USA > New Jersey > Somerset County > Within a Jersey circle : tales of the past, grave and gay, as picked up from old Jerseyites > Part 17
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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.
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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
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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
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with a bundle of straw and the loaded weapon, "Spike" went back to his work a happy 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
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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 Castner, 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, when a knock sounded on the door. Jenny answered it and came back saying that two
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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 way 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 hol-
She threw down the bellows, ran to the door to meet her husband, and, without a word, was struck down dead with an axe,
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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,
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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.
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"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 yelled 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
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Castner, brained with an axe like his mother, lay dead on the floor by his bed. The hired girl had evidently been chopped to death while asleep, as she seemed to have died without a struggle. The 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 hands and turning a shade paler than even the dead had 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 round.
"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 well-known and universally popu- lar townsman, John Castner, who had been barbarously beaten and mauled to death in a sink hole. It was so
2
" Dranma tome d'ess us," the little curly-wig cupid said.
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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 19
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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 Mrs. 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-
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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 would never again enter the church door, they declared, and walked away together homeward. They little knew how well they would keep their word; but they were 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
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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."
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"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 ?'
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" "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."
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