People, Places

Reminiscences of Morris – Number Seven

by A. S. Avery, Morris Chronicle, October 21, 1874

In copying my manuscript for the printer, I omitted from the list of schoolmates, Selinda, Elizabeth, Acksa, and Walter Wing; Jesse Butts; Andrew G. Shaw; and no doubt there are others whom I do not call to mind.

Elm Grove was the name given to a little settlement about a mile and a half east of Louisville. A store was situated on what is now the corner where Mr. Ellis (Johnson) lives. A lane ran down to near the creek, and at the foot of the lane was Elm Grove Factory. This factory was built in 1815, by Robert L. Bowne and Co. (mill). The company consisted of the rest of the family. Here was manufactured woolen goods and satinetts. Broadcloth was made which sold for $10 the yard. All the weaving was done by hand. This company failed in 1819. The factory was afterwards owned by Samuel Starkweather and operated by ———— Greenwood. It was burned down in 1819. It was rebuilt but never did much business. Robert Bowne & Co. owned the store, and S. S. Bowne was the first clerk. This building now stands — the first house off the creek road, towards Pittsfield, beyond Van Rensselaer’s farm. William Grant, the boss clothier, lived where George Haynes now lives. Here is where Dr. Rice lived, and his son Thomas, who built a furnace and manufactured cast-iron plows. A tannery was also erected here by J.K. Lull & Sons. Today there is a large chair and cabinet manufactory owned by Geo. Benjamin (mill). Joseph Bowne lived on the Wheeler place. Silas Neff had a grocery store near where Thompson Bemiss is building a house. We give a few names of the persons who worked in the factory: Wm. Stewart, Supt., Christopher Gifford, Jesse Ayers, James Gledhill, Heman Lloyd, Richard, and Geo. Gibson, Peter Backus, — Raymond, and others.

The whole territory of Elm Grove proper was laid out into quarter and half-acre lots, and many of them sold about home and in New York City. The 3 acres of Tracy’s are 6 building lots bought of Robert L. Bowne by John Alexander. Wanton Weedon was the surveyor.

Chauncey Todd lived in a log house where Bemiss now lives; Enoch Lawrence where David Dye lives; James Tuttle where Lyman Bugby lives; Millard Aldrich where Job. Aldrich (D. Wing) lived; Greenwood lived in a small one-story house on the site of where Baldwin lives, (here is where old Sayles lived); Daniel Aldrich lived in an old house on the north side of the road nearly opposite Wheeler (Sally ) house; Ira Brooks in an old house nearly opposite Bowne’s gate.

About 70 years ago one wing of the Bowne Mansion was built. The main building was erected by Robert L. Bowne (Peter Platt, builder), in 1817. This house is today one of the largest in the country, embracing 40 rooms, some of which are very large. It is pleasantly situated on a gentle rise of ground in the Butternut Valley near the Tienuderrah River, commanding a view of the valley twenty miles in extent, from New Lisbon on the north-east to the hills of Sidney on the south-west. Fifty years ago it was owned by Geo. Shepherd, by whom it was sold about 1830 to the Loomis Brothers, who sold it to Oliver and Joseph Somers, and they sold it to Hon S, S, Bowne, and it is now owned by his two sons, Charles and John.

A framed school-house stood on the lower side of the road (Jensen) on the corner near the site of the present one. In one end was a large fire-place and the seats were made of rough slabs from the sawmill. Here many of the Lulls, Palmers, Yates, Aldrichs, Gilberts, Alexanders, Lawrences, Todds, Moores, etc. of the district graduated.

William Gilbert first settled at the outlet of a little lake in the town of Laurens. He afterwards, in 1820, moved to the farm now occupied by his son, Butler Gilbert. It was on this farm that the three towns of Pittsfield, New Berlin, and Butternuts joined, and a large butternut tree was made the corner; hence the name Butternuts. The tree was cut down, and three large trees grew from the stump; one of which is standing today. The device of the seal of the B. W. & C. Factory Co. is a stump with three sprouts.

Mr. Lull lived where Mr. Whitcomb now resides (Quite a history of the Lull family has been published). Nathaniel Moore lived where his son Nathaniel now lives. Squire Moore lived where Kirkland lives. Amos Palmer lived where Mr. Hall resides, and Dr. Yates (Latour) owned 1,000 acres adjoining on the north. The Quaker meeting-house was a double log building situated on the Bentley Farm (Cruttenden) between the old burying ground and the turnpike. The old church (Harmony, as it was called after the new stone one was built) stood on the south side of the highway, near the corner. It was used for some years by the Methodists and finally torn down. It was built by John Aiken, by what is known as the “Scribe’s rule.”

Bentley sold his farm to Judge Cathcart, and he sold it to Jeremiah Cruttenden.

The present Friends meeting-house was built by Robert L. Bowne about 1817. A road used to run on the side hill from A. G. Moore’s residence to the old church in front of the meeting-house, and the road up the hill ran on the east side of Moore’s residence. Where the factory school-house stands there used to be a large red woolen and cotton factory. Ellis Cook and John Moore commenced it and sold out to the Factory Co. This company included the name of Judge Franchot, V. P. Van Rensselaer, Benejah Davis, Uri Jackson, Dan Smith, J. C. Morris, Joseph Gilbert, A. G. Washbon, and others. The stone factory was built in 1825 and commenced business in 1826. The cotton was shipped to Catskill, and from there to the factory by horses and wagons. Asa Ames was for many years a teamster. It was not an uncommon thing to be two weeks making the round trip. Large quantities of the cloth were peddled out through the country. A factory was once built between the bridge and Mr. Rotch’s farm (V. Gregory) but the machinery never was put into it, and the floor was broken down one 4th of July, at a celebration there.

Sixty years ago, the school-house in Louisville stood near the corner beyond the bridge, in Franchot’s (Leonard’s) (Paurice) lot. The district then extended to Jared Patrick’s and Lemuel Brooks’ in the east, and to Lyman Collar’s on the west. Samuel Drew, teacher. Dan Smith lived about one mile below Louisville on the road to Gilbertsville, and for some years kept a tavern. This used to be quite a resort for persons to go and shoot at a mark. To snuff a candle 15 rods distant with a rifle ball was considered something of a shot. Deacon Jackson lived in the next house, below, and from there to Gen. Morris’ it was nearly all woods. Here we close the Reminiscences. They might be continued indefinitely, but perhaps we have already wearied the reader. Some people may think it worthwhile to cut them out and put them in a scrapbook. Fifty years from now, they may be of more value. If I have succeeded in refreshing your memory of by-gone days, — of awakening a desire to come and see the old place once more, — to renew old acquaintanceship — exchange friendly greetings, and for the time feel that we are boys again, — I am satisfied. Give us your hand — good-bye. We shall meet again.

Excerpt from Morris, New York 1773-1923 by Joyce Foote, 1970

The previous text was taken directly from the book Morris, New York 1773-1923 by Joyce Foote, 1970. I made a few minor edits, but the content remains unchanged.

Early History, People

Reminiscences of Morris – Number Six

by A. S. Avery, Morris Chronicle, October 14, 1874

John Stockwell was a little old man who used to wear a long-tailed coat much too large for him. His business was making corn husk door-mats. He was very courageous when out of danger. It was amusing to hear him tell how he would mow down the enemy in case of war. Cannon was his favorite weapon, loaded with log-chains, which were to spread out as they were discharged, and mow down the enemy by thousands. He was an ardent admirer of Generals Washington and Jackson and was a little proud when called General Stockwell. He was desperately afraid of the Indians, and fifty years ago the Oneidas frequently came and encamped near the village, the squaws selling brooms and baskets. The boys tormented the General by whooping and yelling in the evening around his house, near Arries’. Upon one occasion they disguised themselves and chased him into Gifford’s house. “Hide me: hide me!” said John, “the Indians are after me.” “Where?” said Christopher. “Anywhere, quick, quick, they are after my scalp!” So Gifford picked him up and tucked him into the oven.

John Roberts was another character. He was a large man, full six feet high, an excellent mechanic (wheelwright), and possessed one of the best memories. All the details and history of the Revolutionary War; all the public events, were at his tongue’s end. He, too, like nine-tenths of the people of his day, took a little too much toddy. Here is the original of a certain story which is often requested, viz.: On a certain occasion he met Priest Hill, now in Cal., in Moore’s store. Roberts, being a little full, apologetically regretted that he had not attended meetings of late; that he felt it his duty to contribute something to the dominie’s salary; that he always thought a great deal of the Episcopalians, and that if he joined any church it would be the Episcopal, for they never meddled with politics nor religion.

Thomas Joclyn — “Uncle Tom” — was fond of his half-pint: he was not quarrelsome, but frequently drunk. In those days, men were imprisoned for debt, and upon one occasion, Tom was seized by the constable and locked up in one of the chambers of the old red tavern. The window of this room was not fastened, and beneath the window outside stood an old table, so Tom crawled out and, hanging by his hands to the window-sill, dropped himself down. The window in the room below was raised, and as his feet struck the table it tipped over throwing Tom headfirst into the room. Before he could recover from his surprise at finding himself in the house, the constable caught him again. “How came you in here?” asked the constable. “How?” said Tom; “Well I should like to know how myself; but the fact is, the house stands on a mitre.”

Allen Holcomb sometimes made coffins, and upon one occasion, a townsman called and ordered one made for his child. Holcomb charged him $2.50, and the purchaser complained of the price as exorbitant. Holcomb, being a very passionate man for a “Friend” said, “Well, when thee dies, I’ll make thy coffin for nothing, and I’ll make it out of Hemlock so thee can go through h–l snapping.”

Once upon a time, Zeba Washbon employed Jo Hawley to clear off a piece of pineland, agreeing to give him a certain sum and all the ashes he could save; informing him that white pine ashes were worth $2.00 per bushel. Jo went to work, cleared it off, and burned it over, but when he looked for his white pine ashes they were not to be found. Jo said nothing but waited his opportunity. At the proper time, Washbon got Jo to sow it to round turnips. Instead of getting turnip seed he got mustard. In due time it came up very nicely. After waiting a couple of weeks, the discovery was made that they were not turnips, and Washbon asked Hawley if he had not made a mistake in the seed. “No,” said Jo, “no mistake at all; you just sow some white pine ashes over the piece and you’ll have as nice turnips as ever you saw.”

Very few of my readers can recollect the excitement when Gen. Jackson was running the second time for President. I was then a little puny lad of nine years. The neighborhood of boys, like their fathers, were nearly equally divided into “Jackson men” and “Adams men”. I was a Jackson man.

Upon a certain occasion in that summer before election, we boys were playing on the green in front of the church, and a part of the time our sport consisted in each party trying to make more noise than the other by “hollerin” “hur-r-a-w for Jackson!” and “hur-r-a-w for Adams!” The excitement increased; hard names (as we thought) were called until it became necessary to “resort to arms!” Our reputation was at stake, our strength must be tried, our courage must be put to the test. Off went the coats and everyone was preparing for the contest. I was one of the smallest boys, and wore trousers that buttoned to my coat, and wishing to appear as big as any of them, endeavored to pull off my coat like the rest, and off it came; but down went my breeches, and there I stood with my shirt on. My ludicrous appearance caused a shout from all parties, while I was so mad I cried and gathering up as well I could, started for home.

“What is the matter, bubby?” said my mother. “Uh-uh-uh-bo-o-o, darn him,” said I, bawling as hard as I could, “Hen Holcomb called me an Adams man.”

Next week we will speak of Elm Grove.

Excerpt from Morris, New York 1773-1923 by Joyce Foote, 1970

The previous text was taken directly from the book Morris, New York 1773-1923 by Joyce Foote, 1970. I made a few minor edits, but the content remains unchanged.