REMINISCENCES OF SARATOGA AND BALLSTON.

WILLIAM L. STONE.

1880.

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CHAPTER XX.

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"What guilt

Can equal violations of the dead?

The dead, how sacred! sacred is the dust

Of this Heaven-labored form, erect, divine;

His Heaven-assumed majestic robe of earth

He deigned to wear who hung the vast expanse

With azure bright, and clothed the sun in gold."

YOUNG'S Night Thoughts .

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"His ipsis legendis, redeo in memoriam mortuorum." - CICERO.

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THE above words, in the immortal De Senectute , were intended by their author to divert the youth of Rome from the frivolities of the "Eternal City" to the contemplation of a country graveyard. Nor can we do better, perhaps, than to follow Cicero's advice, and turn away for a little while from the gay haunts of fashion and take a quiet stroll among the mansions of the dead. At any rate, I invite my readers to accompany me through the graveyards of Saratoga. Those to whom such a walk is distasteful may skip this chapter, and I shall not be offended.

The places consecrated to the repose of the dead are the "Sadler Burying-Ground," overlooking the High Rock Spring; the "Putnam Graveyard," near the railroad; "Greenridge Cemetery"; the "Whitford Graveyard," and the one bordering the "Old Beach Farm," north-west of the house of the late Dr. Dostie. Of these, the first three may be considered as belonging to the village proper.

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The Sadler Burying-Ground .

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On first entering within the enclosure of the "Sadler Burying-Ground" - which, by the way, is by several years the oldest of those above mentioned- one is struck with the utter air of desolation which reigns around. Indeed, it is nothing less than disgraceful that such a scene as there meets the eye should be allowed to exist. The entire ground is literally overgrown with rank herbage - in many instances completely covering up the tombstones - and rendering it difficult even for a practised backwoodsman to make his way among them. In fact, not only the weeds of a summer's growth, but tall shrubs, entangled or intertwined with each other, meet one at every step. In addition to which, graves, long since opened for the purpose of removing their occupants and never refilled, gape with open jaws to entrap the unwary. Bits of coffins and fragments of decayed shrouds lie strewn around - ghastly mementos of a former generation - so that it does not require the "witching time of night when church-yards yawn and graves give up their dead," to impress the visitor with emblems of his own mortality.

Making our way, then, with difficulty among the graves, and divesting ourselves for the nonce of the time and place, we seem, as we read the quaint inscriptions, to be in one of those old New England burial-grounds so vividly described by Cotton Mather. On one stone appears the name of Content Jameson, 1792; on another, of Justus, who died in 1804; here, of Patience Jenkins, 1805; and again, of Increase Mathews, who was laid to rest in 1790. But how much parental love is revealed when presently we read on another stone:

"In memory of

Blumy,

Daughter of Jotham and Amy Holmes

Who died July 3, 1796,

Aged 2 years and 20 days."

This little "Blumy" was the daughter of Jotham Holmes, a first cousin of Jonathan Holmes, who, after keeping a little log-hotel near the High Rock for many years, built the old "Columbian," in 1808, near the Flat Rock Spring. Next to this little mound is an old moss-covered stone, with a willow weeping over an urn and torch, which is "Sacred to the memory of Eli Taylor (one of the Taylor brothers), who died September 14, 1797, aged sixty-four years two months and twenty days." Near by is the tomb of Richard Searing, father of Major Searing; and farther on, are the graves of Jabez and Sabrina Hyde - the grandfather of another well-known and respected citizen, Jefferson Hyde. One step farther, and we come to the grave of Walter Blake, who, in 1815, taught school in a log-hut near the High Rock, and to whom Mr. Walter Hendrick, when a little shaver, went to school.

From some of the inscriptions, also, scattered here and there, we of the present generation may take a profitable lesson - so different are they from the fulsome and grandiloquent ones of our own day. Take, for example, the following, which, after removing the dank and noisome vegetation, reads as follows:

"In memory of

Martha,

wife of

Richard Flagler

and daughter of

John and Content Wilkinson,

of Dutchess Co.,

who died the 19 ^th of Ap. 1792,

in the 26 ^th year of her age.

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This stone is raised by her

daughter,

and only child, as a token of respect,

for a mother whom she was too

young to know, but whose virtues

She humbly hopes to imitate."

But, perhaps, of all the graves to which interest attaches, none is more deserving of notice than the one of Fenn Wadsworth, a visitor to the Springs in 1785 - four years previous to that of Mrs. Dwight - and who, dying in the village, was, so far as is known, the first person who died at the Springs. The inscription is as follows:

"This monument is erected to the memory of

Fenn Wadsworth, Esq.,

Who was born in Farmington,

in the State of Connecticut,

and died on the 21 ^st day of June, A.D. 1785.

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His amiable manners and disinterested

Benevolence endeared him to his

numerous friends and acquaintances;

while his abilities, perseverance and integrity

secured to him the esteem of his fellow-citizens.

By steady attention to the duties of a

Confidential Bestowment, under the

State of Connecticut, he impaired

His health, and died in this place

In the 34 ^th year of his age."

"No further seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode

(There they alike in trembling hope repose),

The bosom of his Father and his God!"

{Another remarkable feature which strikes one on looking over the tombstones in this burial-ground is, that most of the names carved on them are entirely strange to the present generation. Who, for example, will recognize such names as Danforth, Hughson, Loving, Wickens, Wells, Adsit, Griggs, and Blitchard? And, indeed, this circumstance is not a little singular when it is considered that Saratoga is not so old but that descendants of these people should still be among us.}

Putting up the rickety bars, we cross the valley to the railroad, and following its track through and beyond the depot, come, just south of Congress Street to

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The Putnam Graveyard .

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Connected with this burial-ground is an anecdote, the relation of which may explain a mystery that has existed in the minds of our citizens for many years. One evening, during the height of the Millerite excitement, the villagers returning from a "protracted meeting" were astonished at seeing a bright light hovering over the graveyard. For an hour or more crowds watched the apparently supernatural spectacle with feelings of mingled awe and wonder, a few not hesitating to associate it with the end of the world. Nor was the appearance, though long remembered, ever solved. The explanation is this: Just before meeting was out two waggish brothers (Daniel and John W------) sent up a kite with alighted lantern attached; and, hiding behind a tombstone, enjoyed hugely the comments of the awe-struck people.

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Greenridge Cemetery .

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"My engine now lies cold and still,

No water does her boiler fill;

The wood affords its flames no more;

My days of usefulness are o'er!"}

but I am not, nor are you, gentle reader, so disposed. Rather let us tread softly above the last resting-places of the dead, and trace upon the marble the affectionate characters which proclaim the vanity of men and worldly things. It tends to profit the living to commune thoughtfully with the dead - to lay to heart, from what there was, what each living man must be. And yet, as we saunter among the graves, we recall the quaint and beautiful language of Osborne: "He that lieth under the herse of heavenne is convertible into swete herbes and flowers, that maye rest in bosoms that wolde shrink from the ugly bugs which may be found crawling in the magnificent tomb of Henry the VII." For ourselves, "much rather had we sleep where the moonbeams would convert into diamonds the dew-drops gathering on the rosebuds, than to lie beneath the dome of St. Peter's, and rest where the soft south wind would wake the fragrance of blossoms which affectionate hands had planted, than to moulder in the undiscovered chambers of the eternal pyramids."

In "Greenridge," among the graves of sleepers unknown to fame - to whose memory, nevertheless, affection has reared the speaking tablet - lie the remains of those two talented sisters, Margaret and Lucretia Davidson, and their brother the Lieutenant. Of the two former, especially, it may well be said, in the language of Habbington, they were among those who

"Keep something of their glory in their dust."

Near by, too, lies Coleman, the splendid musical genius, whose invention will live to perpetuate his name long after his elaborate monument shall have crumbled into dust. Here, also, are Cowen, Willard, and Walworth - three of the great legal minds of the century; and here, too, lie many whose names are household words with all who love Saratoga. Of such are the Putnams, the Waltons, the Bryans, the Beaches, the Westcotts, Dr. North, Judge Doe, Judge Warren, E.R. Stevens, Gideon M. Davison, Rev. Mr. Griswold, "Elder" Wayland, and a score of others who live in the hearts of their survivors - the best guardians of their virtues!

Here, again, lie the remains of Colonel William L. Stone, the friend of the Red Man. Associated with this grave is an anecdote which, in this connection, the son may be pardoned for relating of the father. A close friendship existed between the late Mr. Schoolcraft and Colonel Stone, which their community of tastes rendered enduring until death. Both loved the Red Man; both used their best powers freely in his behalf, and both became pioneers in hewing down the prejudices which had grown up around his character. In the summer of 1844, a few days after Colonel Stone's death, Mr. Schoolcraft visited Saratoga, and while standing one afternoon, in the mellow sunset, among the evergreens that hung over the grave of his friend, he composed an elegiac poem, from which I quote the following stanzas:

"They bore him up by a winding road

To a burial-ground in the wood,

Where the tall pines cast their shade around

To hallow the solitude.

"Away from the town and waters bright,

Where fashion and beauty cling,

Remote from the thoughtless multitude

And the gaieties of the spring.

" 'Tis a new-made ground * - a mile away -

And stumps and trees stand round,

As monuments of the forest rule

Upon that virgin ground

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"The ancient wood-genii shall wake up to life,

And join with the white man to weep

O'er one who remembered the Red Sons of strife,

And scattered fresh bays where they sleep."

{* Colonel Stone was the first person whose remains were laid in Greenridge Cemetery. Other tombstones, it is true, bear older dates; but these were removed thither from other grave-yards.}

Before closing this chapter, I wish to say a word regarding a late rumor to the effect that it is in contemplation to remove the remains of those who sleep in the "Sadler Burying-Ground" to some other place. In the same spirit of vandalism the crumbling remains of those who - some of them for more than a century - had slept beneath the tower of the Old North Dutch Church in New York City were removed, in 1866, to Greenwood Cemetery. In the majority of cases, however, the silver plates once attached to the coffins (mingled with fine dust) were the only remains. The dust was separated as carefully as possible, placed in boxes, and removed to Greenwood. Still, in the chaotic state in which the ashes of the dead lay, complete accuracy was impossible; and perhaps the dust of persons who, while on earth, cherished bitter animosity toward each other, is destined to repose in the same casket!

There is an old graveyard at Bacon Hill - a few miles only from the "Sadler Burying-Ground" - yet containing a grave of the last century, walled up with mason-work to protect it from the wild beasts. Is not that grave, in the present age, more in danger of desecration from animals of a different species?}

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Transcribed from the original text and html prepared by Bill Carr, last updated 2/8/00.