Chapter VIII: Part 8

At this quiet old church is the opening of Sleepy Hollow, upon the shores of the Hudson, and near it is a rustic bridge that crosses the _Po-can-te-co_, a little below the one made famous in Irving’s legend by an amusing incident.[21] In this vicinity, according to the legend, Ichabod Crane, a Connecticut schoolmaster, instructed “tough, wrong-headed, broad-skirted, Dutch urchins” in the rudiments of learning. He was also the singing-master of the neighbourhood. Not far off lived old Baltus Van Tassel, a well-to-do farmer, whose house was called _Wolfert’s Roost_. He had a blooming and only daughter named Katrina, and Ichabod was her tutor in psalmody, training her voice to mingle sweetly with those of the choir which he led at Sabbath-day worship in the Sleepy Hollow Church. Ichabod “had a soft and foolish heart towards the sex.” He fell in love with Katrina. He found a rival in his suit in stalwart, bony Brom Van Brunt, commonly known as Brom Bones. Jealousies arose, and the Dutchman resolved to drive the Yankee schoolmaster from the country.

Strange stories of ghosts in Sleepy Hollow were believed by all, and by none more implicitly than Ichabod. The chief goblin seen there was that of a Hessian trooper, whose head had been carried away by a cannon ball. This spectre was known all over the country as “The Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow.”

About three miles below Tarrytown is _Sunnyside_, the residence of Washington Irving. It is reached from the public road by a winding carriage-way that passes here through rich pastures and pleasant woodlands and then along the margin of a dell through which runs a pleasant brook, reminding one of the merry laughter of children as it dances away riverward and leaps in beautiful cascades and rapids into a little bay a few yards from the cottage of _Sunnyside_.

Around that cottage and the adjacent lands and waters, Irving’s genius has cast an atmosphere of romance. The old Dutch house--one of the oldest in all that region--out of which grew that quaint cottage, was a part of the veritable _Wolfert’s Roost_--the very dwelling wherein occurred Katrina Van Tassel’s memorable quilting frolic that terminated so disastrously to Ichabod Crane in his midnight race with the “Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow.” There, too, the veracious Dutch historian, Diedrich Knickerbocker, domiciled while he was deciphering the precious documents found there, “which, like the lost books of Livy, had baffled the research of former historians.” But its appearance had sadly changed when it was purchased by Mr. Irving, about 1836, and was by him restored to the original form of the _Roost_, which he describes as “a little, old-fashioned stone mansion, all made up of gable ends, and as full of angles and corners in an old cocked hat. It is said, in fact,” continues Mr. Irving, “to have been modelled after the cocked hat of Peter the Headstrong, as the Escurial was modelled after the gridiron of the blessed St. Lawrence.” It was built, the chronicler tells us, by Wolfert Acker, a privy councillor of Peter Stuyvesant, “a worthy, but ill-starred man, whose aim through life had been to live in peace and quiet.” He sadly failed. “It was his doom, in fact, to meet a head wind at every turn and be kept in a constant fume and fret by the perverseness of mankind. Had he served on a modern jury he would have been sure to have eleven unreasonable men opposed to him.” He retired in disgust to this then wilderness, built the gabled house and “inscribed over the door (his teeth clenched at the time) his favourite Dutch motto ‘_Lust in Rust_’ (pleasure in quiet). The mansion was thence called _Wolfert’s Rust_ (Wolfert’s Rest), but by the uneducated, who did not understand Dutch, _Wolfert’s Roost_.” It passed into the hands of Jacob Van Tassel, a valiant Dutchman, who espoused the cause of the Republicans. The hostile ships of the British were often seen in Tappan Bay, in front of the _Roost_, and Cow Boys infested the land thereabout. Van Tassel had much trouble: his house was finally plundered and burnt, and he was carried a prisoner to New York. When the war was over, he rebuilt the _Roost_, but in more modest style. “The Indian spring”--the one brought from Rotterdam--“still welled up at the bottom of the green bank; and the wild brook, wild as ever, came babbling down the ravine, and threw itself into the little cove where of yore the water-guard harboured their whale-boats.”

The “water-guard” was an acquatic corps, in the pay of the Revolutionary government, organized to range the waters of the Hudson, and keep watch upon the movements of the British. The _Roost_, according to the chronicler, was one of the lurking-places of this band and Van Tassel was one of their best friends. He was, moreover, fond of warring upon his “own hook.” He possessed a famous “goose-gun” that would send its shot half-way across Tappan Bay. “When the belligerent feeling was strong upon Jacob,” says the chronicler of the _Roost_, “he would take down his gun, sally forth alone, and prowl along shore, dodging behind rocks and trees, watching for hours together any ship or galley at anchor or becalmed. So sure as a boat approached the shore, bang! went the great goose-gun, sending on board a shower of slugs and buck shot.”

On one occasion Jacob and some fellow bush-fighters peppered a British transport that had run aground. “This,” says the chronicler, “was the last of Jacob’s triumphs; he fared like some heroic spider that had unwittingly ensnared a hornet, to the utter ruin of its web. It was not long after the above exploit that he fell into the hands of the enemy, in the course of one of his forays, and was carried away prisoner to New York. The _Roost_ itself, as a pestilent rebel nest, was marked out for signal punishment. The cock of the _Roost_ being captive, there was none to garrison it but his stout-hearted spouse, his redoubtable sister, Notchie Van Wurmer, and Dinah, a strapping negro wench. An armed vessel came to anchor in front; a boat full of men pulled to shore. The garrison flew to arms, that is to say, to mops, broomsticks, shovels, tongs, and all kinds of domestic weapons, for, unluckily, the great piece of ordnance, the goose-gun, was absent with its owner. Above all, a vigorous defence was made with that most potent of female weapons, the tongue; never did invaded hen-roost make a more vociferous outcry. It was all in vain! The house was sacked and plundered, fire was set to each room, and in a few moments its blaze shed a baleful light over the Tappan Sea.”

THE OLD WITCH HOUSE, SALEM

ESTHER SINGLETON

On the corner of Essex and North Streets, in Salem, there stands a house that attracts many visitors, although it is neither picturesque nor impressive. “The Old Witch House,” however, appeals to the imagination, recalling one of the darkest chapters in the history of this country,--the witchcraft mania of the Seventeenth Century.

This belief, transplanted from the Old Country, flourished luxuriantly under the dark shadow of Puritanism. Although witchcraft was believed in throughout the Middle Ages, the witch-mania proper begins in 1484 when Innocent VIII. gave the sanction of the Church to the prosecution of all who were believed to practice sorcery; and soon after this the famous _Malleus Maleficarum, or Hammer for Witches_ was drawn up by two German inquisitors and a clergyman of Constance. In this book witchcraft is described and a code for the trial of witches systematized. Fires for burning witches blazed in nearly every town on the Continent for nearly four centuries. In Germany the persecutions were frightful, and in Geneva five hundred persons were burned in three months in 1515–1516! The witch-mania was rampant in England and Scotland, where in the Seventeenth Century a horrible class called “witch finders” went from town to town, where, for the small fee of twenty shillings, they discovered witches, subjecting innocent persons--the old, the young, the attractive and unattractive, the infirm and the ill, as well as the hale and hearty--to most inane tests and cruel tortures till they confessed themselves bewitched. It is said that the greatest number of legal executions in England took place during the sitting of the Long Parliament (1640–1660), when three thousand persons were put to death. This figure, however, does not include those poor creatures who suffered death at the hands of the mob.

This witch-mania had, in great measure, abated at home when it broke out in the British Colonies in America. A few trials occurred in Maryland and Virginia and a few persons were hung in Connecticut; but Massachusetts was the soil most favourable to the growth of this terrible delusion. Salem has the distinction of having sent the greatest number of victims to their unjust doom. The town became panic-stricken and no one was safe. An historian writes:

“So violent was the popular prejudice against every appearance of witchcraft, that it was deemed meritorious to denounce all that gave the least reason for suspicion. Every child and every gossip was prepared to recognize a witch, and no one could be certain of personal safety. As the infatuation increased, many of the most reputable females, and several males also, were apprehended and committed to prison. There is good reason to believe that, in some instances, the vicious and abandoned availed themselves of gratifying their corrupt passions of envy, malice and revenge.”

A graphic description of the Salem horrors is given in _Old Naumkeag_, by Webber and Nevins (Salem, 1877):

“Salem witchcraft commenced during the month of February, 1692, at the house of the Rev. Samuel Parris, in that part of the original town, which is now Danvers. The daughter of Mr. Parris and his niece Abigail Williams, aged nine and twelve years respectively, began to act ‘in a strange and unusual manner.’ They would utter loud and piteous cries, creep into holes, hide under benches and put themselves into odd postures. The physicians pronounced them bewitched, and all the ministers were invited to meet at Mr. Parris’s house, and unite with him in solemn religious services. As the interest in their actions increased, they became more violent, and accused Tituba, a South American slave in the Parris family, of having bewitched them. Mr. Parris beat Tituba and compelled her to acknowledge herself guilty. These children next complained of Sarah Goode and Sarah Osborne, and then of two other women of excellent character, Corey and Nurse. All were thrown into prison. John, Tituba’s husband, for his own safety, accused others. The demon was thus let loose in the midst of the people, but it was the demon of superstition rather than the demon of witchery.”

The following list of those who were executed is also taken from the same authorities:

“Rev. Geo. Burroughs, of Wells, Maine; Wilmot Reed, of Marblehead; Margaret Scot, of Rowley; Susanna Martin, of Amesbury; Elizabeth Howe, of Ipswich; Sarah Wildes and Mary Estes, of Topsfield; Samuel Wardwell, Martha Currier and Mary Parker, of Andover; John Proctor, Geo. Jacobs, Sen., John Willard, Sarah Goode, Rebecca Nurse, Giles Corey and Martha Corey of Salem Village, Ann Pudeater, Bridget Bishop and Alice Parker, of Salem.

“Corey was pressed to death, because he refused to speak, knowing that speech would avail him nothing. His tongue was pressed out of his mouth, but was forced in again by the sheriff with his cane. About 150 persons in all were accused of witchcraft, including nine children varying from five to fourteen years.

“Various were the accusations brought against them, such as having familiarity with ‘the black man,’ who it was claimed was ever by their side whispering in their ear; holding days of hellish fasts and thanksgivings; eating red bread and drinking blood; transforming themselves and their victims into various forms; signing contracts with Satan; entering his employ and yielding to his commands; afflicting others by pinching, pricking with pins, striking, etc., while many miles distant; and divers other accusations that would be laughed to scorn at the present day. All matters of affliction or of discord among the people, such as a controversy respecting the settlement of a minister, which had for a time been going on; also the death of some of the most influential of the citizens, were attributed to Satanic influences. With such inflammable matter, in an age of superstition, the result is not to be wondered at.

“Cotton Mather, one of the most learned ministers of that time, led in the preaching to the people of sermons designed to inflame rather than abate the panic. He adopted the doctrine of demons, and was exceedingly energetic in endeavouring to spread the delusion into other parts of the Colony. To him is largely ascribed the extent of the calamity.”

Victims were quickly dragged to “Witch Hill,” after being quickly convicted. It is said that many speedy and informal trials took place in the “Witch House,” which was in 1692 the residence of the intolerant Judge Corwin.

Dr. Bentley says:

“From March to August, 1692, was the most distressing time Salem ever knew: business was interrupted, the town deserted, terror was in every countenance and distress in every heart. Every place was the subject of some direful tale, fear haunted every street, melancholy dwelt in silence in every place after the sun retired. The population was diminished, business could not for some time recover its former channels, and the innocent suffered with the guilty. But as soon as the judges ceased to condemn, the people ceased to accuse. Terror at the violence and the guilt of the proceedings, succeeded instantly to the conviction of blind zeal, and what every man had encouraged, all now professed to abhor. Every expression of sorrow was found in Salem. The church erased all the ignominy they had attached to the dead, by recording a most humble acknowledgment of their error. But a diminished population, the injury done to religion and the distress of the aggrieved were seen and felt with the greatest sorrow.”

When the authorities finally realized their error, all the victims locked up in the Salem prison were discharged without trial, and those suspected persons who had fled to other towns for safety were permitted to return to their homes without fear of being molested.

Regarding this outbreak in Salem, James Russell Lowell writes:

“Credulity, as a mental and moral phenomenon, manifests itself in widely different ways, according as it chances to be the daughter of fancy or terror. The one lies warm about the heart as Folk-lore, fills moonlit dells with dancing fairies, sets out a meal for the Brownie, hears the tinkle of airy bridle-bells as Tamlane rides away with the Queen of Dreams, changes Pluto and Proserpine into Oberon and Titania, and makes friends with unseen powers as Good Folk; the other is a bird of night, whose shadow sends a chill among the roots of the hair; it sucks with the vampire, gorges with the ghoul, is choked by the night-hag, pines away under the witches’ charm, and commits uncleanness with the embodied Principle of Evil, giving up the fair realm of innocent belief to a murky throng from the slums and stews of the debauched brain....

“The Puritan emigration to New England took place at a time when the belief in diabolic agency had been hardly called in question, much less shaken. They brought it with them to a country in every way fitted, not only to keep it alive, but to feed it into greater vigour. The solitude of the wilderness (and solitude alone by dis-furnishing the brain of its commonplace associations, makes it an apt theatre for the delusions of imagination), the nightly forest noises, the glimpse, perhaps, through the leaves, of a painted savage face, uncertain whether of redman or Devil, but more likely of the latter, above all, that measureless mystery of the unknown and conjectural stretching away illimitable on all sides and vexing the mind, somewhat as physical darkness does, with intimation and misgiving,--under all these influences, whatever seeds of superstition had in any way got over from the Old World would find an only too congenial soil in the New. The leaders of that emigration believed and taught that demons loved to dwell in waste and wooded places, that the Indians did homage to the bodily presence of the Devil, and that he was especially enraged against those who had planted an outpost of the true faith upon this continent hitherto all his own. In the third generation of the settlement, in proportion as living faith decayed, the clergy insisted all the more strongly on the traditions of the elders, and as they all placed the sources of goodness and religion in some inaccessible Other World rather than in the soul of man himself, they clung to every shred of the supernatural as proof of the existence of that Other World, and of its interest in the affairs of this. They had the countenance of all the great theologians, Catholic as well as Protestant, of the leaders of the Reformation, and in their own day of such men as More and Glanvil and Baxter. If to these causes, more or less operative in 1692, we add the harassing excitement of an Indian war (urged on by Satan in his hatred of the churches), with its daily and nightly apprehensions and alarms, we shall be less astonished that the delusion in Salem Village rose so high than that it subsided so soon.”

The “Old Witch House” that forms the subject of our sketch was originally the home of Roger Williams while he was preaching in Salem in 1635–1636. From it he fled to the shores of Narraganset Bay, where he founded the Colony of Rhode Island. Its next occupant was Captain Richard Davenport who cut the cross from the King’s colours because “it savoured of Popery.” In 1674 or 1675, Judge Corwin of witchcraft fame took possession and made many alterations. Before his day the old house presented a more attractive appearance, resembling many houses of this period still standing in England. In its original state, it was composed of several overhanging stories, each larger than the one below and the roof was broken into several peaked gables, each of which was ornamented with a pineapple of carved wood. Narrow windows with lozenge-shaped panes added to its quaintness. More alterations were made in 1746 and 1772, and all feeling of picturesqueness has vanished completely.

SHRINE OF GUADALUPE

THOMAS UNETT BROCKLEHURST

One day I took a car to pay a visit to the shrine of Guadalupe, which is situated three miles from the city (Mexico), and is a great point of attraction both to residents and visitors.

The old road from the city to Guadalupe, with its handsome wayside shrines, was given up to the Vera Cruz Railway, and a new road for tramcars and traffic has been made alongside of it. As soon as we had passed the gates and the _aduna_, “crack, crack, hi, hi, hi!” and off we went at a hand gallop past adobe houses and _pulquerias_, the snow-capped giant Popocatapetl lifting his white head to the azure on the right, and soon, through the avenue of trees, the little church on the hill Tepeyac, erected where the Virgin appeared to the peasant Juan Diego, and the Cathedral at its foot, with its flat façade flanked by low towers, were both visible in the distance.

The cars came to a standstill in front of the Cathedral, and a motley crowd of loungers watched us alight.

The houses are one-storied and old, the windows barred after the fashion introduced by the Moors into Spain; behind the bars stood village maidens and matrons who signalled and saluted their male acquaintances by holding up the left hand, the fingers extended, which they wiggled to and fro about half-a-dozen times; this is their mode of salutation, possibly it means we have fruit and entertainment to offer.

The church of Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe is the most famous of all the churches in the country, owing its notoriety to the legend that, on the 12th of December, 1531, the Virgin Mary appeared to a poor Mexican shepherd in that neighbourhood; he reported the vision to the priests, who asked him to substantiate his statement by proofs. The Virgin showed herself to him on five different occasions, and finally stamped her image on his blanket; this mark was accepted; Our Lady of Guadalupe was officially proclaimed the patron saint of Mexico by the authority of Pope Clement VII., and thereby the influence of the Catholic religion was greatly extended, it being asserted that, by her graciously appearing to a native, all natives were taken under her special protection. A shrine was erected on the top of the hill where the vision appeared. At its foot rose a magnificent Cathedral, which at one time was very rich in gold and silver ornaments, the offerings of the faithful; but many of these were confiscated and coined into money by order of President Benito Juarez in 1860, and have since been replaced by inferior metal.

The name of Guadalupe was combined with that of Hidalgo, the Mexican priest who in 1810 raised the cry of independence from the Spanish yoke. He had painted on his standard the image of the Virgin of Guadalupe which greatly helped to excite the patriotism of the natives; more than 100,000 of them rallied round him; but they were so badly armed that they could not compete with the Spanish forces, who, curious to say, fought under the banner of the Virgin Los Remedios.

Poor Hidalgo was captured by the Spaniards and shot in 1811; but his followers in whom he had aroused much enthusiasm, continued the war, and, after eleven years’ hard fighting, independence was accomplished, in 1821, under Iturbide; and Spanish Viceroys and their rule were abolished. Mexican presidents, nominated every four years by the plebiscite of the nation, took their place.

There is not much to see in the Cathedral, which has been despoiled of its silver and valuables (the golden frame of the Virgin was taken, but returned); so I made the ascent by a zigzag road to the shrine at the top of the hill.

Before entering the chapel, stop to look at the view; it will repay any amount of trouble taken in mounting the steep steps. The city, the lake and Chapultepec are within the range of a camera, if it could be so fixed as to avoid the roof of the Cathedral below you. Turn and enter the shrine: at a little altar on the right are rude daubs of pictures representing miracles worked through the intervention of the Virgin--pious offerings in commemoration of a child saved from fire, a husband from lightning, a wife from a runaway train, a lady and gentleman from an overturn of a carriage, people rising from a bed of sickness, and such like--some of them with the paint hardly dry.

The altar railing is of solid silver; this railing was, of all the sumptuous church fixtures throughout the land, alone spared by the Liberals. Its value must be immense; pious Mexicans do not like to appraise it, for reasons best known to themselves. The great gem, however, of this church is the image of the Virgin of Guadalupe, which she herself imprinted--according to the legend--upon the _tilma_, or garment, of Juan Diego, the poor peasant, as a proof that she had appeared to him; this relic is hung over the high altar in a wrought-iron case and is only exposed on rare holidays. By especial grace I obtained a view of it. The _tilma_ is a very coarse piece of woollen fabric; the colouring of the image is distinct, and may have been touched up from time to time. On a table at the door are copies of the picture in all sizes, and you see them in every Indian hut, every wayside shrine, in all the public offices, in every church--indeed in every place in the land, appropriate or inappropriate, as the case may be.

In an adjoining churchyard are some pretty tombs, and great prices are paid for interment in this sacred spot. Santa Anna rests here, and the names of the leading families of Mexico could be read on the marble on all directions.

After descending from the hill I visited the miraculous sulphur spring, said to cure everything; the church or dome which covers it was being redecorated at great expense at the time of my visit. The legend says that this spring of sulphur hydrogen gushed forth from a spot touched by one of the Virgin’s feet. On the 12th of December every year (the anniversary of the apparition), thousands of natives from all parts of the country visit this shrine and the Church of Guadalupe. The name is familiar to many people as that of a town between Toledo and Trujillo in Spain, where there is a famous shrine to the Virgin. There is always a longing in the minds of colonists to perpetuate the names of the country of their birth, and Guadalupe is no doubt an instance of this patriotic feeling on the part of the Spaniards; the Geronomite convent in Spain was at the time of the Conquest the richest and most venerated shrine in the old country, its celebrated figure of the Virgin, being believed to have been carved by St. Luke himself, and it was given by St. Gregory the Great to San Leandro for putting down Arianism. The figure was hidden and miraculously preserved during six centuries of Moorish invasion, and when brought to light was so venerated by the whole Spanish nation that the settlers in New Spain would delight in perpetuating the name of the shrine in their new home.

CHRIST CHURCH, ALEXANDRIA

BISHOP MEADE

The town of Alexandria was at first called Hunting Creek Warehouse, sometimes Belle Haven, and consisted of a small establishment at that place. Its growth was encouraged by successive acts of the Legislature, establishing semi-annual fairs and granting certain privileges to those who attended them. In the year 1762, it was enlarged by the laying off of numerous lots on the higher ground, belonging to Dade, West and the Alexanders, after which it improved rapidly, so that at the close of the Eighteenth or beginning of the Nineteenth Century its population was ten thousand, and its commerce greater than it now is. So promising was it at the close of the war, that its claims were weighed in the balance with those of Washington as the seat of National Government. It is thought that, but for the unwillingness of Washington to seem partial to Virginia, Alexandria would have been the chosen spot, and that on the first range of hills overlooking the town the public buildings would have been erected. Whether there had been any public worship or church at Alexandria previous to this enlargement of it, and the great impulse thus given to it, does not appear from the vestry-book, though it is believed that there was. But soon after this, in the year 1764, Fairfax parish is established, and measures taken for the promotion of the Church in this place. The vestry book commences in 1765. At one time there were two churches in the new parish of Fairfax--one at the Falls, called, as the present one is Little Falls Church; the position of the other--the Lower Church--is not known. It may have been an old one at Alexandria.

Among the first acts of the vestry was the repairing of the two old churches in the parish, at a cost of more than thirty-two thousand pounds of tobacco. In the year 1766, it is determined to build two new churches,--one at the Little Falls, very near the old one, and one in Alexandria, to contain twenty-four hundred square feet and to be high-pitched so as to admit of galleries. Mr. James Wrenn agrees to build the former, and Mr. James Parsons the other, for about six hundred pounds each. A most particular contract is made for them. The mortar is to have two-thirds of lime and one of sand,--the very reverse of the proportion at this day, and which accounts for the greater durability of ancient walls. The shingles were to be of the best cypress or juniper, and three-quarters of an inch thick, instead of our present half-inch ones. Mr. Parsons was allowed to add ten feet to the upper part of the church on his own account, and to pay himself by their sale, on certain conditions. He commenced his work, but was unable to finish it. It lingered for some years, until in 1772, Mr. John Carlisle undertakes it, and completes it in 1773. The ten pews are now sold, and General Washington, though having just been engaged in the erection of Mount Vernon Church, which was finished the same year, and having a pew therein, gives the highest price for one in Christ Church, which was occupied by him and his family during his life, and has been by some of his name ever since. The gallery was not put up until the year 1787, at which time the pews were balloted for. The steeple is of modern construction.

Christ Church stands on Cameron and Washington Streets in a
pretty green churchyard, where in 1774, Washington addressed
the citizens advocating resistance to Great Britain; and it was
on the spot also that General Lee agreed to take command of the
Virginia forces at the beginning of the Civil War in 1861.

Washington attended Christ Church regularly, and his pew is
still shown. Unfortunately, the old high backed pews were
cut down a few years ago at the instance of the rector of an
important church in Washington. Washington always drove from
_Mount Vernon_ to Alexandria in a handsome cream-coloured
coach, the body of which was suspended by heavy leather straps.
The sides and front were shaded with green blinds and black
leather outside curtains. The lining of the coach was black
leather; the Washington arms were painted on the doors and a
picture of the seasons was also painted on each of the four
panels. Four horses were ordinarily harnessed to this coach
except when six were required for long journeys. What became of
this coach we learn from Bishop Meade, who says:

“There was one object of interest belonging to General
Washington, concerning which I have a special right to
speak,--viz.: his old English coach, in which himself and Mrs.
Washington not only rode in Fairfax County, but travelled
through the length and breadth of our land. So faithfully was
it executed that, at the conclusion of this long journey, its
builder, who came over with it and settled in Alexandria, was
proud to be told by the General that not a nail or screw had
failed. It so happened, in a way I need not state, that this
coach came into my hands about fifteen years after the death
of General Washington. In the course of time, from disuse, it
being too heavy for these latter days, it began to decay and
give way. Becoming an object of desire to those who delight
in relics, I caused it to be taken to pieces and distributed
among the admiring friends of Washington who visited my house,
and also among a number of female associations for benevolent
and religious objects, which associations, at their fairs and
other occasions, made a large profit by converting the fragments
into walking-sticks, picture-frames, and snuff-boxes. About
two-thirds of one of the wheels thus produced one hundred and
forty dollars. There can be no doubt but that at its dissolution
it yielded more to the cause of charity than it did to its
builder at its first erection. Besides other mementos of it, I
have in my study, in the form of a sofa, the hind-seat, on which
the General and his lady were wont to sit.”--E. S.

A GLIMPSE AT NEW ORLEANS HOUSES

LADY HARDY

We start in the early morning on a pedestrian excursion through this “Paris of the South.” We almost fancy that we have gone to sleep in the New World, and woke up in the old fair and familiar city across the sea. It is the same, yet not the same; there is a similarity in the general features especially in the vicinity of Canal Street, to which I shall allude more fully by and by, and an insouciant gaiety in the aspect of the people, which pervades the very air they breathe; an electric current seems always playing upon their spirits; moving their emotional nature, sometimes to laughter, sometimes to tears. It seems as though the two cities had been built on the same model, only differently draped and garnished, decorated with different orders and stamped with a different die. Coming down a narrow lane, we met a Frenchwoman, her mahogany coloured face scored like the bark of an old tree scarcely visible beneath her flapping sunbonnet. She wore short petticoats, and came clattering along over the rough stones in her wooden sabots, while her tall blue-bloused grandson carrying her well-filled basket strode beside her; and a meek-eyed Sister of Charity bent on her errand of mercy passed in at a creeking doorway. These were the only signs of life we saw as we first turned on our way to the French quarter of the town, which still bears the impress of the old Colonial days. This is the most ancient portion of the city, and full of romantic traditions of the days that are dead and gone. The long narrow crooked streets, running on all sides in a spidery fashion, with rows of shabby-looking houses, remain exactly as they were a hundred years ago. Strict conservatism obtains here; nothing has been done in the way of improvement; the old wooden houses are bruised and battered as though they had been engaged in a battle with time and been worsted; they are covered with discolourations and patches, naked and languishing for a new coat of paint. There are no dainty green sun blinds here, but heavy worm-eaten wooden shutters and queer timber-doors hung on clumsy iron hinges; here and there we get a glimpse of the dingy interiors while a few bearded men are lounging smoking in the doorways, and a few children, clattering like French magpies, are playing on the threshold. Everything is quiet and dull--a sort of Rip Van Winkle-ish sleep seems drooping its drowsy wings and brooding everywhere, till a lumbering dray comes clattering over the cobble stones, and sends a thousand echoes flying through the lonely streets.

From these stony regions, past the little old-fashioned church where the good Catholics worshipped a century ago and we emerge upon Canal Street, the principal business thoroughfare of the city; it is thronged with people at this time of day, busy crowds are passing to and fro, the shop windows are dressed in their most attractive wares, temptingly exposed to view. Confectioners, fruit and fancy stores overflow into open stalls in front and spread along the sidewalk; huge bunches of green bananas, strawberries, peas, pines, cocoa-nuts and mangoes, mingled with dainty vegetables, are lying in heaps. We are tempted to try a mango, the favourite southern fruit, of whose luscious quality we have so often heard, but the first taste of its sickening sweetness satisfies our desires. The street is very wide, and the jingle-jangle of the car-bells, the rattling of wheels and the spasmodic shriek and whistle of the steam engine--all mingle together in a not unsweet confusion. Lumbering vehicles, elegant carriages, street-cars and a fussy little railway, all run in parallel lines along the wide roadway. This is the great backbone of the city, whence all lines of vehicular traffic branch off on their diverse tracks into all the highways and byways of the land. Here we get on to a car which carries us through the handsomest quarter of the city. Quaint old-fashioned houses, surrounded by gardens of growing flowers, and magnificent magnolias, now in full bloom, stand here and there in solitary grandeur, or sometimes in groups like a conclave of green limbed giants, clothed in white raiment, and perfumed with the breath of paradise. Past lines of elegant residences, where the _élite_ of the city have their abode, and we soon reach a rough wooden shed yclept a “depot.”

The architectural beauty of New Orleans is unique, and wholly unlike any other Southern city; the avenues are wide and beautifully planted, a generous shade spreads every way you turn. The dwelling-houses which line St. Charles’s Avenue are graceful, classical structures, no blending together of ancient and modern ideas, and running wild into fancy chimney-pots, arches, points and angles like a Twelfth Cake ornament. Some are fashioned like Greek temples, most impressive in their chaste outline and simplicity of form; others straight and square, with tall Corinthian columns or fluted pillars, sometimes of marble, sometimes of stone. The severe architectural simplicity, the pure white buildings shaded by beautiful magnolias and surrounded by brilliant shrubs and flowers, form a vista charming to the eye and soothing to the senses, and all stands silhouetted against the brightest of blue skies--a blue before which the bluest of Italian skies would seem pale.

The aspect of the city changes on every side; we leave the fashionable residential regions and enter broad avenues lined with grand old forest trees, sometimes in double rows, the thick-leaved branches meeting and forming a canopy overhead. The ground is carpeted with soft green turf, and bare-legged urchins, black and white, are playing merry games; a broken down horse is quietly grazing, and a cow is being milked under the trees, while a company of pretty white goats, with a fierce-looking Billie at their head, are careering about close by. Pretty pastoral bits of landscape on every side cling to the skirts and fringe the sides of this quaint city. As we get farther away from St. Charles’s Avenue, the better class of residences get fewer and fewer, till they cease altogether, and we come upon pretty greenshuttered cottages, with their porches covered with blossoms and rows of the old-fashioned straw bee-hives in front. Here and there are tall tenement houses built of cherry-red bricks, which are let out in flats to the labouring classes.

THE CHÂTEAU DE RAMEZAY, MONTREAL

MAJOR A. C. YATE

The history of Canada that is destined to live is that of its earliest explorers and colonists, amongst whom the French rank first and the English second. One of the most interesting monuments of that history is the Château de Ramezay in Montreal, of which I propose to record here what little I have been able to learn during a short visit to Canada. It was built about 1705 by Claude de Ramezay, “a distinguished soldier of noble birth,” who was Governor of Montreal from 1703 to 1724. In some books I find the name spelt Ramsay or Ramesay, but Ramezay is the spelling adopted by the Numismatic and Antiquarian Society of Montreal. It is practically certain that the Governor of Montreal who bore the name was of Scotch extraction. In the Seventeenth Century the cadets of many families of the French nobility emigrated to Canada (“La Nouvelle France,” as it was then called), while the nominal Vice-royalty was held by several of the highest nobles of the land, viz., the Prince de Condé, Duc de Montmorenci, and Duc de Ventadour. The emigrant nobles were granted seigneuries in various parts of New France, and in some cases these seigneuries have remained in their families to the present day. The Château de Ramezay is the town mansion of one of these seigneurial families. Very little, however, seems to be known of Claude de Ramezay. An autograph letter of his, presented by Judge Baby, is in the museum. In 1703, the Marquis de Vaudreuil, Commandant of Montreal, succeeded the Chevalier de Callière (who had also in his day been Governor or Commandant of Montreal) as Governor of Canada. Claude de Ramezay apparently succeeded De Vaudreuil as Military Governor of Montreal. He appears to have been a man of capacity and to have interested himself keenly in the pioneering and exploring work to which so many men at that time devoted themselves. In 1702, during his Governorship, a French post was established at Detroit, and in 1717, another at the mouth of the Kaministiquia River, on Lake Superior, where Fort William now is. Nor was M. de Ramezay backward in organizing military expeditions against the English settlements in the New England States. During the whole of De Ramezay’s Governorship the English and French colonies in America were at war, as indeed they almost always were, whether the mother-countries were at peace or not.

The Governorship of Claude de Ramezay is said to have ended in 1724, whether owing to his death or retirement we are not told. In 1745, the Château passed into the hands of “_La Compagnie des Indes_,” and remained with them till September, 1760, when Montreal surrendered to the united forces of Amherst, Haviland and Murray. We are not told what use was made of the Château from 1724 to 1745. Tradition associates with the Château the name of De Vaudreuil, one celebrated in the annals of “_La Nouvelle France_,” but it is not explicit as to date, or indeed any detail. The first Marquis de Vaudreuil, after having been for some years Commandant of Montreal, became Governor of Canada in 1703, and retained that post until he died, respected and regretted in 1725.

Copyright, 1900, by Detroit Photographic Co.

THE CHÂTEAU DE RAMEZAY, MONTREAL]

It is said that when Claude de Ramezay died (no date given), his heirs found themselves unable to bear the expense of keeping up so large a residence, and sold it to “_La Compagnie des Indes_.” From 1745 to 1760, it was thus the headquarters of a great French trading-company, the resort of Indian _voyageurs_ and _coureurs de bois_, coming in from the north and west with their loads of furs, and selling or bartering them to the agents of the company, by whom they were shipped to France. This company also held by charter a monopoly in the purchase and sale of all imports and exports in the Colony. When Canada passed into the possession of Great Britain, in 1760, the Château de Ramezay became General Amherst’s headquarters, and subsequently for a short time those of General Gage. We find from Withrow’s History that it was a De Ramsay (as Withrow spells it), who surrendered Quebec to General Townshend after Wolfe’s victory on the Heights of Abraham.

When Canada was ceded to the British, the Château de Ramezay was not at first annexed as the residence of the Governor of Montreal. It was purchased from the “_Compagnie des Indes_” by William Grant, Baron de Longueuil.[22] It is doubtful if the Grants ever occupied the Château, for it continued to be known for some ten years after the cession by the name of the “Indian House.” The Governor of Canada then, finding it necessary to provide the Lieutenant-Governor with a suitable residence, leased it. The first Lieutenant-Governor who attended it was Mr. Cramahé. He had scarcely settled there when the approach of General Montgomery, in November, 1775, with a force of New England Revolutionists compelled him to vacate it and retire to Quebec. There, pending the arrival of General Sir Guy Carleton, he made energetic preparations for the defence of Quebec, and declined to give any answer to Benedict Arnold’s summons to surrender, which was made on the 14th of October. On the 19th Sir Guy Carleton arrived, and assumed command of the defence. It was on the 12th of November, 1775, that General Montgomery entered Montreal, and on the 4th of December his forces and those of Arnold, about 1,200 men in all, appeared before Quebec. Montgomery was slain in a vain attempt to capture the town on the night of the 31st of December, 1775. Finally, early in May, 1776, the Americans were driven from before Quebec, leaving guns, stores, provisions, and even their sick behind. Meanwhile three American Commissioners, Benjamin Franklin, Samuel Chase and Charles Carroll, came to Montreal to urge the Canadians to join the revolted colonies against Great Britain. Benjamin Franklin, certainly, if not the other two Commissioners, resided when in Montreal in the Château de Ramezay, and here a certain M. Mesplet, under the orders of Benjamin Franklin, set up the first printing-press in Montreal.

The first printing-press in Canada was set up in Quebec in 1764, and on the 21st of June of that year the first number of the _Quebec Gazette_, a journal which till recently was still published, made its appearance. Benedict Arnold, after his failure at Quebec, went to Montreal and took command of the Revolutionary troops there. He resided in the Château de Ramezay.

After the withdrawal of the Americans, the Château de Ramezay remained untenanted until the government bought it from the Grants, and made it the official residence of the Governors of Lower Canada temporarily resident in Montreal. Their permanent residence was at Quebec, and for years the Governors, when they visited Montreal, had to bring their own furniture with them. At last, however, a grant of money was voted to them for the purchase of permanent furniture for their Montreal residence. For half a century it was occupied by successive Governors, who made many alterations and additions. Lord Metcalfe (1843–1844) was the last resident Governor, the seat of Government between the years 1841 to 1858, being fixed successively at Quebec, Kingston, Montreal, then at Toronto and Quebec alternately, and finally, by Her Majesty’s decision, at Ottawa, where it has since remained.

The union of the Provinces of Upper and Lower Canada was formerly proclaimed on the 10th of February, 1841. After the establishment of the Governor-General in a new Government House, and again, when the headquarters of the provincial government of the Lower Province was transferred to Quebec, the Château de Ramezay was used for various governmental purposes. Among others, the Law Courts sat there, and afterwards certain rooms were used for classes of the Normal School and of the Medical Faculty of Laval. The extensive vaults and cellars below the house had in the Eighteenth Century been used by the French as store-houses for the large quantities of supplies which, owing to the hostility of the Indians it was necessary to maintain there. So incessant were at times the raids of the Iroquois, whether instigated by the New England Government or not, that cultivation was almost an impossibility, and all food supplies had to be imported from France and stored in Montreal. Some of the vaults also were used as dungeons, and at times refractory Indian chiefs were probably incarcerated there to give them time to see reason; while in some cases they were detained as hostages for the good faith of their tribe. There was also a deep well in one vault, now boarded over. Under the English Governors, these vaults were used as wine-cellars, servants’ offices and quarters for the Governor’s guard, for the preservation of the old French and English official and other records, and for the storage of fuel and supplies. In one vault we still find the kitchen. The huge fireplace was fitted up above with an arrangement for smoking ham and bacon, while on one side opened a large oven, about five feet in diameter, for baking bread. In a recess close by was hung a drum, in which worked, like a squirrel in a cage, the turnspit-dog that roasted the joints. In a corner of another vault still lies a portion of the first system of water-pipes used in Montreal. It is the trunk of a tree, ten or twelve feet long, by nine or ten inches in diameter, hollowed out. The walls of the vaults are in some places of great thickness; ranging from five to eight feet. In the early part of the Eighteenth Century, when a good house was built, it was solidly built. It is stated that some fifty years ago, soon after the Château ceased to be the residence of the Governors, the City Council authorized the demolition of a portion of it, in order to open up a thoroughfare. The building was thus cut in two. The portion which is now used as the museum was retained by the civic authorities. The remainder was turned into a hotel in which Jenny Lind and Charles Dickens, amongst others, are said to have stayed. Between 1880 and 1890 the City Magistrates of Montreal meted out justice for petty misdemeanours in this building. Rooms which had been tenanted by a Governor-General, and which for a hundred and forty years had been the centre of the French and British rule in Montreal thus gradually sank to the level of a police magistrate’s court. About this time, however, public attention was drawn to this building (largely owing to the exertions of the Numismatic and Antiquarian Society of Montreal), and to its antiquarian and historical interest. When, in 1893, the Provincial Government offered it for sale by public auction, it was bought by the Corporation of the City of Montreal with the view of preserving the building and establishing in it a free public, archæological, scientific and historical museum. In 1895, the custody of the Château, on behalf of the people of the city, was vested in the Numismatic and Antiquarian Society.

It was in the Château de Ramezay that met from 1838 to 1840, the Special Council (half English and half French), which was appointed by the Home Government to act in place of the legislature of Lower Canada during the Rebellion and so-called “Patriotic War” of 1837–1838. The Constitution was for the time suspended. The Special Council paved the way for the Act of Union of 1840, which was a step towards the present Constitution of the Dominion. The confederation of 1866 was the final step.

Two of the principal rooms in the Château are now known as the _Salle du Conseil_ and the Library. With the former, tradition associates many names (already mentioned), well-known to history, and on whom the varying fortunes of Canada have depended. Its walls are now hung with engravings and documents that commemorate those names and those fortunes. The old fireplace in the Library has only recently been discovered, having been walled up for many years. The treasures that have already been collected in this, the first Canadian Museum of Antiquities, are most interesting and valuable, and some are unique. There are 113 portraits, 82 historical pictures and 74 old prints, which illustrate the most celebrated names and the most famous scenes and events of Canadian history, from Jacques Cartier to Sir John Macdonald. Early explorers, Jesuit missionaries, governors and generals, both French and English; old maps and prints of Canada, Quebec and Montreal, etc., are the subjects. In addition, there is a collection of scarce books, papers, documents and magazines connected with Canada, weapons of the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries, and many quaint and curious relics both of war and peace.

THE CITY HALL, NEW YORK

ARTHUR SHADWELL MARTIN

It is a great pity that the open space now known as City Hall Park is so restricted in area, because the City Hall is an admirable architectural edifice apart from its historical associations, and is worthy of a better setting. As it is, it suffers terribly from its surroundings, being dwarfed, crushed and overwhelmed, by the “World” building, office sky-scrapers and other unsightly buildings that surround it. If we want to realize the architect’s intent, we must level the monster structures in the immediate vicinity and restore the scene of the date when the City Hall was designed.

A tablet under the Mayor’s office informs us that here Washington read the Declaration of Independence to the troops, but the City Hall did not occupy that site in those days. The present miniature park is a very small part of the original common land known as the “Commons,” or the “Fields.” Under the Dutch, this open space was called the Vlackte (the Flat). In Colonial days, the Bridewell, and the New Jail, and the stake at which negroes were occasionally burnt were situated on it. King’s College was on the West; on the North was the Collect Pond and the stream flowing to the Hudson through Lispenard’s Meadow. A powder house also stood on the Commons and the old Boston Post Road (now Chatham St.) passed through it on the East. At the corner of Park Row and Nassau St. was the Brick Presbyterian Church. The Sons of Liberty used to assemble in the “Fields”; and the present Post Office covers the spot whereon the Liberty Pole was raised.

The first City Hall, or Stadt Huys, was modest enough. It was a stone house built for a tavern by Governor Kieft, in 1642. The site, on the “Waal,” at the corner of Pearl St. and Coenties Alley, was selected on account of its being convenient to the ferry. Thirteen years later, it was ceded to the city authorities for the sittings of the Burgomasters and Schepens of New Amsterdam. It was used also as a prison. This old Dutch house, with its “crow-stepped” gable and cupola, stood till 1700.

The next City Hall, which lasted throughout the Eighteenth Century, was situated almost on the site of the present Sub-Treasury on Wall St.