USA > New York > Orange County > Goshen > A few biographical sketches of Goshen people and a few reminiscences of doings in Goshen > Part 4
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The aged are ever anxious to give to youth the benefit of their experience and are obliged to leave their property behind for them; youth is anxious for the property but seldom have any use for the experience: soon, often, the property takes to itself wings and leaves them to pain- fully gather experience of their own. Wisdom rarely comes by inheritance, it must be acquired, so let us hopefully trust to the principles and ideals implanted in the early trainings of our children for happy results, though we cannot help regretting their many sad and unnecessary mistakes. With true Presbyterian philosophy I conclude that this is best for the development of mankind, or it would be ordered otherwise.
The old house has thus far escaped disaster and is still well preserved and we hope other generations of descendants of its builder may yet find beneath its roof a happy home.
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RUNBOLT'S RUN
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A FOURTH OF JULY EPISODE
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BOB-SLEDDING ON THE CRUST
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OUR DRIVE 76
A LONGER DRIVE 81
THE CRICKETS 84
MY TRIP TO EUROPE 87
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You frequently hear people say "Don't be reminiscent, it's a sign you'r growing old." Well, suppose it is, what then? We must, if we live, grow old: surely it's no disgrace, nor should it be undesired, though poor human nature yields to it most unwillingly; and the past must have lived with some interest to the future. Another saying is "There's no fool like an old fool." But one need not be a fool, surely, because old. There must be some safe and middle course in both cases: to tell what you remember and yet not be a bore; to be old with youthful feelings and yet not act like a youth. So I preach, whether, so I practice you must decide and say if my reminiscences are a bore, and if I am a fool for thinking, boy-like, that my happenings would interest other people.
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RUNBOLT'S RUN
Is the historic name of a small run, or brook in East Division of the town of Goshen, having its source on what was the VanDuzer farm and in a spring, which at one time was made a small spring-pond, by the late Reeve Van Duzer, and which is on the south side and a little east of a road passing Slate Hill Cemetery. From there it finds its way in a northerly direction east of Slate Hill thru what was Heard's farm, Haight's farm, Johnson's farm, the whole length of my father's farm and Phin Coleman's land to the Otterkill, a total length of about two miles. It derived its name from an Indian named Runbolt who had his camp, according to tradition, some- where along it on my father's farm, near where it is crossed by the East Division road from
Johnson's Corner. The farm was known as the Runbolt farm and often when a boy and away from home I would be asked, "Well, how are you all at Runbolt's?" Runbolt was one of several Indians who made the deed recorded in book A of Orange county records of deeds. Whatever he may have been in life he is a good Indian now, for he is dead, which was the only kind of Indian most of the settlers trusted and they knew them pretty well. The name of the stream is often used in the description in old deeds of land in that locality.
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When I first recollect the brook it was wooded along nearly its entire course. It was always a never failing stream, fed mostly by spring water, and in places somewhat marshy, and there it was notable ground for woodcock. Tho small we could always find in its deeper "holes" some fish of the commoner varieties with an occasional pike, or eel; and in its waters and along its banks we swam, built water wheels and dams, dug the pungent sweet-flag root, or gathered its tender, edible buds - and there in one way and another I spent many of the happiest hours of my boyhood days. Near by grew shell-bark hicory trees in unusual numbers, from which we gathered nuts, and in them hunted grey squirrels. while they, too, were trying to lay in their winter stores.
The brook ran through a retired out of the traveled-way section along its courses between small hills and through fertile meadows, in places overhung with the tag-alder; in the open pools grew the flaming cardinal plant, the blue blossoming pickerel weed and the yellow water lily; while along its shores were blue meadow lilies; in the sunlight, on its mirrored surface, merrily danced the water bugs and spiders, and the bull-frog, from his bog, solemn- ly watched the game; the mud turtle, on his log, took his sun bath and the devil's darn- needles in the air glanced by, in their lance like
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flights - thus it meandered, spreading fertility as it went, on its way to its outlet in the Otter- kill with a quiet, enchanting beauty all its own.
About sixty years ago David H. Haight built a dam across it, in the woods near the so-called new East Division road, which formed a small pond for gathering ice, and, it was said, he also stocked it with fish. This pond was only one field across from our house and there we did most of our skating and would like to have fished, but were deterred by certain threatening notices forbidding it, from pure selfishness as we believed: and from the prejudice then formed against him on that account we never wholly got over, which however, as he did not know, made no difference to him. About the year 1879, I think, he built a new dam, a little farther down stream, and enlarged the surface about double.
In the bottom of the old pond there must still be at least the runner of a skate I lost in there one day while playing "pompy" on the ice with the other boys. The ice was safe, except by the dam where it gradually thinned down to where the water ran over. We would come down one side of the pond at our best speed and swinging around on one foot with the other made our mark as near the edge as we dared, each circuit making the mark a little further out. There necessarily could be but one ending, if the game continued, as I was the heaviest; but.
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trusting to my greater speed, we kept it up until I broke through and found myself in the water, fortunately near enough to the apron of the dam not to be in over my head. While floundering to the shore I lost one of my skates. The weather was intensely cold and before I reached home my clothing was frozen so stiff that when [ got out of them they could have served as a sort of suit of armor.
A FOURTH OF JULY EPISODE
It was the evening before the Fourth. We, of the farm, had finished our supper and were sitting in the kitchen while mother was elearing away the dishes - for that was about all there was to take away after satisfying the appetites of five always hungry boys-and I may count father in, for he was quite as much a boy as any of us-thinking of some plan for the morrow.
It had been a busy day on the farm. Haying was about over, but there was always plenty to pnt boys at, so we were tired. As the closing chapter I had driven the cows to the pasture lot, after the milking, taking with me the horse to be "turned out" for the night. As I took the halter off he ran for a short distance kicking np his heels in the air before stopping to graze. On my way back to the honse, as I walked along the dusty road, I saw a night-hawk, resting on his short legs rustling his feathers full of road
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dust. Knowing its habits would permit me to approach quite near before it would fly I gath- ered up the halter in my hand ready to throw at the right moment. A boy's only impulse at such times seems to be to kill or capture. But it eluded the rope and escaped. So, with no great disappointment, for boys get accustomed to such failures, I sauntered on home.
As I look back at it now, I doubt if I took in the quiet beauty of the clear summer evening which must have been there for me to enjoy if I had had a soul for it: much more probably my mind was on more material and substantial forms of deriving pleasure.
As we were thus resting and thinking of some plan, and those plans were of necessity quite limited in their scope, in rushed Henry, an- nouncing that he had come to spend the Fourth with us. He had come from the city, on the evening train and had walked out from the vil- lage, leaving his father and mother who had come up with him, to go with the friends who had been expecting them. Henry was a push- ing, masterful chap and under his lead plans were soon formed. We would go to Thompson's pond for perch and pickerel. This it was de- cided partly because in going we could stop and pick up his cousin-where his father and moth- er were staying-and as sort of a palliative too for not having gone there as he was
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expected - on our way to the pond. Altho,
a little while before we thought we were tired and ready for bed, now conditions were changed. To fish we must have live bait, and bait must be caught that night as we were to start at three o'clock the next morning - the place to catch them was in the Otterkill at Tut- hill's, two miles away. So, I went to catch the horse while James and Henry took the lantern and dug some worms, got out the gunney-tag seine and looked up the fishing tackle. Soon we were on our way to the kill - soon in the water up to our waists seining - and soon had enough bait to catch a barrel of fish, if -. Then we got back home-left everything in readiness in the barn for an expeditious flight in the morning-a lunch was left on the kitchen table by mother-and at nearly midnight we went to our rooms for a little rest. To guard against acci- dents and not trusting to alarms or calls we arranged to divide the time into tricks, one to watch while the others slept, the first watch falling to me. I did a risky thing under the circumstances, I laid down on the bed, resting on my elbows, with a book before me and a candle resting on the book. And what book do vou suppose it was? I smile myself as I think of it now. It was a Mythological Dictionary, which had been loaned me to use while studying Latin. I thought it would be a good time for
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me to get in some work on it. It required a considerable effort, but I realized my duty to the others, so, manfully kept at it, thinking what tremendous fellows * * * *
"Hello, there! Hello! Wake up." With much effort I came to realize that it was my father's voice-calling us-and to breakfast - and more that it was daylight. But, what was the mat-
ter? I could not lift my head, at first, but slowly it pulled loose from the tallow in which my hair was plastered to the book on which my head rested. The candle must have fallen over as I fell asleep and before going out had melted a quantity of tallow. Mercifully it had gone out of its own accord and did not set fire to the whole institution. I sometimes wonder that any boy lives to grow up. Surely a Providence must be on the lookout to help them out of the many traps they set for themselves.
Yes, it was daylight, but, as a doubtful com- fort, there was a pouring rain - and we were being called to breakfast. The rain kept up, or rather, came down, hour after hour. 'The
bait were dying off. A disappointed and dis- consolate lot we were, until just before noon, when the clouds began to break away and the sun feebly to come out. Hopes began to rise, and soon after dinner we were on our way to the pond; and, in due time, were anchored in a leaky scow, waiting for bites. The sun, after
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the rain, was hot, and depressing and altogether we felt pretty well used up, but, altho the fish- ing was poor, we tried hard to keep our spirits up and to think we were having fun. Well, why not? Fun, like many other things, is purely a matter of belief-and, surely, our belief was justified, for think of all the preparation we had made, and of the anticipation. Oh, that wonderful gift, the power of anticipation, how many of the pleasures of life we owe to it. No amount of experience, no number of failures to realize, destroy it, age may dull it, but it ever remains with us to sustain hope, without which life would be intolerable.
BOB-SLEDDING ON THE CRUST
In the winter of 1862, I think it was, the fall of snow was great, particularly in the latter part, and remained until quite in April, when there was a thaw and rain which changed quick- ly to clear and cold - very cold - resulting in coating the fields and hills with a glade of ice, over which one could walk or skate without breaking through.
To a lot of us young people this suggested great things in the way of coasting, by moon- light. Howell borrowed from his uncle Wells a set of bobs made of two knee-sleighs and a plank. We made up a party of six, Nine, Illie and Maria, with Will, Howell and myself, to
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coast down Slate Hill. Such an opportunity we believed had never happened before. During the afternoon I went over the ground and picked out a course which seemed to me to be practic- able, running down the northeasterly slope in the general direction of Haight's pond. After supper we met and made our way up, over the race-course, through Heard's lane and up the old road-way along the less steep side. For some distance over the last of the way we were unable to keep our feet and so crept along to the start- ing point. The sleigh was put in position, Will holding on to it to keep it from getting away before we were all on, he to get on at the last moment. One after another got on in place, I, in my simplicity, or foolhardiness, whichever you choose to regard it, took the front holding the rope, with my feet on the steering cross-bar. When we were all ready we called to Will to get aboard, which he tried to do, but the instant he let go his hold off we went at locomotive speed without him. It did not take me long to realize what we were "up against." The speed accelerated tremendously every second. I could feel the bar under my feet vibrate with a sense that the slightest deflection from a straight course meant loss of control and an upset, with little probability that I could hold it to that course long. When we had gone part of the way down, the sleigh seemed to be in the air -
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next I saw a whole galaxy of stars, not in the sky-something struck me in the back of the neck and I was "rooting" in the crust. For a mo- ment not a sound, not a whimper, from any one. I think for that moment we each thought all the rest had been done for. For once the girls were caught without a scream ready. Reaching around I helped Nine to right up and asked her if she were hurt - then all began to talk - and enquiry showed all able to respond and that there were no broken bones, but some scratched faces and blackened eyes and one of the girls had a nasty cut on the back of her hand. The only explanation of our marvelous escape seemed to be that the snow and crust had served as sort of a cushion when we struck ground.
We had had plenty, even if our sleigh had not been crushed, with every knee broken and a complete wreck, so we gave it up and made our way homeward, subdued and thankful, leaving the sleigh where it struck. The next day I went for it with a team and found that on our way down the hill the night before we had passed over a slight ridge or rift, only a few inches high, but from there to where the sleigh lay, with its prow buried in the snow, was sixteen paces. So our speed can easily be imagined: and as I stood there I could also see what we did not realize the night before. what would have happened
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had we gone down the hill and across the lot, into a stone wall.
Several girls who were greatly disappointed the night before because they were unable to accept an invitation to join us were quite con- tent when they heard of our experience; and some of us, for awhile, needed certificates to prove our sanity before parents would allow their daughters to go with us on any more expeditions.
OUR DRIVE
There were four of us - Rector Grannis, Doc- tor Pell and lawyers Staats and Coleman. It must have been fully thirty years ago. The combination was for the purpose of an annual drive. We were all busy men - with responsi- bilities, which could not be left for long - and then, too, it must be comparatively inexpensive, for we had many demands on our modest earn- ings. Like the Scandinavians, settled in Min- nesota, Judge Wilkin told about; who were economical and thrifty even in their vices, for when they got drunk they did so in the cheapest and quickest manner possible by drinking pure alcohol. So, not our vices surely, but our pleasures must be planned to suit our times and purses. It was therefore decided that it should be an all day drive. Staats was the whip and knew where and how to get together the best
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possible combination for the purpose. We were none of us willing to be satisfied with any old "skate," for we all knew enough about horses to find pleasure only in riding behind a team of good roadsters; and we wanted a comfortable conveyance too. These conditions Staats filled by selecting a good well seasoned livery team and by borrowing of "Gov." Hinchman his dog- cart for the trip, which, that year was to be to Lake Mohonk and back.
The time for the drive was determined by the leaves of the hickory trees being out as large as crows feet. Soon after daylight, having each taken a hasty bite "to stay our stomachs," Staats called for us and off we started - four robust young men, each nearly or quite six feet tall and averaging nearly two hundred pounds, clean-living and I think I may say with becom- ing modesty, fairly intelligent, all in our thirties. The morning clear and the atmosphere crisp - we were out for a solid day's rational enjoy- ment, with Montgomery, eleven miles away, as our first stopping place, for breakfast, which had been ordered in advance. Oh! the beauties of that morning. Farmers were beginning to be about at their chores - the early song of the birds-all nature awakening and we thrill- ingly awake to it all. And that part of Orange county too such a beautiful section of country -- so diversified with woods, cultivated hills and
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fertile valleys - roads, not the best but good - and never a "honk! honk!" in all the land - in those days.
In due time we reached our hostelry; the horses were taken out for a feed and an hour's rest. After a few minutes spent in stretching ourselves we were served with an excellent country breakfast, to which you may be sure we did ample justice. Then, we were on our way for Mohonk, twenty-one miles away, down the valley of the Wallkill as far as New Paltz and then five miles up the eastern slope of the Shawangunk mountains.
Staats was a great driver. He knew just how much he had in his team and how best to get it out of them, when to restrain, when to urge and yet have them reach the end of the day in good fettle, and all the while moving along pleasantly.
Still feeling the exhilaration of the morning and enjoying the pleasure of being out together in the open air we rode along pointing out this and that noticeable feature of the landscape and good naturedly bantering each other about pet foibles, until about eleven o'clock, when we reached that beautiful notch in the mountains, Mohonk. This reminds me of an incident told of a Warwick acquaintance who while in Cali- fornia was being shown some fine views of scenery by a friend, who, while doing so, chanced to remark, "By the way you have near
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you at home a beautiful and very attractive place, Mohonk, which I suppose you often visit?" With shamefacedness he was obliged to answer, "Well, no, I never have. I suppose it must be because it is too near." How many of us are guilty of this same thing, not perhaps with reference to Mohonk, but of neglecting other local places of beauty and interest, which we indefinitely put off seeing, and never see, needlessly losing a pleasure within our easy reach.
Of course Mohonk was not then what it has now come to be in point of attractive features added by the genius of man, but in its natural attractiveness, except, perhaps, for now being better brought out, it was then the same delight- ful place. Here we took our dinners and our team, under the watchful eye of Staats, was fed, rubbed down and given a three hours' rest, while we wandered about the grounds and climbed some of the mountain paths. From outlook points we had an extended view of the beautiful and fertile valley of the Wallkill; where those old time Huguenot settlers, to es- cape religious persecution among their fellow countrymen hazarded their lives among the Indians and suffered the hardships of an unsub- dued wild, selected this secluded locality where their descendants recently celebrated the two- hundredth anniversary of the settlement.
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By two o'clock we were on our way down the mountain-side, the team well in hand, but, where permissible, going at a clipping pace, swinging us around the bends of the road with a delightful sensation. Our cart was just suited for its load and very comfortable to ride in. The road home was the same we came over as far as the Basin, where we took supper and another hour's rest.
From there we came by the way of Neelytown, thus passing through other fine country and by places of mutual interest. For awhile we felt in a quiter mood, but as the shades came down the spirit of song came over us. Dear old Grannis, that kindly, likable man, big in body and in heart, simple in taste and ever charitable in judgment, how he loved a song. Then too, Staats, the natural poet and genius of the party, loved to join in though not much of a singer, in fact none of us could be said to be "gifted," but we could worry along with some of the college and plantation songs in pretty fair harmony. We would no more than finish with one, or break down in it, than Grannis would suggest another. Finally it would be, "Come Coleman, now let us have
'Some love to drink from the foaming brim Where the wine drops dance they see,
But the water bright in its pure clear light With its crystal cup give me.'"
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This would bring a shout of laughter from all, but in the end poor Coleman must yield. And so the time was delightfully passed as the tired but not wholly dispirited horses, after a drive of sixty-four miles. brought us home, at hardly more than early candle light after a most enjoy - able day (including the meals), all ready for a good night's rest and better fitted to take up the burdens of the morrow.
Other years, when the hickory leaves were the right size, we drove to Sam's Point, in the Mohonks, and to Double Pond, over the line in New Jersey, but there will be no more such drives for us.
A LONGER DRIVE
After a conversation between a party of Gosh- en friends, some twenty years ago, about the beautiful scenery and the fine roads along the Delaware river between Port Jervis and the Water Gap, it was decided to take the drive. At first it was planned to have three married couples of us in the party, in a three seated wagon, and to be away about five days. But it finally resulted in only four going, two of the gentlemen not being able to arrange their busi- ness for so long an absence. Mrs. V. offered her carriage and team, Mrs. C. her husband, as a driver, and Mrs. R. was to be general manager. As Mr. R. jocularly remarked, it was to be a
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party of "us four and no more." This change in the party was a disappointment for we had hoped to repeat a pleasant experience of a for- mer ride in Sullivan County, by way of Bull- ville, Bloomingburg, Wortsboro and over night at Monticello; the next day on to Black Lake, where we remained over night and the next forenoon, enjoying the fishing; then we rode over the Barrens and down to Cuddebackville and spent the night; and the next day reached home by the way of Otisville, Mount Hope and Middletown. That party was Bradford and wife, Floyd and wife and myself and wife. Be- side enjoying the delights of the ride we had a rollicking and jolly time together, making merry over inconveniences we had to put up with in some of the places where we stopped.
After much planning about the route to be taken and for the care of the families to be left behind, we drove away from Goshen one pleas- ant Tuesday morning in June, I think it was, bound for Port Jervis, about twenty-eight miles away. Our route took us through Denton, Slate Hill, Centerville, Bushville and Greenville, over the old Port Jervis turnpike, across the Shawan- gunk mountains, crossing the Neversink river a little above where it unites with the Delaware, as we entered Port Jervis. Our team was reliable but not spirited, so we leisurely took our way through the fine farming region
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we passed at first and, later, along down the westerly mountain slope overlooking the pictur- esque Delaware valley. The beautiful view when we had passed the summit and began descending, as we first canght glimpses through the trees, of the outspreading valley below, was a sight long to be remembered. We spent the night at the Fowler House, and, after supper, enjoyed a quiet game of whist. In the morning we got away early so as to enjoy the pleasures of the morning ride and to enable us to reach the Gap, some forty odd miles away, in time for supper. Our horses certainly were not "speedy" and the carriage was rather heavy for so long a drive, but the roads, for the most part, were fine, until within a few miles of the Gap, where they were hilly and sandy. It would be difficult to find more pleasing scenery than the first thirty miles after leaving Port. The road passes along at times close under the sides of the westerly hills, then at times in view of the river, then through fine farms. and is without hills to climb and has a slight downward grade with the river; thus miles are passed most de- lightfully. We rested and dined at Dingman's Ferry: and during the afternoon and early even- ing made the Gap and stopped at the Kittatiny House. Thursday forenoon we spent enjoying that wonderful bit of nature, where the river impeded in its course by two overlapping
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