-known *'Jim" Fisk, the millionaire, who
met such an untimely end at the hands of Stokes, as a
little boy traveled for years through, especially, Vermont
and New Hampshire, on one of these wagons — just such
wagons they were as used to creep along the Old York
road here, through Hunterdon County in those days, as
several aged persons here still delight to tell of. One
woman now living near Reaville, who in her younger

3IO WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

days lived in Vermont, says the variety and quantity of
things that Mr. Fisk senior used to carry on his im-
mense bazar-like wagon was something wonderful.

Besides an endless selection of shining tinware he had
such things as spectacles, ribbons of all kinds, a great
variety of pretty dress goods, fancy work-baskets and no-
tions of all kinds, as well as genuine jewelry. The above-
mentioned lady's grandmother bought a string of prettily
chased, real gold beads from Mr. Fisk senior, which she
wore all her life, without ever once parting or losing a
bead; and a grand-daughter wears them to this day.

At the famous old "Downer's Tavern," at Upper Falls,
Vt. (now called Amsden), the same lady well remembers
when Fisk used regularly to put up and make his head-
quarters there, from which he made numerous day jour-
neys in the populous neighborhood. The present white-
haired proprietor of that hostelry, who was only a little
boy himself when the elder Fisk used to put up for
long spells there, never tires of telling about "Jim" Fisk.
It will be remembered that at the time of the great Chi-
cago fire this same James Fisk was the first to dispatch a re-
lief train, all at his own expense, to the sufferers there.
The old innkeeper says that little Jim, who was a "bit of
a runt" about his own age, was considered somewhat lazy,
and being under-sized for his age, he often got out of
work by complaining that he was too small to do it. The
cleaning out of the stable was one of the jobs Jim used to
shirk in this way.

But one day his father put him on his mettle by prom-
ising that if he cleaned the stable and would do the work
well he should have $2. Being keen even then to make

"DO YOU WANT TO BE SHAVED ?" 311

an honest penny, Jim went at it with a will, finished the
job in good workmanlike style and duly received his $2.
But, alas for Jim! It was only a baited trap of his long-
headed father. For ever after that his plea of being too
little to do it was of no avail and he had the stable to
clean without mention of any further bribes. Many and
many were the times, the landlord says, that he heard Jim
declare later in life, after he had become a rich man, that
cleaning that stable that time for $2 was the greatest
mistake he ever made in his life.

^DEVIL JOHN."

THE CELEBRATED HORSE-THIEF.

When William Penn treated with the Indians for a
tract of land on one occasion, the extent of the purchase
was agreed to be a given distance inland from the Dela-
ware and as far along that river as a white man could
travel in one day, from sunrise to sunset. In the choice
of a man to do the walking or running, and in the elab-
orate provisions made for his refreshments at intervals
all along the course, so that he might cover as much
ground as possible, and further, through the tremendous
length he thus measured off, it is said the great Quaker
came nearer forfeiting the red men's confidence than in any
other of his many transactions with them. The Indians
did bitterly resent what they felt to be the unfair advan-
tage thus taken of them ; but their wrath was directed
against the man and not his master.

This man, the Weston of his day, was John Marshall.
He was said to be wonderfully nimble of foot and a
prodigy in endurance. For his ver>^ effective service on that
occasion, John Marshall was granted a fine estate; but
for many a long day after entering into possession of it he
was in jeopardy, for his life was zealously sought by the
red men, not by open attack by numbers, but secretly by
one or two who used to skulk in neighboring woods with
the object of shooting their enemy from ambush and then
escaping; so that the murder might be a mystery and not
chargeable against them by their great friend, William

312

"DEVIL JOHN" 313

Penn. Naturally under such circumstances Marshall
took care to have a loaded musket and pistols handy at
all times. For he had more than once surprised his prowl-
ing enemies; but as they had not actually attacked him he
allowed them to slink away, as they always did when ob-
served.

At last an opportunity came when the white man by a
strategic movement quite overawed them. He was en-
gaged with his axe one evening among some stumps in a
clearing when he caught sight of three Indians stealthily
approaching. He purposely avoided openly looking their
way, so as to draw them on, and with great nerve kept in
full view until actually within musket range. Then, as
if by accident, he disappeared behind a stump and taking
his musket ramrod put his hat on it and pushed it up in
sight, as if his head were in it and he were watching over
the top of the stump. As he anticipated, they let drive
and riddled the hat with three bullets. Then when he
knew their weapons were empty the wily Marshall
jumped up, shot one dead with his musket and pistoled
the other two. One of the savages who was badly
wounded he allowed to crawl away, so that he might tell
his tribe the tale. The result was that Marshall was not
again troubled by the Indians.

According to tradition, tw^o or three sons of this first
John Marshall, James, John and Edward, settled at Rah-
way; but later James and John migrated with their fam-
ilies to Stony Hill valley, a very fertile hollow lying be-
tween the Second Mountain of the Watchungs and an
offshoot known as Stony Hill. For reasons unknown
these two families changed their names to Marsh, leav-

21

314 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

Ing off the last syllable. James had a son, also named
James, who grew up to be of exceptionally fine physique
and who having married, became father of six children.
As the young man looked upon his boys and girls growing
up around him, he failed to see any proper future for them
there, In the mountains, and moved to a little hamlet
which afterward became Paterson, where he judged the
outlook to be more favorable.

This family was said to be as beautiful in character as
they were prepossessing In personal beauty. As time
passed, the third son, John, developed into a singu-
larly handsome young fellow, but one who as cordially
hated any one kind of work as another and harked back
with an overpowering longing for the free air of moun-
tain and forest, the green hills and woods of his boyhood
haunts. He was so good to look upon that it was easy to
anticipate fame and glory of some sort as awaiting him.
Of all things impossible to expect for him, however, what
did come was the most surprising and unexepected, and
that was Infamy.

Taking to the wlldwood with all the ardor of a young
duck for water, through all the Watchung, Sourland, Ho-
patcong and Musconetcong mountains, no foot was fleet-
er, no eye more keen, no steadier hand In the daring hunt
than John Marsh's, even while yet but a stripling. He
loved to climb the dizziest steeps and delve through crag-
gy gorges of the then unexplored mountains, and to out-
wit and capture whatever he set his heart upon as game.
Every ancient red man's trail, every bridle path through
the densest forest, young John knew far better than he did

"DEVIL JOHN" 315

any book. Afoot or in the saddle he was equally at home,
the unapproachable Nimrod of the mountains.

To transplant such a spirit into the town was to cage
the young eagle. His father expostulated, telling him he
should imitate his excellent brothers and settle down to
useful work ; and John would acquiesce and try once more.
But early as the parent rose of a morning, John was up
before him ; and once again "Bugler," the best saddle
horse, would be gone from the stable and John gone
with him — back, back again to his fascinating mountains!
It seemed quite hopeless.

"Well, let him go," the father said at last, "till he finds
that he can't live by it. He cannot always hang on his
uncle John. He'll be wanting money to ride his hobby;
then he'll come back and go to work."

As far as wanting money, that prophecy was correct,
but otherwise it went amiss. The young fellow developed
a taste for card playing with loose company at wayside
taverns. Money was everything there and he must have
it. He came and went as he pleased, his indulgent Uncle
John asking no questions. When his nephew would dis-
appear for a few days and nights Uncle John thought the
boy had gone back home for a while. And the father
felt all was perfectly right so long as his boy was at his
Uncle John's. So after about a week's absence when
John came back to his uncle's on foot, the latter had no
idea in the world but that the young fellow had been home
and had left his father's favorite saddle horse "Bugler"
there. Nevertheless the sad fact was that John had sold
the horse for a large sum — more money than he had ever

3i6 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

before handled — and like the proverbial fool, had already
squandered every penny of it gambling.

That was the parting of the ways in John's life. He
was afraid to go home now and felt more and more guilt-
ily ashamed to meet his good old uncle's frank and honest
greetings. The only people he could look in the face
without flinching were those back-barroom loungers of ill
omen at the wayside taverns.

"What! down on your luck, John? Ah, douse it and
never say die, me hearty!" cried Slippery Dick, one of
these choice spirits, clapping John with cheerful familiari-
ty on the shoulder. "Come along in ; cheer-up, old chap,"
said he; and then in John's ear: "Another strike, sweet
innocent, and raise the wind ; easiest thing in the world !
Hasn't pop another Bucephalus of the Bugler type? I've
a buyer, ripe and raging-ready with a good three hundred
spot cash, for another like that. What say to it, John?
It's dead easy money."

John shook his head, but only weakly, and Dick swag-
gered out to the bar to order drinks, trolling,

"Gaily still my moments roll.
While I quaff the flowing bowl ;"

and as he came back with two bumpers:

"Care can never reach the soul
Who deeply drinks of wine."

After several more drinks and much talk, every now
and again punctuated by a few bars of some madrigal or

"DEVIL JOHN" 317

bachanal drivel from the elder toper, the two left the
house together. Striking hands at parting:

"That's settled then;" Slippery Dick said in an un-
dertone: "Tony Van Vechten's tavern, Lambertville,
next Monday night at 12 o'clock. Deliver the goods
and I'm there, safe as houses with my man and the
sugar!"

"I'll be there;" John answered and they took their
several ways.

As John some time later advanced toward his uncle's
he stopped and looked at the peaceful homestead in the
silent moonlight. "No!" he said, turning on his heel,
"I cannot face Uncle John any more. I must pay my
way now as I can. When I've money I'll eat well and
sleep well; but till Monday night and my purse is re-
plenished, the green grass for my bed and thou, starry
heaven, for my canopy. O money, money! my only
friend, thou art equally good howsoever we get thee;
mine thou shalt be!" with which he struck into the
woods.

Two days later there was complete consternation in
Stony Hill, then known as Union village. Bill Par-
sons, the well-to-do store keeper found his stable door
broken open and his best horse gone. Parsons was a
breeder of fine saddlehorses. The very pick of his stud
was stolen! Who was the theif? It was a generation
since such a thing happened.

In the great hue and cry set up among the mountain
dwellers everyone thought of strangers of course for the
thief. A couple of tin peddlers who had passed through
the day before were immediately pursued by Parsons,

3i8 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

down through Passaic to Newark, but to no purpose;
the men having no difficulty in proving their long es-
tablished good character. Another villager, Silas Huff,
had followed a clue that led him to Paterson with simi-
lar result. The man he followed was a blacksmith's
helper in search of work and honest as any man.

Hufi was in the store telling Bill Parsons about his
quest when Uncle John Marsh came in to learn what
success they'd had. Having heard both men's stories of
their fruitless rides:

'Til tell you what, Bill," he said gleefully, 'Til send
and ask my brother James at Paterson to send my
nephew John up here with 'Bugler'! I'll wager that
John will run down the thief if he's "

"That's strange, Uncle John," Huff broke in, "for
I met James and he said John was up here with you;
and he asked me to tell you that he was in need of Bug-
ler and would like if you would send John home with the
horse."

"How's that, Silas?" Uncle John said with a start.
"Did brother James say that? There must be a won-
derful mistake somewhere. Why," said he taking a long
breath and looking hard at Huff; "Why Silas, my nephew
hasn't been inside my door in the last ten days; and
Bugler! Why, he took Bugler home long ago."

"Well, as you say. Uncle John," said Huff, putting a
fresh chew in his mouth, "there's some mistake some-
where ; for sartin sure it is that James said his boy was at
your house and that he was stopping too long, for he
hadn't been home for more two whole months."

At this Uncle John's eyes and even his mouth opened

"DEVIL JOHN" 319

wide; then he gave a shrill whistle of surprise and hurl-
ing out, shouted from the door:

"I'll see James in two hours' time!" And ten min-
utes later, mounted on "Star", the swiftest horse in his
stable, he was gone full gallop toward Paterson.

By this time the village w^as in a rumpus, with th-e
store as a storm center.

"My stars! but Uncle John's gone off somewhere in a
ter'ble hurry," Luther Dunn remarked, coming in like
everyone else to give and get all the news possible. "B-e
he gone for a docther, think ye Bill?" he asked the pro-
prietor in his usual, high falsetto twang. But Parsons in
a brown study, stood scratching his head and did not
answer till his hat fell off. Replacing it mechanically:

"What's that you said, Luther, — 'for a doctor'? No,
I guess not. He's gone to get his nephew. Oh, say,
Luther, that reminds me; weren't you a tellin' some-
thing about seeing young John Marsh down in Crebbs'
tavern one night last week and that he was talking with
Slippery Dick?"

"Sure I was! and I know more'n I telt ye then, too!"
Luther sung out, delighted to find the deep interest his
words all of a sudden seemed to create, for usually no-
body cared to listen to him. "Why," said he, "I beared
tell that young John lost more'n three hundred dollars in
one night down there at cards." He had not finished
speaking when a boy stuck his head in at the door and
shouted that there were six men on horseback gone up to
Uncle John's house. Soon the astounding news was out
that another valuable horse had been stolen, this time at
Turkey village. (Afteru^ard named New Providence

320 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

so called as tradition has it, because at a very full church
meeting the crowded gallery fell to the ground and not
one hurt. "It is a providence," the minister declared.
"Let us call this favored place the Nev^ Providence;"
and that has been its name ever since). Young John
Marsh had been seen loitering in the Turkey neighbor-
hood on the night of the theft. It was in fact a posse of
Turkey villagers the boy had seen going up to Uncle
John's place, whither they went in the hope of nabbing
Young John, who, they insisted, had stolen the horse.

Evil news travels fast ; everywhere far and near, as
if by magic, it was known that the handsome and jovial
young John Marsh was wanted for horse stealing; and
going to strengthen suspicion of him, he could nowhere
be found. His uncle John came home terribly down up-
on his nephew and became one of the most actively deter-
mined, as he said, "to land the young cub in jail." Now
that his eyes were opened he could recall many things in
the young man's conduct of late that seemed to fit in with
the worst that was said of him.

"A horse-thief! Ruination and damnation for the good
name he disgraces! States prison for the scamp! That's
where he'll be shortly or my name's not John Marsh!"

But either the uncle overestimated his capabilities or
sadly miscalculated his nephew's cleverness. For days
slipped away, weeks, months and even a whole year, and
still young Marsh was at large. And to crown it all,
horses kept on slipping away, also, until all the country,
from the North River to the Delaware and from New
York State on the north, to Staten Island and Long Isl-
and on the south, horse owners trembled at his name.

"DEVIL JOHN" 321

''He's the very devil is that boy, John;" the baffled un-
cle began in the store one night. And promptly everyone
adopted the name of "Devil John" for the man that so
neatly nipped up choice horses, here, there and everywhere,
turned them into cash and disappeared into forest fastnesses,
simply defying the law and all its emissaries. And for one
so superhumanly crafty and nimble of wit and limb as he
was in his nefarious and hazardous work, the name seemed
not inappropriate and it clung to him to the last.

I am indebted to A. C. Townley of Newark, who is
quite a lover of ancient lore, for most of these details in
the short and somewhat spectacular career of this re-
markable young scapegrace. On one occasion, my inform-
ant said. Devil John was sighted toward dusk on a road
near the village then called Browsetown, now known as
Watchung. Stiles, the miller and Peter Allen were talk-
ing together at the head of the Notch road, on the way to
Plainfield, and suddenly noticed the notorious horse-thief
crossing the road. They immediately gave chase and fol-
lowed through a small wood dividing two clearings.
When half through the wood they had to climb over a
large fallen tree, after which, though they lost sight of
their man, they rushed forward hoping to find him in the
cleared ground ahead. In this they were disappointed,
but while looking around and listening, they heard rust-
ling in the wood behind them. Back they ran full tilt,
when, to their amazement they saw in the gathering
darkness what appeared to be a fiery figure moving away
through the trees.

"Hold on. Stiles!" Allen whispered, "don't go any
farther; that's no man but a ghost we're after!"

322 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

"Nonsense, Pete! Look ye here. Here's where my lad
tlodged us." And Stiles pointed to a mass of glowing
phosphorescent pulp in the hollow old tree, where Devil
John had hidden himself. He easily escaped and as usual
left the neighborhood distracted by riding away in the
dim of early morning on one of the farmers' best horses.
With various superstitious trimmings this tale has regaled
the imaginations of nursery prattlers in the mountains for
generations.

A mountaineer farmer, Baltus Roll was dragged from
his house one freezing night and murdered. His wife,
who was left tied to the wood pile in her night-dress,
also died from fright and exposure. Abner Smalley, who
married the deceased woman's sister got the farm and
among other things had an exceptionally fine saddle
horse, one that was good for sixty miles a day over those
hills with the proud Abner on his back. Naturally the
owner of such an animal shared the general dread of a
visit from Devil John, and he provided himself with a
big savage dog which he kept in the stable to protect his
horse. But one day he found the dog dead and before
he could get another the horse disappeared. The co-
incidence pointed to poison, which the knowing thief un-
doubtedly used to effect his purpose.

Abner hunted high and low the whole county over
for his horse, but in vain. Months after he had given up
hope of ever seeing it again Noah Collins, a neighbor, hap-
pening to be over on Long Island, was astonished one day
to see Abner's horse, which he knew in a moment, quietly
grazing in a paddock there. He quickly sent word of
his find and Abner as quickly responded by going to

"DEVIL JOHN" 323

Long Island and replevining his horse. He found to his
amazement that Devil John, who got the horse of course,
first sold it to another man ; then after a few days he
re-stole the animal one night and then sold it to the man
from whom Abner replevened it.

Another time the famous horse thief stole a fine sad-
dle horse and started by way of the Old York Road for
Philadelphia. The theft having been discovered in bet-
ter time than usual, the rightful owner promptly raised
an outcry and with half a dozen mounted neighbors gave
hot chase. Knowing the direction the thief took they
pushed ahead that way haphazard until daylight broke.
The first man they met was hailed:

"Have you seen a man on horseback going this way?
It's Devil John, the horse thief!"

"Lans sakes alive! Yes; he's just ahead of ye."

Applying whip and spur, they dashed for\\^ard until,
as they approached Ringoes, they had him in plain view
and commenced yelling "Stop thief! Stop thief!" not
more than two hundred yards behind, hoping the Ringoes
villagers would stop the runaway. But Devil John had
a ready wit; for seeing several men in the road ahead of
him and making sure they heard his pursuers' yells, he
took up the cry himself and shouted even louder than
they did, "Stop thief! Stop thief!" pointing ahead and
gesturing wildly to stop an imaginary fugitive; and while
the villagers looked to see if anyone had previously passed
the wily thief swept by in a cloud of dust. The truth
dawned on the men when the panting pursurers came
up, demanding:

"Why didn't you stop that man?" but they waited not

324 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

answers, only looking their disgust and laying whips harder
than ever on their jaded horses. On went the chase with
another near shave at Doylestown; but the thief being
better mounted put a wider gap between them. On
reaching Nice Town and the Black Horse tavern, and at
the Germantown road corner, they had to enquire which
way the thief had taken. Arriving at Gerard avenue
and Second street, Philadelphia, they began a search of
the stables; but for a long time could see nothing of the
horse or man they sought. But while standing undecided
where to go next they heard a horse's whinney from a
cellar beneath the stables. Demanding admittance they
found the stolen horse covered with foam but no trace of
its rider. From the description given of him, however,
the decamped jockey was easily recognized as the arch
enemy of horse-owners. Devil John. He lost his horse
this time but once more got clear away himself.

For several years the young horse-thief thus pursued
his robberies, in defiance of all that could be done to
stop or stay him ; as If he were a hawk and pounced upon
his prey from the clouds, striking, now here, now there,
In this county or that, from Long Island to Warren, and
disappearing with his booty as if by magic. After a long
respite from his depredations Stony Hill was once more
thrown Into spasms by the report that he was again hov-
ering on Its skirts, In the woods. His uncle John being
duly notified, at once jumped to the conclusion that his
rascally nephew was going to steal his beautiful chestnut
known as the finest saddle-horse In the section.

"Well, he may try his hand at it, but he'll get a few
inches of steel into his ribs first," Uncle John declared,

"DEVIL JOHN" 325

brandishing a pitchfork. And he took the fork over to a
neighbor's and had the prongs specially sharpened for the
purpose. Then as night came on he secreted himself in
the stable on the watch, weapon in hand, ready to impale
his desperate nephew if he dared to show up. Three suc-
cessive nights he w^atched without result. On the fourth
night his vigilance, without excitement, beginning to
slacken a little, he involuntarily dropped asleep in spite
of himself.

Waking with a tremendous start, like Saul did his
spear, he clutched the pitchfork and jumped to his feet;
but the horse was gone! The nimble David, or Devil
John, had come to his tent, helped himself and had gone
in peace. As the old gentleman dashed for the door he
felt something up his sleeve and drew from it a piece of
paper. Rushing into the house, in the candlelight he read
in the paper :

"My humble duty to you. Uncle John, and grateful
thanks for the chestnut. I'll duly report to you what I
get for him. John."

"Well he is the very devil himself, that boy, for
sure!" Uncle John cried, dashing out and listening for
any sound ; but all was still as the grave. He rushed for
help and several men rode in various directions without,
however, finding the least trace of the clever thief. Know-
ing every wood path throughout the country Devil John
easily escaped. And the young scapegrace kept his word
with his uncle, for inside of a week, he wrote from Eas-

326 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

ton, Pennsylvania, that he had just sold the chestnut for
a large sum.

But as such careers naturally invite, the desperate young
man came to an inglorious end. Being hotly pursued on
a stolen horse a little below^ Phillipsburg, Warren Co.,
he savr nothing for It but capture or to swim the swollen
Delaware. Suddenly wheeling from the road he drove
the spurs Into the mettled horse's sides and plunged Into
the raging river. His pursuers stopped. They dared not
breast such a tumbling torrent. He was more than man,
they said, if he crossed alive.

But they soon saw horse and man roll over and over in
the boiling flood and then sink out of sight. That was
the end of Devil John. Both he and his last stolen horse
were drowned and must have been swept out to sea; for
neither was ever again seen or heard of.

THE LONG PASTORATE OF NORTH BRANCH.

REV. PHILIP MELANCHTHON DOOLITTLE, D. D., AND MANY
OF HIS CLASSMATES SERVED LONG TERMS.

The Rev. Dr. Philip Melanchthon Dooh'ttle was pas-
tor of the North Branch Reformed Dutch Church for a
little over half a century. On the 25th of July, 1906,
there was a great festal gathering of clergy and laity in the
village on the occasion of the fiftieth anniversary of his
pastorate, at which the aged clergyman delivered an able
and interesting historical account of his stewardship, and
in several addresses of classmates and laymen, was made
the recipient of well deserved felicitations.

The address on behalf of the Theological Seminary of
New Brunswick, class of 1856, by Rev. Dr. E. Tanjore
Corwin, was particularly interesting in pleasant reminis-
cence, as well as disclosing the fact that Doctor Doolit-
tle and he had been classmates of Dr. T. De Witt Tal-
mage. The class, Dr. Corwin said, had been somewhat
exceptional for long terms. One reached thirty-eight
years of service in the ministry; three served from forty
to forty-five years; one of forty-eight years still continued
in the same field, "and," the speaker said, *'your own
honored pastor here at North Branch, of fifty years."
Three of the class were in the ministry over forty years;
Rev. Giles Vanderwall, deceased, a Hollander by birth;
the second. Rev. John Ferguson Harris, deceased,
served forty-two years.

''The third of this trio," Dr. Corwin said, "Rev. T.
327

328 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

DeWItt Talmage, was in the ministry for forty-six
years. He held in all five pastorates, the one in Brook-
lyn reaching a term of twenty-five years. He was the
genius of our class. Not remarkable as a student, he
was, nevertheless, an omniverous reader. His thoughts
came in glowing pictures, which he presented in most viv-
id colors to his astonished hearers. His style of preaching
in the seminary had all the peculiarities of his subsequent
years, only later on it became somewhat more chastened."

Dr. Corwin named four others of the same class as
semi-centenarians; Rev. Dr. John H. Oerter, forty-eight
years pastor of the Fourth German Church of New
York. Well known as a scholar, Dr. Oerter was chosen
by General Synod to deliver one of the courses of Vedder
lectures in the New Brunswick Seminary, which course
was published in volume in 1887. Rev. Dr. James Dem-
arest was another of the class, who, after he had passed his
seventieth year, was chosen pastor of the Claremont Ave-
nue Church in Brooklyn, N. Y.

"It was my own privilege," said the speaker, *'to serve
the church of Millstone for twenty-five years. I have
always been a little proud of so long a pastorate, but what
is that compared with Dr. Doolittle's?"

Dr. Corwin's address was interspersed with entertain-
ing anecdotes. One, illustrative of a proneness to dry
wit and humor on the part of Dr. Doolittle in his col-
lege days, was given. Even the professors sometimes
came in for a hit. It was customary for the students to
preach on certain days, with the other students and a pro-
fessor in the chair, as critics. After the sermon any one
who had a criticism to make made It. This day, a very

PASTORATE OF NORTH BRANCH 329

hot day in June it was, when they had assembled half
baked with the heat, the president came in with every
evidence that he had dined heartily, perhaps a little too
well for so hot a day. For not long after he had as-
sumed the comfortable armchair, and the preacher had
fairly well launched out on his subject, it was noticed
that the presiding professor had dropped into a sound
sleep.

Winks and smiles liberally passed among the young
men, much to the annoyance and embarrassment of the
preacher. Luckily the sleeper awoke just before the ser-
mon ended, and, as if nothing unusual had happened,
sedately called upon the students to make their criticisms
of the discourse. After several young men had spoken,
Dr. Doolittle rose and gravely commented on the ser-
mon:

"But, professor," he said at the finish, "I noticed dur-
ing the delivery of the sermon that some of the auditors
were fast asleep. This is not showing due respect to the
preacher, and is even embarrassing to him, and I hope
that the professor when he sums up our criticisms will re-
buke such conduct as it deserves."

After this somewhat bold move all waited breathlessly
for the professor's way out of such a dilemma. He was
a large man of truly majestic presence, but genial withal.
Rising with his blandest smile and with his fingers in-
serted among his vest buttons:

"Young gentlemen," he said, "I have listened to your
criticisms to-day with the greatest interest, and for once
I think they are so unusually excellent and just that I
do not feel that I can add anything to them. Good af-

22

330 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

ternoon." And through a convenient door he slid from
the room.

Rev. George H. Stephens, of Philadelphia, who had
attended the church as a little boy, coming in at the
eleventh hour, gave an address sparkling with humorous
pleasantry. Then, taking from the table a purse, which
emitted an agreeable, chinking sound:

"But I have a special duty to perform," he said. "It
is in the realm of finance, and there's no graft in it,
either. * * * Good old Dr. Cuyler was present
once at the annual New England dinner," Mr. Stephens
explained, "and, being called upon to speak, as finance
was then on the carpet, said he would propound them a
conundrum :

" 'Why,' Dr. Cuyler queried, Vas Noah the greatest
financier of his times?' He gave them a year for its
solution. The following year, not being present at the
banquet, he telegraphed the answer to his conundrum.

" 'Noah was the greatest financier of his time,' he said,
'because he was able to float a stock company at a time
when all his contemporaries were forced into involuntary
liquidation.' "

Mr. Stephens on behalf of the North Branch congre-
gation then presented Dr. Doolittle with a purse of gold,
along with which the doctor was to accept the affection-
ate wishes of his people that he might long be spared to
minister to them.

It was no distant date, however, when the infirmities
of advanced years forced the venerable pastor to retire.
He felt that his work was done and resigned.

"Yet," said the earnest old man, "if you will allow

PASTORATE OF NORTH BRANCH 331

me, I'll preach just one more sermon next Sunday as my
last word in our dear old church — the last sermon I shall
ever preach."

But though his wish was gladly granted it was not to
be consummated; for before the next Sunday came the
doctor with his last sermon unpreached had passed to his
reward. It is believed that he felt his resignation to be
such a calamity that it practically killed him.

An account of a long village pastorate is usually a
good history of the vicinity, and Dr. Doolittle's address
made mention of many changes, which mostly marked
the usuall falling off of business industries to be seen in
rural communities. Nevertheless, it recorded a gain of
fifty-three communicants more than were in the church
at the beginning of his incumbency.

David Dumont, an old church member, now in his
eighty-second year, says the church used to be the nucleus
around which several industries nestled for many years.
Now all these have either died out or moved over the
bridge to the newer part of the village. Among these,
the school, which at first was opposite the church across
the road, afterward moved into the churchyard, and later
was moved over the bridge into its present location. A
wheelwright shop was also close by the church formerly
and a large general store, kept by Peter Ten Eyck, a few
yards distant at the corner of the roads.

When the school was near the church in the old days,
it was kept by John Keys, an Irishman, and a first-class
teacher, Mr. Dumont says, who opened school at 7.30 A.
M. and made his pupils work till 5 and sometimes 6 P.
M. If they got a half holiday on Saturday, once a

332 WITHIN A JERSEY CIRCLE

month, they were thankful. School was kept the whole
year round — as a News correspondent has been advocat-
ing for the schools of to-day — and with splendid results.
Mr. Dumont remembers another schoolmaster, before
Mr. Keys's time, named Vanderbilt, who was the oppo-
site of Keys as a teacher; for he used to get drunk and
fall asleep in his chair, when the children left him to
his nap and played ball.

For a good many years of Dr. Doolittle's later life his
household included an interesting and rather noted char-
acter as general helper, named Harriet Ditmars. much
better known as ''Old Harriet." Many things she said
and did are well worth telling; but that is another story
and must wait.

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