USA > New York > Greene County > Catskill > Reminiscences of Catskill : local sketches > Part 12
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deemed incomplete without his presence .--- But, as I have said, he had a rough manner, which I have always thought was, in a great measure, assumed to hide the workings of his noble nature. Though he would, some- times, swear, (pretty well in English, and un- surpassably in Low Dutch) yet his oaths, like Uncle TOBY's, were probably never recorded, and it was generally admitted that one of his maledictions was equal to another man's bless- ing ; being, almost invariably, followed by some benevolent act and timely favor. To illustrate his peculiar manner : He had a negro boy-before slavery was abolished in this State-named TITE, (Tirus abridged) and he fell sick-very sick-indeed, it was about "which and t'other" with the darkey, who believed and averred that he would die. His master, who attended him night and day, find- ing all his efforts fruitless to cheer and encour- age his dusky patient, at last broke out, while the tears wet his cheeks, after this fashion : "Now, you d- nigger, TITE, shut up your black head-if you die I'll whip you within an inch of your life !" The threat was me- dicinal, and TITE recovered.
The chirography of Mr. VAN ORDEN Was very peculiar, although I think his signature was good for almost any amount. In draw- ing declarations, taking notes of evidence, &c., he would commence well up on the left-liand corner of his paper, but there seemed to be an increasing deflective tendency of the line which brought it out half way down the other side of the sheet-and so on in a regular suc- cession of hypotenuses.
I remember that he was, once, considerably vexed at an exposition of his "hand o' write" by JOHN VAN VLEOK. They were trying a cause, before 'Squire BELLAMY, between MOSES WASHBURN and his apprentice, JOHN CONINE, who sought to be released from his indentures, because of a failure on the part of his master to provide the stipulated means of education. Mr. VAN ORDEN attempted to prove that the boy had been learned to write well, but the testimony all went to show that he was a mis- erable penman, when VAN VLECK mischievous- ly drew away Mr. VAN ORDEN's minutes, and asked the witness if JOHN could write as well as that ? The witness thought he could- and a little better.
Almost everybody in Catskill, of middle age, remembers JACOB VAN ORDEN. He was one of the prominent lawyers of the town, and, especially, the legal adviser of all the Dutch farmers in all the region round about. I be- came acquainted with him when I was a boy I believe the boy was released from service, the Justice deciding that the specimen of pen- manship exhibited was not quite up to the requirements of the indentures. But lawyers are, proverbially, poor writers. in the County Clerk's office, where I had fre- quent business intercourse with him, and I have never known any one who, to a rather rough manner, joined a more generous spirit or a kinder heart. No appeal of the poor and Mr. VAN ORDEN, after the death of his brother, formed a law partnership with ROB- the distressed ever fell unheeded on his ear ; no sick-bed lacked his careful attendance, and | ERT DORLON, of whom I have heretofore writ-
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ten, and, I believe, the connection was only | and likes him, it will be unnecessary for me dissolved by the death of the latter.
The sons of JACOB VAN ORDEN Were WIL- LIAM H., JACOB, LUCAS and PHILIP V. WIL- LIAM studied law, and practiced for some time in Catskill, and also held some town and Village offices. He married a daughter of the late CALEB HOPKINS, and was, at one time, connected in business with his brothers-in-law in New York. [And here permit me to pub- licly express my sense of obligation to one of the brothers HOPKINS for a recent timely favor, gracefully bestowed and most thank- fully accepted. ] JACOB was not, I think, brought up to any profession. He was a kind- hearted, genial fellow, "a chip off the old block," and had a fund of anecdotes of the old times of Catskill. He was, for two terms, Clerk of the County of Greene. He has been dead some time. LUCAS went to Wisconsin some twenty years ago, and died there. PHILIP is still among you, but as everybody knows
to say anything about him, just now.
And now, owing to the uncertainty of my future movements or position, it is not improb- able that there may be a discontinuance of these articles, whether brief, protracted or final, events, undeveloped, must determine. Past the prime of life, depressed in spirit as well as means, I go out to seek some new employment. "The world is all before me, where to choose, and" (may I hope it ?) "Providence my guide." Whether I shall resume these sketches at an early day, at a remote period, or never, I beseech my readers to believe that I have never penned a line in- tended to ruffle the most acute sensibility ; and to pardon whatever may have been, inad- vertently, written amiss. And so, with feel- ings of "peace, charity and good will toward all," I again bid you Good Night !
CATSKILL CEMETERY PAPERS. - SECOND SERIES. - No. XX.
TUESDAY EV'G., FEBRUARY 27, 1866.
The notice, in last week's Recorder, of the death of JACK CROSWEL, admonishes me that I have been sadly remiss of the claims to respectful notice of a certain and somewhat numerous class of the old denizens of Cats- kill-"our brethren of African descent." As, just about this time their progeny occupy a conspicuous position in the affairs of the na- tion, I may be suspected of indifference to the griefs, wrongs and oppressions under which, it has lately been discovered, they so long, unwittingly, suffered and grew fat, unless I revoke my determination to close these sketch- es, and solicit you to again open your columns and let the colored individual in.
I remember JAOK CROSWEL (a fig for your "VAN VALKENBURG") when he was a young man, and I have known him (as who has not?) from that time until "he hadn't any wool on the top of his head, in the place where the wool ought to grow." He was one of the trio of domestic servants of which good old "Uncle Doctor CRÔSWEL used to boast the ownership : "a white horse, a white cow and a white nigger." And a faithful servant he was. He fed, and watered, and curried down the afore- said horse ; he milked the aforesaid cow ; he brushed the boots of the household ; he rolled pills ; he manufactured fire-ball blacking ; and, in Summer, he pumped for hours on a
stretch, at the old-fashioned soda fountain, producing a succession of hideous sounds, which it required a nice ear for music to dis- tinguish from the wee-haw of a jackass.
After the death of Doctor CROSWEL, he at- tached himself to Doctor BRACE, and although, long before, freed from bondage, by Consti- tutional Amendment, he served him, too, faithfully and well. Independent of his ser- vices in that direction, he was famous for spearing eels, through the ice on BRANDOW'S Bay, and inveigling skilliputs along the muddy margin of Ram's Horn Creek. He would, sometimes, take a pull at the land-line of a herring net, or do a hand's turn at the slaugh- ter house of the WILSON's ; but his great forte was killing and dressing hogs, and, in that vocation, he was peerless.
JACK had a large stock of stories which he used to recite to me whenever I met him, and which (if the exchequer happened to be in a flourishing condition) generally brought him sixpence apiece. I would like to repeat some of his yarns, and to dwell more at length on his many commendable qualities, but tim. will not, now', permit. He has followed his kind and indulgent masters in that path on which there are no returning footsteps. The lithe eel now wriggles, in conscious security, in its congenial ooze, and the mud-turtle basks in complacent confidence on the sunny side of the water-soaked log. Never shall the wheezy
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squeak of the soda pump, nor the agonizing squeal of the stuck pig, wake poor JACK to labor again.
"Old Death" is dead-"He has gone to the place where the good darkies go," and- Peace to his ashes !
* * X X
* X
*
Before the causeway or "Long Dock" was built from the shore to the island, called Bom- pie's Hook (which is full as long ago as I can well remember) the Western terminus of the Catskill and Oak-hill Ferry was at the point of land just at the mouth of the Creek, and near where an ice-house now stands. [It was from this point to the island that THURLOW WEED tells us he swam, to see the first steam- boat pass up the Hudson-with his clothes in his hat. The latter part of the feat will not seem so impracticable, when we consider the capacity of the accustomed style of that gentleman's head-gear. ]
The ferry boat was an open scow, with wide "falls" at each end, with a mast stepped at one side, which was balanced on the other by a huge wing called a lee-board, though it was usually on the windward side of the vessel. When the wind blew, the boat was propelled by means of a large main-sail, and, in calm weather, by a "white ash breeze," videlicit, a pair of long oars or sweeps.
But the chief feature of the Ferry was a negro called BEN. HALLENBECK-I believe- for I am not prepared to swear that his name was not BROM, my memory being a little mixed on that point. He was the skipper of the craft, and when, hitching up his trousers and tightening the rope around his loins, he hoisted sail and assumed the helm (a large broad-bladed oar,) no Admiral ever trod the quarter-deck with more dignity and pomposity than black BEN, the ferryman. He was su- preme in his nautical position-the autocrat of the ferry-in short, he was boss of the scow. The slightest appearance of insubor- dination on the part of crew or even owners, was promptly met by BEN's "he-he-here, now-you see, now," and rebellion was in- continently crushed, in its incipiency.
I have not wondered at the horror with which the Yankees contemplated the crossing of the North River, when I have seen the old ferry boat, in a high wind and heavy sea, deeply loaded with cattle-a hundred, per- haps, crammed together, and confined by spars rigged athwart-ships, so compactly that they looked like a conglomeration of inter- locked horns and intertwisted tails, as impo- tent to escape as the quadruped we read of,
-"Whose tail was tied to a hickory stump,
Where he reared, ard he pitched, but he couldn't make a jump."
I remember that the fare was sixpence, but I once got a "dead-head" passage as a gratu- ity for addressing the old darkey as Captain. The trips of the ferry boat were not made regularly, but were dependent upon the freight which offered itself. Sometimes, old BEN would tarry in the ferry-house, for hours, spinning yarns and grumbling, until a team was descried coming in sight around the bend of the road near JOHN HALLENBECK's tavern, when he would seize his tin horn and blow an earthquake blast, succeeded by a shout of "o-o-o-over," in tones which chased the echoes of the horn to the remotest confines of the Village, and across the broad River, and startled the lethargic loon from his roost in the deep recesses of JOHN DUBOIS' swamp.
BEN continued to navigate between Greene and Columbia counties, from the proprietor- ship of JOHN HALLENBECK and HANK VAN GORDEN, down to the days of NATHANIEL JACOBS, though I think he died before the administration of TOM NEWBURY, (or Black Hawk,) or that of my respected friend Capt. BARHYDT.
The substitution of the horse boat for the old scow was a sore grief to BEN, which, how- ever, he patiently endured so long as he had a sweep to steer by, but when he heard of the application of steam to ferriage purposes, he just laid down and rolled over. If, as some believe, men pursue their accustomed earthly avocations, in the spirit land, it is not impos- sible that BEN has taken service with old CHARON on that Stygian ferry where both steam and horse power are supposed to be unknown.
While at "the Point" it may not be amiss to allude to a catastrophe which occurred there, long after "Black BEN the ferryman" made his last trip, -from the shores of Time. It seems but yesterday, and yet, as I count back the years, I find that about twenty-five twelve-months have run off the reel since the sad occurrence alluded to .- (As a literary friend of mine once pathetically remarked, "How tempus does fugit !")
There was a spruce and rather consequential darkey, living at the Embought, named SONCE TEN BROEK. He was considerably "on his shape," and when he visited the Village, on Sundays and holidays, was usually "dressed within an inch of his life." With his boots polished until they shone like his face-with lemon-colored gloves-a glossy hat, (appa- rently blocked over a shilling loaf of bread) sitting jauntily on the side of his head-a shirt-frill like a handsaw, and a high collar rasping at his ears, he was the admiration of the fair, and the envy of the masculines of his race. But, in process of time, SONCE fell
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into intemperate habits, and so it came that he | powder under his seat, just as he was putting met his fate. One Sunday afternoon, he was a gill of Santa Cruz to his mouth-whereat Old TONE would leap about six feet high, ejaculate "Shonkaboo !" and make for the door. I noticed, however, that notwithstand- ing his consternation, he always managed to empty the gill-cup. at "the Point," when a set of wild and reck- less young fellows, spoiling for sport, con- cluded it would be fine amusement to pitch SONCE off the dock, compensating him for each immersion by a glass of rum. Both parties enjoyed the fun for a time, but, at last, they tossed him into the River once too often. The last time he failed to come up again, and it soon became apparent that SONOE was drowned ! though it seemed a puzzle how the water got into him when he was chock full already.
His body was soon recovered, but as there existed a superstitious notion that it must not be removed from the water "until the coroner had set upon it," they tied one end of a string to it, and the other end to a dock post, and left the poor darkey, like a salt mackerel at soak, while they sent to Coxsackie for Dr. SPOOR.
I believe the perpetrator of this reckless and cruel (though I think not malicious) deed, left town immediately, and the matter died out of the minds of all, save those, perhaps, person- ally involved in the transaction-and who, I doubt not, endured a life-long remorse for the fatal result of their Sabbath's sport.
I believe the practice of throwing negroes 3 overboard, after that, fell into disuse.
In a hut or shanty, on the brow of Jeffer- son Hill, lived Old TONE-whether he had an additional appellation I am not sure. Although his name was often invoked to quiet refrac- tory children, yet he was a harmless and ex- cessively lazy nigger. I believe he did, occa- sionally, do a few hours work in the lumber- yard of ANDREWS & WOODRUFF, but his favor- ite occupations were riding vicious horses. (decked in gaudy regimentals) and drinking rum-and he was an adept at both. He pro- fessed a strong aversion to gunpowder, and so, the boys used to annoy and apparently frighten him by touching off a charge of
And there was another blackamoor, named, I think, HARRY ABEEL, but best known by the soubriquet of "Sackett's Harbor." He was a noisy nigger, and used to "make Rome howl" with his vociferous laudations of "fresh shad for belly timber." I have little space for a protracted notice of Old Sackett's; but I never shall forget the rebuke which he once gave the proprietor of a well in West Catskill, who refused him a pitcher of water, and drove him from the premises. Planting himself in the middle of the highway, and elevating his form as high as his restricted altitude of five- feet-four would permit, he exclaimed : "Cap- tain," (lie called everybody Captain) "der well will be dar when you are down below- and der water will be dar-and" (intimating by emphatic gesture, if not by verbal express- ion) "malbee, you'll want some."
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*
But, as old stocking-knitters say, it is about time to narrow down and toe off.
A long line of dusky shades, reaching away back to the palmy days of Paas and Pinkster, are, even now, trooping across my memory. Among them I discover the old familiar forms and faces of BILL THOMSON, the life-long sex- ton of St. Luke's ; HARRY VAN VECHTEN ; JACK SALISBURY ; CATO JACKSON ; LONDON BROWN ; PHILIP FOOTE ; BEN. BROCKWAY, the boss of the cattle-bed ; WALL POST, the spook-ridden ; JAOKY BROXK, who, for the last quarter century of his life, couldn't tell exactly whether he was seventy-eight or eighty-seven years of age ; Oll "JETE"; "DICK in the Well," and many more of that class, to each of whom there is some history attached.
CONCLUSION OF THE SERIES.
The preceding Sketch concludes the series, written by the late Mr. PINCKNEY, and rather abruptly terminated by his sudden death, which occurred at his residence in Albany, on the 6th day of December, 1867.
In the following pages may be found some desultory sketches from his pen, anterior to the commencement of the regular series embodied in the foregoing pages of this work.
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TURTLE CLUB.
ADDRESS DELIVERED BEFORE THE CATSKILL TURTLE CLUB, JULY 4, 1845, BY THE LATE JAMES D. PINCKNEY.
Once more we are met to celebrate the birth- day of Freedom, and of our Society. Not in the proud temple, reared by man, to listen to the polished sentences and rounded periods of the gifted and eloquent, and to the swelling tones of the organ, or the martial notes of the trumpet; but in that house not built by human hands, whose pavement was laid, and whose arched ceiling was spread by the Architect of the Universe ; for our music the free air of Heaven, playing its symphonies in the tree- tops, and the ripple of the wealth-bearing waves of the beautiful Hudson ; and our elo- quence an unrestrained converse and joyous outpouring of sentiment to each other, with- out deceit or guile.
And now let us cast a glance about us, and see who of those who one year ago partici- pated in our festivities, are missing at this meeting. Surely, it is a matter of joy that so many familiar faces are again gathered around this board. Many of us have remained together during the interval-others have been separated from us by trifling distances-and in some instances "Seas have broad between us roared"-yet they have come again, to mingle their voices with ours upon this Na- tional Festival.
All, however, are not here. Business, or prior engagements, or choice, detain many, whose presence cannot well be spared; but wherever they may be, at this hour, they have our warmest wishes for health, prosperity and happiness. We rejoice that all are yet in the land whose freedom we this day commemorate.
All-save one *; one voice, which was heard in our midst, is silent, on earth, forever. The green turf, on whose surface we now tread, covers the form of one who, a short year past, was of us, and with us. His ap- pointed hour came, while it was yet morning, and he went the way which he may not re- turn, but which we must all follow.
Peace-peace to his dust ; aud while we breathe a sigh to his memory, let our comfort be in the confident hope that he is now re- joicing in a higher degree of liberty-a fuller measure of Freedom-a freedom from the toils, and cares, and sorrows of this troubled and transitory life.
Gentlemen-four years have passed since the formation of the Catskill Turtle Club, and its founder still remains to preside over its destinies, to rejoice in its prosperity, and to
superintend its culinary preparations. It was a bright idea of his, (and evidenced a deep research) to found a Turtle Club. The Dela- ware Indians believe that this world is sup- ported by an enormous skilliput, and that earthquakes ensue when he shifts his feet or shakes his tail. Had "CHARLES Fox"t be- longed to the tribe, he could not have chosen a more suitable emblem of stability than this foundation of the earth.
Again, the Turtle is significant of a pleasant season, such as we now enjoy. Even SoLo- MON-and it would be decidedly unfashionable to question his wisdom-in describing the beauties of the early Spring, and in inviting his beloved one to taste its delights and enjoy- ments, uses the following language : "The flowers appear on the Earth; the time of singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in the land." I am aware that some will insist that the turtle here meant, was a feathered songster-but I know not by what reasoning they arrive at such a conclu- sion ; all manner of singing birds had already & been mentioned, and it is full as probable that a skilliput in ancient days discoursed eloquent music, as it is certain that in our time the bull- frogs of JOHN DUBOIS's band bathe the shores of Rams Horn Creek in harmonious melody. At any rate, it is safer to avoid the root of all sectarianism, and to understand the Book as we read it, and therefore believe that a turtle means a turtle, instead of a pigeon.
And the turtle, too, is emblematic of Love. GOLDSMITH, one of the sweetest poets that ever wrote, makes it a type of pure affection, when he says :
"And Love is still in an empty sound, The modern fair one's jest ; On Earth unknown, or only found To warm the Turtle's nest."
It may be urged, too, that GOLDSMITH did not mean what he said, and in proof of the fact, it may be maintained that as turtles are cold-blooded animals, their nests are not likely to be warn. In answer to this, I would call upon our worthy President to testify that he has seen a nest of turtles, with but two in it, not only quite warm, but almost too hot to hold them both. I repeat, then, that both SOLOMON and GOLDSMITH spoke and wrote understandingly, and that criticism or skep- ticism can no more convert a turtle into a bird,
Į JAMES BREASTED.
* CHARLES SEAMAN.
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than good turtle soup can be made of a sheep's | he would forgive me, I am quite certain ; for head and pluck.
Thus, then, I have endeavored to prove by higher authority than my own assertion, that the badge of our Club is an emblem of Stabil- ity, Harmony and Love. If I have failed fully to substantiate it, let the course and con- duct of the members supply the lack of argu- ment ; let them continue to live in love, to act in harmony, and stability must ensue.
Gentlemen - the individual who so elo- quently addressed you at the last anniversary, adverted to the brighter days of 'Stauchy's greatness and glory ; and he struck a chord which vibrated to the inmost recesses of my heart. The scenes and incidents of early life started up in freshness from the dark corners of memory, and I again lived over the happy days of youth. The fair faces, the voluptu- ous forms, and the linsey woolsey habiliments of Stauchy's virginity, passed before my men- tal vision ; the soft notes of Money-musk from the fiddle of good old BALTUS MILLER rang in my ears, and the tread of heel-and-toe, pigeon-wing and double-shuffle seemed again to shake the very rafters of my brain. I re- member the good dame HART, and the good old Dutch heart in her bosom, (whose Worst was the best to be had in miles about,) and the flavor of the apple-jack was fresh upon my tongue. I remember every old tale of spooks, having appeared near the site of the Stauchy Church, or peeped from the windows of the deserted Manor House.
But when he came to speak of DERRICK VAN RUNT, my feelings well nigh overcame me, and I was forced to take a snuff at the soup-kettle to revive my sensibilities.
Alas ! poor DERRIOK ! First in the frolic or the fight-who never refused protection to the fair, or to take "a snifter" with a friend. How often have I gazed in silent wonder at his inimitable execution of Old BROTE, in his stocking feet; or in admiration of his prowess, as he essayed to do battle in favor of injured innocence, his manly breast filled with virtuous indignation, and covered with a red flannel shirt !
But the Church and the Manor House are long gone ; honest DERRICK VAN RUNT is at rest in the apple orchard; the days of the glory of Stauchy have departed, and ICHABOD is written on its walls. Yet long will its Quiltings, and its Apple-Cuts, and its Pig Shaves live in remembrance-for
The last ray of feeling and life must depart Ere I cease to remember the days of BILL HART.
Excuse me, my friends, this digression, but I could not refrain from stepping aside to re- visit, in imagination, the scenes of by-gone joys. If my friend, "the Setter," were here, lof a departed skilliput.
although Time has pretty freely scattered the evidences of early piety among his locks, he could not but participate in the recollection, as he did in the enjoyment, of the happy hours now fled forever.
Exceedingly pleasant have been the four years since this Club, of which we have the honor, and are proud, to be members, was first established. Few in numbers, in its in- fancy, Fox Creek and BURGETT's Island alone witnessed its joyous meetings, a common sized turtle was sufficient for the sacrifice, and a quart jug could well contain the liquid ob- lations required at its festivals. But it has flourished and grown mighty under the kind and fostering care of its worthy President, and has waxed stronger and stronger in pop- ular favor, until it has become necessary to set limits to its numerical capacity.
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