|
a.
|
Note: ot 613, Section 44, Green Wood Cemetery, Brooklyn, N.Y.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
THE GREEN-WOOD CEMETERY
500 - 25th Street
Brooklyn, New York 11232-1317
Phone: 718-768-7300
http://www.green-wood.com/
Green-Wood Cemetery is one of the world`s great cemeteries. Founded in 1838 as the third rural cemetery in America, it was a leading tourist attraction by the 1850`s, attracting 500,000 visitors per year. By the 1860`s, the New York Times was reporting that It is the ambition of the New Yorker to live upon the Fifth Avenue, to take his airings in the [Central] Park, and to sleep with his fathers in GreenWood. From 1850 to 1900, no American cemetery interrered more political leaders than Green-Wood. They came by the thousands and the hundreds of thousands, first as tourists, then as permanent residents: Civil War generals, murder victims, victims of mass tragedies, inventors, artists, the famous, and the infamous. And they have continued to come to Green-Wood Cemetery, bringing their lively stories and dark secrets with them. In all, almost 600,000 people have chosen GreenWood as their final resting place.
Green-Wood Cemetery has its share of the famous (Leonard Bernstein, Charles Ebbets, Samuel F.B. Morse, Peter Cooper, Horace Greeley, Louis Comfort Tiffany, Henry Ward Beecher, General Henry Halleck, Lola Montez, Laura Keene, Elias Howe, and "Wizard of Oz" Frank Morgan, to name a few) and the infamous (Boss Tweed, Albert Anastasia, Joey Gallo, and Johnny Torrio).
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Letter No. 16 of Georgianna's father-in-law, Thomas B. Leggett, to his granddaughter, Georgianna's daughter, Mary. All such surviving letters may be found by consulting the chart under the Notes for Thomas:
293 Lenox Ave.
New York
June 11, 1892.
My dear Grand-daughter,
Mary H. Leggett,
I have been wanting to write you a good, long letter, and to enable me to do so, I propose that we pass an hour`s time in walking over the lawn of the Rose Bank house. I want you to see it as it was, when I was your age, and when I passed all my happy boyhood days there. Although we will consume but one short hour in this letter, it will necessarily be a long one, and perhaps you may think it a stupid one. At the best I can only give you a hurried, bird`s eye view of the place, for to attempt to do more, would make this letter all out of reason in length.
I shall have much to show you, consequently much to write. Your time in reading it will not require as much time and thought as will my part in composing and writing it; but if it in any way interests you, I shall feel amply rewarded for my efforts. We will enter the entrance gate, and slowly walk up the serpentine driveway to the house. I will point out to you some of my favorite trees, as well as pleasant walks and other objects. We will avail ourselves of this lovely month of June for our walk, for of all the months of the year, this one is the most active and busy of them all in Nature. Now look at that large clump of huge willow trees, six of them and a most delightful and cool place to be of warm day in summer. There is always some air moving under these trees. On the branches of two of the largest, our father has had fastened strong ropes for swings, and we do have such nice times swinging in them. One of the most delightful ways to swing is for two persons to stand up on the swing board, holding tightly to the ropes with each hand, facing each other, working back and forth, first one and then the other, pushing down with your feet. By this manner of working, you can swing up in the air just as high as the rope will allow you to go. Sometimes we would take a third person on the seat.
That small tree just across the road, with a great spready top, and branches reaching down to the ground, is the Siberian crab apple, one of the prettiest and smallest apples that grows. When it is full of ripe fruit, it is a sight to behold. It is actually burdened down with the most perfect little baby apples. That very large tree, just a little beyond, on the right of the driveway, whose branches stretch out so far in all directions and whose limbs look so smooth and white, is the sycamore or plane tree, called also the white wood tree, but better known as the button wood or button ball tree. This tree is as fine a specimen of its kind as you will ever see. It is very aged, very large, and always looked at and admired by all who come to the house. My brother Ed, [Edward Wright Leggett, (1821-1865)] who was a daring young fellow, will climb to the topmost branch of this high tree and hold on with the grip of a monkey.
This road to the right of this large tree, leads on to the stables and out-buildings. I would like to show them to you, but we have so much to see that there will not be time in this short hour. This other road on the opposite side winds up and around to the back entrance of the house. I would like to walk up that road with you, but we must keep on our walk to the house by the main driveway. That other long, straight one goes on down back of the little stone school house. This is a very pretty
walk, for it skirts the river on to the dock; but we must walk on. How rich and beautiful all the trees look. There are a great variety of cherries, both black and white oxhearts, the May Duke, the Honey cherry and others. When we reach the house, we will have a nice dish of them brought to us, fresh picked from the trees.
That apple orchard, away off to the right, is stocked with a variety of different kinds. The Winter apple and fall Pippin, we considered the finest flavored apple that grew. That large, red apple, which you see on the ground under those trees nearby, are called pumpkin apples, since they are so large. I would just like you to taste one of these apples, when roasted by Rachel, the colored cook. You will say you never tasted one roasted like that before. Those trees we are now passing on our right, are the most tender, delicious and delicate, thin skinned, snow white apples you ever saw. We boys called them Mother`s apples, for the reason that our Mother was so fond of them. Those other trees, a little farther on, bear those choice Harriet Apples, the first apples ripening in the spring. Back of those trees you may see quite a cluster of pear trees. They are that king of pears, the "Vergenleine". This pear, as far back as 1835 was considered the choicest pear that grew. Shortly after that, it began to decline, and very soon died out and disappeared. The Bartlett pear came to take its place, and now ranks as the choicest fruit of the pear kind. Rose Bank can show you pretty much every kind of fruit that would grow in that latitude.
This very tall tree, on the left as we make the turn of the road going up toward the house, is a fine specimen of the English Elm. You seldom see a finer and more graceful formed tree. In the latter part of the summer, this tree is the roosting place for thousands of black birds. The tree will not only be loaded down with them, but will be black with them. They are then flocking and preparing for their flight to the south. The noise of their wings through the air, when they come in such great numbers, is very curious, and while they are coming down and settling themselves on the branches, they keep up a constant chatter; but after a while all is quiet, you do not hear a sound, for the little things are fast asleep with their heads under their wings. Those thick clumps of trees you see scattered about are the Chinese and American Arborvitae.
Now stop a moment before we reach the house and take a look. How bold the old house stands out to view, how inviting it looks, what extensive grounds, what fine old trees, how beautiful is everything about, how green the grass and how smoothly cut. Come, walk around the circle, and sit down on the piazza and take a rest. How wide the piazza is, and how high the ceiling, how cheerful it all looks about us. Look at the tall Grecian, fluted columns, extending from the piazza floor up above the second story of the house. Sit down in this comfortable arm chair, and look about you. What a fine view there is of the river, with its ever changing scene of busy life. Now look as far down the river as you possibly can. Do you see how turbulent and angry the water looks; how it foams and froths? That is Hell-Gate, that dangerous and much dreaded place, where many a noble ship has been wrecked and many a sailor lost his life.
Do you see those two pretty little islands on our left? They are called the "Brothers", because two brothers by the name of Iker live on them. They are also called Iker`s Islands. That other island, just a little way north of the "Brothers", is called Riker`s Island, because a man by that name lives on it. How beautifully they rise up out of the water. They always look just as bright and green as you now see them, for they are covered with pine and hemlock trees. That large body of water you see beyond the islands to the east, is Flushing Bay. What a fine large body of water it is. Now don`t you think the picture from this piazza before you a charming one? The fact is, I never tire of looking at it.
Now I want you to look at this circle. I question whether you ever saw a larger or more perfectly formed one. See how gracefully the driveway winds up over the lawn and around the circle to the front stoop of the house. That very tall bush in the circle, with its bright, smooth bark, long, pointed, thick, smooth, deep green leaves and small, round shaped flower, is a sweet scented Magnolia tree. For all the years of my young life, and up to the year 1861, the first flower that appeared on this bush in the spring of the year, was always presented to our Mother by our Father. Now look down the lawn just in front of us. Do you see that large rock that rests on the very top of the ground, just a little way to the right, a pretty little rustic summer house covered over with running vines, perched on it? Well that is the summer playhouse of our only sister. [Catherine Maria Leggett, (1817-1890), married William Mortimer Allen, (1814-1878)] We boys never presumed to enter it, unless particularly asked to do so. Here our sister, with her girl cousins, passed many happy hours; their merry laughter could be heard at all hours of the day. This rock was always considered very remarkable. It was some ten feet up from the ground and twenty feet across. I have often known my father to take visitors to look at this great rock. All would express wonder at its great size and would have but an opinion as to how it came there. That happened long ages ago in the history of the world when great floods existed. This rock was then embedded in some large iceberg, being brought from some great distance away and deposited on the top of the ground as we see it now. There can be no other sensible explanations of it.
I would like you to see the summer house of our sister, for I know it would interest you; so climb up these rough stone steps, and I hope we find my sister there. I know you will like her. She is very slightly built, but is so good, affectionate and lively. She is our only sister, so we think the world of her and look upon her as our little Queen. Well, here we are at the door. I am fearful that she is not here. We can, therefore, only open the door and peep inside, for I would not like to go in. Now doesn`t it look like a little Girl`s room? How prettily she has arranged everything. See the strip of carpet on the floor, the small table in the center, covered with a bright cloth; her little work basket with a few picture cards on it. There are also three small chairs and a low bench. Do you see those wild flowers in broken tumblers? She is very fond of flowers. See that cunning little window, how prettily she has arranged the white curtain, tied back with red ribbon. She has quite a number of dolls which I wish you could see. She says they are very pretty. Her father has just bought her an accordion. There it is on the chair. I suppose she has been practicing on it this morning. How attractively she has arranged that small looking-glass on the wall. If she were here, I know she would ask you in, show you all about, and bring out all her treasures to look at.
If, on our walk, you should see a bright faced girl, dressed after the simple fashion of girls of her day, you may know that it is she, for she is very plain in her dress as were all the girls of her time. You will see her with a white muslin dress, waist almost up under her arms, low neck, with a narrow black ribbon tied around her throat, short sleeves with long mits, ringlets over her shoulders and down her back, pantlets to her ankles, white stockings and red morrocco shoes with high heels covering the prettiest little foot you ever saw; straw hat with broad brim and covered with freshly gathered wild flowers, a happy laugh, gentle ways, pleasant manners, and as agreeable a little companion as one could wish for.
Now come to the foot of the rock and see her little garden. Is it not a pretty one? The old gardener comes every day to look after it. She takes so much pleasure with it and is so proud of it. You notice that she has bordered her beds with small clam shells, and paved the narrow walks with different colored stones, which she has picked up along the shore. But we must not remain too long, for I have ever so much to show you.
We will now return toward the house and look at the old trumpet creeper which so completely hides the pump from view. This old vine is well worth looking at; in fact, it is quite a curiosity. It is certainly very old, and when I was a boy, it was then supposed to be a hundred years old, and is living to this day. Do you notice how strong and thick the trunk is, and how large are the branches? That trunk is as large around as your body, which should alone show its great age. This vine produces, during the season, thousands of flowers; and many is the time we with our sister and her girl cousins, gathered these flowers and made them into ropes yards and yards long, with which we would decorate ourselves. It is also the summer home of many humming birds of the smallest size and most brilliant plumage. They hover over the flowers, sucking the honey from one and another with such swift motion of the wing, that the eye cannot see them move. Nor could we ever discover where these little things built their nests. Every summer the humming birds returned to this trumpet creeper, rear their young, and leave in the early fall. Where they go to, or where they come from, we never can find out.
Now turn around and look at that very tall tree which stands out so boldly, and towers up so high on the lawn near the garden. Did you ever see a more perfectly formed tree, so symmetrical in all its parts? That is what is called the hickory nut tree. It bears nuts called shag-barks, the shells of which are as thin as thin shelled almonds. Every summer a family of Baltimore Orioles builds their nest in this tree. This is a proud bird, having beautiful plumage of golden yellow or orange mixed with black. Their nests are works of art, and are built so as to hang on the extreme end of a little twig, which will sway back and forth with the wind. The nest is in the shape of a long round pocket, with entrance hole on the side.
Now walk around to the back of the house and you will see that there is another driveway which winds up through the lawn around this oval to the back door of the house. That large oak tree on the extreme end of the oval, with the great branches stretching far out on all sides, is a very old tree. Look up, and you will see a large bell fastened on one of the branches, with a rope hanging from it to the ground. This bell is used to call the family to their meals, when they are scattered over the grounds. The rope is pulled and the bell rung so many times one hour before each meal; so many strokes in case Father is wanted. If we should be off fishing or in the woods, or perhaps sailing, we can distinctly hear this bell, and know we must come home. Living as we do, on such an extensive place, this is the only method by which we can be called together when far off in the woods or on the water.
Let us now walk around the oval. Do you see that mound just beyond and almost hidden by lilac bushes. That is the ice house, and a good one it is too. It is very large, and will keep ice all summer until ice is formed again. During the cold winter days, the filling of this house with ice is great sport for us boys. We will then hitch our sleds behind the sledge as the men go back and forth from the pond to the house, and so we will ride all day long. Load after load is stacked in this house, and on each layer water is thrown, as it will freeze and become compact.
The dog house by that tall Lombardy poplar tree is old Turk`s home. This dog is so ugly, ferocious, bloodthirsty and savage, that he will make friends with no one, nor will he allow anyone to make friends with him. He is kept chained all the day, and only let loose late at night. He is a fine specimen of the southern bloodhound. His bay and howl in the dead of night is enough to strike terror in the bravest heart. Although his chain is very strong, he is so powerful that he has broken it twice. When that happens, all hands have to run for the house or get up a tree. He would tear anyone to pieces, he has such an ugly temper. The coachman is the only one in the family whom he will allow to feed him, or to chain him. He is one of the ugliest tempered dogs that ever lived.
Now suppose we walk through this wide winding walk and so enter the garden. Just turn you head and see how perfect and regular are the turns and curves of this walk. Look at that perfectly shaped Chinese Arborvitae tree on the turn of the walk. That tree is admired by all as being so perfect, so tall and regular. Those bushes, scattered along the border of the walk, having such large and bright pointed evergreen leaves, with the beautiful rose color and delicate purple flowers, that look like wax, are the rhododendron and mountain laurel. The flowers of these two shrubs are something just exquisite.
Here we are at the garden gate. Before we pass through, just take a look at that English buckthorn hedge. That hedge has been there for many years. Run your eye along the top. How level it is cut. It looks wide enough for a horse and wagon to drive over it. It is one of the features of the garden entrance. Now walk through the gate. This garden is looked upon as being the most perfect one, and the best kept, as well as the best stocked with plants, shrubs and small fruits of any in all the neighborhood. It is our father`s pride to have it so. Those beautiful wax like white flowers, growing in pots in that circular bed just in front of us are considered queen of all the hot house flowers, the Camillia Japonica. Sixty years ago, which is the date I am now writing of, it was regarded as the most perfect and costly of all the beautiful flowers, and no lady would consider herself fully dressed without one of these delicate white flowers in her hair. What the rose is considered now, the camillia was then.
Come over to this square bed filled with plants having little round red berries. Those are the tomato plants, having little round fruits, which when fully ripe are as large as apples. They are not considered good as an article of food, so are cultivated in private gardens as a new and curious plant. I will say that up to 1840, the tomato was but little known and seldom seen. That large square bed that you see to the left, looking as if it were overgrown with tufts of grass, are white strawberry plants. They are a great rarity, and seldom, if ever, seen. The white strawberries grow on these little tufts. They are a creamy white color, very sweet and pleasant to the taste, and solid to the touch, and grow in the shape of two pointed hearts. I question if you ever saw or tasted a white strawberry.
Those tall plants you see scattered about and tied to stakes are the dahlia. They are rather a new flower, and are considered very ornamental. They originally came from India, and were first brought to England in 1820. In 1830 they were looked upon as a rare flower in our country, and were to be found in only a certain few gardens. There is a dahlia which has been found in Mexico. It grows wild. The natives eat the roots as food, but they are so bitter to the taste that they will nauseate Europeans.
I would like you now to have a look at this little old stone house at the head of the garden. We will not have time to go in it. It as a very, very old little house, now used as our school house; and if it could speak, it could tell of many an unhappy pupil, kept in after hours for not knowing his lessons. As we walk along, just look at those espaliers by the side of the garden tool house. We must not stop, for there is much yet to see, and my letter is growing very long. I must, however, show you this wonderful peach tree, for the peaches it bears are blue black in color. When opened they are a rich blood black inside, very sweet and juicy, and considered a great curiosity. I question if you have ever seen a black peach.
There is still much to see in the garden, but we will pass through this gate which opens into the shore lot, and follow the foot path to the high rock which is the congregating place of all the boys. This rock is about half the size of your father`s house, standing up from the ground some twelve feet, and having a comparatively smooth and level top. It is a remarkably solid looking rock, and quite a puzzle as to how it got there, as it rests on the very top of the ground. It is the opinion of those learned in such matters that the great rock was imbedded in a great iceberg during the period of great floods and freshets, and was floated in the iceberg just to the spot where the rock now is. This rock is always selected for our fourth of July display of rockets and Roman candles. We boys also use it as our general rendezvous and look-out. From the top there is a beautiful view of the river with its ever changing scene of sailing vessels. We can also overlook the garden and see who may be there. We can also see who may be on the lawn or sitting on the piazza. Many a happy hour I have passed on this rock, enjoying the view from all sides. When I was a comparatively young man, this rock, together with the rock on which my sister had her summer house, were taken away. There was a gang of men, working for several seasons splitting up these two rocks into large blocks and flat stones. It was all done with little iron wedges inserted in rows of holes made in the rock and then driven in by the hammer, no powder being used. All the stone from these two rocks was carried by sloop to New York City and there used for foundation stones for buildings. The foundation stone of the building in which your father [Edward Howard Leggett, (1845-1927)] is now doing business, No. 301 Pearl Street, came from Rose Bank. I remember perfectly well seeing these stones, and large flat ones they were, split out from a great rock on the extreme end of what we called the Point lot, and swung off on the deck of a sloop in the deep water which came right up to the rock, and so carried to New York City. I also remember seeing these large flat stones being lowered to their resting place, now near fifty years ago.
Now raise your eyes and look over the river. Do you see those black forms, moving along in the water following each other and looking just like men swimming in a row? Well those are fish and called porpoises. The first time I ever saw those large, round and black looking things come tumbling and rolling over and over in the water, one following the other, I was very much frightened; so I ran to my mother and told her that a lot of black men were coming right along swimming up to our dock.
Before we leave this rock, I will call your attention to that long row of quince trees bordering the garden fence. Every part of the quince is utilized. After the fruit is peeled, it is cut in quarters and an excellent preserve made. The peels and cores are made into jelly. From the seeds is made a kind of mucilage. From the fruit is made a delicious beverage somewhat like cider.
Now, Mary, I do not know what to do after this letter talk. I have, so far, taken you but a hurried walk over only a part of the grounds comprising the surroundings of Rose Bank, and have already shown you equal to thirty two pages of [handwritten] reading matter. There is so much yet to show you, and tell you about, but I am quite sure you will not want to hear from me again. I see no other way but to come to a sudden close and say good-bye to Rose Bank, make my bow to you, and stop just where I am, and write myself
Your Grandfather,
Thomas B. Leggett.
Letter No. 15 of Georgianna's father-in-law, Thomas B. Leggett, to his grandson, Georgianna's son, Howard, continued from Edward Howard's entry. All such surviving letters may be found by consulting the chart under the Notes for Thomas:
...
This cider mill had a great attraction for the children, particularly during the cider making season, for then we would cut from the sheaf and select long and straight rye straws and suck the sweet cider from the barrels, until our little stomachs would stick out like a cotton ball. We would also get up on the back of the old horse and ride him as he so patiently walked and walked around the circle turning the big wheel that crushed the apples as it slowly rolled over them. During the time the men were working about the mill, we would feel bold and safe to venture up in the large empty upper room and walk over every part of it, look up the great open chimney fireplace built of heavy rough stone and think of the many anxious meals that had been cooked and eaten in that room while the Indians were yelling outside, then to look out the small and narrow windows and fancy we saw savages skulking about, to see the enormous heavy rafters and wondered why they ever put them there. After seeing all we could and all there was to see, we would sit on a long, heavy oak bench, and listen to our older brothers relate how the different families in the neighborhood, when the Indians were on the warpath, would run from their houses, men, women and children, to seek safety and shelter in this strong building; the women and children on the upper floor, and the strong men posting themselves at the port holes, with sword at their side and muskets at rest in the portholes, ready to fire at the word of command, or to do battle and meet the wild savage in desperate hand to hand struggle, for the safety and lives of their mothers, wives and children, who were on the upper floor, the savages outside surrounding the building all in their war paint with tomahawk at their waist, scalping knife in their belts, and bows and arrows, as well as muskets in their hands, yelling and screeching the war whoop, hurling great stones against the heavy oaken and iron bound door, making every effort to beat it down; others pulling at the planks covering the sides and working at the heavy shingles on the roof, but finding oak timbers and wrought nails too much when well put together for all their efforts to pull apart.
Musket balls and arrows are flying from all directions at the building and are to be seen sticking in all parts of it. A well directed fire is also kept up from the portholes on the inside of the building, and at every shot that is well directed an Indian brave bites the dust. Presently a sharp quick firing and the well known yell of the white man is heard from the near distance. Help has come to the aid of the besieged, none too soon, for they were being hard pressed by this large number of savages. These friends are pounding at the great door to those that are inside and calling for them to come out. The heavy door is suddenly thrown open, the young men rush out and are just in time to meet a band of fresh warriors who are just come on the field of battle, a desperate had to hand fight takes place on the outside, the Indians are routed and many are killed. They have lost the battle after a great slaughter. The different families again return to their unprotected homes, and the old building is deserted for the time until another alarm is heard, and so it was with the early settlers. They were always anxious for their own lives as well as those of their children. If it was not some sudden raid upon them by the Indians, then it was a constant fear by night from a pack of hungry wolves who would often as many as six or eight in a pack pound on the doors with their heavy paws, pull at the window shutter with their teeth and claws, get on the roof and endeavor to pull it to pieces. Hungry bears and wolves are dreadful
creatures and at times were as much trouble as the Indians.
I have often heard my old grandfather say when he was quite a young boy, that in the early summer evening, when it was too light to close the double oaken shutters and the family were at supper, they would be often annoyed by Indians looking through the windows at them, and if the door...
Continued in Howard Clapp Leggett's entry
Note: Birth and death dates taken from stones in the Benjamin W. Clapp Plot, L
|
