USA > New Jersey > Somerset County > Within a Jersey circle : tales of the past, grave and gay, as picked up from old Jerseyites > Part 12
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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. Rockhill 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
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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
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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
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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-
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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
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recover. The little patient lay for weeks, part of the time just hovering between 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.
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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, helter 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
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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 whipper-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
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tipping up the trate, poured out as it were, an avalanche of squealing pigs on the street.
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laughter from his valiant henchmen and from hundreds of onlookers. This, which would have covered any other man with confusion, seemed 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
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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-
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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 your 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
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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-
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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
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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
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his jokes! He's just too bad," Mrs. Wooley exclaimed 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.
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