USA > New York > Greene County > Catskill > Reminiscences of Catskill : local sketches > Part 14
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Let us, by way of contrast, bring the Past and Present before us-going back, from to-day to the time when HUDSON and his crew came here, say in 1809 or 1810. The River-banks were then palisaded with dense forests, giants in growth ; the Creek, which here makes its entree to the River, was lined after the same fashion, its banks inter- spersed with the luxuriant growth of un- subdued nature ; the streams were filled with fish and water-fowl, who lived their quiet, untamed life, except as they were disturbed by the red man. The Indian, whose origin and advent here, or upon the Continent, has never been revealed, was the anomaly of Nature. He was the undisputed lord of this wild domain, and held his title from the Great Spirit. Wilder than Nature, whose child he was, he roamed at pleasure-dark, relentless, passionate, shall we say ? No, not wholly so ; he was at times generous, hospitable, honest, contemplative, and religious in his way, and was moving in the sphere that
Nature had prescribed for him. His dog, his birch canoe, his bow and arrows, his pipe and tomahawk and scalping-knife all of stone, were the implements by which he gained his living, carried on commerce, and made war. Strings of beads and shells, called wampum, were his money, and his ornaments. The panther, the bear and the deer lay crouched around his wigwam at night, or met him on his path by day. His morals were the utter- ances of his own wild instincts.
Such were the greetings extended to the white man upon his introduction here. Now mark the change. Civilization sat down to its work of conquest with feeble hands, and with no great expectation of results commen- surate to the trials she was to encounter. Yet, the great transformation was initiated ; step by step she encroached upon the useless waste around her. The iron at once took the place of stone in the mechanic arts ; the birch canoe yielded to the gallant barque that, through storm and tempest, had crossed the briny main; thie inventions known in the Old World for a thousand years supplanted the crude ideas and contrivances that had not advanced human condition beyond a mere existence ; the dense forests were swept back from the banks of the streams, and in time full pastures and rich meadows, and smiling fields of grain, with flocks and herds, rose as if by magic on the scene; habitations, with living streams of men, women and children pouring from them, threading its thoroughfares, and gliding in busy commerce upon its waters, were every- where visible. The creating hand of art, the spirit power of mind, the sturdy labor of agri- culture and mechanics, the ceaseless stir of commerce, broke upon the ear of spell-bound nature that had never heard the like.
The men who in the Father-land had dealt staggering blows to intolerancy and tyranny, had come here to replevy this land from sav- age beast, and more savage man ; and here, under the inspiration of free nature, to begin anew the work of life. Long may that life pulsate.
Catskill, July 1, 1868.
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WALKS AND TALKS.
LOCAL SKETCHES.
WALKS AND TALKS.
"THE CEDARS," JULY 2D, 1868.
Editor Recorder-I notice that you are operating a little "outside of the Constitution. " and as I have been wayfaring some time "on that line," perhaps it may be pleasant for us to journey on together for a space, and gather new life, and fresh thoughts, from the delight- ful walks and rural beauties which do so en- circle your ancient Village.
Let us now lay aside Books that make us grey, and Care that bows our shoulders down "And leave the vain, low strife
That makes men mad-the tug for wealth and power,
The passions and the cares that wither life, And waste its little hour-
and lift up our eyes to the hills, the green trees, the mossy rocks, the babbling brooks, the shaded paths -from whence cometh our strength.
Passing the famous Catskill Bridge, whose architectural beauties (?) have been so often alluded to in prose and verse, and which, it is reverently believed by many, owes its remark- able preservation from winds, and floods, and icebergs, to the benediction pronounced on that spot by Dr. PORTER, some sixty years ago-
I say, passing this memorable structure, which no great man from abroad ever passes without pausing several times, and taking off his hat; and which no resident of the country, hereabonts, ever passes without stopping, and, putting his hand in his pocket, in a solemn, meditative mood, so characteristic of the an- cestral burghers who subdued this part of our wilderness world, and who have been embalm- ed in perpetual remembrance by my old friend DIEDRICH KKICKERBOCKER-
I say, passing this wonderful work-which, if it had been a tree, would have been the trysting-tree for several generations of lovers- but, being a bridge, it has been a "bridge of sighs" from "a time whereof the memory of man runneth not to the contrary." Unlike Lord BYRON's bridge, there is not
"A palace and a prison on each hand,"
but at this date good Mr. SAX takes toll at one end of it, and CHARLIE ABEEL is waiting for what there is left of you at the other.
I say, passing this primeval edifice, which, with all its faults, has a beautiful picture for the eye: the look-out to the North, an expanse of water, verdant banks and pastures green ;
and the view toward the South-a lake bathing the promontory of "Hopp's-nose, " a point which your townsman, Mr. FREDERICK COOKE, has chosen for his "family-seat," and where he is doing noble duty in beautifying the land- scape, and in introducing to the people the rare and delicious fruits and products of the soil. I may tell you a story, some time, about HOPP, the Indian, from whom Mr. COOKE's plantation derives its name ; how he lived, loved, and finally passed away to the happy hunting grounds; but, let us now, if possible, get across the bridge.
I say, passing this ancient water-span, you take what was called, when I was a boy, "The Little Delaware Turnpike road, " and walk in- dustriously until you reach the first important rauge of hills West of the Village ; these are the Calderberghs-or, as some insist, and per- haps properly, "the Callabarrachs"-ascend- ing the hill by the road, you have a fine view of the Village and the River ; and as you pass on, and just at the point where you lose sight of the Village, you take a wood-road at the left, and in a few minutes are at the summit, where a beautiful prospect is spread out before you.
Standing at this point, with grounded arms, (FRED. COMFORT's laminated steel) "many a time, and oft," it has thrilled me with an ex- quisite joy to see Anrora decking the purpled clouds with gold, and to welcome the great and benignant source of light and heat, as he came with glittering vesture, "rejoicing in the East." Here are the pure airs of morning, and sounds-the songs of birds-sweeter than fabled MEMNON ever gave.
Looking East, the prospect includes a large extent ; you notice the well tilled fields of the thrifty farmers of the Great Embought, waving their wealth of grass, and grain. The hill directly before you is called "the Kykeout," or Beacon Hill, where fires were lighted, in early times, to give notice to the early burghers of the approach of the Indians. The level wooded plot of land near which the "En- bought House" stands, is called "the Hauver- plant." The eye wanders on, und reaches the noble River, which it traces many miles-the mirror of the morning sun. Across the River are seen the abundant fields of Columbia, and beyond all the eye rests upon. the green hills of Connecticut.
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LOCAL SKETCHES.
WALKS AND TALKS.
By the way, speaking of the Kykeout, this is the ancient family-seat of the OVERBAGHS. An unpretending stone dwelling, standing near the Easterly side of the hill, is the "old roof tree." It is now occupied, I believe, by Mr. LEWIS OVERBAGH, a worthy descendant of a worthy ancestry.
JOHN PETER OVERBAGH emigrated from Hol- land, and settled at this point in the year 1722. He purchased, and owned at the time of his death (which occurred in the year 1734) quite a large tract of land, including the farms now owned by LEWIS OVERBAGH, JONAS HAM, JAMES P. OVERBAGH, FRANCIS STORY, and other lands. Tradition has but little to say of JOHN PETER, except that he died young, leaving three boys: JOHN, JOIIN JERE, and CHRISTIAN ; and from these three the OVERBAGH family of this sec- tion of country claim their descent.
JOHN, son of JOHN PETER, cultivated his an- cestral acres, and died, leaving sons PETER and ABRAHAM.
ABRAHAM, grand-son of JOHN PETER, died, leaving sons JOHN A., ABRAHAM and PETER.
JOHN A., great-grand-son of JOHN PETER, married SALLY DEDERICK, of the Bockover, and, after a life of usefulness and virtue, and at a good old age, died, leaving sons JOHN A., WILLIAM, PETER, LYMAN and ADDISON.
JOHN A. is now beyond sixty, but his is such a genial temper that I only wish he could live to see sixty years more. My old friend, Mr. JUDSON WILCOX, says of him, that he is the most inexorable fox-hunter on record ; that he will fairly "hole the fox," and then set down and smoke him out !
The sons of JOHN A. are CHARLES, recently a hardware merchant of Poughkeepsie, and GEORGE B., now of the Hudson River Rail- road-both active, honorable men.
The descendants of JOHN JERE, son of JOHN PETER, are numerous, embracing in the list PETER, his sister, the wife of JAMES JOINS- TON of Kiskatom, FREDERICK, father of Mrs. FRANCIS STORY, and RACHEL, the mother of the FRIAR family, of your Village.
The descendants of CHRISTIAN, son of JOHN PETER, are also numerous. CHRISTIAN was killed while getting out wood on the Hauver- plaut, and left sons PETER, ISAAO and BENJA- MIN. PETER, son of CHRISTIAN, left sons JAMES and CHRISTIAN ; and JAMES, son of PETER, left son PETER, the father of JAMES P., the pre- sent popular host of the "Embought House."
our good friend JOHN A. to the chase, and taught him how to "bring the stag to bay."
The ancestry of the OVERBAGHS rest in the orchard, East of the Kykeout-"dust to dust, ashes to ashes." I cannot look, from this lofty seat, upon their narrow house, without thinking that all the ambitions of life are vain and useless
"The boast of heraldry-the pomp of power- And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave- Await alike the inevitable hour ;
The paths of glory lead but to the grave."
And yet, there is within me a thought-a conviction-that from out the wreck of that mortal embodiment by which we are known in this world, there will arise an individuality- or, as Doctor BUTLER has termed it, "a con- scious being"-which, having passed through all the vicissitudes of life and death unscathed, undimmed and undefiled, will enter the Pre- sence of the Just and Perfect of all centuries, and put on the garments of immortal youth.
Alas ! for him who never sees The stars shiue through his cypress trees ; Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, Nor looks to see the breaking day Across the mouruful marble play !
Who hath not learned in hours of faith,
The truth to flesh and sense unknown, That Life Is ever lord of Death,
And Love can never lose its own."
But we have, perhaps, been looking toward the East too long; the sun has passed far down the West, and now
"To yonder mountain turns the musing eye,
Whose sun-bright summit mingles with the sky."
Stepping from the spot where we welcomed the morning, across a comparatively level plot, covered in part by great hemlocks-which, to our venerable friend Col. PRATT, are far more beautiful than the cedars of Lebanon-in a few moments we reach a precipice, from which, looking over a wilderness of leaves, we have an uninterrupted view of the grand old mountain-
"As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and mid way leaves the storm; Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head."
Calm, and bright, and beautiful-this is a picture to be ever graven on the memory, and treasured always. Heart-pictures (so to speak) with me are realities ; more fixed, certain and enduring than the objects from which they are taken.
ISAAO, SO11 of CHRISTIAN, was a great hunter. He died some thirty years ago. In his palmy days, the red deer were abundant hereabouts- but the story of his adventures would be too The coming days will change the outward long to tell. Suffice it to say that he educated | vesture of the mountain ; the Summer will
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WALKS AND TALKS.
LOCAL SKETCHES.
develope its wealth of green; the Autumn will clothe it with russet and red, and the Win- ter will strip it of its loveliness, and cause it to stand clothed with ices and snows. Change is written on every rock, and every tree. The mountain is a monument to all that is variable; it is the habitation of all extremes. Here is the abode of all loveliness, and all deformity, in Nature ; here the zephyr breathes at even- tide, and here the tempest wrings the pines at midnight; here the Summer suns look lovingly, and here the Winter-blasts and storm-clouds gather.
These are not the mountains of the heart; they are always sure and steadfast; their rocks crumble not, neither do their trees fall from age ; pure waters sparkle in all their gorges ; sweet winds gather in all their glens; they stand in beauty along the horizon of Memory, in the midst of perpetual Summer, whose lights of the morning and of the evening gather upon them, and wreathe them in robes of white, and gold, and amethyst.
Faithfully Yours,
GEORGE VANDERHAVEN.
WALKS AND TALKS .- No. II.
"THE CEDARS," JULY 15, 1868.
Editor Recorder-How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of Him that bring- eth good tidings :- that publisheth Peace ! The morning sun is again gilding the lofty mountain tops, and I am musing among the trees.
"The groves were God's first temples, ere man Jearned
To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave,
* *
* * * ; in the darkling wood,
Amidst the cool and silence he knelt down."
Leaving the crest of the Callabarrach, our path leads in a circuitous course towards "the Straka" *- passing South through the "Straka Clove," you notice on either hand precipitous banks, while overhead, umbrageous elms, and stately pines and hemlocks interlace, and form an arch of refreshing shade and coolness. You notice, also, the rock twisted in a thousand quaint and curious shapes, and grey with the mists of the ages. Idling along, we presently see before us a beautiful valley, skirted with ancient trees, and a stream of pure water run- ning through the midst.
This is the Straka. In Summer it is dry- affording pasturage for numerous cattle ; but in Winter, or in seasons of unusual rains, it is often filled with water, forming a lake among the hills, which, if it is not so exten- sive as Loch Katrine, it is not the less pic- turesque and romantic. Few people who water their horses at the fountain near the house of Mr. JACOB PERSON, on the Saugerties road, know that the sparkling waters which there leap from the rock, have passed from the Straka down through the caverns of the hill. I have often wished that I had the
strength of a HERCULES, that I might roll away the great stones that intercept the waters at the outlet, and trace this ancient water- course in its windings among the rocks; for I am persuaded that within the hidden recesses of the hill there are lakes and waterfalls-and caves, surpassing in extent and beauty the cavern wherein Highland DONALD banqueted with the famous Captain WAVERLY, lang syne.
Associated with the Straka are many pleas- ant memories. It has been the attraction of many a Summer and Winter ramble, with chosen friends-lovers of Nature in all her visible forms-some of whom are
"Now bathed within the fadeless green And holy peace of Paradise."
I recollect visiting this spot, many years ago, in company with a cherished friend, the late JOHN ADAMS, of your Village. We in- tended to bring home with us grey squirrels, and all manner of things of a wild nature. We separated, wandered far, and both got lost. Chance finally led my weary feet to the Straka, where I found Mr. ADAMs stretched upon a shaded bank, fast asleep. He said that he had walked these woods for more than thirty years, and had never been lost before ; but Vandal hands had so encroached upon the for- ests that he did not recognize the old familiar places.
Your wood-chopper is essentially a first class Vandal. For paltry present gain, he spoils his inheritance ; and, in place of the grand old forests which in the near future will be of immense value, he leaves a rugged desolation.
But, let us not tarry too long at the Straka; our horse is waiting for us at the brow of the hill, near the brick school-house, whither we
* From the Dutch word Streek-a course.
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LOCAL SKETCHES.
WALKS AND TALKS.
will direct our steps, and look once more toward the East.
Arrived at the summit, we have before us a charming picture-productive farms, and peaceful cottages nestling among the trees ; a garden receding to the Hudson, and bathed in its sparkling waters. Here are the homesteads of the PosTs, the TRUMPBOURS, the BURGETS, the VAN ORDENS, the WYNKOOPS, the DUMONDS of old, and others, to all of whom my space will not, at present, allow me to refer more at length.
Standing at this point, traditions of a race who eamped upon these lands long before title deeds were known, come crowding thick upon me. This was their favorite "look-out," and it is within the memory of many residing in this vicinity, that considerable bands, remnants of the Oncidas, and other Indian tribes, peri- odically visited this spot, bringing their wives and their little ones with them, to look upon the land where their fathers triumphed in the chase, and which now contains their sacred ashes. In fact, the practice was continued until a recent date, but it is now believed that the Savage has taken his last view of these old hunting-grounds, and that they exist in his traditions merely as an Arcadian dream- land, wherein his ancestors, like goodly knights, did noble battle for beauty, truth and father- land.
Some of your readers will recollect "BEN., " one of the Oneida tribe. He pitched his tent on this spot for the last time some forty years since. Wrinkled, and grey, and bent with the weight of a hundred years, he had traveled far to look once more from this eminence upon the noble River-upon the land in which his youth delighted, and to pass in review memories of "long ago." His last appear- ance near this spot was of a Summer evening, with a Bible in his hand, whose sacred prom- ises had filled his mind with rapturous visions of a life beyond the rolling clouds.
Passing Westward our good steed brings us to the "Old King's Road," so termed, because it dates back to Colonial times, and was the only highway on the West shore, between the sea-board and the settlements in the interior. Over this road, in Revolutionary days, were drawn the "implements of war and subjuga- tion" with which our gracious King GEORGE sought to coerce his rebellious children.
Continuing on, we reach, in a short time, a place called "the Bockover," deriving its name from a knoll shaped like an oven, situ- ated on the old homestead of the ABEEL fam- ily, near the Cauterskill. As we approach the stream, we notice on the left the dwelling of ZACHARIAH DEDERICK. It stands upon the site of an ancient stone house, which had been the homestead of the DEDERIOK family for
nearly two hundred years, and was demolished some twenty years ago.
Around this spot cluster many interestng traditions, concerning both the white and the red men. A short distance from the road is a natural stone tent, in which still exist the coals and ashes of ancient council fires; while in the hill are depressions and mounds, wherein tradition says the Indian "housed his corn."
During "the times that tried men's souls, " the Bockover was often sought as a place of refuge from the rapacity of the British, who spread terror among the inhabitants along the banks of the River. Here they deposited their goods, and valuables, and rested in com- parative quiet and safety.
Across the stream is the old family-scat of the ABEELS. A stone dwelling, built nearly a hundred years before the Revolution, still braves the winds and storms of Time. At this place, DAVID and ANTHONY ABEEL were seized by the Indians, in the War of the Rev- olution, and marched off to Canada ; but the story of their adventures-is it not already written in the books of Dr. MURDOCK, and Mr. ROCKWELL ?
Our course is toward the Mountains, to-day, and as the sun is already waning, we must not loiter too long by the way. A brisk drive brings us to "the Clove," and we ascend leisurely, discovering new beauties at every step. As we approach the summit, we stop occasionally, and look back upon the glitter- ing hills below. Radiant clouds are moving slowly away from the summit, and taking position upon a weird and fantastic cloud- bank in the South. A film of dreamy haze surrounds the Easterly exposure of the moun- tain ; while toward the West the sun is shim- mering through the trees, and lacing the pines with gold. Far below our feet the cool and sparkling mountain stream is still murmuring onward toward the sea-the same as when the painted savage slaked his thirst, or the red deer's fawn mirrored his diamond eyes in its waters.
Along the route are great rocks and myste- rious lurking-places, from which, we are as- sured, that in the "good old days" grim and warlike sentinels issued, to the terror of the unprotected horseman whose duties called him through this ancient pass. Alas, how changed ! for in all this wild and solitary place no war- like sound is heard, save an occasional love- spat between high-born "lads and lassies," who are "doing" the Mountains, preparatory to appearing, with their wedding garments on, in the gas and glory of the drawing-rooms of the metropolis.
Onward and upward leads the way; the summit is reached, and, without stopping on
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our way, at this time, to partake of the gen- erous hospitalities of the "Laurel House," or the liberal cheer of the "Mountain House," we press on, by devious paths, to the South Mountain, where, before the day is spent, we must look once more toward the East. The prospeet is at once beautiful and grand-it is something to be felt and appreciated, but language is too poor for any adequate descrip- tion of it. Let us, therefore, enjoy the beauties and sentiments of the scene, and I will briefly trace upon this vast panorama some of the lines "where the pleasant places be."
Away to the North of your Village is the High Hill, with the "Long Loekie," a lake of purest water, nestling in its bosom. Your jaded man of care may there find a taste of bonny Scotland's air, or England's Windermere.
To the East, across the River, the walk leads you to the Green Hill, ascending which, you look down upon the ancient Manor of the LIVINGSTONS, and upon a thousand fruitful fields, and peaceful homes.
To the West, with rod and line, you drop your fly in the cool streams that come down
from the mountain near the base of the Round Top, if such be your happy case that you have a passion to "go a angling."
To the South, amidst those venerable woods, are pleasant walks innumerable, where, in Winter, is heard the deep-mouthed voice of the hound, as he pursues the fox in her devious course among the hills ; and where, in Sun- mer, the woodcock's whistling wings, or the whirring partridge, startle you from your meditations.
But we are tarrying late. Night has fallen upon field and forest,
"And all the air a solemn stillness holds."
The planets are blazing in the firmament, and the great watch-stars are looking down upon us from their heavenly heights. It is the peaceful hour of rest, and now, in the language of our old friend, Sir WALTER :
"To all, to eachi, a fair good night.
And pleasing dreams, aud slumbers light."
Faithfully yours, GEORGE VANDERHAVEN.
EXTRACTS FROM OLD DOCUMENTS, MEMORANDA, &c.
For the following interesting documents, as well as many others, the publisher is indebted to Mr. DAVID B. DUNIIAM :
A LIST OF THE SCHOOL MONEY due to Each and Every Imployer of the School Taught by Elisha Bishop, under the Inspection of Barrent Dubois and Saunders Haynes, Trustees, from the 17th of August, 1797, to the 17th of March, 1798 :
No. Days. £ s. d. qr.
George Brosnaham 156)
John Brosnaham 156 _ 1 7 4 %
John Rimph 52)
Edward Hayns .121
Jesse Pratt. 36
Betsy Stodard 142
Elisha Bishop
.155
Sally Bishop 121
Polly Bishop 120
Caty Dubois .165
Sally Dubois. 169
1 17 6 %
Cornelius Dubois 165)
Peter Schoot. 115
0 11 7 0
Jacob Schoot .. 41
Ginna Van Gorden 79
0 5 11 X
John Dubois. 782
0 11 8 %
James Dubois 781
James Bogardus. 78₺
0 11 8 0
Lana Bogardus. 775
Wessel Van Orden 781
0 12 0 15
Henry Van Orden 826
Jacob Stephens 55 )
Arastus Stephens. 40 - Henry Stephens 56)
0 11 4 0
Benjamin Van Orden. 78 0 5 10 1/
Harriet Lay. 83
Elizer Root. 83
Betsy Drake. 95
Anna Drake .. .11
Charls Cammel. 0 6 41
Sally Cammel. 41 )
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