USA > New York > Greene County > Catskill > Reminiscences of Catskill : local sketches > Part 6
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But I am forgetting that my task is not to eulogise the living, but to chronicle the sayings and doings of the dead.
WOOLEY SCOTT lived at the foot of Main street, adjacent to that Golconda of my youth- ful imagination, "NANOY's Diamond Hill," and opposite the "Hop-o'-nose"-a promon- tory made classic by the pen of the prolific, if not profound authoress of "Mary Derwent." His vocation, as I have stated, was that of a carman, to which he added, aided by his son WILLIAM, the management of a little garden, which was noted for its early productiveness, and filling out his surplus of time by selling white sand and Amboy clams. Taxing my memory carefully and conscientiously, I am bound to say that I never knew Wooley Scott to be perfectly sober on a week day, nor drunk on a Sunday. In that particular he had an advantage of one-seventh over some others of that, and, perhaps, of the present day. Many tricks were played upon him by the Village boys-such as removing his linch-pins, stealing his clams, spilling his sand, and en- ticing away "Ould Dick," his horse, while his master was filling his skin at the groggery. I remember that one cold, wintry, windy day, Wooley was going to his little barn with a huge back load of straw, when ABE DUMOND, a finished loafer, seized a brand from the hearth of TERT. LUDINGTON, and thrust it into the straw. Poor Scott, unconscious of the "fire in his rear," continued his course, and it is more than probable that himself, his barn, and his dwelling would have been consumed, had not his "gude wife" discovered his pre- dicament, and shouted at the top of her voice :
"Cast off your burden, Willie, for ye're a' in a lowe !"
He always insisted that he was a near rela- tive of Sir WALTER SCOTT, and he was wont to boast that he, too, had successfully wooed the muses. More than fifty times has he com- menced to recite to me an elegy upon his deceased horse, but as he never got beyond the first line :
"Ah, wae's the day, poor Dick is deed,"
I am unable to state the precise merits of the dirge. He often promised to make me his literary legatee, and I, as often, promised to secure to him posthumous fame through the publication of his works. He is dead now- I am sure of it, for I saw him in his coffin, and followed him to the grave, years ago- .but I have never seen nor heard of the legacy. I suspect that, though the spirit of poesy might have been inherent, yet that he neglect- ed to convert "the bullion of the brain" into a negotiable commodity. One thing is certain, the only four lines of rhyme which I ever knew him to repeat, was the professional quatrain of a clam pedler, which ran some- thing in this way :
"Here's clams, gentlemen, and good, I say, For they've just come out of Amboy Bay ; There's some for to roast, and some for to fry, And some for to make a clam pot-pie."
Having a little space left in my column, I cannot, perhaps, do better than to fill it with a brief mention of Mrs. KANE, or, as she was familiarly called, "Mammy Kane," by all the boys and girls of the Village, although I never knew that she held a maternal relation to any body or any thing except one great, lazy, swearing, whisky-drinking DICK KELSEY, the hopeful issue of her first nuptials.
She kept a cake, and candy, and spruce- beer shop near the center of Main street, and it is safe to say that nine-tenths of all the small change which came into the possession of the children, of both sexes, ultimately found its way into Mammy Kane's till.
I suppose she married her second husband, JIMMY KANE, in consideration of his wonderful skill in painting sugar shepherdesses, whistles, drums, dogs, cats, and every other variety of saccharine images and toys; certainly, as a specimen of the genus, Man, he did not amount to much, and the old lady might, at any time, have put him into her pocket, alongside of her spectacles.
I do not suppose there is a native of Cats- kill, who has arrived at nigh my age, who has forgotten, or ever will forget Mammy Kane. For myself, I sometimes think that I took more delight in watching Jimmy, as he applied the brilliant colors to the baked figures, than I have since experienced in the contem-
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plation of the works of the lamented COLE, or a whole Dusseldorf gallery of paintings ; and the pungeney of her spruce beer, and the exquisite flavor of her ginger-bread and molas- ses candy, are, in imagination, once more exceedingly pleasant to the taste. If there is one grief in which I sympathize with the rising generation of Catskill, more than in any other, it is that they do not and never will possess such another "institution" as Mammy Kane.
I had intended to speak of her solitary boarder, DAVID FISH, or "old Dawvie," the Scotchman, who she had, undoubtedly, taken in on account of his diminutive size, for it is certain that both him and Jimmy Kane did not, aggregated, occupy more room at the chimney-corner than the and-irons; but I must leave him and others for another paper.
*Icc freshet at Albany.
CATSKILL CEMETERY PAPERS .- SECOND SERIES .- No. VIII.
MARCH 28, 1865.
Recalling to mind, this evening, one of the old pedagogues of Catskill, and endeavoring to bring back to my recollection enough of his peculiarities, and the incidents of his life, to form materials for another Cemetery Sketch, my thoughts imperceptibly wandered off to the Village School, and my proposed subject became lost in the fast-gathering memories of the days when, and the companions with whom, I was urged by alternate flatteries and flagellations, along the thorny paths of knowledge.
It is now more than half a century-(and where have all the years flown to, and what record have they borne with them ?)-since I first, reluctantly, entered the Village School House as a pupil. I do not distinctly remem- ber who was then teacher, nor the exact period of my novitiate, but I am certain that it is as long ago as I have stated, for I have a clear recollection that on one dismal, rainy day, we scholars were directed to take books, slates, copies and ink-stands, so that the room might be occupied during the night as quarters for the Delaware militia, who were passing through the town, on their way to New York and Staten Island, to defend the Southern frontier of the State from British aggression ; and this must have been as early as 1814. I remember, too, that it was the same year when poor JOE SIMPSON went off to the wars, from which (for- tunately for the man who shot his brother for stealing pork) he never returned. Having thus settled this question of chronology, and consequently established my own antiquity, I will, as the negro minstrels say, "proceed to promulgate."
The Village School House stood a few yards South-Easterly from the Court House, a little lower than the road-way, from which it was reached by a trestle-bridge or platform. It
was an unpainted, square building, and its windows were placed directly opposite each other, as I happen to know, for I have fre- quently tested the fact by throwing stones through the glass on one side, and the missile has, invariably, come out at the other. I am not sure but that the building still stands in the old place, though it has, long since, ceased to be the cradle of incipient erudition, and many years have passed since its walls echoed to the rehearsals of b-a-k-e-r, baker, or the whistling rush of the trenchant birch. I have a very dim remembrance of what studies I pursued there, if, indeed, I learned anything, but I can well recolleet that, not far from the school house, was a fine grove called "the Cedars," where there was a spring of clear, cold water, and where the girls used to go to swing and play at "baby-house." "I bear in my body," to this day, the marks of a cut from a hatchet, which I received while trim- ming a tree-branch, to which to fasten a swing for one of the girls, and I bear in my memory every feature of the damsel in whose service I was wounded .- (It matters not, however, to your readers, whether she is living or dead, as I do not intend to indulge in a reminiscence of what the Dutchmen call colres leivter. )
Of all that bevy of school girls who "went a-visiting" each other's tree stumps, and ad- mired each other's settings out, in the shape of broken bits of crockery, and praised the beauty and precocity of each other's rag babies, I do not know the present "local habitation" of more than a half dozen, if, indeed, so many still survive. More than one fell a victim to consumption, and went early to rest in "Our Cemetery ;" many have married, and left their native Village, and I do not know but one cxtant and celibate (ELLEN -) and she, when I saw her, not long since, looked almost as young as when she swung in "the Cedars, "
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and played "high, low, jack and the game" at noon intermissions, in the Village school house.
Besides the Village School, was the Acad- emy, on what is now called Thompson street, contiguous, and quite convenient to PETER BOGARDUS' apple orchard. This edifice was built one-half of brick, and the other half of wood, and possessed the only bell in town, except that on the old Court House. I remem- ber that the Academy bell was rung, on Sun- days, to call the congregation of St. Luke's together, while that on the Court House per- formed the same service for those who wor- shipped at the Presbyterian "meeting-house." They were called, respectively, the big and little bells, and, for a long time, were the only secular or ecclesiastical tocsins of the Village ; but these things are all changed now, campa- nology is reduced to a science, and the modest tintinnabulations of our old favorites are smothered in the clamor of a ton or two of sonorous metal.
The teachers in the Village School were, usually, persons who were pursuing their theological studies with good old Doctor PORTER, and the exercises were supposed to be of a higher grade than those of the Acad- emy, which was, what is now called, a Dis- trict school. Of the early teachers at the latter, were JOSEPH WYMAN, JOSEPH E. SIM- MONS and ISAAC DOUGLAS. Of Wyman I have spoken in a former paper. Simmons was a Welchman, and though a strict disciplinarian, was a most excellent teacher. He is, or was, not long since, living, and I have heard that, until very recently, he was engaged in the tui- tion of the unfortunates at the County House.
ISAAO DOUGLAS was, in some way, related to the BOGARDUS and COMFORT families, an amiable man, a ripe scholar, and the only teacher whom I really loved. He was an occasional contributor to the columns of this paper (the Recorder), and all his articles evinced a fine literary taste. He died, com- paratively young, of consumption.
Of the Village School, I can only call to mind the names of WHITTLESEY, ATWOOD, WHITLEY, (a wiry, dogmatic and pugnacious Scotchman) and NUTTING, who was commonly called Mr. Nothing, or Nobody.
After a time, the Village School came to be looked upon as rather too sectarian, and the Academy as rather too promiscuous in char- acter, and the conservative portion of the in- habitants resolved to establish another institu- tution. The building for this purpose was erected on the street running from William to Court streets, (I forget its name) directly in the rear of ISAAC DUBOIS' brick store, and was generally known as Captain VAN LOAN'S school house. The first teacher here was ROBERT K. MOULTON, a man who had failed
while in business with LORA NASH, who after- wards became a prominent and wealthy citizen of New York. Aside from his elegant pen- manship, Mr. Moulton possessed very few qualifications as a teacher, and he did not long remain at the head of the school. He was succeeded by one LAGUIRE, a half-crazed Irishman with a red wig. He, too, was a splendid penman, but instead of trying to impart a knowledge of the art to his pupils, he made use of his acquirements in that line in writing love-letters to his female scholars. During his reign, we boys had a "high old time." We had free egress and ingress at all times, through the doors or windows, as best suited our convenience ; and the school was, in fact, during the time of his rule, or misrule, a continuous scene of as much hubbub and disorder as that of ICHABOD CRANE, at Sleepy Hollow, on the afternoon when the master was invited to take tea with the fair but fickle KATRINA VAN TASSEL.
LAGUIRE was followed by Mr. MORRELL, who was a good deal "on his shape," and something, too, of a ladies' man. His great fault was a nocturnal indulgence in stimulants at the grocery store of his crony, ALEOK MANN; and having, one night, when slightly inebriated, "buried" JERRY BLAKE in a hat full of eggs, his services as a teacher of the young idea were dispensed with-our parents, doubtless, thinking we could learn such tricks without an outlay of fifty dollars per month to an instructor.
Succeeding MORRELL, came FREDERICK POR- TER, whose administration was more satisfac- tory to both patrons and pupils than that of cither of his predecessors. Holding the reins lightly, but just firmly enough over his charge to secure order in the school, and indulging in just enough familiarity with his scholars to elicit their respect and affection, he was, per- haps, the most popular teacher who ever fol- lowed the profession in Catskill. He went from our Village to Albany, as a book-keeper, where he soon won the confidence of his employers, and ultimately became one of the celebrated firm of SMITH & PORTER, and was at one time reputed to be, and probably was wealthy. I do not know the nature of the reverses by which he became reduced in cir- cumstances, but the last time I saw him he was in the fruit and shell-fish trade, at the corner of Hudson street and Broadway. He has been dead some years.
Of all my school associates, but few survive. Many of them repose in our pleasant Cem- etery ; some lie beneath the boundless prairies of the West; some have found graves in foreign lands, and the fate of others will never be known until the sea gives up its dead. Requiescat in pace !
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REMINISCENCES OF CATSKILL .- BY MR. THURLOW WEED.
ALBANY, MARCHI 29, 1865.
To the Editor of the Recorder and Democrat :
In your Recorder of the 24th inst., (which I received this morning) a writer who recalls and describes some of the early inhabitants of your Village, "remembers, as among the earliest Draymen of Catskill, the two JOE WEEDS, (JOEL and JOSEPH) one of whom, I do not know which, was the progenitor of THURLOW WEED. Though in humble life, both were esteemed, I believe, as honest, in- dustrious men."
Though a matter of no possible interest to any one but myself, allow me to say that JOEL WEED, the younger brother, was my father. They were "honest, industrious" cartmen, my uncle JOSEPH being the more prosperous. In- deed, he owned a house still standing, about half-way between "CHANDLER's" and the Bridge; while we ''moved" annually, at least, renting apartments in the "Stone Jug," "Number Eight," (I can't remember why No. 8) GULLEN's Barber Shop, &c., &c. My uncle JOSEPH had one son, GEORGE L. WEED, a very worthy man, and well known Christian Missionary. I had two brothers; one (ORRIN) 3 died in New York in 1818, and the other (OSBORN) in Tennessee in 1851. My father died in Onondaga forty-six years ago; my mother, in Tennessee, in 1846.
This is all-perhaps more than anybody will care to learn-of my origin. But your correspondent has turned my thoughts back to the Catskill that I remember during the first seven years of the present century ; and some of its "oldest inhabitants" may be inter- ested in reminiscences of that period. I am not as much mistaken, probably, in the im- pression that Catskill was a place of more business enterprise and activity then than at present, as I was, after an absence of nearly twenty years, in the width of the Creek, the height of the "Hop-o'-nose," and the distance from "DONNELLY's" to the Court House. At any rate, however, the Catskill of my youth was a bustling, thrifty, pleasant Village, with considerable commerce, two ship-yards, and in the Winter a large slaughtering and packing business.
Among its inhabitants were men of decided ability-men who, in any community, would stand out prominently upon the canvass. --- Such, for example, were THOMAS P. GROSVE- NOR, JACOB and SAMUEL HAIGHT, the DAYS, the CROSWELLS, the COOKES, the HILLS, &e., &c.
But my mind retains most vividly incidents rather than individuals. In those days, hard as it may seem now, poor men, however
honest, lived in dread of Imprisonment ! My father was one of a class whom ill-fortune tracked through life. IIe worked hard, but never prospered. Ilis horse was always sick, or lame, or was backing the cart off the Dock. The Debtors' Prison, therefore, was ever staring us in the face. But there was this blessed mitigation of the horrors of a Debtors' Prison. There were Gaol Liberties connected with the prison, of which a debtor, with a reputation for honesty, and a wealthy friend who would sign his bond to remain upon the "Limits," might avail himself. The Limits, accurately defined, extended to business parts of the Village, so that a poor man stood some chance of keeping the wolf from devouring his wife and children. This, however, was not the full measure of the Law's humanity. On Sunday the debtor was free! And on these days of jubilee I used to roam with my enfranchised father, down to the "Point," over to the Shad Fishery, or up to Jefferson, with a deep sense of gratitude that he was permitted, one- day in the week, to walk God's earth, and breathe His atmosphere, unre- strained. Creditors were on the watch, always, for truant debtors, who sometimes failed to return to the Limits before twelve o'clock on Sunday night.
I do not remember the "Mammy KANE," whom your correspondent chronieles as the depository of boys' sixpences. The Ginger- bread and Spruce Beer House mnost resorted to sixty years ago, was kept quite at the upper end of the Village, near "BRUSHINGIIAM'S." There were three hotels, (DONNELLY's, C'HAN- DLER'S, and BOTTSFORD'S, ) in Catskill then, each, I am sure, more extensively known than any of your present hotels. The late gallant Col. DONNELLY was a grand-son of the keeper of the hotel I refer to.
Among the events that impressed themselves upon my memory, indelibly, was the drown- ing of a daughter of Mr. HILL, by a freshet, and the loss of a son of Mr. DONNELLY, by skating into an air-hole on Moose Crech, (I believe that was the name) a mile or two below the mouth of the Catskill Creek. Skating, so much the fashion now, was a favorite ex- ercise of the grand-fathers of those who so enjoy it now, though ladies did not then share the excitement.
An incident remembered of course by but very few, was then an "eight days wonder." This was a personal combat between two young gentlemen, rivals for the hand of an accomplished young lady, but as at least one of the parties survive, (eminent and honored, )
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perhaps even this reference to the circumstance may be ill-timed.
The first military funeral I ever witnessed, was that of Major HALE. This was in 1803 or '4. It was very impressive, especially in the led horse, with the holster, boots, &c., of the deceased Revolutionary officer.
In those days there was a delusion among poor bnt credulous people, about the buried treasure of Capt. KIDD. I remember to have been, as a boy, permitted to accompany a party on an expedition which was supposed to be pregnant with golden results. Upon reaching the mysterious locality, the throat of a black cat was cut, and the precise spot was indicated by the direction the blood spurted. And there the digging commenced, with an energy worthy of DOUSTERSWIVEL, in the 'Antiquary,' but it was not rewarded by even so much as the discovery of "Search No. 1."
As boys, we used to go down to the mag- nificent (but even then dilapidated, and long since demolished) LIVINGSTON Manor House, at the mouth of Johnston's Creek, to pick Barberries, and get frightened by the screech- ings of an insane lady, confined in her apart- ment in the white house upon the hill.
The great event, and one that excited Catskill for many months, was a murder ! A body was discovered early one Sunday morn- ing, on the West shore of the Creek, near DUBOIS' farm. I forget whether the name of the murdered man was SCOTT, or whether that was the name of the murderer. Soon it was ascertained that the man was last seen at NANCE McFALL's, a disreputable house out of the Village, but near the spot where the body was found. Circumstances came out which satisfied the inhabitants that he had been mur- dered. Toward evening groups were seen at corners, growing more and more excited, until, Justice not yet having drawn on its boots, the multitude pressed through the Main strect, strengthening in numbers and enthusiasnı, down to the dwelling of the doomed NANCE, which was demolished and scattered to the winds and waves. Subsequently the murderer was tried, convicted, and sentenced to be hung ; but on the day of execution, and only an hour from the fatal moment, when an im- mense concourse of people were assembled, came a Reprieve !
The first great man I ever saw was Gov- ernor MORGAN LEWIS, who reviewed a brigade in the Village of Madison, in 1806.
In carly Embargo days, there was much of party bitterness at Catskill. The Federalists wore black cockades. This exasperated the Republicans. I remember an occasion when a Light Infantry company (commanded, I believe, by Major IIAIGHT) being paraded, that
a general street collision was with much diffi- culty arrested.
I wonder if any of the half dozen boys who, with myself, put their clothes in their hats, and placing the hats upon a board, pushing it ahead, swam off to the island (now the steamboat landing) to await the approach of the first steamboat, still survive ?
My first occupation was to blow and strike in the blacksmith shop of a Mr. REEVES, which stood not far East of the IRA DAY house. I afterwards lived with a Captain BAKER, on the bridge, and subsequently with him in a tavern at Jefferson.
My River experience, as cabin boy, or cook, was with Captains GRANT and BOGARDUS, in the sloops Ranger and Jefferson. My incli- nation for the life of a sailor was fostered by a strong attachment for a JAMES VAN VOORT, a handsome, dashing fellow, with a rich, melodious voice, who followed the River in the season of navigation, and worked at his trade, as a nailer, (nails were not made with machinery then) in the Winter. But this in- clination was always subordinate to my desire to become a Printer. My great ambition was to get apprenticed to Mr. MACKAY CROSWELL, who then published the Recorder, but the realization of that object was postponed, though I lingered about the printing office a good deal, doing chores, and learning what I could learn as an interloper.
Your correspondent kindly refers to the cir- cumstance that Mr. EDWIN CROSWELL and myself "were boys together at Catskill."- Though of the same age, we were not intimate as boys. He had the advantage of me in position, education, &c. Nor had he, like JACK GRAHAM and GIL. FROST, a taste for sports and adventures, in which I remember to have participated. Mr. CROSWELL, as a boy, was noticeable for the same quiet, studious, refined habits and associations which have characterized his whole life. I left Catskill in 1808, and did not again meet Mr. CROSWELL for nearly twenty years. In 1830, as editor of the Evening Journal, (Mr. CROSWELL having been for several years editor of the Argus) we came into sharp collision. Albany was then, and for years before and after that period, a political centre for both the State and Nation. Each party confided the duty of organization and discipline to their respective editors. A sense of responsibility stimulated both. Long years of earnest controversy and intense feeling ensued. The warfare, unhap- pily, assumed not only political but personal and social aspects.
The leading men of the Democratic party possessed talents, experience and tact. The "Albany Regency," consisting, as it did, of such men as Mr. VAN BUREN, GOV. MARCY,
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Mr. KNOWER, SILAS WRIGHT, Mr. FLAGG, myself and other poor politicians, very many. S. A. TALCOTT, T. W. OLCOTT, &c., &c., found He has discounted scores of notes where the maker and endorser were equally good-for nothing. Protests, "plenty as blackberries," never injured my credit at the "Little Belt." in Mr. CROSWELL, their colleague and editor, sound judgment, untiring industry, great de- votion and rare ability. Gov. MARCY, Mr. WRIGHT and Gen. Dix, distinguished for Legislative and Executive ability, were very able contributors to the columns of the Argus. Mr. FLAGG, himself an editor, was also a "power" in the Argus. Against such men, with General JACKSON as their Chief, it was my privilege to contend; and now, all the bitterness engendered by such conflicts having been soothed by time, it is pleasant to remen- ber that before the curtain fell, at the closing scene of that political drama, agreeable per- sonal relations grew up between most of these eminent men and myself. I was first intro- duced to Mr. VAN BUREN at the funeral of my intimate friend, the late Gov. MARCY. This was my first and last meeting with the then
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