USA > New York > Orange County > Deerpark > A history of the Minisink Region : which includes the present towns of Minisink, Deerpark, Mount Hope, Greenville, and Wawayanda in Orange County, New York. > Part 13
USA > New York > Orange County > Mount Hope > A history of the Minisink Region : which includes the present towns of Minisink, Deerpark, Mount Hope, Greenville, and Wawayanda in Orange County, New York. > Part 13
USA > New York > Orange County > Minisink > A history of the Minisink Region : which includes the present towns of Minisink, Deerpark, Mount Hope, Greenville, and Wawayanda in Orange County, New York. > Part 13
USA > New York > Orange County > Greenville > A history of the Minisink Region : which includes the present towns of Minisink, Deerpark, Mount Hope, Greenville, and Wawayanda in Orange County, New York. > Part 13
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" Well," said the landlord, glancing at the clock in the corner, and yawning as he spoke, "I guess we have about concluded Claudius' history for to-night, as I see it's time to close. It has been pretty nearly all gone over and summed up; all it needs now is an account of his execution to complete it, and that I don't think we shall have to wait for longer than the first sitting of the court."
Here the man with the timid voice rose and said that as he wanted a little something to strengthen his lungs, he would propose that the man who wore the lapstone hat should treat the company, as he was the only man whose hat would stand a wetting. To this the owner of the hat demurred, but finally agreed to pass it around, which was done, and each one putting in a piece of change the landlord treated the company for its con- tents, and in a short time thereafter the last customer had departed, and " Old Greycourt " was alone with its occupants.
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Well indeed had Claudius Smith been termed "The Scourge of the Highlands." Of English parentage, it was no wonder he should be inclined to adopt the creed of the mother country, and when to the principles of a rank Tory he added those of the blackest villainy and most bloodthirsty revenge, at the head of a savage crew, and in the fastnesses and caves of the Highlands, Bell- vale and Warwick mountains, well and truly did he make himself so feared and dreaded as to earn the title of "The Scourge of the Highlands." His thievish propen- sity was said to have been encouraged by his parents, and the first article stolen, a pair of iron wedges. This talent he nursed and fostered in himself and his three sons, Richard, James, and William, and carried on on the largest scale, including occasionally the murder of some unoffending patriot of the Whig persuasion, until at last, as we have seen, he was apprehended and lodged in prison. At the January term of the court, next after his arrest, he was indicted on three or four charges of robbery and murder, and found guilty on them all. . When asked by the Judge if he had anything to say in his defense, he replied with the same firmness that had characterized him all through his imprisonment and trial, "No, if God Almighty can't change your hearts I can't." The court then sentenced him and five others of his gang also found guilty at the same time, (a woman named Amy Augor or Amy Jones, Mathew Dolson, John Ryan, Thomas Delamer, and James Gordon,) to be hanged on Friday, the 22d day of January, 1779. He lived in hopes every day that his men would under- take his rescue, but he was too strongly guarded night and day for such an attempt to succeed. The day of his execution at last arrived, and with two of his men, Delamer and Gordon, he was taken from the jail to the 9
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gallows. He was a large, muscular man, and walked up the steps of the scaffold with a firm, manly air. He had dressed himself with serupulous neatness in a suit of rich broadcloth with silver buttons, and as he stood upon the scaffold and cast his eye over the assembled thousands who had gathered out of curiosity to see the great bandit die, he smiled grimly and bowed to several he knew in the crowd. It was a wild scene the clear sun shone on that winter's day in Goshen. The con- demned, standing on the verge of eternity, in gorgeous apparel, with his silver buttons glittering gaily in the sunbeams, and the horde of cager thousands trampling the crisp snow, and jostling, and crowding each other for a sight of him. A man elbowed his way near the scaffold, and asked Smith to tell him where he could find his deeds and papers that were stolen from him on a certain occasion. He replied, "Mr. Youngs, this is no time to talk about papers; meet me in the next world and I'll tell you all about them." He then kicked off his shoes, saying, "My mother said I would die like a trooper's horse, with my shoes on. I will make her a false prophet and a liar." He then glanced at the eastern hills, toward the scenes of his many daring deeds, expecting, perhaps, to see his followers swoop- ing down to his rescue from their mountain fastnesses, but they were not to be seen ; nothing met his eye but the undulating hills, covered with the crusted snow and sparkling in the sunbeams.
"That bright dream was his last."
The cap was drawn over his eyes, the rope adjusted around his neck, the cart driven from under him, and "The Scourge of the Highlands" was no more.
After the death of Claudius, his son Richard took command of the gang, the oldest son, William, having
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been killed in some marauding expedition the fall pre- vious. They threatened the most dire vengeance for the hanging of their leader and the shooting of William, against every one favoring the rebel cause. On the 26th of March (1779) following they took John Clark from his residence, near the Sterling Iron Works, a piece into the woods, and after stripping off his outer garments told him to go home. While returning, with his back to them, they shot him dead and left him stretched upon a rock within sight of his dwelling. A note was left pinned to his coat, of which the following is a copy :
"A WARNING TO THE REBELS .- You are hereby warned at your peril to desist from hanging any more friends to government as you did Claudius Smith. You are warned likewise to use James Smith, James Fluelling and William Cole well, and ease them of their irons, for we are determined to have six for one, for the blood of the innocent cries aloud for vengeance. Your noted friend, Capt. Williams, and his crew of robbers and murderers we have got in our power, and the blood of Claudius Smith shall be repaid. There are particu- lar companies of us who belong to Col. Butler's army, Indians as well as white men, and particularly numbers from New York that are resolved to be avenged on you for your cruelty and murder. We are to remind you that you are the beginners and aggressors, for by your cruel oppressions and bloody actions you drive us to it. This is the first, and we are determined to pursue it on your heads and leaders until the last-until the whole of you are murdered."
This created quite an alarm for a time, but the issuing of such rude, blustering threats soon grew to be re- garded as a symptom of weakness. Their atrocities
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produced here and there a man, who devoted his whole time in following their trails and picking them off as occasion offered. Benjamin Kelley, one of their best men, was shortly after shot by a rebel scout named June, who surprised them at card playing. They all made off at the time ; but Kelly's body was afterward found near a sulphur spring where he had crawled, by one John Henley and his dog. Claudius' sons did not possess the talent and sagacity of their father; the band got dissatisfied and broken up speedily under their leadership, and at last the remaining members were forced to flee to Canada; and thus ended the highwayman's profession in Orange county, at least on a large scale, it is to be hoped forever. The scene of their exploits has changed somewhat, since those days of lawlessness and bloodshed, but most of the localities will long be remembered in connection with the men that made them famous. Their retreats in the moun- tains can be easily found to this day by the curious, especially the most noted, a little east of the Augusta Iron Works in the town of Monroe. That they buried much valuable property in these mountains, may be inferred from the fact that in 1805 or 1806, some of Smith's descendants came from Canada, and searched for the property according to the directions that had been handed down to them. They found a lot of mus- kets in a good state of preservation, but nothing else. Again, about 1824, two men, descendants of Edward Roblin, came from Canada with written directions, and explored the country thoroughly but found nothing. Various other persons fished in the spring where it was said the silver stand was sunk, but without success; and it is generally supposed that some member of the band found out the depository, unknown to Smith or
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Roblin, and appropriated it to his own use. At any rate, there is no record of the treasures ever having been found, and unless revealed by chance, it will most probably remain entombed till the sound of the last trump, if it has not been recently removed.
Well may those days be called "the times that tried men's souls," judging from the glimpse we have taken at a small period in the history of Orange, and a few instances only of Tory robbery, cruelty and murder, such as marked the history of Claudius Smith and his men. Thanks to Providence we shall never see the like again.
CHAPTER XV.
THE LEGEND OF MURDERER'S CREEK.
The stream that forms the subject of this sketch, is composed of two principal branches, both of which rise in the town of Chester. The one rising in the west, is first known as Meadow brook, and flows northwardly into the town of Goshen, assuming as it becomes enlarged the title of Otterkill. The one rising in the east goes by the cognomen of Trout brook for a short distance, and then by that of Seely's creek, till it flows through the Greycourt meadows, after which it is called by some Greycourt creek, and by others the Cromline creek, in honor of Daniel Cromline, one of the first settlers in the vicinity, and the founder of " Greycourt Inn." It flows northwardly to near the boundary line between the towns of Hamptonburgh and Blooming. Grove, where it unites with the Otterkill at a small village of the same name. After the junction of the two streams the continuance is known as Murderer's creek, and flows through portions of the towns of Blooming Grove, Corn- wall and New Windsor, finally emptying into the Hud- son river between Cornwall Landing and the village of New Windsor, at Plum Point, the village at its mouth being known as Moodna.
المحلي الم انع١٠
மாசார் யன் மும்
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THE LEGEND OF MURDERER'S CREEK.
. A century and a half ago, as the tradition goes, long years before the wilderness that lined its banks and furnished a home for the wild beast and Indian, had given way to the busy industry of the white man; long before the mills, and factories, and beautiful villages that now throng its shores had an existence in the dreams of either the red or white man, its surrounding wilds were inhabited by a tribe of Indians whose name, like them- selves, has long since been buried in oblivion. Here the smoke of their wigwams rose in graceful wreaths upon the still summer air, amid the shouts of the young braves, who sported, as perhaps their race had done for centuries beneath the shade of their native oaks, un- aware that destiny had doomed them to ultimate ex- tinction, and their hunting grounds to the possession of a superior race. Yes, unaware that even then the forerunner of the coming tide that was to overwhelm them, was marching toward them with gigantic strides. It soon became known to them that a different race of beings were arriving along the shores of the great river that flowed past them to the ocean, but though at first much alarmed at the sight of them, they soon found them to be mortal like themselves, and at length grew to utterly disregard them. At last a white man named Martelair came and asked permission to build a house and to live near the mouth of their beautiful creek. This they readily granted, and in a very short time he constructed a log house about three or four hundred yards up the creek. Into this he soon moved his family, consisting of his wife and two children, one a boy of five, and the other a girl of three years old. He understood the importance of being on friendly terms with his rude neighbors, and made himself useful to them by a variety of acts highly estimated among savage tribes. He
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never lost an opportunity of proving his good will toward them by making them accept his hospitality, and his house became a place of general resort. An old Indian called Naoman, was in particular very friend- ly, and would often come and sit in the house for hours, and smoke and play with the children. But Martelair heard of the difficulties in other sections between the settlers and Indians, and knew that his neighbors might prove treacherous at any moment. He discovered an island, some distance down the Hudson, which was well adapted as a place of refuge, and could be easily de- fended with a little preparation. When absent from home and unobserved, he arranged a small place among the rocks on this island so that one or two could defend it against an overwhelming force, and to this he resolved to flee in case of danger.
One day, when Martelair was absent, old Naoman came to his house, and as usual lighted his pipe and sat down. But it was easy to see that he was troubled about something, for his face wore a serious look, and every little while he would shake his head and sigh deeply, though he said not a word. Martelair's wife asked him what was the matter, but he made no reply and soon went away. He came the next day, and again went away in the same manner as before. Martelair's wife related his strange behavior to her husband, and he told her to urge the old Indian to tell her the cause if he came again. He came the next day, and Marte- lair's wife at once insisted on knowing the cause of his trouble. She was so importunate that at last Naoman said:
"I am a red man, and the pale faces are our enemies; why should I speak ?"
" But," said Martelair's wife, " my husband and I are
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your friends; you have eaten salt with us a hundred times, and my children have often sat on your knees. If you have anything on your mind, tell it to me; per- haps we can help you."
" If it is found out, it will cost me my life, and the pale faced women are not good at keeping secrets," re- plied the old man.
" Try me and see."
" Will you swear by the great spirit to tell none but your husband ?"
" I have no one else to tell."
" But will you swear ?"
" I do swear by the great spirit," said Martelair's wife, " that I will tell none but my husband."
" Not if my tribe should kill you for not telling ?"
"Not if your tribe should kill me for not telling."
This satisfied the old Indian, and he then told her that his tribe had become so angry at the doings of the settlers below the mountains, that they were resolved that very night to massacre all the pale faces within their reach. That if she would escape she must inform her husband speedily, take to their boat and seek a place of safety before nightfall. And above all to ex- cite no suspicion if possible. Naoman then departed, and the wife at once sought her husband. He was out on the river fishing. She called him to the shore and told him the dread intelligence. No time was to be lost, and he at once sprang from the canoe and sought his boat. It was partly filled with water and some time was consumed in bailing it out. When it was finished and his wife and children seated in it, Martelair be- thought him of his gun which was in the house. This he went back after, of course occupying a little time- oh ! how precious, as it afterward proved. As he pulled 9 **
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off from the shore, he did not notice the solitary Indian who was observing every motion from the hillside. The frequent visits of Naoman to Martelair's family had aroused the suspicions of the tribe, and a watch had been kept upon their movements. This was the business of the Indian on the hillside, and when he saw them going down the river in the boat, he at once ran to the village and gave the alarm. Five stalwart chiefs at once ran down to the edge of the river, jumped into their canoes and paddled swiftly after Martelair, who had already gained a considerable distance. . He saw them coming and strained every nerve to escape. The boat quivered as it cleft the dancing waves in headlong speed, obedient to the sturdy strokes of the oars, and left a trail of crested foam behind. But Martelair saw that his pursuers were gaining on him rapidly in spite of his efforts. Twice he dropped his oars and drew his rifle to fire upon them, but his wife each time grasped his arm, telling him if he fired and should after all be overtaken, they would be sure to obtain no mercy. He refrained each time, and again bent to the oars with the energy of despair. His island refuge was in sight; if he could succeed in gaining it he would bid defiance to the whole tribe until some passing sloop or ship would relieve him. The strength of his strokes almost caused the boat to bound from the water. Great drops of sweat rolled from his forehead as he plied the oars on that race for the lives of himself, his weeping wife and children. But it was all in vain. He was overtaken within a hundred yards of the island shore, and taken back with yells of triumph. (This island is opposite West Point, was partly fortified by the Americans in 1775, and is still known as " Martelair's Rock Island.") After reaching the shore with their prisoners, the Indi-
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ans set fire to Martelair's house, and proceeded to the village with their captives. A council, was immediately convened to determine their fate. This was composed of the chief men of the tribe, among them .old Naoman. The principal brave stated that some of the tribe had proved treacherous and informed the pale faces of the designs of the tribe. He proposed that the prisoners should be examined in regard to it. This was agreed to, and an Indian who could talk English acted as inter- .preter .. Martelair was questioned first, but resolutely refused to reveal his informant. His wife was ques- tioned next, while to terrify her two Indians stood with drawn tomahawks threatening the two children. She told them that she had a frightful dream the night before and had persuaded her husband to fly.
" The Great Spirit never deigns to talk in dreams to a pale face," said the chief. "Woman, thou hast two tongues and two faces; speak the truth, or thy children shall surely die." The little boy and girl were then placed beside her, and the two savages stood by with drawn weapons to execute his orders.
" Will you name," said the chief, "the traitor who be- trayed his tribe ? I will ask three times."
The mother was pale and trembling, but did not answer.
" Will you name him ?" said the chief. "This is the second time."
The tears gathered in the mother's eyes as she glanced at her husband and children. She stole a glance at Naoman, but the old chief was smoking as unconcernedly as though ignorant of their presence. She wrung her hands in silent agony but answered not a word.
'" Again," said the chief, " will you name the traitor ? This is the third time."
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The agony of the mother's mind was fearful. Bitter tears ran down her cheeks. The tomahawks were raised over the heads of the children for the death blow, and their voices were united in frightful cries for their mother to save them. She again glanced through her tears at Naoman, but his eye was as cold and indiffer- ent as before. Still she kept her word. Another mo- ment would be her children's last.
Suddenly Naoman rose to his feet. All paused and turned their eyes toward him. "Stop !" he cried with a tone of authority as he drew his majestic form to its fullest hight; " The pale faced woman has kept her pledge. Braves, I am the traitor. I ate of the salt, warmed myself at the fire, played with the children, enjoyed the kindness of the pale faced Christians, and it was I who warned them of their danger. Braves, for many moons I have been your companion on the war path. I am old and useless in the war dance. I am a - withered, leafless, branchless trunk; cut me down if you will, I am ready; but never let it be said that old Naoman forgot his friends." The old Indian's remarks were followed for a moment with perfect silence, but the Indian character could not appreciate the motives of his course; the next instant a yell of indignation arose from all sides. The old chief stepped down from the bank whereon he had been sitting, and covered his face with his mantle of skins; the next moment a toma- hawk cleft his skull and he fell dead at the feet of those he had so nobly died to save.
" But the sacrifice of Naoman," says Paulding, " and the firmness of the Christian white woman, did not suf: fice to save the lives of the other victims. They per- ished-how, it is needless to say."
Many years have passed since then. The murdered
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and the murderers have long ago gone to meet their reward in the spirit land. Splendid farms and happy homes now occupy the scene of the tragic incidents attending the death of Martelair's family. But the memory of their fate has survived the lapse of time, and is still preserved by the name of the pleasant stream on whose banks they lived and died, which, to this dav, is called Murderer's creek.
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CHAPTER XVI.
A REMINISCENCE OF THE WALLKILL.
Sluggishly the current of the Wallkill was rolling along one afternoon not many weeks ago. The morn- ing had possessed all the requisites deemed so neces- sary to success in fishing as well as hunting,
"A southerly wind and a cloudy sky ;"
but though I occupied about the best fishing grou _- along the stream, (a few miles above Pellet's Island bridge), had changed my base of operations many times, and had "cast my lines" in many pleasant places during the day, still the array of fish in my basket continued alarmingly small. At last scarce a nibble disturbed the serene repose of my line in the deep water, and allowing the end of my pole to drop in after the line, I leaned back on the rank wild grass that covered the bank, drew my hat over my eyes to keep off the glare of the sun that had just broke through the scattering clouds, and naturally enough, my thoughts recurred to the reminiscences that cluster around the vicinity of the gliding stream before me. How many a swift canoe had darted over its surface and followed its crooked course, rounding the bends with a graceful curve, obedient to the command of some stalwart Indi-
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an chief. How many a dark female of the woods, in all the regal beauty of her native wildness, had roamed along its banks, and had perhaps been wooed and won beside the sparkling water and beneath the overhanging boughs of the leafy maple and water birch, that then no doubt, presented an interminable forest on either side. Yes! and how many scenes of strife, and daring strategy, and wild ventures for life, and narrow escapes it had witnessed in the days when the bear, panther, wolf and red man mutually came from the dark recesses of their native fastnesses to bathe in and drink its limpid flood, long years before the white man and his attendant, civilization, had made themselves known in these mighty solitudes, where the Indian had indeed sought and found a home.
"Some safer world in depth of wood embrac'd, Some happier island in the wat'ry waste, .Where slaves once more their native land behold, . No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold."
And, since the advent of civilization, how many com- panies of gay ladies and gentlemen had sailed over its surface, had discoursed with grammatical precision, had : fished with all the ease and grace polite society confers, t had flirted in the most approved style, and in all the · pride of good looks that the most profuse use of paint could produce and the dignity of garments of the most fashionable make inspire; on the very spot perhaps where hundreds of years before the Indian wooed his dusky maid in all the simplicity of savage wildness, with no paint but the war paint that decked his every limb, in garments that had never felt the snip of shears or hiss of tailor's goose, and in language that can scarce be said to have a grammar. Yet death has sent them to mingle in one circle in the happy spirit land-either
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the "civilized" stripped of their pride, hypocrisy, art and science, or the savage at once put in possession of all these faculties by the hand of omnipotent power.
Many a social revel, in a friendly way, of hardy hands and honest hearts, and many a day of pure enjoyment, too, has this old stream seen. Happy days of fishing in the pleasant fall and summer months, and lucky days of hunting in the carly spring, when the " drowned lands" are overflowed with melting snow and the spring rains for the distance of a mile or more on either side, and the wild duck and goose make it their home. Days of enjoyment too, that will cause it to be long remembered, as well alike by the pretty country maiden who has roamed along its side, as by the hard fisted farmer who. frequented it to find respite from his daily toil. And there are other mementos of it that recall to mind sad and painful thoughts. It was near this spot not many years ago, that a young man in springing from a boat in which were a number of ladies who had been upon a pleasure excursion, fell short of the shore and sank to rise no more in sight of his horrified companions. Only" a few miles below here, and but a year or so ago, the lamented young Dr. Putney was drowned by the acci- dental upsetting of his canoe while out hunting. And well do I remember hearing old residents of the vicinity tell tlie particulars of another sad incident, which now occurs to my mind.
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