USA > New York > Ulster County > Kingston > History and legend, fact, fancy and romance of the Old Mine Road, Kingston, N.Y., to the mine holes of Pahaquarry > Part 8
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But the Wurts brothers had long heads as well as enthusi- asm. Land was cheap in that far country; they would take a flier of a few thousand acres; something might come of it- and they did. Further experiments only convinced them the more, and they mined and shipped down stream to their own city and the south, for by now other people were discovering coal and the public was beginning to find out that it was good to burn, and the market, though small, was worth cultivating.
The first known experiment in burning coal in this coun- try was that of a blacksmith, in 1769, but so little did he think of the result that it was not until forty years later that he tried the burning of it in a grate for fuel. During the Revolution it was used by the blacksmiths in the armory at Carlisle, Pa. In 1792 the Lehigh Coal Mining Company was formed, but it did little more than purchase lands. Then come the Wurts brothers' experiments about 1812, and about this same time
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Col. George Shoemaker took nine wagonloads to Philadelphia, but could not sell it. It was soon after used with success in rolling mills in Delaware County, and from then on began to be used elsewhere. But it was not until 1825 that the trade took on proportions that would warrant the non-enthusiast to venture in with his capital.
But the Wurts brothers were still years ahead of their neighbors, for they saw a market for their product in New York and began a hunt for the means of reaching that market, and so the Delaware and Hudson Canal was conceived in the brain of the dreamer. People laughed at the suggestion. Here were a thousand feet to be climbed and a thousand unknown difficulties to be overcome through a rugged wilderness, but Maurice Wurts, who seems to have been the leader in the family, evidently had the persuasive tongue of conviction; he believed and he made others believe. A company was formed and surveys prosecuted, estimates secured, the scheme was presented to the Legislatures of Pennsylvania and New York and the Legislators won over, and even yet the extended use of coal was problematical, for it was still some years to 1825.
The canal is built after a fashion and water let in, but too much gravel has been used in the banks and the water seeps out and the I-told-you-sos clap their little hands with joy. It is two years more before water is again allowed to find its way into the canal, and the canal is a success. Then comes the cholera scare in New York, that hurts; the panic of 1833-4, that hurts. The first coal shipped was surface coal of inferior quality, that hurts; jealous rivals who begin to fear the un- ceasing push, push, push of the enthusiastic genius who, through all these long years of doubt has never taken his shoulder from the wheel, combine to work against the suc-
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cess of the scheme, but they are working against the relentless fate that always keeps its powder dry. Wall Street attacks the stock, but still the work goes on.
In 1832 a small dividend comes as a welcome Christmas present to the long expectant stockholders, but not until 1839 is there another such bright spot on the horizon. After this the dividends are steady, 8 per cent for years, except in 1842 when they arose to 10 per cent. When the $800,000 of state loans come due, a large sum for those days, the canal pays off every cent without a wink. It is free of incumbrance and by now earning from 10 to 24 per cent per annum; the capital stock has grown from $500,000 to $10,000,000. Is there no ro- mance in the dry bones of statistics?
At the foot of Council Hill I fell in with two small boys, who were on their way to the village to look for father. It seems that father likes to talk and is apt to forget how the time flies when he meets a friend, and this was the day when the family was to return home to Middletown, and it was al- ready afternoon. We jogged along comfortably together, none of us in any great hurry. The boys knew where there were some ripe grapes a piece down the road and we stopped here long enough to gather two small caps full (a minute ago it was the month of May, but just now we are in September). Then there was an apple tree which offered some attractive looking red-cheeked fruit, and that occupied a few minutes. Otherwise we kept going at a fair pace, barring an occasional well or a farmer, from whom I hoped to gather information.
Some two miles before Wurtsboro stood until two years ago the old Devens blockhouse, or fort, built in 1757 by Con- rad Bevier. And near this same spot, behind a barn on the right, as one goes south, stands the blueflag tombstone of
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"Manuel Gonsalus is Gestorven De 18 April Anno 1758", which means that the gentleman died so long ago. He is known as the first white settler, though he was probably sixty to seventy years behind the first settler. His son Sam was a noted character during the Revolution.
The Gonsalus family kept a log tavern here and they also built a sawmill. Both tavern and mill were undoubtedly the first within the limits of Sullivan County.
It is also in this immediate neighborhood that the Shaw- anoesberg or Council Hill is located. Here was the lodge in which the neighboring clans held their councils and here, ac- cording to a tradition of the Mamakating Indians, a bloody battle occurred between the local tribes and the Senecas in which the former were victorious, though others have it that they were badly licked.
Of the road from Esopus to Minisink we find the following :
"General Assembly, Die Sabbati, May 11th, 1734.
"The petition of Jacobus Swartwout, Wm. Provost, Wm. Cool and others, freeholders and inhabitants residing and living in Minisink, in the county of Orange and Ulster, was pre- sented to the House, etc., setting forth that several persons in West Jersey and Penna., having no other way to transport their produce than through the Minisink road and there was but about 40 miles more to repair, before they come to Eso- pus, etc .; that they be compelled to work on said road and assist in repairing it to the house of Egbert Dewitt, in the town of Rochester, in the county of Ulster.
"Resolved, That leave be given to bring in a bill according to the prayer of the petition."
This road ran through the valley of the Mamakating, which
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name applied about as far north as the Council Hill above mentioned.
Mr. Ruttenber writes that what was originally known as the "Mamacottin path" is more modernly known as the Old Mine Road, which was opened as a highway in 1756.
During the Revolution a line of block-houses was built through this valley under the superintendence of James Clin- ton, brother of the first Governor of the State. These were garrisoned by soldiers who patrolled the valley and acted as scouts.
The following letter, now owned by Benj. C. Swartwout, of Huguenot, and which I understand has never been pub- lished, is interesting in this connection :-
"Sir
"Fort Montgomery 20th May 1777.
"I have received your letter of the 29th together with one of the 15th Instant from Tyler & Lassly at Casheghton. I shall at all Times be willing to afford Aid & Protection to every Part of the State which the Nature of my Command & the Trust reposed in me will permit. In the Present Case I Cant think the Information given by our Friends at Cashegh- ton will warrant calling out the Militia, especially in this Busy Season of the Year. It amounts to no more than that two or three Traitors have been in that Neighborhood & were guilty of Insolent Expressions in that the well disposed Inhabitants were Jealous they were tampering with the Indians or on some other Bad Intent.
"I would advise our Friends to take those Persons up & send them here and if any evidence of their Guilt can be of- fered they will not readily trouble them a second Time. In- deed it is my Opinion that it is too late to wait for advice what
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steps to pursue with our Internal Enemies; if we don't de- stroy or Confine them they will us. "I am your most Obed't Servt.
"George Clinton.
"To Philip Swartwout, Esqr.
"Chairman of the Committee of Pienpack."
Over on the other side of the valley from the highway flows Basha's Kill, concerning whose delectabilities I find the following remark: "Perhaps the trout of no stream in the world are superior to those of Basha's Kill. One hundred years ago a man could catch as many there in an hour or two as he could carry. At certain seasons of the year salmon came to the same stream from the ocean."
Tradition says Basha was an Indian squaw, queen of her tribe or clan, who lived on the banks of the stream, and some investigator has suggested that the name may be the Dutch diminutive for Elizabeth, but I have found identically the same name on Martha's Vineyard, Mass., as the name of an Indian squaw, and certainly there was no Dutch influence on that island, even if Adrian Block did clap his eyes on it in the long ago. The stream has also been known as Pine Kill.
As I saw Basha's Kill at Wurtsboro in the half light of early evening some boys were driving the cows home and as they paused for a moment in the cooling flood, the picture brought to mind so vividly the work of George Inness that it seemed quite natural to look down in the grass of the foreground for his signature.
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WURTSBORO AND ROUND THERE.
We are about due at Wurtsboro, named after one of the chief promoters of the D. & H. Canal, Maurice Wurts. When the Yankees swarmed over the hills into this valley they counted the mountain peaks in sight and called the place Rome, which name it retained as late as 1812, in which year the first church building was erected, Dutch Reformed, and this building was christened the "Church of Rome", a some- what prophetic christening, for the Catholics gobbled it in the course of time. Now the manner of the christening was pecu- liar to the day and generation, and all right then, though it appears in these thrifty times somewhat wasteful. It seems that when the framework was raised and the building had as- sumed definite shape, a workman climbed to the highest point with a jug of the best rum the country afforded, and when at the peak he swung the jug a certain number of times around his head and then threw it to the ground, the name of the church being proclaimed aloud as the good liquor was spilled over mother earth.
The postoffice here was Mamakating, the place being popu- larly known as "Mammy Cotton Holler" until about 1825, when the change was made to Wurtsboro as noted above.
While stopping for a moment to admire a Wurtsboro lane with apple blossom accompaniment and debating with the camera as to the picture possibilities here spread out, along
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came a small girl who could give the one touch needed. She agreed to pose with alacrity, thanking me kindly for the privi- lege, and finally went on her way without even asking to see the picture.
I lodged here with Mr. Gumaer, who appeared to have small sympathy with my idling. As his ancestors helped kill off the Indians in these parts it seemed as though there should be some tradition, or incident, or legend tucked away in his memory that I might adopt, and so started pumping, but the pump sucked from first to last, and when he finally remarked that he did riot care whether his ancestors came over in a ship or a wheelbarrow, I gave him up and went down the street to seek whom I might devour with questions.
So far as can be ascertained witches have not been trou- blesome of late in these parts, but there was a time when they were as serious a handicap here as was formerly the case up Hurley way; but those of the Mamakating were fortunate in having a witch finder who, through some occult power not revealed to ordinary mortals, was at times able to overcome and subdue the dread devilments.
Now this is a true story of the way in which a certain witch of Wurtsboro was healed of her evil spirit. An unnamed farmer of these parts was possessed of a mare who in due course presented him with twin colts which immediately caught the fancy of the witches and they were wont to ride the new born creatures after dusk to those haunts selected for the midnight orgies-at least that is the only way to account for the condition of those colts, who were thin and weak, with manes matted and tangled. Fortunately at this point the farmer applied to the witch finder for relief and he, after care- fully looking over the ground, rubbed grease in the mussed-up
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manes, soaped and unsnarled them, and put the young animals in pastures some distance apart.
He then returned to the house and, while at dinner, there came in one who he recognized, by virtue of that peculiar penetration of which he alone was possessed, as a witch. The witch was allowed to depart all unsuspecting that her sins had found her out, and the witch finder immediately secured a shoe from the right hind foot of the mare and placed it among the coals in the fireplace "to get het up", and the next day when the witch again dropped in she was invited to re- main to dinner and, still unsuspicious of the deep laid plot that had been a hatching, accepted.
Just as she was about to sit down to the table the horse- shoe, which had been heating for the past twenty-four hours, was slipped on the chair beneath her and, though she arose in a manner almost precipitate, she arose "branded a mason". Thus was she permanently cured of her fly-by-night inclina- tion, and when it was found that the manes of the colts were in good order the witch finder was given a quart of whiskey and a silver dollar for the job, and was well paid, as I think all will agree.
The valley here has evidently filled in to a considerable ex- tent since the ice age ceased its cutting operations. Jacob Helm, an early settler, is authority for the statement that upon removing a large white pine stump he found under this, and some five feet below the surface, another stump of a tree quite as large as the one removed. This is quite in line with the history of that older Rome, whose ruins are builded on those of earlier times.
A short half-mile before coming to the crossroads, which marks the centre of Wurtsboro, a spring flows from the bank
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some ten feet below the level of the road and on the east. It is easy to find if one knows just where it is, but is quite as easily overlooked otherwise, as the footpath travels the west- ern edge of the highway. This is the Yaugh house spring, a noted watering place of the early days. There were many Yaugh or hunting houses along the frontier and the name is not very distinctive, but this particular spring was a landmark from which many a survey was started.
The Indians were from early times believed to have mined lead among the rocks of the Shawangunk, near Wurtsboro, but they refused to give up the secret of the mine. Finally a white hunter named Miller stumbled on the spot, but made no use of his discovery. The information, however, was passed on from one generation to another until about 1817, when the ore was assayed and found valuable, but title to the land could not be perfected and the location was carefully guarded by those in the secret until 1836, when one of the partners, Moses Stanton, who had an unfortunate habit of talking in his sleep, thus disposed of the secret in the hearing of his son, who then had no difficulty in finding the exact spot. "The young man found the owners (of the land) and made $500 by keeping his ears open while his father dreamed aloud."
Dr. Theodore C. Van Wyck was one of the original char- acters of his generation and this neighborhood. He was culti- vated and courteous, but he had his own way of saying things. The Doctor, while always respectful toward religion, did not take a very lively interest in such matters; but during a re- vival in the Bloomingburg church it was noted that he was a frequent attendant and great hopes were entertained by the Domine that he would be added to the fold. But the Doctor seemed to hang fire somehow and it was a case of hope de-
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ferred, until finally the Domine thought the time had come to strike a blow, and while all were on their knees the good man asked the Doctor to pray. "There was a solemn pause-a grave-like silence-the tympanum of every ear was eager to catch the first utterance from the Doctor's lips. But he was as silent as a graven image. Thinking he had not heard the first request, the good man repeated it, whereupon the Doc- tor spoke: 'Damn it, sir! Damn it, sir! I pay you to pray, sir! you to pray, sir!"
The Doctor had a mare who was wholly insensible to ordi- nary methods of acceleration, and her driver finally made a goad, the application of which was easily translated by his four-footed friend into a hurry call. The Doctor, of course, was greatly pleased, and though the feelings of the mare have not been recorded, she gave every evidence that she was sensible of his pointed attentions.
One fine day the Doctor took his small son Charles for a drive, and in honor of the event had a spirited young horse hitched to his best buggy; but he made the mistake of the day when he used that goad, for in a jiffy thereafter he and the boy were deposited by the roadside and the horse was fast disappearing in a cloud of dust. Neither were hurt, but "Charles landed where some vagrant cows had deposited plenty of the material from which modern chemists extract the 'balm of a thousand flowers'. Into and over this he rolled in such a way that he was smeared with it from head to foot." Picking the boy up, but keeping him at arm's length, the Doc- tor marched home and into the presence of Mrs. Van Wyck, and thus spoke: "He is not hurt, madam-not hurt; but damnably besmirched, madam-damnably besmirched."
Just how far it is from Wurtsboro to Port Jervis seems to
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be open to doubt. Mr. Gumaer, above, says nineteen miles. The guide board makes it an even twenty, while the pedometer had it seventeen. Generally the pedometer agrees with my view of the situation, but this time I am inclined to look on the guide board with favor.
About the first thing I did on getting out of Wurtsboro was to cross Breakfast Brook, because the road went that way. It seems that those traveling toward Esopus were wont to rendezvous here for the morning meal, hence the name. The Dutch called it Scufftite Kiltje, which, if my guess is a good one, means the same thing. It surely does if we insert a "t" in place of the "c" immediately after the "S".
I recall seeing somewhere, during one of my Springtime jaunts through the valley, fields of sorrel in bloom, the warm reddish-brown combined with the soft, fresh green of the early season making one of the most beautiful of color schemes. I have never seen the sorrel massed as it was at this time. Sometimes an entire half acre would show nothing but the warm tones-sometimes the hand of the Artist had blended the one color into the other until it was like a shimmer of interchangeable silk, red or green, as the wind swayed the grasses.
This for a foreground, while beyond loomed old Shawan- gunk darkened by the fleeting shadows of the clouds, with its many warm spring tints from bursting buds. The old fellow's sides seamed into wave after wave, each strongly delineated by the slanting rays of the morning light glancing across its many ravines.
A mile out of Wurtsboro comes Page's Brook, which our highway is supposed to cross as it progresses toward the south. But to-day it is merely a spring on the right and a morass on
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the left of the highway; at least it is so in dry weather. A dam has been stretched across this swamp and half of it turned into a pond, but it is quite easy to see where our friend, men- tioned below, found his trouble.
There was a day when this was a broad, sluggish stream, the fording of which was a nightmare to those approaching, a curse to those in its midst and a theme of vivid conversa- tion for the remainder of the trip.
On a certain Summer's day, when the flies were aggressive and the heat uppermost, a lone saddler might have been seen approaching this slough of despond. He was mounted on a lean animal, whose ruminations no doubt ran on a snack of oats that had once crossed the path of his youth, and there was a look in his eyes that was easily translated into a great longing for green grass. But the saddler awoke the beast out of his revery with a crack over the ribs that led him to negotiate the crossing without loss of time.
Now the saddler had never been through this country be- fore and knew not the quagmire that lay beneath the surface of the water, and when his horse came to a halt in midstream he dealt out an extra kick in the ribs and an invitation to pro- ceed which met with but feeble response, and what little ef- fort his animal made seemed but to accentuate his downward course, for soon the rider was compelled to draw up his feet, and soon he sat cross-legged like any tailor.
In the meantime his flow of words increased until it filled all the country side, and the saddler had no mean command of his mother tongue as he understood it. His cadences rose and fell on the atmosphere as did his stick on the shrinking ribs beneath him, but to no good purpose. Here was indeed a sad state of affairs. To stay where he was was not to be endured,
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for his position was hotly contested by clouds of flies and mosquitoes; to dismount was equally out of the question, for then would his feet be planted in the same sink-hole as were those of his horse. What wonder that he held converse with himself nor hesitated lest the world might hear.
So happy, copious and potent was his vocabulary that he soon attracted other travelers, who hastened forward to learn the cause of the uproar, and through their reports of the trend of his remarks came the name that long exalted this fording place above its fellows, "Roumakers Hel", or "Saddler's Hell", though I cannot find it anywhere recorded that the saddler was held responsible for the mixed condition of his language, his evident sincerity apparently atoning for any seeming lack of polish.
Shawangunk still keeps in touch with the landscape, which latter seems bent on furnishing new and varied foregrounds for the old fellow. Now it is a stone wall bordered by ferns with beautiful meadow lands beyond, then comes a brook and a patch of woods, a cluster of homes or some homely farm scene. And as one walks south the light is always changing: first the mountain is all in shadow and the cool morning air seems to come from its darkened nooks; then the sun begins to send long shafts down its rugged sides, bringing into prominence each bump and hollow. But the sun keeps climb- ing and the shadows shorten, and soon it is hot work pegging along in the broad glare of noonday.
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WESTBROOKVILLE TO HUGUENOT.
Now the moving picture shows us Westbrookville, for- merly Basha's Land, Bessie's Land or Bashasville, named for Dirck Van Keuren Westbrook, first white settler here. His is a stone house so well kept that it suggests to the passing stranger only peace and plenty and gives no hint of the dark hours of the Revolution, when it was the fort to which fled the inhabitants in time of need.
One of the patriots of the region was Elder Benjamin Montanye, of the Baptist Church. At a certain point in the game of war, when Washington felt that the next important move was to deceive the enemy as to his real intention, and he needed an absolutely trustworthy man to carry out his plans, he selected Montanye to bear fictitious dispatches to General Greene and allow himself to be captured, dispatches and all. It all fell out just as was planned and the British were so pleased with the intercepted information that they had an illumination in New York, and later a second illumination in their vacuum pans which, while possibly quite as brilliant, could hardly have held the attraction of the first. In the meantime the dispatch bearer got two months in the sugar- house prison as his reward.
Beyond Westbrookville lies ten or more miles of highway to Port Jervis, interspersed with Cuddebackville, the Never- sink, Port Clinton, Huguenot (old Peenpack) and automobiles, those pests that, like an insistent fly, will not leave one alone.
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WESTBROOKVILLE TO HUGUENOT.
Travelers along the roads hereabouts will note frequent combinations of figures painted on the stone walls; these rep- resent the height above sea level and have been placed re- cently by government surveyors who have been mapping the region.
Cuddebackville (name originally spelled Caudebec) lies along our highway just before it crosses the Neversink. The canal here is kept up for a mile or more from the river for the purpose of furnishing power that is turned into electricity for the use both of Port Jervis and Middletown; this forms a beautiful stretch for boating and the old towpath makes a delightful footpath for an evening's saunterings when the long shadows lie on the floor of the valley below.
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