An American figure of national consequence has passed away from
the scene of her many glories. We refer to Martha Washington, the
Independence Hall cat.
When we worked in the old Philadelphia _Ledger_ office, and paragraphs
were scarce, we had an unfailing recourse. We would go over to the
State House (as they call it in its home town), descend to the cool
delightful old cellar underneath the hall, and call on Fred Eckersberg,
the engineer. We would see Martha sleeking herself on the flagstones
by the cellar steps (she was the blackest cat we ever knew, giving off
an almost purple lustre in hot sunlight) or perhaps we would have
to search her out among the coal bins where she was fixing a layette
for the next batch of kittens. In any case, Martha having been duly
admired, Fred Eckersberg would gladly talk about her and tell us what
were the latest adventures of her historic life. Which was always
good copy, for Fred, having been on friendly terms with Philadelphia
reporters for many years, knew the kind of anecdotes that would please
them. One of Fred’s unconscious triumphs was the time he told us of
his perplexity about ringing in the New Year in the Independence Hall
belfry. It was about Christmas time, 1919. “Last January,” he said, “I
rang One-Nine-One-Nine to welcome in the New Year. But what am I going
to do this time? How can I ring One-Nine-Two-Nought?” We told him we
saw no way out of it but to start early in the afternoon of New Year’s
Eve and ring the whole One Thousand Nine Hundred and Twenty tolls.
We could say a good deal about Martha Washington: her kittens are
surely the most noble in the land, charter members of the Colonial
Felines of America, all born in the Hall, directly underneath the lobby
where the Bell stands. When the most famous brood of all were swaddled,
four fine jetty daughters born in November, 1918, Fred christened them
Victory, Freedom, Liberty, and Independence. He paid us the greatest
compliment of our life by offering us Victory, but at that time we were
living in a small apartment in the city and we didn’t think it would be
a sufficiently dignified home for such a kitten, who deserved nothing
less than a residence on the Main Line (Oh, Philadelphia!), with
scrapple made on the premises.
But it is time to get down to the point of our story. Martha has left
the Hall. Poor Fred, in his bereavement, has taken pen in hand. We can
see him, sitting at his desk down there in the ancient cellar, with all
his emblems, souvenirs, and clippings posted up above him and an oblong
of gold-and-green brightness shining down through the doorway from the
leafy sunshine of the Square. We can see him talking it over with his
comrades “the boys”--the State House carpenter and the gardeners, as
they sit at their lunch in the cellar. There is the empty saucer, dry
and dusty now; in the good old days Fred always brought in a little
bottle of milk every morning for Martha. And this is what Fred writes
us, word for word:
PHILA Aug 3, 21.
DEAR FRIEND: I thought I would write you a few lines to let
you know that I am still at the Hall but the Black cat is
gone--without a press agent Martha just became a cat the boys
miss her as we had a bag of grass seed the mice got in and they
have to hang their lunch on a string but we have a pair of
Robbins that sing in the square they would not be long there if
Martha was strolling around. We kept one of her kittens when I
was on my vacation it was sent to the Morris Refuge with one of
the men, on a Friday the next day he got a yellow slip (good
bye). Lot of people ask me about her and a Friend of yours left
this card: _Dear friend It looks as if Martha is going to have
a family--Will you save me two kittens if they are black like
their ma!_ But she did not have a black kitten so he did not
get one.
She left them for a few days came back when they were sent
away this was what got her in wrong, but when a fight between
two Thomas cats on the lawn was pulled off Martha’s doom was
sealed. She had the same sleek black coat the same bright eyes
but she was in wrong with our Superintendant so I called up and
had a boy from the cat home call for her they said it would
cost 50 cents so I left the cents and the job of putting her in
the basket to one of the men, but her picture is still on the
wall.
We are making changes and repairs about the buildings if the
tower would interest you would be pleased to take you up when
over in Phila had a party from New York up and they said they
knew you.
The old janitor lived in the tower because he had to ring the
bell for fires funerals and most everything that went on they
tell me one son was born there he had three children, the
rafter alongside the open fireplace is burned and we found some
old shoes worn by children under the floor, and some bones we
thought ment a Crime but upon investigation turned out to be
soup bones from Sheep Legs. This is about all. Your Friend
FRED ECKERSBERG
Engineer, Independence Hall.
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