USA > New Jersey > Somerset County > Within a Jersey circle : tales of the past, grave and gay, as picked up from old Jerseyites > Part 2
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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,
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" With alarm he sent his mettled mare forward at full gallop again."
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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 3
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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 no 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
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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
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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 Reaville 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
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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. 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 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 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- 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
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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
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his snakewhip, 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.
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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. 1, 2, 15; Gen. 18, 2, 15; Luc. 5, 2, 3; Luc. 8, 2, 14; Luc. 8, 2, 44; Joh. 15, 2, 25; Matt. 1, 4, 2; Luc. 1, 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-
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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.
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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
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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
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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 crystals 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, was 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 years she was extremely faddish and peculiar. For many years, for instance during hot weather, she kept men and women slaves continually fan- ning her day and night. She had a large walnut cradle made for 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.
There are two colored women still living who were Vanderveer slaves. Effie, one of them, now a servant for Dr. Beekman, of Bedminster, waited on Dr. Vanderveer until she was twenty-five years old. She is now sixty-five, and although a bit slow at comprehension, is still a good worker, according to Dr. Beekman. Her sister, Lizzie, is employed by the family of Dr. James Cornell, of Somer- ville. These women say Miss Phoebe used to measure
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A TRAGEDY OF LONG AGO
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.
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