that I find mentioned in local histories was Henry Pawling, who died
in 1695. His heirs sold the property in May, 1701, to Dr. Samuel
Staats, of New York City, and another. This was the son of Major Abram
Staats, of Albany, who figured largely in the early history of
Columbia County. The only man of note living here during Revolutionary
days was Major John Pawling, a friend of Washington and an active
patriot. His stone house, built in 1761, still stands on the Post
Road.
[Sidenote: _RHINEBECK._]
Ryn Beck, Rein Beck, Rhynbeek, Reinebaik, Rhinebeck, was the name at
first applied to that region back from the river and located on the
property of William Beekman, which was occupied by the "High
Dutchers," while in Kipsbergen, on the river bank, lived the "Low
Dutchers."
In 1710 Colonel Robert Hunter, Governor of the Province, came over
with a considerable colony of Palatines from the Rhine country, some
of whom settled on the Beekman property as above, and are said to have
given the place its name, which first appears in a deed of 1714.
[Sidenote: _KIPSBERGEN._]
Kipsbergen: There is no evidence to show that any one settled here
before 1700, though the region was purchased from the Esopus Indians
as early as 1686 by Jacobus and Hendrick Kip. The Kips are said to
have been great believers in large families, but, in spite of this,
the local chronicler states that a few years ago there was but one of
the name left in the territory of ancient Kipsbergen, and it is said
that some of the land he possessed had never known any owner but a
Kip or an Indian. To-day Kipsbergen is only found on the older maps.
Landsman Kill may have been the boundary line between the High and Low
Dutchers, Rhinebeck and Kipsbergen. The name obtains either because
its water power was reserved for the "Landsman" or landlord, or
because one Caspar Landsman, whose name appears in the early records
may have lived along its banks. The stream once ran a grist mill for
Gen. Richard Montgomery.
A very interesting side excursion here, of some six or seven miles,
starts toward the river from the hotel corner in Rhinebeck, and comes
out on the Post Road again a half mile or so south of the starting
point. It affords wonderful views of the Catskills and the Hudson, the
Shawungunk and lesser mountains toward the south. The property owners
do not welcome the stranger within their gates, but he is allowed to
look over the fence to the views beyond.
Where the road turns south on the river bluff is the entrance to the
Kip place, Anckany, named for the Indian chief with whom the original
Kip bartered for this property. An attractive old stone house stands
on the roadside here, but a quarter of a mile further on is the place
that, of all others, along the Post Road, retains the old-time
atmosphere, the "Heermance" place, built on Hendrick Kip's south lot
in 1700. This is the house that Lossing says was erected by William
Beekman. The place soon (1716) passed into the possession of Hendricus
Heermance, and in due course to Henry Beekman, whose daughter became
the mother of Chancellor Livingston.
A distinct line on the east end of the present building seems to
indicate that the original house was very small; the heavy sashes and
the distorted little window panes of this old part read a clear title
back to the early days, which is duly confirmed by the iridescent
condition of the glass. Under the eaves, looking toward the river,
were once two portholes; no indications remain of one, but the other
is a round opening large enough for the muzzle of a small cannon, but
so close to the roof as to make it seem improbable that it was ever
intended for purposes of defense. The present tenant remembers when
this was a jagged hole without form or comeliness, though at present
it is a clean, round opening, and this suggests that there may be
something in Lossing's story that the hole was made by a cannon ball
from one of General Vaughan's sloops of war in 1777, though local
authorities do not appear to place much credence in this theory.
[Sidenote: _RHINECLIFF._]
The road continues south for some two miles through and beyond
Rhinecliff, traversing beautiful woods bordering Ex-Governor Morton's
grounds, but before entering the woods comes a delightful outlook
toward Kingston and its mountain background that is all the more
pleasing for its unexpectedness. Still further, and opposite a
schoolhouse, a road strikes off toward the south, and here is the
entrance to Wildercliff.
The Rev. Freeborn Garrettson, being invited to Rhinebeck to preach,
met Catherine Livingston while there, and in 1793 they were married.
Six years later they purchased a place on the banks of the Hudson,
calling it Wildercliff--Wilder Klipp, a Dutch word meaning wild man's
cliff, from the fact that early settlers found on a smooth rock on the
river shore a rough tracing of two Indians with tomahawk and calumet.
Garrettson was educated in the Church of England, but left it to
become a Methodist; a man of strong personality, he soon rose to a
prominent place in the church. Being a native of Maryland, he was
naturally a slave owner, but becoming convinced that slavery was bad,
he set his blacks free. Wildercliff was the most noted gathering place
in the country for Methodists, and the house was always full. His
daughter, Mary, kept up the traditions of the place, and it is said
such entertainment kept her poor.
The view down the river from here is something never to be forgotten;
the dazzling effect of the sun on the water, the hills of the further
shore, and the grand expanse of the picture which is only limited by
the condition of the atmosphere, must be seen to be appreciated.
Returning toward the Post Road the highway passes through the Camp
Meeting Woods, where the Rev. Mr. Garrettson inaugurated those camp
meetings which have made this spot as sacred to the Methodist heart as
is Wildercliff itself.
In the angle formed by the return road and the Post Road is an
extensive estate--Grasmere--which was planned and begun by Gen.
Richard Montgomery who, however, did not live to enjoy the fruits of
his labor. His widow finished the house, but dwelt here for a short
time only. The house was burned in 1828 and rebuilt and enlarged in
1861-2. The Montgomerys originally lived in a small cottage situated
on the Post Road near the northern end of the village. The house has
disappeared, but the fact is commemorated in the present name of that
portion of the highway.
A pleasant little story is told of General Montgomery's last days in
Rhinebeck. His last Sunday at home was spent with his brother-in-law,
Livingston. When the General and his wife were about to leave he
thrust into the ground a willow stick he had been carrying, remarking
with a laugh that they could let it grow as a reminder of him until he
came back. The General never returned, but the stick grew to a great
tree which has ever since been known as the Montgomery Willow.
[Sidenote: _PINK'S CORNER._]
At Pink's Corner, in the northern edge of Rhinebeck, stands the "Stone
Church" of the Lutherans, built some time during the Revolution, but
the church site is much older, as there are grave stones in the burial
ground dated as far back as 1733. The Post Road sweeps around the
church, and as one approaches from the south it looks as though he
must needs go to church or take to the fields.
[Sidenote: _RED HOOK._]
It was thick weather when I traveled the country between Rhinebeck and
Race Place, and the mist hid the distant hills and dulled the nearby
Autumn tints, with now and then a shower to make the roads the better
for the sprinkling. All nature had taken the veil, and there was
little to see beyond the adjoining fields, and these, lacking the
magic touch of the sun, were but dull companions. The towns, however,
kept jogging past at frequent intervals, Red Hook being first on the
list, the first mention of which is in 1751, when certain baptisms are
recorded as occurring in Roode Hoek. The place is said to have its
name from the fact that a marsh covered with ripe cranberries was the
first thing that caught the Dutch eye in this spot. As one passes
through the town he sees a guide-board pointing to Barrytown on the
river, some three or four miles away, where that Gen. John Armstrong
once lived, the author of those celebrated addresses published to the
army at Newburg, which might have resulted in trouble among the troops
had it not been for Washington's level head.
There are some old buildings in Red Hook, but none of historic
interest. It was here that I passed the last of the old brown
sandstone mile-stones; above here they are of some white stone that
looks like coarse marble, and from their general illegibility are
evidently not as well fitted to stand the rigorous northern climate as
are their brown brothers from the south.
Upper Red Hook: The recorded history of most of these towns begins
with the early church records. When the population grew dense enough
to warrant it, a new church organization would be formed to
accommodate those living in a neighborhood distant from the nearest
house of worship, and as soon as this happened the good dominie or the
scribe of the church would begin to record history; so of Upper Red
Hook--all we know of its early beginnings, starting with a record of
baptisms in December, 1785, comes from this source.
The road now passes into Columbia County, where everything is, was,
and ever shall be, Livingston. The family manor is on the river bank,
six miles away, but the family, like the locusts for number, has
spread up and down the river for a hundred miles or more.
In this county the Township of Livingston contains the villages of
Claremont, after the manor on the river; Johnstown, after John
Livingston; and Linlithgow, after the old home in Scotland. Dutchess
County knows them and knows them well, likewise Westchester, while
Rensselaer, on the north, counts them among her prominent citizens.
[Sidenote: _ROBERT LIVINGSTON._]
It appears that human nature was much the same two hundred years ago
as at present. It is said of Robert Livingston, first lord of the
manor, that he "was shrewd, persistent and very acquisitive; his zeal
in this direction leading him sometimes to adopt questionable methods
to advance his interests. He always exerted himself to obtain riches
and strove continually to promote his family." But we have scripture
for it that "men will praise thee when thou doest well to thyself." In
March, 1711, Lord Clarendon wrote: "I think it unhappy that Colonel
Hunter (Governor of the Province) at his first arrival fell into so
ill hands, for this Levingston has been known many years in that
province for a very ill man.... I am of opinion that if the substance
proposed be allowed, the consequences will be that Levingston and some
others will get estates, the Palatines will not be the richer."
[Sidenote: _ANTI-RENT TROUBLES._]
The anti-rent troubles which occupied the attention of the state for
one hundred and one years began on the Livingston Estate in the Fall
of 1751. The tenants first neglected, then refused to pay rent. The
boundary line between New York and Massachusetts was in dispute, both
Provinces claiming this territory; and the malcontents, taking
advantage of this to get some sort of title to their farms from the
"Committee of the General Court of the Province of Massachusetts Bay,"
defied Robert Livingston Jr., the then proprietor, and a hard time he
had of it to deal with both the discontented farmers and the
government of the adjoining Province, New York being slow to take up
the cudgels in his behalf.
From here the trouble spread to the Van Rensselaer and other manors,
resulting in riots and small-sized warfare, with now and then the
murder of a sheriff on the one side or an anti-renter on the other.
The matter got into state politics and finally, in 1846, the tenants
elected their Governor, and in 1852 the Court of Appeals decided in
favor of the tenants, and the trouble was laid to rest.
Among the notables of Columbia County was Samuel J. Tilden, who was
born and raised here, but who early gravitated to New York City. The
local historian also sets great store by the Hon. Elisha Williams who,
during the first quarter of the Nineteenth Century, was the bright
particular star of the Columbia County Bar.
[Sidenote: _FIRST "STAGE-WAGGONS"._]
In 1786 the first systematic attempt to run stages over the Post Road
appears to have been made by three Columbia County men, Isaac Van
Wyck, Talmage Hall and John Kinney, as in that year the state granted
to these men the exclusive right "to erect, set up, carry on and drive
stage-waggons" between New York and Albany on the east side of
Hudson's River, etc., fare limited to 4 pence per mile, trips once a
week. Right here it is interesting to note that in 1866 Lossing wrote
of the Hudson River Railway that "more than a dozen trains each way
pass over portions of the road in the course of twenty-four hours."
[Sidenote: _NEVIS--CLAREMONT--BLUE STORE._]
Nevis is little more than a cross-roads. Claremont a straggling
village of no moment; further on the road crosses the Roeloff Jansen
Kill over a bridge that looks as though it must have heard the rumble
of many a stage coach.
Some newspaper antiquarian says:--
"Kill seems to be a Low Dutch word of American coinage. I have never
found the word kill for brook in Low Dutch or Low German writings. I
think they originally pronounced it 'kuell' (cool), and to a people
transplanted from a low country to a mountainous one, where the water
of the brooks was cool even in midsummer, the suggestion may be
plausible. The Low Dutch have 'vliet' (fleet) for stream. The German
for streaming is 'stroemen.' Hamburg has its numerous fleets or canals.
The Low German of the Luenenburger Helde calls a brook a streak or a
'beek.' Note the word 'Beekman.'"
A hundred years or more ago, when they were naming things in these
parts, Blue Store was blue store, and they keep up the tradition
faithfully to-day. Everything except what nature tints is the favorite
color. This was one of the principal stopping places on the Post Road,
but it has sadly dwindled since the old days.
[Sidenote: _JOHNSTOWN--RACE PLACE._]
Johnstown contains three Livingston houses, built by various members
of this omnipresent family. The one north of the village stands on a
commanding hill, and looks from the road like a handsome place. In
1805 there were twenty public houses in this place, even members of
the reigning family consenting to take in the sheckels over the bar.
It has been interesting to see the chickens scurry for cover whenever
a noisy flock of blackbirds passes overhead on its way to the
southland. They seemed to think, if chickens think, that all the hawks
in christendom were swooping down on their devoted heads, and stood
not on the order of their going.
[Sidenote: _COLD NIGHT._]
Race Place is a half mile off the road, but being garnished with a
hotel I went there for the night. The village centre consists of two
dwellings, two blacksmith shops and the hotel, which carries the
legend "Race Place Hotel, 1700," and its interior bears out the aged
suggestion. The parlor floor has sagged a foot or so, due to the
crowds that have assembled here during past country balls. The
ballroom is on the second floor, where one would naturally expect to
find bedrooms, and the proprietor proudly announced that as many as
sixty couples had danced here at once; there must have been some
hearty bumps during the process. There are three bedrooms tucked away
in recesses at the rear. It was my lot to sleep in a feather bed under
a mountain of patchwork quilts with never a care for Jack Frost
sitting on the window ledge outside. But, oh! what a difference in the
morning, when I must climb out of that nice, warm nest to shut the
window, catching a scrap of conversation in doing so, the burden of
which was, "ice an inch thick." Think of shaving and washing in water
that has spent the night in such company!
The proprietor of the hotel thinks walking through the country is all
right and perfectly safe provided the traveler keeps away from those
large hotels where they burn gas. Gas is dangerous. Two of his friends
and neighbors went on a visit to Albany and, as he put it, came home
in pine boxes. Keep away from gas-lit hotels and you are all right.
The kitchen was the only place in the house where an overcoat was not
de rigeur, and there the evening was passed with the family. There was
much edifying conversation and considerable speculation over a
stuffed olive which the daughter of the house had brought home from
school; the housewife feared to taste it and the good man had no
curiosity to gratify.
[Sidenote: _STONE MILL--CLAVERACK._]
Stone Mill, on Claverack Creek, so named because of the old stone mill
built in 1766, is a postoffice, but why, in these days of rural free
delivery, is not quite clear, as the miller has but two or three
neighbors who live in sight.
[Sidenote: _CLAVERACK._]
Claverack, Clover-reach--the town is one of the oldest--was once the
county seat, until Hudson captured the prize. With what scorn must the
staid Dutchmen have looked on the hustling Yankees who almost built
the greatest city of the region over night.
As early as 1629 the Hollanders looked on this land and found it good.
It was part of the Van Rensselaer grants, this region in time coming
to be known as the Lower Manor. The settlers here appear to have come
with money and servants, and to have been better provided for than
most of those who broke into the wilderness. Early descriptions
suggest a land flowing with milk and honey. Deer were so plenty that
one could be had from the Indians for a loaf of bread; turkeys,
pheasants, quail, hares and squirrels were everywhere; forest trees
were festooned with grape vines; blackberries, strawberries, wild
plums and nut trees abounded, and the streams were full of most
excellent fish.
The soil was fertile, and the community soon became a flourishing one,
and the centre of interest and the county seat. The fine courthouse,
erected in 1786 and still standing, was the scene of some notable
legal contests, the most memorable being the trial of Harry Croswell,
editor of the Hudson Balance, in 1804, charged with libel upon
President Jefferson. The prosecution was handled by Ambrose Spencer,
Attorney-General, and the newspaper man was defended by William H. Van
Ness and Alexander Hamilton, whose eloquence failed to save the
accused. In 1805 Hudson became the county seat, and the courthouse was
abandoned to private use.
The village still contains a number of notably fine specimens of
Colonial architecture, one of which is the Ludlow house, built in
1786. The present Ludlow, a grandson of Robert Fulton, having some
money and much leisure, has turned the old place into a Fulton museum.
The Miller house, formerly Muldor, an interesting relic of the year
1767, is known as the Court Martial House, it having been used for the
trial and its cellar for the imprisonment of delinquents during the
Revolution, the owner himself being among those who suffered, he
being given the choice of paying $1,000 or serving two months. This
appears to have been because the gentleman shirked his military
duties. His thoughts on the subject of being haled a prisoner to his
own cellar do not appear to have been recorded; possibly they would
not look well in print, as it was written by an early traveler through
this region that the inhabitants were much "addicted to misusing the
blessed name of God." Mr. Miller, if inclined that way, certainly was
afforded every opportunity. Other attractive places are the Webb
house, erected about 1790; the Old Stone House, on the Post Road,
formerly an inn, said to be haunted by the ghost of a murdered pedler,
and the Dutch Church, 1767, in the northern edge of the village. In
fact, buildings a hundred years old are too frequent to excite remark.
Gen. James Watson Webb, whose father, Gen. Samuel B. Webb, was wounded
on Bunker Hill, was born here, as was Judge William P. Van Ness, Aaron
Burr's second in the Hamilton duel, and many another man known to
fame.
[Sidenote: _HUDSON._]
It is but a short distance to Hudson, whose history is so
interestingly different from that of the other towns of the region
that a few words concerning it may not be out of place, even if the
Post Road does pass by on the other side. Here, in 1783, came certain
Quakers from Providence and Newport, Nantucket and Edgartown. It seems
that the British cruisers had crippled the whaling industry and other
marine ventures in which these enterprising gentlemen were engaged,
and they sought a more secluded haven from which to transact their
business. Some of them brought, on the brig "Comet," houses framed and
ready for immediate erection, but before placing them these methodical
Quakers first laid out the town in regular form, establishing
highways, and not allowing them to develop from cow paths, as was the
honest Dutch fashion. A committee was appointed "to survey and plot
the city," and another to see that the streets were given suitable
names.
The settlers promptly opened clay pits, burned bricks, built a
first-class wharf, and were regularly trading with New York within a
year after they landed. A canoe ferry satisfied the earlier settlers,
but "a gunwaled scow" was none too good for the new comers.
In 1785 it was the second port in the state; two ship yards were
established, and a large ship, the Hudson, was nearly ready for
launching. The fame of its hustle was attracting people from every
side. March 31, 1785, the first newspaper was issued; April 22, 1785,
a legislative act incorporated the place into a city; and by January,
1786, they had finished an aqueduct to bring in an abundant supply of
pure water from two miles back in the country.
In 1790 it was made a port of entry. In 1793 the Bank of Columbia was
chartered; in 1796-7 the city issued small bills and copper coins.
Hudson was incorporated the third city in the State, was the third
port of entry, and had one of the three banks in the State. Once it
started on the down grade, however, its "decline and fall off" was
equally rapid.
[Sidenote: _POST ROAD._]
Now to get back to the Post Road, where the pace is not quite so
hot-foot. As the next town is Kinderhook, some fourteen miles away,
there is plenty of time to view the beauties of nature and fill one's
nostrils with its rich perfumes. Most of the year's work in the fields
is finished; here and there the shocks are being overhauled for the
corn, which is shucked as gathered, while the pumpkins are still
accumulating sunshine for the golden Thanksgiving pie. From the barn
yards come the pounding of the steam thresher or the creak of a
windlass, suggesting that the hay crop is being baled. Everything is
busy but the cows, who evidently do not like frosting on their cake
and, having the day before them, can afford to wait till the good sun
comes along to undo the work which has kept Jack Frost so busy all
night.
The Catskills or Blue Mountains, as they are known from this distance,
fill the western horizon, while the beautiful landscapes sloping down
toward the river are so exquisite that the traveler involuntarily
pauses to take it all in. For a goodly portion of the time the road
keeps well up along a side hill, giving an extensive view over the
valley beneath and to the mountains beyond--the autumn colors and
softness are like the fairy dreams of childhood. With the blood
dancing under the influence of the brisk morning air, walking is a
luxury, and the glow that comes with the exercise, as well as every
sight and sound, a new found joy.
The people hereabouts, while used to all sorts of freaks, can hardly
understand how one can idly walk through the country with no higher
ambition than the taking of a picture here and there, and many are the
questions to be answered as to the whyness of the whichness, the old
farmer generally going on with a dubious shake of the head, convinced
that there is a screw loose somewhere.
[Sidenote: _FARMER FOLK._]