[Sidenote: _ANTI-RENT TROUBLES._]

The anti-rent troubles which occupied the attention of the state for one hundred and one years began on the Livingston Estate in the Fall of 1751. The tenants first neglected, then refused to pay rent. The boundary line between New York and Ma.s.sachusetts was in dispute, both Provinces claiming this territory; and the malcontents, taking advantage of this to get some sort of t.i.tle to their farms from the "Committee of the General Court of the Province of Ma.s.sachusetts Bay,"

defied Robert Livingston Jr., the then proprietor, and a hard time he had of it to deal with both the discontented farmers and the government of the adjoining Province, New York being slow to take up the cudgels in his behalf.

From here the trouble spread to the Van Rensselaer and other manors, resulting in riots and small-sized warfare, with now and then the murder of a sheriff on the one side or an anti-renter on the other.

The matter got into state politics and finally, in 1846, the tenants elected their Governor, and in 1852 the Court of Appeals decided in favor of the tenants, and the trouble was laid to rest.

Among the notables of Columbia County was Samuel J. Tilden, who was born and raised here, but who early gravitated to New York City. The local historian also sets great store by the Hon. Elisha Williams who, during the first quarter of the Nineteenth Century, was the bright particular star of the Columbia County Bar.

[Sidenote: _FIRST "STAGE-WAGGONS"._]

In 1786 the first systematic attempt to run stages over the Post Road appears to have been made by three Columbia County men, Isaac Van Wyck, Talmage Hall and John Kinney, as in that year the state granted to these men the exclusive right "to erect, set up, carry on and drive stage-waggons" between New York and Albany on the east side of Hudson's River, etc., fare limited to 4 pence per mile, trips once a week. Right here it is interesting to note that in 1866 Lossing wrote of the Hudson River Railway that "more than a dozen trains each way pa.s.s over portions of the road in the course of twenty-four hours."

[Sidenote: _NEVIS--CLAREMONT--BLUE STORE._]

Nevis is little more than a cross-roads. Claremont a straggling village of no moment; further on the road crosses the Roeloff Jansen Kill over a bridge that looks as though it must have heard the rumble of many a stage coach.

Some newspaper antiquarian says:--

"Kill seems to be a Low Dutch word of American coinage. I have never found the word kill for brook in Low Dutch or Low German writings. I think they originally p.r.o.nounced it 'kull' (cool), and to a people transplanted from a low country to a mountainous one, where the water of the brooks was cool even in midsummer, the suggestion may be plausible. The Low Dutch have 'vliet' (fleet) for stream. The German for streaming is 'stromen.' Hamburg has its numerous fleets or ca.n.a.ls.

The Low German of the Lunenburger Helde calls a brook a streak or a 'beek.' Note the word 'Beekman.'"

A hundred years or more ago, when they were naming things in these parts, Blue Store was blue store, and they keep up the tradition faithfully to-day. Everything except what nature tints is the favorite color. This was one of the princ.i.p.al stopping places on the Post Road, but it has sadly dwindled since the old days.

[Sidenote: _JOHNSTOWN--RACE PLACE._]

Johnstown contains three Livingston houses, built by various members of this omnipresent family. The one north of the village stands on a commanding hill, and looks from the road like a handsome place. In 1805 there were twenty public houses in this place, even members of the reigning family consenting to take in the sheckels over the bar.

It has been interesting to see the chickens scurry for cover whenever a noisy flock of blackbirds pa.s.ses overhead on its way to the southland. They seemed to think, if chickens think, that all the hawks in christendom were swooping down on their devoted heads, and stood not on the order of their going.

[Sidenote: _COLD NIGHT._]

Race Place is a half mile off the road, but being garnished with a hotel I went there for the night. The village centre consists of two dwellings, two blacksmith shops and the hotel, which carries the legend "Race Place Hotel, 1700," and its interior bears out the aged suggestion. The parlor floor has sagged a foot or so, due to the crowds that have a.s.sembled here during past country b.a.l.l.s. The ballroom is on the second floor, where one would naturally expect to find bedrooms, and the proprietor proudly announced that as many as sixty couples had danced here at once; there must have been some hearty b.u.mps during the process. There are three bedrooms tucked away in recesses at the rear. It was my lot to sleep in a feather bed under a mountain of patchwork quilts with never a care for Jack Frost sitting on the window ledge outside. But, oh! what a difference in the morning, when I must climb out of that nice, warm nest to shut the window, catching a sc.r.a.p of conversation in doing so, the burden of which was, "ice an inch thick." Think of shaving and washing in water that has spent the night in such company!

The proprietor of the hotel thinks walking through the country is all right and perfectly safe provided the traveler keeps away from those large hotels where they burn gas. Gas is dangerous. Two of his friends and neighbors went on a visit to Albany and, as he put it, came home in pine boxes. Keep away from gas-lit hotels and you are all right.

The kitchen was the only place in the house where an overcoat was not de rigeur, and there the evening was pa.s.sed with the family. There was much edifying conversation and considerable speculation over a stuffed olive which the daughter of the house had brought home from school; the housewife feared to taste it and the good man had no curiosity to gratify.

[Sidenote: _STONE MILL--CLAVERACK._]

Stone Mill, on Claverack Creek, so named because of the old stone mill built in 1766, is a postoffice, but why, in these days of rural free delivery, is not quite clear, as the miller has but two or three neighbors who live in sight.

[Sidenote: _CLAVERACK._]

Claverack, Clover-reach--the town is one of the oldest--was once the county seat, until Hudson captured the prize. With what scorn must the staid Dutchmen have looked on the hustling Yankees who almost built the greatest city of the region over night.

As early as 1629 the Hollanders looked on this land and found it good.

It was part of the Van Rensselaer grants, this region in time coming to be known as the Lower Manor. The settlers here appear to have come with money and servants, and to have been better provided for than most of those who broke into the wilderness. Early descriptions suggest a land flowing with milk and honey. Deer were so plenty that one could be had from the Indians for a loaf of bread; turkeys, pheasants, quail, hares and squirrels were everywhere; forest trees were festooned with grape vines; blackberries, strawberries, wild plums and nut trees abounded, and the streams were full of most excellent fish.

The soil was fertile, and the community soon became a flourishing one, and the centre of interest and the county seat. The fine courthouse, erected in 1786 and still standing, was the scene of some notable legal contests, the most memorable being the trial of Harry Croswell, editor of the Hudson Balance, in 1804, charged with libel upon President Jefferson. The prosecution was handled by Ambrose Spencer, Attorney-General, and the newspaper man was defended by William H. Van Ness and Alexander Hamilton, whose eloquence failed to save the accused. In 1805 Hudson became the county seat, and the courthouse was abandoned to private use.

The village still contains a number of notably fine specimens of Colonial architecture, one of which is the Ludlow house, built in 1786. The present Ludlow, a grandson of Robert Fulton, having some money and much leisure, has turned the old place into a Fulton museum.

The Miller house, formerly Muldor, an interesting relic of the year 1767, is known as the Court Martial House, it having been used for the trial and its cellar for the imprisonment of delinquents during the Revolution, the owner himself being among those who suffered, he being given the choice of paying $1,000 or serving two months. This appears to have been because the gentleman shirked his military duties. His thoughts on the subject of being haled a prisoner to his own cellar do not appear to have been recorded; possibly they would not look well in print, as it was written by an early traveler through this region that the inhabitants were much "addicted to misusing the blessed name of G.o.d." Mr. Miller, if inclined that way, certainly was afforded every opportunity. Other attractive places are the Webb house, erected about 1790; the Old Stone House, on the Post Road, formerly an inn, said to be haunted by the ghost of a murdered pedler, and the Dutch Church, 1767, in the northern edge of the village. In fact, buildings a hundred years old are too frequent to excite remark.

Gen. James Watson Webb, whose father, Gen. Samuel B. Webb, was wounded on Bunker Hill, was born here, as was Judge William P. Van Ness, Aaron Burr's second in the Hamilton duel, and many another man known to fame.

[Sidenote: _HUDSON._]

It is but a short distance to Hudson, whose history is so interestingly different from that of the other towns of the region that a few words concerning it may not be out of place, even if the Post Road does pa.s.s by on the other side. Here, in 1783, came certain Quakers from Providence and Newport, Nantucket and Edgartown. It seems that the British cruisers had crippled the whaling industry and other marine ventures in which these enterprising gentlemen were engaged, and they sought a more secluded haven from which to transact their business. Some of them brought, on the brig "Comet," houses framed and ready for immediate erection, but before placing them these methodical Quakers first laid out the town in regular form, establishing highways, and not allowing them to develop from cow paths, as was the honest Dutch fashion. A committee was appointed "to survey and plot the city," and another to see that the streets were given suitable names.

The settlers promptly opened clay pits, burned bricks, built a first-cla.s.s wharf, and were regularly trading with New York within a year after they landed. A canoe ferry satisfied the earlier settlers, but "a gunwaled scow" was none too good for the new comers.

In 1785 it was the second port in the state; two ship yards were established, and a large ship, the Hudson, was nearly ready for launching. The fame of its hustle was attracting people from every side. March 31, 1785, the first newspaper was issued; April 22, 1785, a legislative act incorporated the place into a city; and by January, 1786, they had finished an aqueduct to bring in an abundant supply of pure water from two miles back in the country.

In 1790 it was made a port of entry. In 1793 the Bank of Columbia was chartered; in 1796-7 the city issued small bills and copper coins.

Hudson was incorporated the third city in the State, was the third port of entry, and had one of the three banks in the State. Once it started on the down grade, however, its "decline and fall off" was equally rapid.

[Sidenote: _POST ROAD._]

Now to get back to the Post Road, where the pace is not quite so hot-foot. As the next town is Kinderhook, some fourteen miles away, there is plenty of time to view the beauties of nature and fill one's nostrils with its rich perfumes. Most of the year's work in the fields is finished; here and there the shocks are being overhauled for the corn, which is shucked as gathered, while the pumpkins are still acc.u.mulating sunshine for the golden Thanksgiving pie. From the barn yards come the pounding of the steam thresher or the creak of a windla.s.s, suggesting that the hay crop is being baled. Everything is busy but the cows, who evidently do not like frosting on their cake and, having the day before them, can afford to wait till the good sun comes along to undo the work which has kept Jack Frost so busy all night.

The Catskills or Blue Mountains, as they are known from this distance, fill the western horizon, while the beautiful landscapes sloping down toward the river are so exquisite that the traveler involuntarily pauses to take it all in. For a goodly portion of the time the road keeps well up along a side hill, giving an extensive view over the valley beneath and to the mountains beyond--the autumn colors and softness are like the fairy dreams of childhood. With the blood dancing under the influence of the brisk morning air, walking is a luxury, and the glow that comes with the exercise, as well as every sight and sound, a new found joy.

The people hereabouts, while used to all sorts of freaks, can hardly understand how one can idly walk through the country with no higher ambition than the taking of a picture here and there, and many are the questions to be answered as to the whyness of the whichness, the old farmer generally going on with a dubious shake of the head, convinced that there is a screw loose somewhere.

[Sidenote: _FARMER FOLK._]

A farmer, on whose load of potatoes I rode into Kinderhook, thinks farming doesn't pay--would have been better off if he had worked at days' work all this time. He was cheerful, however, and wholly free from care; his horses were not matched, one doing all the pulling, the other all the sojering, and they went their own gait without interference from him. "Apples! Why apples aren't worth picking this year." It happened that I fell in with the other kind near Stone Mill.

He made $1,000 from apples alone last year; would not make so much this season, but they were well worth the gathering; there was money in the ground for him. The individual seems to count in farming, same as in everything else.

Just out of Claremont a young fellow was thrown from his runabout, his horse being frightened at an automobile, and it was only the quickness of the chauffeur that saved him from being run over. Did he curse the rich man's machine? Not he! His only idea was to find another and show his "new animal" who was master! Aside from this irritating feature, the whole affair was a huge joke on him. He was as handsome and wholesome looking as good health and an outdoor life could make a man.

[Sidenote: _LINDENWALD--JESSE MERWIN._]

Some two miles out of Kinderhook stands Lindenwald, to which Ex-President Van Buren retired. The house was built by Judge William P. Van Ness, previously mentioned. Washington Irving was a welcome and frequent guest in the Van Ness household, and it was in this neighborhood that he became acquainted with Jesse Merwin, school teacher, prototype of Ichabod Crane in the "Legend of Sleepy Hollow."

The two men were the best of friends, and the caricature does not seem to have cooled their pleasant relations. The schoolhouse stands on the roadside, somewhat nearer the village; at least the building pointed out as such is there, but in a letter to Merwin, Irving regrets that the old schoolhouse is torn down "where, after my morning's literary task was over, I used to come and wait for you, occasionally, until school was dismissed. You would promise to keep back the punishment of some little tough, broad-bottomed Dutch boy, until I could come, for my amus.e.m.e.nt--but never kept your promise."

The following notice of the death of "Ichabod Crane" appeared in the Westchester Herald for November 30, 1852:

"Jesse Merwin died at Kinderhook on the 8th instant, at the age of seventy years. Mr. Merwin was well known in this community as an upright, honorable man, in whom there was no guile. He was for many years a Justice of the Peace, the duties of which office he discharged with scrupulous fidelity and conscientious regard to the just claims of suitors, ever frowning upon those whose vocation it is to "foment discord and perplex right." At an early period of his life, and while engaged in school teaching, he pa.s.sed much of his time in the society of Washington Irving, then a preceptor in the family of the late Judge Van Ness, of this town.

"Both were engaged in congenial pursuits and, their residences being only a short distance apart, the author of the 'Sketch Book'

frequently visited the 'Old Schoolhouse,' in which 'Squire Merwin' was employed in teaching the young idea how to shoot, and subsequently immortalized his name by making him the hero of one of his inimitable tales, 'The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.'"

[Sidenote: _KATRINA VAN Ta.s.sEL HOUSE._]

A step further on, and across the highway, stands the Katrina Van Ta.s.sel house, on whose blooming young mistress the Yankee pedagogue was wont to cast longing eyes; this is the old Van Allen house, built in 1717, says one, in 1735 according to another--a plain building whose Holland bricks are still good, though somewhat the worse for wear.

Soon the road crosses the Kinderhook Creek into the village by an ancient covered bridge which has echoed to the thunder of many an old "stage-wagon." The crossing is rather a long one, resulting in two bridges with an interval of open between them. Down below the stream rolls lazily along while the cattle, standing at ease, seem to catch its indolent spirit. These streams, affording opportunity for water power, appear to have drawn the settlers away from the banks of the great river, and thus the towns grew up well inland from its sh.o.r.es.