Chapter VI: Conclusion (1)

We have had brought before us all the instances of any importance, throughout the American colonies of efforts on the part of the government to control the liberty of the press. Let us now attempt to deduce from them the general principles which governed the matter.

In the first place it is clear that, as the several colonies differed the one from another in their relations with and dependence upon the home government and their Governor, who represented that government, so too the press was in some colonies far more free from control than in others. In Massachusetts, where interference from outside was always resisted, control by the Governor was seldom attempted. Before the administration of Governor Andros the Crown made no attempt to interfere; Andros himself appointed Edward Randolph (vide p. 9) as licenser, and Bartholomew Green, the Boston publisher testifies (vide p. 10) to the fact that in his time (the end of the seventeenth century), Lieutenant-Governor Stoughton took a keen interest in the productions of the press, and refused to allow any publications without a previous application to him, with a copy of the matter to be published. After this period the control by the Crown again was lost in that as also in political matters.

In Pennsylvania we have an instance of a Governor representing an individual proprietor. Here the struggle between the people and Penn’s representative in political matters was carried over into the field occupied by the press, and so we find in the early period of the existence of the press a dual authority exercised, the Crown and the Quarterly Meeting, both claiming the right of censorship (vide p. 23). In the first half of the eighteenth century the power of the Quakers passed away as far as our subject is concerned, but the control exercised by the Crown continued, although more and more questioned, until the breaking out of the Revolutionary struggle.

In New York the Governor himself was responsible for the introduction of the press and for forty years (1692–1734), it took no active part in political agitations, maintaining a cautious neutrality under Bradford. In this colony it was rather a question of the right to freedom of speech, a question raised in the prosecution of Col. Nicholas Bayard. From the period of the Zenger trial newspapers continued to increase and the twenty-five years before 1775 witnessed a continuous production of pamphlets in which the Crown and its representative were attacked, the efforts to punish by the government being in almost every case entirely futile. The press divides itself into two groups, the supporters and opponents of the Governor, and the party newspaper becomes a reality.

In the Southern colonies the press never attained any liberty, the government being ever on the watch to repress the smallest attempt at freedom of discussion and criticism.

In the second place we find that the attitude assumed by the inhabitants of the colonies, as expressed by the actions of their representatives, varied in the different colonies. We do find this general similarity, that in all there was a very jealous upholding of the rights of the legislative body as against criticism. That can be easily established by a perusal of the Minutes of any of the Assemblies. But in Massachusetts a distinction seems to have been early established between a criticism of the proceedings of the General Court as such, and a criticism of the policy of the government. In Pennsylvania this view was only in the latter period arrived at; in New York the General Assembly was constantly taking offense at writings appearing in the newspapers or distributed in the form of pamphlets; while in Virginia the question never arose because there was no criticism.

Everywhere we find that there was, as time goes on, a general advance towards freedom of discussion. But this is best seen in nonpolitical matters. With the failure by Parliament in 1695 to renew the Licensing Act all publication became at least theoretically free except in so far as it was restrained by the law of libel. To just what extent this law could be stretched was always a matter of dispute. The maxim “the greater the truth, the greater the libel” must certainly have exercised an influence to deter the publications of the time from the discussion of private affairs. In fact in many instances the news contained in an issue of a newspaper was practically nothing, the few columns being occupied with a very bald statement of Indian affairs, or the relations with France or perhaps a short account of something which had taken place in England or on the Continent. The needs of the community, as better roads or the impounding of wandering cattle, were lightly touched on, but there was but slight evidence of any conception of the idea that the press could lead and direct public opinion as to municipal affairs.

In political matters not directly affecting the Crown there was also a slight advance towards freedom of discussion, which, as the time of the Revolution approached, became very much extended. But here again no general rule can be established for the more radical colonies, as Massachusetts, would naturally be far in advance of the more conservative, while between would stand New York.

Of one thing we may be confident. In no colony would the Governor, as representing the Crown, permit a criticism of its actions to pass without censure, and, if possible, punishment. When the Evening Post of Boston (vide p. 14) published in 1741 the paragraph in regard to the expected overthrow of the Walpole Ministry, the Attorney-General was at once ordered to file an Information against the printer, Thomas Fleet, and although no further proceedings were ever taken, the omission was due rather to want of confidence in the Massachusetts jury than to any leniency on the part of the Governor. In the case of McDougall (vide p. 65), we find the writer of a pamphlet obnoxious to the Crown kept in prison even against a writ of Habeas Corpus, and only released when the death of the principal witness in the case made his conviction impossible.

The liberty of the press was still further curtailed by the influence exerted by certain classes in the community. There was always a strong feeling among those who had grants of land (either directly from the Crown or by the Crown as confirmatory of purchases already made from the Indians), against any discussion of their rights over those who were their tenants. This influence would of course be of importance only in the colonies where grants were numerous, as in the colony of New York. But another class influence, that of the Clergy, was far stronger at all times and universal in its extent. In Massachusetts and Pennsylvania it is hardly possible to overestimate the importance of this influence, and in none of the colonies can it be neglected if we desire to properly appreciate the difficulties that faced the printer in his struggle for the right of free discussion. The troubles of Wm. Bradford, the elder in Pennsylvania (vide p. 26), and of James Franklin in Massachusetts (vide p. 11), give us a pretty clear idea of the troubles that would beset the man who did not keep himself out of controversy. Just as the New England Election Sermons give us perhaps the best means of understanding the influence of the Clergy in the field of politics, so these quarrels between printer and Quarterly Meeting or Presbytery show us the feeling toward freedom of discussion.

LIVINGSTON ROWE SCHUYLER.

NEW YORK CITY.

(_Concluded next month._)

REMINISCENCES OF ROBERT FULTON

Among the relics of Robert Fulton in possession of the American Society of Mechanical Engineers at their house in New York City is a manuscript (hitherto unpublished, it is believed), in which in 1859 the only surviving associate of the inventor recorded his recollections. These simple and obviously honest reminiscences from the hand of a plain man become of interest, however deficient in literary art. He was J. B. Calhoun of Brooklyn, and told his story thus:

“In 1807 Mr. Fulton’s first boat, the _North River_, of Clermont, commenced running on the Hudson River to Albany. Between 1809 and 1811, he had two more, the _Car of Neptune_ and the _Paragon_. Each steamer had two masts—on the foremast was a square sail, two topsails, and a jib. On the mainmast was a spanker and topsail. The foremast had at the heel trunnions by which the mast could be lowered when the wind was ahead. When the wind was fair, all hands, passengers too, were called to raise the mast and set sail.

These steamers had high or poop decks some four feet above the main deck; the entrance to the cabin was by the old-fashioned ship companionway—not a house on deck. These steamers, being on the bottom as flat as a house floor, each had two heavy side lee boards, to prevent making leeway when sail was set. In those days neither the pilot nor engineer had an assistant, nor the captain any clerk. In leaving New York at five, the pilot would take the wheel until supper; after supper he would again take the wheel and keep it till next morning; he had no fine pilot-house, not even an awning to protect him from the hot sun nor the most severe weather. When coming to landings, instead of a bell to ring, the pilot blew a tin horn some five feet long; the bell was used only for meal times....

Mr. Fulton had at North Point, Jersey City, four large shops, and a dry-dock some 200 feet long, 36 feet wide, and 16 feet deep to repair his boats in; the first dry-dock in this country. In those days such a thing as a cut-off, a throttle-valve, or an eccentric was not known by the engineer.

To make the trip to Albany took from twenty-six to thirty hours, burning in that time about thirty cords of firewood. None of Mr. Fulton’s steamers made the trip in less than twenty-five hours. In 1813 Mr. Louis Rhoda, Mr. Fulton’s chief engineer, was killed on the trial trip of the ferry-steamboat on the East River, the _Nassau_, by being caught in the engine when in motion. He had his entire right shoulder taken from his body by the crank. Mr. Rhoda was the first engineer killed in this country.”

Then follows a paragraph descriptive of Fulton’s personal appearance and manners. The sketch adds:

“His death was rather sudden; so much so that many attributed it to suicide. This was not so; he died a calm, natural death in the bosom of his family, at No. 5 Broadway, opposite the Bowling Green. In attending court at Trenton, N. J., he had taken a cold, and on returning home to New York the ferryboat on which he was was caught in the ice, and was thus delayed some three hours. It was a cold, stormy day in January; this confirmed and increased his illness, which finally sent him to his grave.”

In 1811 Mr. Fulton built at Pittsburgh, Pa., a boat for the New Orleans trade; she was called the _New Orleans_, the first steamer on the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers.

In 1810–11 a company was formed—they built two boats to run in opposition to Mr. Fulton’s. One was called _Perseverance_, Captain Bunker, and the other _The Hope_, Captain Sherman, afterwards well known on Lake Champlain. These steamers were some faster than Mr. Fulton’s. After a long contest in courts of law, the two Albany boats were confiscated to Mr. Fulton, and he had them soon broken up at Albany, in sight of their former owners.

In 1812–13 some gentlemen in New York built a steamer called the _Fulton_, to run to Albany, by Mr. Fulton’s consent, under the following terms: The new boat was to charge $10 for each passenger, paying Mr. Fulton $3 out of every $10 paid by the passengers; this did not prove profitable, and the next season the _Fulton_ was placed on the East River and the Sound, being the first steamer ever before on the Sound.... It was expected that the steamer _Fulton_ would make the trip to Albany in thirteen or fourteen hours’ time, but I think she never made the trip in less than sixteen or seventeen hours.

The first steamer on the Potomac River, Va., was built by Mr. Fulton in the last days of his life; she was called the _Washington_; she was intended to run between Washington City and Norfolk; she went there in May, 1815; the writer of these lines went out with her and stayed long enough to teach a black man, a slave, how to start and how to manage the engine.

The first steamer for the great Western Lakes was built at Black Rock on the Niagara River by Mr. Noah Brown of New York, in 1818. She was a handsome vessel of 360 tons’ burden, full brig-rigged. She was called the _Walk-in-the-Water_. She was owned by Dr. J. B. Stewart, then of Albany. The writer put up her engine. She was totally lost in a terrible gale on Lake Erie, in October, 1820. In these years from 1818 to 1820, no dividends were made from the earnings of the steamer. Such was the little travel on those lakes at these times that if the steamer carried thirty or forty passengers, it was doing pretty well. The strength of the Black Rock Rapids was so strong that besides the power of the engine, it required the use of eight pairs of oxen to get the steamer up the rapids on to the lake, a distance of two miles.

The first steamer that made the trip to Albany in twelve hours was the steamer _Sun_, of which the writer was the engineer. She was a double engine, called the Woolf engine, high and low pressure—had six high-pressure boilers, 24 feet long, and 30 inches in diameter, intended to carry 120 pounds of steam—cylinder, four feet stroke.

The first attempt to use hard coal on a steamer on the Hudson River was made by the Messrs. Mowatt on the steamer _Sun_ and the _Henry Eckford_ in 1825. Wood and coal were tried together; then coal alone. The trial was not successful, but it was soon seen that what was wanted was a strong draft or the use of some kind of a blower. The writer received $50 for making the trial. In those days, blowers were unknown. The first blower was introduced by the late Robert L. Stevens, on board the _North America_ in 1826.

About the year 1827 the steam chimney was introduced by the late J. P. Allaire. He claimed he had a patent for the same, but I think he had not.

In 1825 the steam towing business was commenced by the late Mowatts on the Hudson River, with the steamboat _Henry Eckford_ and six barges. About the same year Mr. William C. Redfield introduced the passenger-barge, towing, with the steamers _Swift-sure_ and _Abe Commerce_ and the barges _Lady Clinton_ and _Lady Van Rensselaer_; it was an aristocratic [venture]—got up to catch the support of the rich and powerful, but it did not succeed well, and in two years it went down.

All the fixtures about the ferry landings, the bridges, the floating box underneath, the chains and pulleys, were all invented by Mr. Fulton.

I have many things in my memory in regard to him. All of the above was written wholly from memory; not one word or a line of reference have I had before me while writing this historical record of old times. When I get in good health I have much to say on these subjects.

Apparently he never “got in good health,” for no other record of his than this is known.

]

DOMINIE SOLOMON FROELIGH AND HIS GREAT SCHISM

No region in the vicinity of New York has more natural beauty or historic interest than that lying west of the Palisades. Until a few years ago it was to most people an almost unknown land. Hackensack, Englewood, Paterson, and Passaic were familiar names; but the country north of these was seldom visited. Recently the valleys of the Ramapo, Pascack, Saddle, and Hackensack Rivers have attracted many suburban homeseekers, and their character is rapidly changing. Yet their charm still centers in the ancient stone farmhouses that speak of a civilization that has lasted for two hundred and fifty years. In some of the villages are churches built in early colonial times, and about these cluster the graves of the forefathers. New names have been given to many of the hamlets, and the present residents know little and care less for their past history. Only in musty records, and fading memories, do the ancient Indian and Dutch names survive. Ka Keat, Mahakemack, Minesing, Aquackanock, are some of these. From Tappan on the north to English Neighborhood on the south, a distance of thirty miles, this country, except in the four chief towns, was until a generation ago stagnant; its population was no greater than at the beginning of the nineteenth century. A few years since, the writer journeyed with a friend to one of its ancient churchyards, to commit to its grave the body of an aged lady. There it rests with those of ten generations of the Bogarts, Brinkerhoffs, Demarests, Zabriskies, and other historic families.

A number of natives had gathered at the porch of the church on the capstone of whose arch was engraved “Nisi Dominus Frustra.” As this is the motto of the Reformed Church of America I, as one of its ministers, felt at home. The day was stormy, and I asked that the building might be opened for a funeral service. The gentleman addressed said he feared that this was impossible, as the pastor was opposed to such a proceeding. The parsonage was next to the church, and I sent word to the minister asking him to assist me in the burial office. My card was returned with a curt refusal. The old sexton was more communicative, and from him I learned the story of this “True Reformed Dutch Church”; could this have been reported word for word it would rival in interest the best of Miss Wilkins’ or Mrs. Wiggin’s tales.

Two facts remain in my memory; first, that Dr. Solomon Froeligh was to this peculiar people all that Knox had been to those who sat under the Scotch Reformer; and, second, that the True Reformed Dutch Church was the remnant of God’s elect; for the rest of Christendom had irrevocably passed under condemnation.

With these experiences in mind I have as far as possible gathered the facts that outline the story of a schism which, nearly a hundred years ago, threatened to disrupt the Reformed Dutch Church, then relatively among the largest of Protestant denominations. Dr. Chambers, in the Schaff-Herzog Encyclopædia, has stated: “The True Reformed Dutch Church is the result of a secession led by the Rev. Solomon Froeligh, a learned man. The reasons assigned for the separation were that the Dutch Church had become erroneous in doctrine, lax in discipline, and corrupt in practice. The secession, however, did not adopt any new standards. At one time it was very formidable, numbering over one hundred churches and as many ministers. But it now numbers hardly a dozen churches. It was a great injury to the church from which it seceded, but it is hard to see what service it has been to its own members, or to anybody else.” This statement, while judicious, is hardly comprehensive. The cause of the disruption was perverse human nature; pride, envy, and jealousy had much to do with it, and the effect was that a people who might have led in the moral and material growth of the State retrograded. The evil it caused brought disaster to upwards of a thousand families who had possessed every advantage of birth, property, and intelligence.

The beginning of the settlement of the region I have described was almost coeval with that of New Amsterdam. Later the occupation of New York by the English led to a large emigration thither of Dutch families from Manhattan and Long Island. Slowly and painfully these early settlers removed the forests, drained the swamps, and established their homes. The organization of Dutch churches in the neighborhoods of this section began immediately. The people were intelligent and devout as well as thrifty. Godly and learned clergymen, among whom were Taschmaker, Varick, Bertholf, Schuyler, and Van Benschoten, soon gathered large congregations. The story of the labors of these men is one of a heroism and devotion hardly equalled in colonial history. The minutes of the synod of 1778 reported seventeen strong churches in the district. In 1818 the classes of Bergen and Paramus, into which it was divided, reported 2,400 communicant members, and more than 15,000 persons in the congregations. At this later date some of these churches were larger than those in the cities of New York and Albany.

For many years the most influential man in the region, and in the estimation of his admirers in the Dutch Church, was Dr. Solomon Froeligh, minister of the Collegiate Churches of Hackensack and Schraalenburgh. Born near Albany in 1750, he had spent his boyhood in Walkill valley. There, and in the adjacent Catskill district, the venerable Schuneman ruled for fifty years like a bishop of mediæval times. He was the lawyer, physician, pastor, and friend of a large and scattered flock, among whom his wisdom and authority were unquestioned. A narrative of his life and labors is told in a story of some sixty years ago called “The Dutch Dominie of the Catskills.” Through his guidance Froeligh was led to dedicate himself to the ministry. For ten years he studied under Dr. Dirck Romeyn of Schenectady—the founder of Union College—and Dr. Peter Wilson of Hackensack, for many years a leading professor in Kings College. Although he never visited Princeton, the College of New Jersey conferred on Froeligh at eighteen years of age the degree of master of arts, because of his profound attainments. He became a favorite of Dr. John Livingston, whom Mrs. Jay, the wife of the chief justice, named to Washington as the first citizen of New York. This great man, long the unquestioned leader of the Dutch Church, was accustomed to make progresses through the various congregations; on two at least of these, and the time occupied was frequently several months, Froeligh accompanied him. Upon his licensure in 1775 he received four calls, of which he accepted that of the Collegiate Churches of Queens County, Jamaica, Newtown, Success, and Oyster Bay. In 1776 his house near Newtown, containing his valuable library, and all his earthly possessions, was burned by the British, and he barely escaped death at their hands. For the eight succeeding years he went up and down New York and New Jersey as a missionary and fearless patriot. At the close of the war for independence he accepted a call to become the colleague of the Rev. Warmardus Kuypers in the pastorate of the Collegiate Churches of Hackensack and Schraalenburgh. Shortly after this, he was named by the General Synod of the Church together with Drs. Livingston and Romeyn, a professor of theology. For thirty years he held this office, and trained for the ministry nearly one hundred young men.

By inheritance Dr. Froeligh was a strong, self-sufficient man. His education and life accentuated these traits. His intercourse during the impressionable years of youth with such masters as Schuneman, Romeyn and Livingston must have developed in him an aptitude to command. In scholarship he was in a narrow sense profound. His early possession of the seat of authority led to a certain dogmatism. He was pronounced hyper-Calvinist, and ever ready to defend his extreme views. The synods of the Church were in that day the great events of each year, not only for clergymen but laymen. In these Dr. Froeligh was ever the leading controversialist. Both tradition and records show that he was strenuous to harshness in manner, unyielding, and exacting in statement, and always ready to estrange a friend rather than bend in the least. Combined with these traits there was in him a vein of mysticism. He dreamed dreams and saw visions that were to him authoritative communications of the Most High. Naturally such a man gathered about him devoted and obedient followers, and at the same time offended and antagonized many. Religion and politics were then, far more than in our day, issues of intense personal moment to all thoughtful persons. Party spirit blazed fiercely in every community. In the memorable Presidential contest of 1800, when the Federalist party was defeated, Dr. Froeligh was an elector and voted for Jefferson. What this meant to most of the ministers and influential laymen of the Church, who were devoted to Hamilton, can be surmised.

As years passed his character did not soften, nor could he accept defeat gracefully. Gradually, new and younger leaders in the Church came to the front. Men like Milldoler, Brownlee, Broadhead, and Fonda, whom he would not treat as his equals, paid him less and less deference. But his chief antipathy was his neighbor of Paramus, once his own scholar, Dr. Wilhelm Eltinge. They were men much alike in character, who invariably stood on opposite sides of every question.

Now the churches of Hackensack and Schraalenburgh, while ruled by one Consistory, were far from friendly to each other. They were rich in property, having inherited thousands of acres of farm land, and their members were noted for their wealth. Even before Froeligh’s day there was bitter rivalry between the two. Mr. Kuypers, Froeligh’s colleague, was a gentle and infirm man, who, above all things, hated discord. He readily yielded to his energetic associate. As the years passed the friction between the communities and factions in each church grew. Questions as to the sale of property, the rebuilding of churches, assessments of costs, and the like were constantly rising. On these friends parted and even families divided. At length four separate consistories and congregations were established, one for each minister in each place, but all in one corporation. During the earlier years of his settlement Dr. Froeligh sought to act the part of peacemaker. Not understanding the grounds for the fierce disputes, he diligently set himself to enforce agreement, and by the exercise of his masterful will partially succeeded.

In 1799 Mr. Kuypers died, and the question of his successor became a burning one. The dominie was, of course, intensely interested, and took a decided stand against a majority. During a summer storm a bolt of lightning split the tablet over the door of the largest church, on which was engraved “Endraacht maakt macht”—union makes strength. Taking this as a sign from heaven, Dr. Froeligh proclaimed in his sermon on the following Sunday, “It is our belief founded on what we have seen and know of this people that, according to the sign given on July 10, the Triune God has made them two. The fire of divine grace is on one side, and the fire of discord and rage is on the other.” Even under such conditions the dominie was master of the situation, and held the reins tightly. He was sole minister of four rich churches, and by ecclesiastical law each meeting of the consistory was subject to his call. By the civil law he was president of the corporation, and no business could be transacted without his presence. At last, in 1800, the General Synod of the Church intervened, and by the exercise of its supreme authority placed Dr. J. V. C. Romeyn in Mr. Kuypers’ stead. It also divided the old Classis of Hackensack into two, with Dr. Froeligh’s two churches in that of Paramus, and Dr. Romeyn’s in that of Bergen. Dr. Froeligh entered a solemn protest against this action, and began a course of systematic effort to undo the arrangement. For eighteen years the controversy continued. It is needless to particularize the phases of this unhappy church quarrel. At last, in 1818, the crisis came. Proceedings under church law were instituted against Dr. Froeligh on the question whether the ministry or spiritual consistory composed of the elders of a church, was the responsible party in the matter of receiving or dismissing members. The Classis of Paramus sided with Dr. Froeligh, the next higher court, the Particular Synod, sustained Dr. Romeyn, and then, in 1822, the General Synod, in perhaps the most memorable trial in her history, decided against Dr. Froeligh. Thereupon, he and the ministers and elders of nine churches, signed their names to a document declaring that they had formed themselves into a separate body by the name and title of “The True Reformed Dutch Church in America.”

Those who recall Mrs. Stowe’s story, “The Minister’s Wooing,” need not be told of the great controversy in New England caused by the sermons of Dr. Hopkins of Newport. In the light of to-day, few if any in the ministry accept his theology because of its narrowness. But a hundred years ago men like Froeligh regarded Hopkins as a dangerous heretic, and sought to cast out of the church as Pelagians those who sided with him. So long as the dominie could rule the Classis of Paramus he was reasonably content, but when Dr. Eltinge and a majority of its members approved of the Hopkins position, the Dutch Church seemed without the pale. Doubtless his greatest sorrow was that the old leaders he most admired, like Dr. Livingston, refused to join in the controversy. The younger men who were shaping the missionary activities of the church, and planning the constitution that was adopted in 1832, ignored him. No wonder he became embittered. But he had a large following of sincere, earnest, though narrow men. They had been in their early years his students and he was still their oracle. So the schism became formidable. After taking this final step he made a proselyting tour among the churches in the Hudson and Mohawk valleys. A score of these joined his new communion. As many more were completely disrupted, and soon ceased to exist. Side by side in fifty hitherto peaceful, united, and prosperous villages rival congregations began a bitter warfare. Accusations against the teaching character and morals of ministers and laymen were published. In the church courts notable trials were held. In some cases the peace of the State was broken, and the civil authorities invoked. Indeed, the actions at law caused by this secession in New York and New Jersey led to the establishment of principles as to the rights of members in church property that are to-day the basis of the ecclesiastical law in both States. Probably the most famous case was that of the Church of the English Neighborhood in New Jersey. It was argued before the Supreme Court by Messrs. Wood and Hornblower on one side, and Van Arsdale and Theodore Frelinghuysen on the other. Chief Justice Ewing delivered the opinion of the court. These five named leaders are probably the most prominent in the history of the New Jersey bar.

As I have gathered from many sources the facts herein set forth, the most interesting and impressive feature of the controversy is the sane and dignified manner with which the church met the issue. Every lawful means was adopted to first reunite and then recover the seceding churches, and, so far as the records show, this was ever in the spirit of the Christian rule of kindness. When these efforts failed all loyal members were urged to live in charity with their neighbors.

Until 1850 the “True Reformed Dutch Church” grew in strength. It concentrated all its powers on the one aim of proselyting adherents from the mother Church. Wherever possible it effected discord in congregations and families. It took no part in the missionary or philanthropic movements of the day. Its members gloried in being a “peculiar people,” whose “good works” consisted in nursing pride and standing apart from all others.

I have hardly touched on the pathetic side of this history. At the beginning of the nineteenth century the Dutch Reformed Church in America stood in a unique position. In the center of the country she was the oldest Protestant communion, and relatively the strongest. More nearly than any other her policy coincided with that of the United States. In temper and trend she was highly irenic. Her liturgy and confessions were simply Christian; and her genius made her one with true Christians of every name. No wonder that the hopes of a great multitude, both within and without her communion, for a homogeneous body that should do away with the multitude of ecclesiastical divisions centered in her. It was largely due to the schism Dr. Froeligh led that these hopes were shattered. The natural growth of the Church was checked at the most important period of the country’s development. Beginning at the close of the Revolution, wise and devoted leaders had planted a large number of Dutch churches on the then frontiers; these were everywhere prospering. In Central and Western New York, in Upper Canada, in West New Jersey, and Eastern Pennsylvania new congregations were constantly being organized. Then came the disruption. Fully two-thirds of these newer churches were broken up. In North Jersey, and Rockland County, New York, an unwholesome emigration of embittered people began. Families were broken up, neighbors estranged, and the material as well as moral growth of the section was checked.

Possibly other communities as well as churches gained large accessions through this secession. But people of this description are too selfish and disputatious to foster the peace of any neighborhood. It is well that their children should ignore and forget the ways of their fathers.

Now all that is left of the True Dutch Church are some ten dying congregations. Each year or so one of these is disrupted. Civil and sometimes criminal actions at law follow, and the costs of the proceedings absorb the remainders of the property. But the remnant still cling to their name and glory in their history; for they still invoke the shades of Doctor Solomon Froeligh.

_Evening Post_, N. Y.

JOSEPH R. DURYEE.

* * * * *

[Dominie Freligh was an ardent patriot, as is shown by the letter herewith, which presents an odd mixture of piety, patriotism and butter.

The original is in the possession of Mr. William Nelson, Secretary of the N. J. Historical Society, to whom we are indebted for permission to reproduce it.

The reference in its closing lines to “ladies’ headdress” is easily understood by a glance at the Mischianza _coiffure_ of the period, as sketched by Major André—who at the date of this letter had been dead less than four months.—ED.]

N. Millstone (N. J.) Feb^r. 6th 1781

Rev^d. & very Dear Sir

I Acknowledge herewith the Recept of Yours by M^r. Braket. It Affords
me Singular Pleasure that a Protecting Providence has hitherto
favoured you in your Present Precarious Situation—_Hackinsack_ is
often to me a Subject of Admiration; a Vilage Contiguous to the
Enimies Lines & Accessible from all Quarters Abounding with Whigs,
warmly attached to their Country’s Interest, & a Larger Number
according to its Dimensions than Perhaps any town in the State Could
produce, to be Preserved, is indeed a Striking Instance of Divine
Protection and Seems to indicate, that Notwithstanding your Complaint
of religious Defection there is Still a Remnant—As far as I am Capable
I shall take pleasure in Satisfying Your Curiosity Respecting the
State of religion here—I Can Assure You Sir it wears a Pleasing
Aspect; Several Make Profession of their faith & Confidence in Christ
& Corroborate it with a Corresponding Practice, Several have been
Awakened Since my last & Some who had degenerated from their former
Exemplary piety, Seem to revive, & much regret their Backsliding: The
Exercises of one in particular are very remarkable; a man formerly of
a most Abandoned Profligate life; now Under the Severest Conviction.
Discourses on their own Experiences; Efforts to Obtain knowledge of
the Sacred truths, & family Devotion Prevails much Among them, and as
Little Enthusiasm I think as I ever knew at a Similar Juncture—I much
approve of Your Observation _that the End of a thing is better than
its beginning_ and when I add to this the Numerous Instances of
Dfection, I cannot fear that there will be a _Lot’s wife_ among them
however I fondly hope the Whole Will not proove to be Wild-fire. Such
is their taste for the Gospel, that they Would exact from me more
Preaching than is Consistent in itself or my Circumstances of body &
mind Would Admit of ——

I am Pleased with the mode in which the late Mutiny in the Jersey Line
was Suppressed & Could Wish the Same Steps had been taken with the
Pensylvanians—The Soldiers in Our Army have Doubtless many Causes of
Complaint, but a spirit of insurrection Should never be indulged in an
Army, They Marched thro this place in remarkable good Order; The fate
of _Sir Harry’s_ Wretched Emisaries Which, I presume you have heard
Prooves Your Conjecture Respecting the Enemy’s Joy on the Occasion to
have been Judicious—Recruiting Business we hear goes on in Pensylvania
With Unexpected Success—If M^r Bracket tarrys with us till Thursday I
shall Probably have it in my Power to Send you The paper;

I had Engaged a Quantity of butter, but from the bad Prospect of any
Conveyance this winter I declined, should a proper Conveyance Occur I
shall Endeavour to Procure Some for you: The Rev^d M^r. _Leydt_ is
recovered from his illness that had nearly Prooved the Cause of his
Death, & is hammering away at the Ladies’ headdress with as much
Vehemence As ever—M^r. Hardenbergh it is reported will move in the
Spring:

I have the honour to be With Sincere

Respect & Esteem
Your Fellowlabourer in C
& Truy humble Servt
SOLOMON FRELIGH

(Addressed:)
The Rev^d M^r D: Romeyn
fav^d M^r. Braket }
at Hackinsack. }

A DAY IN THE GREAT DISMAL SWAMP

[The stories and legends associated with the Swamp are many. The most
authentic and pathetic of all, and the one which Thomas Moore has made
the theme of a poem, is to this effect: a young man who lost his mind
on the death of the girl he loved, disappeared, and was never heard
from. As he had frequently said, in his delirium, that she was not
dead, but gone in a canoe to the Swamp, it is supposed that he
wandered there in search of her, and died from exposure.

CHARLES LANMAN, 1847.]

And all night long, by her fire-fly lamp
She paddles her light canoe.—MOORE.

It seemed as if we had hardly been asleep an hour when a knock resounded on our door, and a voice from the outside said: “Six o’clock, ladies; breakfast will be ready in fifteen minutes, and the carriage will be here at half-past six.”

With half-shut eyes we made our toilet, and we were even too sleepy to enjoy the well-cooked breakfast which was spread for us in the dining-room of the little Suffolk inn where we had taken lodging for the night on our arrival by train from Norfolk.

We were not thoroughly awake and interested in the adventure we were about to undertake, until we found ourselves with guide books and lunch box on the back seat of a springless carriage, the front seat of which was occupied by a fat negro, with a good-natured grin, who answered to the name of “Moses.” We had a three-mile drive before us to the entrance of the Swamp, where we were to meet our guide and take the boat.

The first stage of our journey lay through the main street of a sleepy little Virginia town. The sun had not yet dried the dewdrops, and the old white, pillared houses on either side of the highway, where the great elms overlapped their branches, were still wrapped in the quiet of the early morning. Farther along the street, when we reached the shops, there were more signs of life. Men, who looked like planters of antebellum days, were taking possession of the chairs which occupied the sidewalk and the porch of a small hotel. Negroes and mules and great bunches of bananas were seen on every hand. But we soon left all these behind and were out in the open country. Level, green fields lay on either side of us. It was a lonely road, in spite of the greenness and the sunshine round about us. Occasionally we passed a weather-beaten negro cabin, and once we saw, looming in the distance, a white plantation mansion, stately still, in spite of years of neglect.

It seemed to us that this monotonous road might run on indefinitely, when, suddenly, Moses halted his horses, without apparent cause.

“He’ah we is, I reckon, missus,” said he.

“It can’t be,” returned my traveling companion. “I see nothing like a swamp.” And then we both of us looked closely at the only object in the landscape—a clump of willow bushes, seeming to cover the beginning of a brook that led nowhere in particular.

“Yes’m, he’ah we be su’ah,” reiterated Moses. “An’ he’ah’s Massa Alphonso now,” and he pointed to a light-haired, lank Virginian, who, at that moment, appeared from behind the bushes, and stood leaning on an oar.

The man combined the stateliness of a courtier with the roughness of a hunter, and the grace of his attitude and his blonde beauty led the Spinster to christen him “The Lohengrin of the Swamp.”

The object of this unspoken christening now came forward and introduced himself as our guide. “An’ now, I reckon we might as well be a-startin’, ladies,” said he. “Wait, ma’am, I’ll help you down the bank. It’s mighty steep right here, but there wasn’t no other place nigh so good for hitchin’ the boat. You, Mose, you be back to-night at six o’clock sharp for the ladies. D’ye understand?”

“Yes, sah’, yes, sah’, su’ah,” and Moses clattered away.

Once settled in the boat, the scene changed. We seemed to have entered the beginning of an indefinitely long arbor, covered with grapevines. Of course, there were, in reality, no grapevines, but the willows and the short, bushy trees which completely overhung the four-foot wide channel in which our boat rode made the illusion perfect.

“This is beautiful,” said the Spinster, as she watched the sunshine glinting through the pale-green leaves, still dew-covered, and falling in bright reflections on the face of the dark water beneath.

“It’s fine!” I echoed; “but when do we enter the swamp, guide?”

“We’re in the swamp now, ma’am. It’ll be just like this for ten miles, and then we’ll come to the lake.”

“Why—why,” I almost stammered in my amazement, “I thought the swamp was dark and gloomy, with moss hanging from tall, mournful pine trees, and not a sound to be heard in the wilderness. If it’s like this, with bird-calls and sunshine and bright green leaves, why do they call it ‘dismal’?”

Alphonso smiled at my eagerness. “There’s more to it than shows just at first, ma’am,” he answered. “There are more sad stories about this swamp than all the sunshine can make bright. In the first place this channel we’re riding in right now was dug by chain-gangs of slaves. They say the poor creatures died here in heaps from swamp fever. But that didn’t make any difference to their owners. They was made to dig right into the heart of the swamp to get at the juniper trees. You see they are very valuable—the most valuable wood, I guess, that grows; and they are only to be found here in this swamp. I’ll show you some of them when we come to them. They are tall and slim and straight. No, we shan’t get to any until we are a good bit farther along. I told you the swamp was all alike, but I didn’t mean that exactly. There’s a good bit of difference, the deeper in we get, though you might not notice the difference unless I pointed it out. The trees will be larger and taller, and the bird-calls will be different—more wild, like, and there’ll be owls and herons to be seen, and maybe a stork or two. I hope on account o’ you ladies we shan’t meet no bears, but you see I’ve brought my gun along. There’s always a chance.”

I was more interested in his story of the slave gangs than in the bears. “Do you actually mean,” I asked, “that in former times slaves dug this channel ten miles long to Lake Drummond?”

“Yes, ma’am, that’s an actual fact; but they got some advantages from it, too, for while they was digging they got to know the swamp pretty well, and they discovered there was islands hidden away in the center of the swamp, though miles distant from this channel. The slaves kept their discovery to themselves, and later on fugitive slaves made use of it. If they could only reach these islands they were safe from their pursuers, and it’s said that children and even grandchildren of the first runaways were born, and lived, and died on these islands.”

“I don’t see what they had to eat,” suggested the prosaic Spinster.

“You don’t understand, ma’am. These islands are just as dry and nice as any land about here, and the swamp soil is mighty rich, so of course they could just grow anything they had a mind to. Of course they were helped also by friendly slaves on the plantations ’round here, and then they had their cattle and honey to help out.”

“Cattle and honey!” exclaimed the Spinster.

“Yes, ma’am; and they’re here yet. I get all the honey maw and I want to eat from the hives of wild bees here, and most of my beef comes from here, too. Besides, many a quarter I’ve sold. There’s no better eatin’ than the swamp cattle. But a cur’us thing about ’em is that their horns is polished just like ivory. It comes from pickin’ up their livin’ in the swamp and brushin’ constant against tree trunks and reeds and the like.”

“I don’t see how they came here in the first place, and I don’t see what they live on in the second place,” continued the Spinster, glancing at the edges of the swamp on either side of our narrow channel, which seemingly consisted only of masses of dead leaves, dank moss, and reeds.

“Oh, I suppose they was tame cattle in the first place that strayed in here an’ then stayed an’ multiplied just as the slaves did. An’ as for eatin’, you ain’t seen the swamp grass, ma’am; it’s mighty rich.”

“I should think it would be unhealthy here,” said I. “I don’t see how those fugitive slaves flourished to the third generation.”

“Well, no; that’s the queer part of it. It ain’t unhealthy. Those niggers who dug this ditch died of fever, but the swamp itself ain’t unhealthy. On the contrary, the medical folks say it’s a good place for consumptives, and that this swamp water you see here, just as brown as coffee, is good for ’em to drink. There’s been some talk of puttin’ up a hotel on the shore of Lake Drummond for a health resort, and cuttin’ a channel wide enough for a steamboat to run regular, but I hope they won’t get to it in my time. I can’t hope that the Swamp’ll last much longer,” he continued, with a sigh. “You see how black and rich the ground is, and if it was drained and cleared it would be mighty productive. Some capitalists are already talking of doing that and dividing it off into farms.”

This was a plan that pleased the Spinster, and she kept our guide talking on this and kindred topics until the sun, creeping on, stood directly overhead, and it was noon, and we had reached the limit of our journey.

We forgot our prosaic talk of so short a time before when we stood on the shores of Lake Drummond. There lay the magic lake, boldly gray, even in brightest sunshine. Waves which were born from the winds of the wilderness lapped the pebbles at our feet. Although the sun shone warm upon us, it could not overcome the feeling of awe-struck loneliness.

“Do you notice,” said my companion softly, “that even the bird-calls of the swamp have ceased?”

I nodded without speaking. It seemed unfitting to break by words the ghostlike silence that brooded over this water so far from the life and ways of men.

A moment later the guide joined us and brought us down from this high plane by his unconcerned talk.

“Yes,” he said, “this lake’s just on the boundary line between North Carolina and Virginia. We came through ten miles of Virginia swamp this morning to get to it, and we’d have to pole through ten miles of North Carolina swamp if we tried to get out through the other side across the lake there.”

“What sources feed Lake Drummond?” asked the Spinster, shaking herself free from the abstraction that had preceded Alphonso’s entrance upon the scene.

“Nobody knows,” returned the guide, shaking his head. “Nobody knows where it comes from nor where it goes. The black folks around here say that the lake belongs to the devil and the scientific people say it’s of volcanic origin. Perhaps that amounts to the same thing.” Then he changed the subject by briskly demanding if we were ready for lunch.

We ate our luncheon in the rough wooden house, which, with its shake-down beds and pine board tables, served as quarters for the hunters and scientists, sometimes for weeks at a time. Perhaps its limited accommodations satisfied them. We should not have been contented.

We were not sorry to find ourselves once more in our comfortable boat and started on our homeward journey.

“I reckon we don’t get any bears this trip,” remarked Alphonso, after we had progressed a considerable distance.

“Do you often get them?” asked the Spinster.

“Sure, though it’s kind o’ between seasons for them now. They ain’t out lookin’ after berries or honey. I might say that I bag ’em mighty frequent,” he continued. “That is, when I’m hunting by myself. When I’m guidin’ other folks they do more missin’ than hittin’, I’m bound to say,” he added with a laugh.

We had heard the evening before that Alphonso was considered the best shot in Nansemond County, so that we did not doubt his personal prowess, but the humorous twinkle in his eye encouraged us to ask for stories of the misadventures of other people, and we heard various seriocomic tales of grave professors who could draw a trigger and yet miss a bear within six feet of them, or let a bear-cub crawl away unhurt, not from a sense of pity, but from absent-mindedness.

“But I don’t mind so much their missin’ of the game,” said Alphonso, “as I do their wanderin’ off by themselves an’ gettin’ lost in this ’ere swamp. It takes me such a pile o’ walkin’ before I can round ’em up again. I remember once I was fool enough to let a party of three go off huntin’ by themselves. It took me two days before I found ’em again, an’ I can tell you I was gettin’ mighty anxious. My! didn’t they enjoy the wild-cow beefsteak I cooked for ’em that night!”

As he spun his yarns, we hoped to beguile Alphonso into a more personal strain and get him to tell about his own life and his mother to whom he had more than once alluded. Although evidently unwilling to do so, he did tell us enough of his life so that we could piece together his story and account for his opposing characteristics. It seemed that his mother had been an heiress and a belle in the days before the war. She had married a colonel who was killed in one of the first battles, and her only child, Alphonso, had at the age of eleven been thrust out into the world to gain a living for himself and his mother. This he had succeeded in doing, but there had been no time for education—that is, for book-knowledge. Chivalry of manner he had learned from his lady-mother. The wiles of Cupid he had likewise shunned. As he told us, he was an “old bach,” and lived alone with “maw,” and reckoned he’d continue so to do, When we tried to gather more details of his life, he showed himself shy, as well as modest, and parried our most skillful questions. His last evasion led to an incident which proved much to our advantage.

“Look-a-there,” he cried, not answering the Spinster’s last quiz. “Do you see that owl, ma’am, perched on that dead branch in the top of that pine tree? He’s the largest I’ve seen this year. Would you like him? He’d make a mighty nice specimen in case you’re collectin’.”