" In the elevated background of the landscape
carriages appeared filled with people. It was a warm July day, brilliant
with sunshine, and splendid in the greenery of summer foliage. The
throngs of spectators, tier upon tier, as it were, presented a
kaleidoscopic effect of movement and color, in the undulating appearance
of silks and muslins of different hues, as the eye traversed the
multitude; in the swaying and bobbing of hundreds of umbrellas and
parasols of various colors; in the vibration of thousands of fans in
playful mediation, while the death-struggle of a man upon the gallows
was eagerly awaited. In the foreground, on the bank of the Susquehanna,
the gibbet, with the solemn group about it, relieved only by flashes of
color in the military uniforms, and by the gleam of swords and bayonets,
fascinated every eye.
A great silence fell upon the multitude when the preliminaries to the
execution began with a prayer offered by the Rev. Mr. Williams of
Worcester. The Rev. Isaac Lewis, pastor of the Presbyterian church in
Cooperstown, then stood forth to deliver the sermon. Few preachers, even
in the largest centres of life, have occasion to address congregations
numbered by thousands. What an opportunity was here given to an obscure
country parson, when he faced an audience of some eight thousand people!
Mr. Lewis preached upon the subject of the Penitent Thief, taking as his
text the forty-second and forty-third verses of the twenty-third chapter
of St. Luke: "And he said unto Jesus, Lord, remember me when thou comest
into Thy Kingdom. And Jesus said unto him, Verily I say unto thee, Today
shalt thou be with me in Paradise." Nothing is recorded of the sermon
beyond that it was "a pathetic, concise, and excellently adapted
discourse." Elder Vining closed the religious exercises by a solemn
appeal to the throne of grace for mercy and forgiveness, as well for the
vast auditory as for the prisoner.
The condemned man seemed deeply affected, and perfectly resigned to the
justice of his fate. His penitence was manifest, and drew forth tears of
sympathy from the spectators. After the exercises the prisoner seated
himself on the coffin for a short space, when he was informed that if
he wished to say anything to the people he might now have opportunity.
He arose and addressed a few words to the surrounding multitude,
earnestly urging them to be warned by his fatal example to place a
strict guard upon their passions, the fatal indulgence of which had
brought him to the shameful condition in which they beheld him,
notwithstanding he never intended to commit murder. He concluded his
address with these words: "It appears to me that if you will not take
warning at this affecting scene, you would not be warned though one
should arise from the dead."
At the conclusion of this speech the sheriff stepped forward and made
ready for the hanging, finally adjusting the fatal cord, except for
fastening it to the beam of the gallows.
Near by was a palsied crone, so eager to witness the hanging that she
had been carried to the scene in her rocking-chair, which was placed
upon an improvised platform. Here she had rocked to and fro in her chair
during the whole proceeding, until, when the hangman made ready his
noose, the old hag rocked with such nervous violence that she toppled
over backward, chair and all, her neck being broken by the fall.
The prisoner remained apparently absorbed in meditation which was
entirely abstracted from terrestrial objects. The thousands of
spectators waited in silent and gloomy suspense for the final
catastrophe. The sheriff stood forth and addressed to the condemned man
a few remarks pertinent to the occasion.
Having carried the proceedings to this crucial point, the sheriff,
Solomon Martin, then changed his role, and produced from his pocket a
letter from his excellency Morgan Lewis, Governor of the State of New
York, containing directions for a respite of the execution until further
orders, and announcing that a reprieve, in due form, would soon be
forwarded.
It was now long after noon, and the sheriff, having received this letter
at nine o'clock in the morning, had kept it in his pocket during the
entire proceedings, "conceiving it improper to divulge the respite until
the crisis." The sheriff had acted with the advice of a few others who
were let into the secret. Even the attending ministers of religion were
uninformed of the respite until it was dramatically produced upon the
stage. The thing, in fact, outdid all stagecraft, for while it is quite
consistent with the traditions of theatrical art that an execution
should be stayed at the critical moment by the appearance of a furiously
galloping horseman waving a reprieve above his head, probably never
elsewhere in the history of the drama or in the annals of the law has
the official document been produced at the gallows, after the adjustment
of the fatal noose, from the pocket of the hangman!
In the judgment of the sheriff it appeared that since the order for a
respite had arrived too late to forestall the gathering of great
multitudes to witness the hanging, it was equally clear that it had come
too early to be made public at once without causing unnecessary
disappointment to thousands who were still enjoying the ecstasies of
anticipation. So he carried out the original programme to the letter,
going through with all the preliminaries and forms of the execution,
stopping short only of the actual hanging.
When the sheriff made his amazing announcement from the scaffold, the
prisoner swooned, and the whole scene was changed. The prisoner was
reconducted to the jail with the same pomp and bravery of troops and
music that had brought him to the scaffold. The spectators slowly
dispersed, and before sunset the village assumed its accustomed
tranquility.
The next issue of _The Otsego Herald_ asserted that "the proceedings of
the day were opened, progressed, and closed in a manner which reflected
honor on the judiciary, the executive, the clergy, the military, and the
citizens of the county."
Arnold was never hanged. The State legislature commuted his sentence to
imprisonment for life.
Another story of the gallows belongs to a later period. On Friday,
August 24, 1827, the hanging of a man named Strang was witnessed in
Albany by about thirty thousand spectators. Judging from contemporary
accounts, the circumstances of the execution were not edifying. "We are
more than ever convinced," said the _Albany Gazette_, "of the bad effect
of public executions. Scenes of the most disgraceful drunkenness,
gambling, profanity, and almost all kinds of debauchery, were exhibited
in the vicinity of the gallows, and even at the time the culprit was
suffering. We do most sincerely hope that some law may be enacted
requiring that executions shall be performed in private." The _Albany
Argus_ was more hopeful of some moral benefit from the execution.
"Whilst we may question the utility," it said, "of such spectacles,
tending as they do in general, to gratify a morbid curiosity, and to
excite a sympathy for the criminal rather than an abhorrence, and
consequently a prevention of crime; we trust none who were witnesses of
the scene, will forget that this ignominious death was the consequence
of an indulgence of vicious courses and criminal passions."
Preliminary to the hanging there was the usual speech from the gallows.
Addressing the multitude the condemned murderer said he hoped his
execution would lead them to reflect upon the effects of sin and lust,
and induce them to avoid those acts for which he was about to suffer a
painful and ignominious death.
Among the spectators at this hanging was Levi Kelley of Cooperstown,
who, in order to witness the spectacle, had covered a distance of 75
miles, drawn by his favorite team of black horses, a noble span, of
which he was very proud. Kelley was much depressed in spirit by the
dreadful scene at the gallows, and to a friend who accompanied him on
the homeward journey remarked that no one who had ever witnessed such a
melancholy spectacle could ever be guilty of the crime of murder.
In Christ churchyard in Cooperstown, near the southern border of the
burial ground, and about twenty paces from River Street, stands a
tombstone which commemorates a former resident of the village, and is
unusual for the precision of terms in which it records the date of his
decease; for there is inscribed not merely the day, but the very hour,
of death. The inscription reads:
IN MEMORY OF
ABRAHAM SPAFARD
WHO DIED
AT 8 O'CLOCK P. M.
3D. SEPT. 1827
IN THE 49TH YEAR OF
HIS AGE.
THE TRUMP SHALL SOUND
AND THE DEAD SHALL BE RAISED.
The passer-by who suspects a concealed significance in this desire to
emphasize the exact hour of Abraham Spafard's death is not mistaken.
Abraham Spafard was murdered, shot to the heart by Levi Kelley, and died
almost instantly, at 8 o'clock in the evening, September 3, 1827, just
ten days after Kelley had witnessed the hanging in Albany.
The murderer is buried in the same churchyard with his victim. For
Kelley, on the maternal side, was a connection of the Cooper family.
During his imprisonment before and after the trial he was frequently
visited at the jail by Mrs. George Pomeroy, daughter of William Cooper,
a lady noted for her many works of Christian charity, and after Kelley
had paid the penalty of his crime, she brought it about that his body
was interred in the Cooper plot in Christ churchyard, although no stone
was ever raised to mark the place of his burial, and the exact spot is
now unknown.
The murder occurred in the house of Levi Kelley, in which Abraham
Spafard lived as tenant in Pierstown, about three miles north of
Cooperstown. Kelley was noted for his furious outbursts of temper, while
Spafard was of an amiable and peaceable disposition. Kelley violently
attacked a lame boy who was employed about the place, and when Spafard
interposed, Kelley's anger turned against Spafard, so that a struggle
ensued. The evidence at the trial showed that Spafard struck no blow and
committed no violence, using no more force than was necessary for his
defence. He besought Kelley to desist, and at last, unclenching Kelley's
hands from his throat, Spafard retired quietly into the house. Kelley
then ran for his gun, and following Spafard into his room, shot him to
the heart. Kelley's own wife, as well as the members of Spafard's
family, were the terrified witnesses of the murder.
Kelley's trial, which was held in Cooperstown, began on the twenty-first
of November, and was concluded on the next day. The judge in the case
was the Hon. Samuel Nelson, afterward associate justice of the Supreme
Court of the United States. In passing sentence Judge Nelson addressed
to the prisoner a homily which created a deep impression upon the
crowded court room.
The execution of Levi Kelley was attended by an immense concourse of
people. The hanging of a murderer was still regarded by many, in that
day, not only as fit method of punishment, but as offering a spectacle
of great moral and educational value. It was at once a deterrent from
crime and a vindication of the majesty of the law. When the day set for
the execution of Kelley was come, there was many a home in which the
father of the family announced at breakfast that the children must be
duly washed and dressed in Sabbath array, to accompany him, as in duty
bound, to the solemn spectacle. Nor were all attracted to the dreadful
scene by a sense of duty only, perhaps, at a period when public shows
were few.
The gibbet was erected, amid the December snow, at a point about four
hundred feet south of the site occupied by the present High School, very
near, if not in the midst of, what is now Chestnut Street. Christmas Day
was followed by a thaw, and on Friday, the day set for the execution, a
torrent of rain fell during the morning hours. Yet before noon the
village was thronged with a multitude of men, women and children, keenly
anticipating the gruesome tragedy, until more than four thousand people
were gathered about the gallows.
The court-house and jail stood then not far from their present site. The
procession from the jail to the place of execution was conducted with
much military pomp. Two marshals, each mounted on a prancing steed, led
a troop of cavalry, a corps of artillery, and four companies of
infantry. This formidable array of forces, drawn up in a hollow square
at the jail, having enclosed within its ranks the condemned man and the
attending ministers of the Gospel, moved solemnly to the place of
execution. The prisoner, apparently in a feeble state of health, lay
upon a bed in a sleigh drawn by his favorite black horses, the same that
he had driven to Albany to witness the execution of Strang. The
ministers of religion, the Rev. Mr. Potter and the Rev. John Smith,
pastor of the Presbyterian church, rode in state in the two sleighs that
followed.
Near the gallows there had been erected for the accommodation of
spectators a staging one hundred feet in length and twelve feet in
depth, the front being elevated six feet and the rear eight feet from
the ground. From this structure about six hundred people commanded an
excellent view of the gibbet, while some three thousand others, lacking
this advantage, jostled each other, craning their necks, and standing on
tiptoe, to see what was going forward.
The procession from the jail had arrived upon the grounds, and the
solemnities were about to commence, when the staging suddenly gave way
and fell with a tremendous crash. The spectators upon it were plunged
into a confused heap, struggling for freedom amid the broken timbers.
The shrieks and groans that arose from the scrimmage terrified the
assemblage, and the wild rush of anxious friends and relatives toward
the scene of accident resulted almost in a riot. When order had been in
some measure restored the work of rescue began. Between twenty and
thirty persons were drawn forth from the wreckage severely injured.
Elisha C. Tracy, an engraver, was found to be dead, the upper part of
his face being crushed inward to the depth of more than an inch. Daniel
Williams, an elderly man resident at Richfield, had a leg and arm
broken, and died a few hours later. The dead and wounded were carried
from the field, and some of the spectators, having had enough of
tragedy, withdrew.
The ceremonies of the execution then proceeded, although amid an
atmosphere of intense nervous excitement. The condemned man was taken
from his sleigh, and, because of his illness, required assistance in
ascending the gallows. As he stood there, the centre of all eyes, he
seemed a different man from the passionate murderer of Abraham Spafard.
Weak and sick, he looked down upon the multitude assembled to see him
die. His look was one of regretful sympathy because of the unexpected
accident rather than of fear of his own impending fate. "Who are killed;
and how many are injured?" he inquired.
The rope was noosed about Kelley's neck. The Presbyterian minister
stepped forward, and commended the convict's soul to the mercy of God in
a prayer in which Kelley, with bowed head, seemed to participate. Then
the drop fell. After a few twitchings of the limbs, the body quivered,
and hung still. The show was over. The crowd dispersed.
The effect of this exhibition was to give voice to a growing sentiment
against public hangings. The next issue of the _Freeman's Journal_
protested against such spectacles as demoralizing, and suggested a
movement in the State legislature to amend the law. Kelley's was in
fact the last public hanging in Cooperstown.
The execution of Levi Kelley, with its unexpected accompanying
catastrophe, was long the talk of the neighborhood. It was commemorated
by Isaac Squire, an Otsego rhymester, in some verses that are of curious
interest as a survival of the old ballad form in which events were wont
to be celebrated. Many years afterward there were those who recalled
that the doleful lines were committed to memory by some of the village
children, and sung to a droning tune:
LINES ON THE EXECUTION OF LEVI KELLEY.
Part First
In eighteen hundred twenty seven
Poor Kelley broke the law of Heaven;
He murdered his poor tenant there,
Who took his place to work on share.
'Twas early on a Monday night
This horrid scene was brought to light;
He seized his loaded gun in hand,
And with malicious fury ran,
And when about four feet apart,
Alas! he shot him to the heart.
The expiring words, we understand,
Were, "O Lord, I'm a dying man!"
They quickly ran him to relieve,
But death could grant him no reprieve;
He expired almost instantly,
In his affrighted family.
Kelley's indicted for the crime;
Confined in prison for a time;
A murderer here can take no rest,
While guilt lies heavy on his breast.
November on the twenty-first,
For murder of a fellow dust,
He was arraigned before the bar,
And tried by his country there.
Full testimony did appear
That when the Jury came to hear
In verdict they were soon agreed
That he was guilty of this deed.
And in their verdict they did bring
That cause of death was found in him;
The Judge his sentence did declare,
And thus declared him guilty there:
"Your time is set, O do remember,
The twenty-eighth of December,
Between the hours of twelve and three,
Be launched into eternity.
"Your time is short on earth to stay;
Prepare for death without delay;
Though you no pity showed at all,
May God have mercy on your soul."
Part Second.
December on the twenty-eighth
Did Levi Kelley meet his fate;
This awful scene I now relate
Caused thousands there to fear and quake.
Though wet and rainy was the day,
The people thronged from every way;
With anxious thought each came to see
The unhappy fate of poor Kelley.
The day was come, the time drew near,
When the poor prisoner must appear;
The officers they did prepare,
And round him formed a hollow square,
That they with safety might convey
Him to the place of destiny;
The music made a solemn sound
While they marched slowly to the ground.
A scaffold was erected there,
And hundreds on it did repair,
That all thereon might plainly see
The unhappy fate of poor Kelley.
Before they bid this scene adieu,
An awful sight appeared in view.
See, hundreds with the scaffold fall!
And some to rise no more at all
Till the great day when all shall rise,
To their great joy or sad surprise,
And hear their sentence "Doomed to Hell,"
Or, "With the saints in glory dwell."
The wounded here in numbers lie,
And loud for help now some do cry
While others are too faint to speak,
And some in death's cold arms asleep.
The cry was heard once and again
That "Hundreds now we fear are slain!"
But God in this distressing hour
Revives again each withering flower.
Poor Kelley, in this trying time,
Was executed for his crime.
He hung an awful sight to see;
May this a solemn warning be.
A word to such, before we close,
That love the way poor Kelley chose;
Their vicious ways if you attend
Will bring you to some awful end.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 93: _Otsego Herald_, July 19, 1805.]
CHAPTER XII
SOLID SURVIVALS
The property which now includes Edgewater was inherited by Isaac Cooper,
the second son of Judge Cooper, on the death of his father in 1809. In
the following year he began the erection of the house, which took nearly
four years in building. Aside from its now venerable aspect, this solid
residence, constructed of old-fashioned brick, preserves much of its
original appearance as one of the largest dwellings in the village. It
was modeled after a colonial residence in Philadelphia well known to the
Cooper family. The style of the entrance hall, with the balanced
symmetry of semicircular stairways that ascend to the upper floor, is
singularly effective, while the carved wood of the interior, as seen in
the doorcaps and mouldings, displays skillful workmanship. No house in
Cooperstown commands so fine a general view of Otsego Lake as that which
is to be seen from the porch of Edgewater. The surrounding ground
includes over two acres, and extends to the waters of the lake, although
now traversed by Lake Street, which made its way, by long usage, across
the original property. The house is approached through the paths of an
old time garden, thickly grown with shrubs, and shaded by a variety of
trees.
[Illustration: EDGEWATER]
Isaac Cooper had married Mary Ann, daughter of General Jacob Morris, of
Morris, Otsego county, and took possession of Edgewater as his residence
on December 4, 1813. It is not difficult to understand the feeling of
satisfaction, on being established in this beautiful home, which
prompted Isaac Cooper, at the age of thirty-two years, to record the
event in his diary thus:
Moved--where I hope to end my Days--and I pray Heaven to allow
this House and this Lot--whereon I this day brought my Family,
to descend to my children and to my children's children, and
may they increase in virtue and respectability, and become
worthy of the blessings of Heaven.
This diary is hardly more than a record of weather, with a single line
of "general observations," under which head, from day to day, he makes
brief mention of his doings, social engagements; births, marriages, and
deaths among his friends; his own frequent illnesses: occasionally he
moralizes, or indulges in a bit of self-criticism. A few entries
selected from Isaac Cooper's diary will show its general character. It
will be noticed that he refers to himself in the third person as "Mr.
C." or "Mr. Cooper."
August 20, 1814--New waggon paraded, to the admiration of the
villagers.
August 30--Quilting party at Mrs. Pomeroy's--very pleasant.
January 4, 1815--Cate, Mr. Prentiss married.
February 7--Time passes heavily! Good reason why!
August 8--Laid corner brick of Morrell's & Prentiss' House.
July 30, 1816--Tea Party at Mrs. Poms. Also a party on the
Lake. Major Prevost fell overboard.
October 5--Done quilting, thank fortune.
October 25--Mr. C. set out plum trees in back yard.
October 28--Mr. C. fell down stairs last night. Don't feel so
well for it.
November 13--Took in some pork.
November 16--Mr. Phinney played backgammon with Mrs. Cooper
this evening.
November 27--A Milliner arrived with an assortment of elegant
cheap hats. (Sold a twelve dollar one! I wonder who to?)
November 28--A mystery dissolved. Mrs. Starkweather was the
purchaser of the hat.
December 4--Mrs. Cooper's neck washed--good!
December 5--A dinner party at Mr. J. Cooper's.
December 13--Dipped 700 candles.
December 16--Wine and Brandy tap't. Head combed.
February 7, 1817--Tea Party--30 besides us, viz; Mr. and Mrs.
Campbell, the Miss Starrs, Mr. and Mrs. Dr. Pomeroys, Mr. and
Mrs. George Pomeroy, Mr. and Mrs. E. Phinney, Miss Tiffany,
Miss Talmage, Miss Shankland, the Misses Fuller, H. Phinney,
Mr. Aitchison, Mr. Lyman, Mr. Crafts, Mr. Stewart, Mr. and
Mrs. Morrell, Mr. and Mrs. Webb, Miss Edmonds, Miss Webb, Mrs.
Prentiss, Mrs. Dr. Webb, Mrs. Russell, Mrs. Williams.
February 17--72 loads of wood last week, making my supply for
1817, say 200 loads, exclusive of office.
February 22--Dr. Pomeroy, Mr. George Pomeroy, and Col. Seth
Pomeroy spent the eve. here.
April 1--A barrel of Pork, this day opened. Robins killed
yesterday by A. L. J., a _sin_.
May 9--Mr. Cooper feels for all mankind.
September 12--The Old Lady very ill.
September 13--Mrs. Elizabeth Cooper departed this life.
October 18--Mr. Gratz breakfasted here.
Concerning some settlements in the region, much has been written of the
spirit of democracy in which they were established, and it has been
pointed out that all social distinctions were levelled in the common
tasks of frontier life. It does not appear that this was the case in
Cooperstown. From the time of the first settlement, apparently, an
aristocratic group was formed in the orbit of the Cooper nucleus, and
social climbing began before the wolves and bears had been quite driven
from the forests of Otsego. The tea party of February 7, 1817, mentioned
in the diary, probably names most of those who were at that time
admitted to the inner circle of the socially elect; another entry, dated
December 31, 1816, relates to a different social sphere, and
unconsciously reveals the great gulf which had already been fixed
between the one and the other, together with the aristocrat's
supercilious astonishment that "that class of society" is in some
respects quite as desirable as his own:
This New Year's eve there was a ball at the Hotel (Col.
Henry's), a very decently conducted and a very respectable
assemblage of the worthy mechanics and that class of society.
I was present, and would not wish to see better conduct,
better dress, and better looking Ladies!!! There was perfect
neatness of dress, without as much Indian finery as I have
seen where they suppose they know better.
Another glimpse into the depth of the social gulf is obtained in the
back pages of Isaac Cooper's diary, where he records his accounts for
wages with the household servants. There is this entry, signed by the
humble cross-mark of Betsey Wallby, who "came to work on March 20, 1815,
at one dollar a week":
March 20, 1816--By one year's services, faithfully and orderly
performed--free from Yankee dignity, and ideas of
Liberty--which is insolence only. $52.00.
On New Year's day, 1818, death came to Isaac Cooper at Edgewater, and he
was laid at rest in Christ churchyard with the humblest pioneers of the
hamlet. Only for a little more than four years had he enjoyed the home
which he established at Edgewater.
In Isaac Cooper's diary, by another hand, these words were added:
September, 1823--Sold our house. Necessity compelled us.
Shortly before the house was vacated by the family of Isaac Cooper, the
garden of Edgewater was the scene of a pretty romance. Isaac Cooper's
second daughter, Elizabeth Fenimore, was a child of rare beauty, and as
she began to grow toward womanhood became renowned for wit and
loveliness. Strictly guarded by the conventional proprieties, Elizabeth
made glorious excursions into the realm of fancy, where errant knights
are ever in search of fair ladies to deliver them from castle dungeons.
Edgewater, with the freedom of its garden, was a pleasant sort of
prison, but Elizabeth was not less gratified when the knight of her
dreams actually appeared in the person of a young college student who
was spending his summer vacation in Cooperstown--Samuel Wootton Beall, a
native of Maryland. Summer evenings in Edgewater garden passed quickly
away, and there came a night of farewell, for on the next day young
Beall must return to his college, and to long months of Greek, Latin,
and mathematics. On that night the young man brought a Methodist
minister into the garden with him. There was a mysterious signal.
Elizabeth Fenimore Cooper glided out of the house, and joined the two in
darkness. They stood beneath the locust tree which rose just east of the
front steps, while in low voices the young lovers took their vows, and
the parson pronounced them man and wife. The bride immediately crept
back into the house, thrilling with her secret, while the bridegroom
went his way, and on the next day was gone.
Nothing was said of the wedding until Samuel Beall was graduated from
college, and returned to Cooperstown to claim his wife. Beyond the
extreme youth of the couple, there was really no objection to the match.
Mrs. Cooper was astonished at the announcement, but gave her blessing to
the union. Only one condition she exacted. Shocked at the informality of
their wedding, she required them to be remarried with the full rites of
the Church.
Young Beall and his wife went West, where he prospered, and, returning
to Cooperstown in 1836, purchased Woodside as their residence. After a
few years at Woodside, they settled once more in the West.
In Edgewater garden the locust that sheltered the secret marriage was
long known as the Bridal Tree, and grew to lofty size. In the winter of
1908 the first fall of snow came upon the wings of a great wind. During
the night the big locust fell crashing to the ground, and in the morning
was found covered with a mantle of virgin snow, gleaming white like a
bridal veil.
In 1828, Edgewater having passed into the hands of a company which had
organized to establish a seminary for girls, the house was rearranged
for such occupancy. The numerals which then marked the rooms of the
students are still to be seen on the doorways of the top floor. The
school was a financial failure, and in 1834 the trustees sold Edgewater
as a summer residence to Theodore Keese of New York, who, eight years
previously, had married the eldest daughter of George Pomeroy and Ann
Cooper, sister of Isaac Cooper. Thus the property came back into the
family of the original owner.
In 1836 Mr. and Mrs. Keese came to Cooperstown to live, and their
eight-year-old son, George Pomeroy Keese, then began a residence at
Edgewater that continued for seventy-four years. In 1849, at the age of
twenty-one years, he brought to Edgewater his bride, Caroline Adriance
Foote, a daughter of Surgeon Lyman Foote, of the United States Army. In
this house their eight children were born, and all of these, with the
exception of one who died in infancy, lived to celebrate the sixtieth
wedding anniversary which their parents commemorated with a notable
gathering of friends at Edgewater in the autumn of 1909. Living to old
age in perfect health of body and mind Mr. and Mrs. Keese made Edgewater
a famous centre of hospitality.
During this long residence in Cooperstown Pomeroy Keese stood in the
forefront of its affairs, and came to occupy a unique position in the
life of the village. In boyhood, as the grand-nephew of Fenimore Cooper,
he was brought into close contact with the novelist, and at the
beginning of the twentieth century was one of the few residents of the
village who distinctly recalled the famous writer's personality. He was
best known to the business world as president for nearly forty years of
the Second National Bank of Cooperstown, but the qualities that made him
so interesting a figure lay rather in the many avocations of his life.
He was senior warden of Christ Church at the time of his death, and had
been a member of its vestry for more than half a century. Of thirteen
successive rectors of Christ Church he had known all but Father Nash,
the first. For the old village church, surrounded with its quaint tombs
and overshadowing pines, he had a love that seemed about to call forth
the response of personality from things inanimate.
On the streets of Cooperstown, in his later years, G. Pomeroy Keese was
a picturesque and characteristic figure. His face seemed weather-beaten
rather than old; his eye was like that of a sailor, with a focus for
distant horizons; the style of thin side-whisker affected by a former
generation gave full play to every expression of his countenance. It was
a common sight, of a winter's day, to glimpse his slight and dapper
form with quick step ambling to the post-office, while, quite innocent
of overcoat, he compromised with the frosty air by clasping his hands,
one over the other, across his chest, as a means of keeping warm!
Pomeroy Keese was somewhat contemptuous toward mufflers, arctics, and
other toggery which Otsego winters imposed upon his neighbors. He seemed
immune against the assault of climatic rigors. His attitude toward the
weather was confidential, for he was the most weatherwise of men. He
kept a daily record of the weather, with accurate meteorological data,
for more than half a century, and for many years furnished the local
official figures for the United States weather bureau. From his
experience he originated the theory that, while seasons from year to
year appear to differ widely in their character, the temperature and
precipitation within the compass of each year actually reach the same
general average. It seemed to cause him real annoyance when a period of
weather departed too widely from the usual average, yet if a cold snap
or hot spell was generous enough to break all previous records his
enthusiasm was boundless.
An equally substantial though smaller house that antedated Edgewater by
a few years was erected in the summer of 1802 by John Miller as a farm
house. It was built of bricks, and was the second building in the place
that was not constructed of wood. It stands at the southwest corner of
Pine Street and Lake Street, facing the latter, and the dense evergreen
hedge which surrounds the house seems to hold it aloof from the later
growth of the village. It is said that the house is haunted, for not
long after it was built a tenant of the place murdered his wife by
smothering her with a pillow in her bedroom, and for many years it was
rumored that occupants of the house occasionally were terrified by
muffled sounds of moaning as of one in mortal agony.
[Illustration: _C. A. Schneider_
RESIDENCE OF WILLIAM H. AVERELL AND JUDGE PRENTISS]
The building referred to in Isaac Cooper's diary as "Morrell's and
Prentiss' house" includes the two brick houses on Main Street which
stand conjoined just east of the Village Club and Library. Judge
Morrell went West, and his house, the more westerly of the two, became
better known as the property of its later owner, William Holt Averell,
whose descendants continued to occupy it a century after him. The
adjoining house, built by Col. Prentiss, remained after his death in
possession of his family, and his daughter, Mrs. Charlotte Prentiss
Browning, lived to celebrate its centennial.
Col. John H. Prentiss, for more than half a century a resident, and for
forty years editor of the _Freeman's Journal_, was a notable figure in
Cooperstown. Under his editorial management the _Freeman's Journal_
became a strong political organ, and exercised an influence that made
Otsego one of the stanchest Democratic counties in the State of New
York. Col. Prentiss represented his district in Congress during the four
years of Van Buren's administration, having been reelected at the
expiration of his first term. It was at this time that his next door
neighbor, William Holt Averell, was a candidate for Congress on the Whig
ticket. The first returns indicated that Averell had been elected, and
there was a noisy demonstration by Averell's supporters in front of his
residence, bringing him forth for a speech which was received with great
enthusiasm. The returns came in slowly in those days, and a day or two
had passed before it was learned that Prentiss had been elected, and his
doorstep became the scene of another jubilation. According to the
recollections of some this seesawing of returns occurred more than once,
and the two neighbors, whose friendship was not interrupted by their
political antagonisms, each joined in the demonstration in honor of the
other.
A large part of the work of publishing his newspaper was done by Judge
Prentiss himself. Besides being sole editor, he attended to the
financial department, and for forty years, except while in Congress, he
gave his personal attention in the printing office to the mechanical
department. A later writer recalls often seeing Col. Prentiss in the
press-room, with coat off, sleeves rolled up, either inking the type
with two large soft balls, or pulling at the lever of the old Ramage
press. He describes him as "an industrious, energetic man, a little
inclined to aristocratic bearing, but open, frank and cordial with his
friends."
The last appearance of Col. Prentiss in public life, from which he had
previously kept aloof for several years, was as a delegate to the
Democratic State convention which was held in Albany on February 1,
1861. In that body of distinguished and able men, of which he was one of
the vice-presidents, he attracted much attention, and the question was
frequently asked by those in attendance, referring to Col. Prentiss,
"Who is that large, fine-looking old gentleman, with white, flowing
hair?"[94]
Colonel Prentiss's next door neighbor, William Holt Averell, son of
James Averell, Jr., was for more than half a century one of the most
prominent citizens of the village, who did more perhaps than any other
for its financial development. He was one of the first directors and for
many years president of the Otsego County Bank, the original of the
present First National Bank, and for which the building across the way
from his house, now used as the Clark Estate office, was erected in
1831. As he issued every day from the doorway of this building with its
portico of fluted columns, his figure was exactly such as the
imagination might now devise as most in harmony with the surroundings;
for in his youth Averell was extremely punctilious in his dress, being a
very handsome man, and for many years it was his custom to wear a white
beaver hat, and ruffled shirt, with ruffles at the cuffs that set off to
good advantage his small and delicate hands. He did all his reading and
work at night. Those who passed his windows at a late hour were sure to
glimpse him bending over his desk, and nobody else in Cooperstown went
to bed late enough to see his lamp extinguished, for the servants often
found him still at work when they came to summon him to breakfast in the
morning. He lived long enough to be regarded as a gentleman of the old
school, positive and dogmatic in his opinions, which were usually those
of a minority, but which he defended with the resourcefulness of a
brilliant and well-trained mind.
In 1813 Henry Phinney, one of the two sons of Elihu Phinney, began the
construction of the large brick house on Chestnut street now known as
"Willowbrook," and completed it three years later. In Cooper's
_Chronicles of Cooperstown_ several houses "of respectable dimensions
and of genteel finish" are mentioned as having been erected between the
years of 1820 and 1835. Among these is the house of Elihu Phinney, the
younger son of the pioneer, which still stands on Pioneer Street
opposite to the Universalist church. It is of brick, partly surrounded
by a veranda, and exquisite in many details of construction, much of the
interior woodwork being notable in excellence of chaste design.
During this same general period several houses of stone were erected
that still remain among the most solid and attractive in Cooperstown.
William Nichols built Greystone, the fine old residence that stands at
the southwest corner of Fair and Lake streets; Ellory Cory erected the
house on the west side of Pioneer Street near Lake Street; John Hannay
set a new standard for the western part of the village when he put up on
the north side of Main Street, not far from Chestnut Street, the
dignified residence now occupied by the Mohican Club.