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.

Early History, People

Reminiscences of Morris – Number Five

by A. S. Avery, Morris Chronicle, October 7, 1874

For the purpose of refreshing the memories of those who went to school in the new red schoolhouse from 45 to 50 years ago only, and to post the present generation about who used to go, we append a list of one hundred or more names: Leroy, George, and Maria Hitchcock; Zebulon, Caleb, Joshua, Hammond, Abagail, and Jane Weaver; Esther, Edgar, and Henry Holcomb; William, Hartson, and Asahel S. Avery; Nelson, James, Orrin, John, and Ann Dewey; Samuel and Ira Howe; Milton and Joseph Patrick; Wolcot Walker; James and Elizabeth Davis; Lucius, Dan, Addison, Henry, and Nancy Smith; Morris Cooper; Aaron, Harrison, Edmund, Lewis, Matilda, and Susannah Collar; Benjamin, Samuel, Eri, Nahum, and Eveline Draper; Anson, Henry, and Selinda Matteson; Gardner, Charles, and Edward Walker; Horace and Sally Bard; George, Charles, Russell, and Maria Williams; Richard, Charles, Maria, and Joannah Franchot; Uri, Edwin, Henry, Elizabeth, and Sarah Jackson; Nelson and Lewis Drew; John, Robert, and Mary Washbon; Nicholas Shepherd; Hopestill Cruttenden; George and Angeline Bergan; John Roberts; James P. Kenyon; Augustus Arnold; Maria, Zyphra, Julia, and Eliza Thomas; Isaac Fairchild; Jesse Butts; Charles Maxson; James and David Ackerman; Seth and Maria Ames; William, Cyrus, and Mason Gibson; William Joclyn; Lewis and Jabez Collins; Ruth, Ann, Eliza, Euphemia, and Hugh Sherman; Luther Greenman; Marcy Van Aiken; Richard and Dan Falls; Russell, Charles, Amy, and Harriet Moore; Isaac Wade; Oliver and Ruth Ann Curtis; Brown and Nathan Sayles; Geo. L. Bowne; Benjamin Simmons; Sayles Marsh; Charles Griffin.

And by coming down two or three years later, we will add Henry R. and Nancy Washbon; John and James Cope; Wm. P. Card; E.L. and William Payne; William and Edward Bowne; Eliza Bergan; Peleg, Charlot, Mary Ann, and German Weeden; William and Dennis Arnold; John Jay and Emeline Thomas, and others.

By going back five years earlier (1820) we add Mary and Augusta Wheeler; Stephen Walker; Nathan, Oliver, Paschal, and Jonathan Lull; Jonah and John Davis; Lyman, William, and Sally Cruttenden; Orrin and Chauncy Moore; Louise Franchot; Merlin and John Jackson; Jesse and Edwin Smith; George Holcomb; Russell Skidmore.

The names of some of the “Masters” were Richardson, Fellows, Aiken, Jackson, Vermelia, Ladd, Newland; and Mistresses Irean Wade, Eddy Youngs.

Out of this entire list, I don’t know of one who has been in jail or prison. The most studious scholars have turned out the most successful, with few exceptions, where strong drink has been their ruin. Six were lawyers, two physicians, and two are ministers.

Every one in the above list who may read this, will no doubt be gratified for the effort we have made to preserve this bit of history of “our boyhood days”; but to each individual named, there is a volume of history which never will be written. Between this and now, five hundred children have come and gone, and the next ten years will add another hundred to the list. A beggar’s dozen is all that is left in town of those who went to school here “five and forty years ago”.

Every village can generally boast of one or more eccentric or noted characters – a certain Deacon A., Squire B., or Col. C. In and about Louisville there were several, and it may not be inappropriate to record some of their “sayings and doings.” And we hope no one will take exceptions to them; for they are recorded now, as they were told then – to amuse the crowd. And we have no doubt but the individuals if present, would laugh over them again as heartily as they did at the time.

Cornelius Jenne, the shoemaker, was always loaded with stories. In early life he was a sailor, and who ever knew a sailor that could not “spin a yarn.” He had his by-words and hearty laugh, and it is impossible to record his stories and give them the peculiar phase of humor with which they were received when told by himself. He had an excellent memory. Could give you the names of his personages, and the particular date in which the thing occurred, and he always commenced them with something like the following – “Six and thirty years ago, the 19th day of last July, if I am not mistakened, and by-gud I don’t think I be, down on the eastern short of Maryland, the sailors caught a mud-turtle and put a barrel of salt on his back, and he walked off tip-toe, but when he came to a little hillock it brought him down flat-foot, by-gud – ha-ha-ha!” “It was five and forty years ago, the 11th day of next November if I am not mistakened, and by-gud I don’t this I be, my great-grandfather killed a white bear on the island of New Zealand that weighed two tons, by-gud.” “Down on the eastern shore of Maryland they used to raise 250 bushels of shell corn to the acre. That’s the place to raise corn, b-y-e-g-a-d! ha-ha-ha!” “When I first came into this part of the country, they used to say Cornelius Jenne and John Aikens; but now it’s “Square Aikens and Old Jenne, be-gud-ha-ha-ha!” “In 1803, that was five and thirty years ago, on the 27th day of last April, in the city of Charleston, I saw a sow with twenty-four pigs following her through the streets. I was there thirteen years afterwards and saw the same old sow with sixteen pigs, and by-gud I don’t know but she’s breeding yet — ha-ha-ha! b-y-e-gud!”

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.