Hilltree Farm Press On-Line

Hilltree Farm Press On-Line is a web page maintained by the publisher, George J. Hill, on behalf of Hilltree Farm Press.  This page presents an opportunity for on-line communication by authors and readers who share the interests and values of Hilltree Farm.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------CONTENTS 

“My Green Valley: An Appreciation of American Lineage Societies” - posted 6 May 2014

“Quakers, Plantations, and Lawyers in 17th Century Pennsylvania” - posted 6 May 2014

"The Khyber Pass and Peshawar in 1943: When the U.S. Entered the Great Game" - posted 6 May 2014 

"Good Bye Florence" - posted 17 March 2014

"Reconciliation" - posted 4 December 2013

"History of Medicine in Essex County, New Jersey, and of the Essex County Medical Society, 1816-2010" - posted 18 November 2010 

"John Paul Jones in Paris, 18 July 1792" - posted 5 June 2010

" 'The Winthrop Woman': Winthrops, Feakes, and Jamestowne" - 22 May 2010

"Edison's Vison: From Electric Cars to Atomic Power" - posted 27 February 2010

"Eddie: A Story of Courage and Love" - 12 March 2008

"Early Highgate, Vermont: The Stockwell Connection" - 6 April 2009

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 “My Green Valley: An Appreciation of American Lineage Societies”

George J. Hill, M.D., D.Litt.

Remarks to the joint dinner meeting of the National Order of the Blue and Gray and the Hereditary Order of the Loyalists and Patriots of the American Revolution, at the City Tavern Club,Washington,D.C., April 14, 2014

I have taken the title of these remarks from a wonderful passage that appeared this month in the Ulster Ancestry Newsletter, an on-line publication that is sent to members of the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick of Philadelphia.  The quotation is entitled “How Green Was My Valley.”  I believe the origin is in Richard Llewellyn’s book (1939)[1] of the same name, which was also made into a movie.  It tells the story of a family, a genealogist’s view perhaps, and I choked up the first time I read it aloud:

              I saw behind me those who had gone, and before me those who are yet to come.               I looked back and saw my father, and his father, and all our fathers, and in front to see my son, and his son, the sons upon sons beyond.

            And their eyes were my eyes.

            As I felt, so they had felt and were to feel, as then, as now, as tomorrow and forever.

            Then I was not afraid, for I was in a long line that had no beginning and had no end, and the hand of his father grasped my father’s hand, and his hand was in mine, and my unborn son took my right hand, and all up and down the line that stretched from time that was till time that is, and time that is not yet come, raised their hands to show the link, and we were as one.

  * * * * *

This is the type of reward we seek in studying family history.  But family genealogy can be challenging sometimes, too.  I have learned to be patient, because not everyone wants to give up what they know.  Some would keep their secrets to the grave.  My late sister-in-law, Barbara Johnson, was one of them.  Babs had worked for the CIA when she got out of college, before she was married. She learned to keep secrets very well.  She never got out of the habit of dissembling, and she could do it with a straight face.  She told me very little about what she knew about her father’s work in Naval Intelligence in World War II, although I was finally able to piece it all together.  My work on a book about my father-in-law’s experiences began when I was looking for records to use in the study of my wife’s genealogy.  In Babs’ attic, I stumbled onto a trove of family papers, and of his records from World War II.[2] 

            Babs was like the well-dressed, elderly lady who was out driving her car one day.  She was pulled over by a policeman, who said, “Ma’m, you were going 60 in a 40 mile zone.”  “Oh,” said the lady, “I didn’t know that.  I’m sorry.”  Said the cop, “Ma’m, I’ll have to look at your license.”  The lady replied, “I’m sorry officer.  That won’t be possible.  I lost my license.”  “Where did you lose it?” said the officer.  “Well, I didn’t really lose it.  It was taken away from me for … how do you say it … DWI?”  The officer looked puzzled, but then said, “Ma’m, perhaps you could show me the car’s registration.”  The lady replied again, “I’m sorry, I can’t do that.  The car is, well … you see, it’s a stolen car.”  The policeman was noticeably struggling now, but he composed himself and said, “Ma’m, I believe I’ll have to ask you to pop the lock so I can look in the trunk.”  She replied, “I wouldn’t like to do that … the owner is in the trunk, and he isn’t … he isn’t in very good condition.”  At this point, the cop says rather sternly to the elderly lady:  “Ma’m, I’d like you to put your hands on the steering wheel, while I call my supervisor.”

            A little later, another police car wheels up and a sergeant steps out.  He comes up to the lady’s car, looks in the window, and says, “Ma’m, I understand there’s a problem here.  Can I see your driver’s license?”  The lady replies, “If you let me take my hands off the wheel, I’ll get it.”  He agrees, and she hands the license to him from her purse.  Looking puzzled, the sergeant says, “Can I see your auto registration?”  She reaches into the glove compartment, gets it, and says, “Here it is.”  Giving her a strange look, the sergeant says, “Ma’m, may I look in the trunk of your car.”  “Of course,” she said, and pops the lock on the trunk.  The sergeant looks in the trunk, sees nothing unusual, and returns to speak to the lady.  “Ma’m, my officer said that your license was suspended for drunk driving, that this auto was a stolen car, and that the owner of the car was in the trunk.”  And the lady, replying with a perfectly straight face, said, “And I supposed he said that I was speeding, too?”

 * * * * *

I have three things that I would like to speak about this evening, to illustrate my appreciation for American lineage societies.  First, I would tell of many personal experiences that I have had in studying the genealogy of my family, and of the help that I have received from the members and registrars of these societies.  Next, I would speak of the wonderful spirit of these societies – and of their important contributions to the discovery, preservation, and teaching of the history ofAmerica.  And finally, I would like to tell of the cooperation that I have seen between the societies – how, so to speak, the product of their work together has been greater than the sum of the parts. 

            I have studied family history ever since I was a little boy in Iowa.  My parents, aunts and uncles, and older cousins recognized the interest that I had in this subject.  They fed my growing appetite for history.  I began to accumulate books and papers about my family and the places where my ancestors had lived.  These books and papers now occupy most of the walls and cabinets in a room in our house!  Twenty years ago, in 1994, I took the plunge into lineage societies, when, using the D.A.R. application of one of my aunts, I joined the Sons of the American Revolution.  The S.A.R. registrar asked me some questions about my Patriot ancestor.  He then suggested that I might be eligible for the Founders and Patriots of America.  I soon began to work with a professional genealogist.  She found proof of my descent from an emigrant ancestor in the male line, a man named Luke Hill, of Windsor, Connecticut, in 1651, and I joined the OFPA.  She also saw that I had a Mayflower ancestor.  This then became the model for my work ever since: my own research, supplemented when needed by a professional genealogist, and verified by a lineage society’s registrar.  Or sometimes I was rejected, and was given some clues as to what to look for, and to try again.  I have of course learned to appreciate many other ways to do genealogical research, using libraries, research membership in the New England Historic Genealogical Society and Ancestry.com, historical and genealogical societies, and the help of many, many friends that share this interest.  But I especially thank the past and present registrars of many lineage societies for their help in either immediately validating my work, or for suggesting additional research that was needed, in order to be eligible for the societies.  The research that the registrars approved has been crucial in my work to study and publish the stories of my ancestors and of their descendants.[3]  

            As I joined each society, I began to get acquainted with its purpose – its mission – and what I would call the culture of the organization.  Each is a bit different.  Some are

like lodges, with an open membership, if you can prove the line.  Others are only “by invitation.”   I have been fortunate to be sponsored for a few of these, too.  In each organization, I have sometimes met good folks who suggested or nominated me for another one.  One of my friends observed that some organizations are like churches – open to all believers – whereas others are like clubs.  In every society, whether “church” or “club,” there is an important purpose.  It’s usually in the 501(c)(3) description, and the work accomplished each year on the mission it appears on the Form 990.  There is pleasant group of people in every society.  Sometimes it’s just men, as in the Society of theCincinnatiand the Society of Colonial Wars, and sometimes it’s both men and women, as in the two organizations that are meeting here this evening.  My wife said as we were returning from one of the meeting, “That was a lot of fun.  Can you find an organization for me, too?”  So I did, and proved it for her, and she has since gone on to become president of the National Society, Daughters of the Colonial Dames of America – the NSCDA – inNew Jersey!

            The societies also work together for common goals.  InNew Jersey, the smaller societies often meet together, especially those with overlapping membership.  For example, the Descendants of the Founders of New Jersey and the New Jersey Branch of the Sons and Daughters of the Pilgrims.  They both require proof of descent from a person who dates back to 1700 or earlier.  They meet sequentially, have a meal together, and share a speaker.  Anther example is when inNew Jersey, the D.A.R., S.A.R., and the Sons of the Revolution sponsor the annual meeting of the Children of the American Revolution.  And sometimes, several societies have a special meeting with a guest speaker, as when Brenton Simons, CEO of the NEHGS, came toNew Jerseyto speak to several societies a few years ago.  At the national level, we see shared meetings of two societies, such as this one, and also when we meet together for the Heritage Society Community’s annual banquet.  In this way, the purposes of the various societies can be made clear to members of other societies, the organizations can support each other, and all can grow together. 

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“Quakers, Plantations, and Lawyers in 17th Century Pennsylvania”

 George J. Hill, M.D., D.Litt.

 Remarks to the joint luncheon meeting of the Descendants of the Bench and Bar & Descendants of Colonial and Antebellum Planters, at the Army and Navy Club,Washington,D.C., April 11, 2014

I looked at the titles of the two organizations and picked “Plantations” from the word Planters.  Isn’t that just a fancy word for farmers?  I remember the story about an English lady who came to Conway, New Hampshire, in the 19^th Century, and famously said that if “You scratch the surface of any American, you’ll find a farmer.”  The sign implies that this was a compliment, but I wonder about this.  Most people who came toAmerica in the colonial period were farmers.  Many had a hard life, working the farm while always wondering about the Indians or the possibility of failure.  American farmers wanted to move off the farm as soon as they could.  I heard about the hired man on a farm who wondered why city folks want to eat outdoors and go to the bathroom in the house.  It seemed to him like it was the wrong way around.  But we are attracted to the IDEA of farming.  A city man who went to the country on weekends went in to a country store and asked for another batch of little chicks. “Why,” said the storekeeper, “What happened to them pullets I sold you last month?”  “Don’t know,” was the answer.  “Maybe I planted them too deep, or watered them too much, but they never came up.”          

            My wife, Lanie, and I are both descended from Quakers who came with William Penn in 1682.  Her ancestor was George Shoemaker – a German – and mine was John Sharples – an Englishman.  There are some interesting differences which I discovered between the Germans and the English, and I’ll speak of two of these later.  In addition to Quakers, “Colonial” is in the title of this talk because that’s in the name of the society of antebellum planters.  “Bench and bar” is also a subject for my remarks today.  There were differences between the colonies.  For example, there are the legal systems of Massachusettsand Connecticut, and different systems in Pennsylvania.  1682, when William Penn and the Quakers came to America, was ten years before the hangings of witches atSalem.  There was a big difference between the bench and bar of Quakers and Puritans, and I’ll explore that subject briefly with you. 

            My grandmother, in Linn County, Iowa, was the granddaughter of a Pennsylvania English Quaker lady.  Her cousins in Ohiostill used “thee” and “thou” in their letters to grandma.  Her grandmother had been “read out of meeting” for marrying a non-Quaker, but her Quaker ways persisted, and were passed down to her daughter, and to her granddaughter.  She often said, “If you can’t say something nice about someone, don’t say anything at all.”  Some of her other sayings were:  “Be thankful for small favors, and big ones in proportion” and “The answer is still ‘No’.” And “Don’t take a Dutchman as he says, but as he means.”  The Pennsylvania Dutch, as they were called, were really Germans.  There are many similarities and also many differences between the Germans and the English.  What seems right and logical to a German often seems bizarre to an Englishman, and vice versa.  It’s hard to see things from both sides, isn’t it?  Ja – having German ancestors as well as English, forces me to think that way. 

            I promised that I would tell you about differences between the German Quakers and English Quakers in Pennsylvania.  One relates to the dates in the Quaker calendar.  Even now, it’s confusing to a non-Quaker.  Before the Gregorian calendar was accepted in 1752 in Englandand the American colonies, 1^st month, 2^nd day, was Monday, March 2.  March 2 became January 2 in the transition between Old Style (O.S.) and New Style (N.S.).  And eleven days were dropped from the calendar.  But the European continent largely shifted to the Gregorian calendar well before England did.  The Rhineland Palitanate, where the German Quakers came from, was a Roman Catholic area.  It already used the Gregorian calendar by 1682 when the Quakers from the Palitanate came to Pennsylvania.  I discovered this, when I became confused as I was trying to figure out what the dates were in the various Quaker documents that I studied for my wife’s and my ancestors’ records.  It wasn’t clear in the early German Quaker records whether they were in O.S. or N.S.  The Swarthmore College archivist told me that there is no simple answer, because you have to look at the entire document, studying and comparing many dates, to decide whether the Germans were using the Gregorian system or the Julian system, in the first years after they arrived in America.  Eventually they assimilated, used the English language, and accepted the English system.  They went back to Old Style, and stayed there until 1752.  Then they made the transition to N.S. again, although they still used Quaker notation, “1^st month, 2^nd day,” and so forth.  This time, the Germans were ahead of the English, but they had to regress to the older system until England finally decided to “move with the times.”[1]

            The other difference between the German and English Quakers has largely been forgotten.  In 1688, only six years after William Penn’s Quakers arrived in Pennsylvania, the Abington Meeting, which was largely German, declared that slavery should be abolished.  The women were largely responsible for this declaration.  The second meeting at which this anti-slavery declaration was read was a few miles away, in Shoemakertown, at the Meeting that was held in Richard Wall’s house.[2]  That house was home to my wife’s ancestors then, and for a total of five generations.  The English Meetings inPhiladelphia andChesterCounty equivocated, however, and it was about eighty years later that the Annual Meeting took a cautious stand against slavery. Pennsylvania finally enacted legislation that gradually abolished slavery.  

            Now I need to tell you about my Eurekamoment.  It’s a bit of a problem though.  I’m like the man who married a beautiful movie actress, who had been married, well, several times.  He said to himself, “I know what I’m supposed to do, but I don’t know how to make it interesting.”  As you know, The National Society Sons and Daughters of Antebellum Planters 1607-1861 requires descent from a planter, who is defined as someone who owned not less than 500 acres of land.  I wondered how acreage was measured in colonial days.  For example, William Penn made grants of 1000 acres to the Quakers who planned to come with him to America.  My ancestor, John Sharples, bought one of these grants.[3]  On April 5, 1682, for 20 pounds sterling, plus an annual rent of 20 shillings, “for ever,” Sharples bought 1000 acres of land in Penn’s grant from King Charles II, to settle on within six months.  Sharples arrived on August 14, about four months after he paid for the land.  He found a thousand acres nearUpland, nowChester, south ofPhiladelphia, which no other Quaker had claimed.  But how did Sharples measure what he had?  What’s a thousand acres, as it was defined in colonial days?  I won’t take you on the complete, tortuous path that got me to this point.  In spite of Wikipedia and all of the websites about measurements, I couldn’t figure it out.  After I had myEureka moment, I was able to confirm it by testing my conclusion with a numbers website on the computer. 

            Each acre in Sharples’ purchase was to be “admeasured and computed according to the dimensions of acres” by the statute made in the 33d year of the reign of King Edward I.  The 33rd year of his reign was 1272-1273.  Edward I standardized measurements of many things, including distances.[4]  It is the familiar English system – which is, of course, parallel to the metric system.  The smallest unit in King Edward’s system – the inch –was defined as three dry barleycorns, laid end to end.  Twelve inches made a foot, and three feet made a yard (or ulna, as it was also called).  There were curious definitions of longer measurements:  a rod (also called perch), of sixteen and a half feet; a chain, of four rods, or 66 feet; and the furlong (typically, named for the length of a plowed furlow).  A furlong was ten chains long.  It was 660 feet, or 220 yards, in length.  It was the length of a 220 yard dash, half way around the high school track.  The furlong is also used in horse racing.  A furlong is an eighth of a mile, so a square mile is eight furlongs on each side.  A square mile – one section, it’s called – has been the standard measurement of land inAmerica since before the Revolutionary War.  A square mile equals 640 acres.  A square mile section is eight furlongs in length on each side.  Many of us who came from farm country remember the invisible but ever-present notion of sections, of half-sections (320 acres), and quarter-sections (160 acres).  There were townships of 36 sections – six miles on each side – that stretched all the way fromMaine to theRocky Mountains.  Section number 16, in the center of each township, was eventually set aside by Federal law to fund public education.  And typically, there was a one acre piece of land at the edge of that section that was cleared for a country school.  Many of us can still visualize that schoolyard as the size of one acre of land. 

            That familiar country schoolyard wasn’t exactly an acre, actually, because you can’t really square an acre.  An acre was then, and still is (by the rule of Edward I), 1 chain by 10 chains in size.  It was an oblong piece of land, a rectangle, with one side longer than the other, exactly 43,560 square feet in size.  That square schoolyard “acre” is supposed to contain 43,560 square feet.  It is said to be about 208.71 feet on each side.  It is about 2/3 of a city block on each side.  But you can’t compute the square root of 43,560.  It’s like trying to square a circle, and the actual answer is infinite.  All of us who think of a square piece of land as an acre are just a little bit off.   But all of this arithmetic doesn’t answer the question of how 1000 acres was measured.  Does a square mile section of 640 acres relate in some way to a 1000 acre plantation?  That was myEurekamoment – to answer that question. Yes, it does.  A section has eight furlongs on each side, while a 1000 acre plantation is a square with ten furlongs on each side.  Ten furlongs is the length of the Kentucky Derby, the most famous horse race inAmerica.  A section of 640 acres has a perimeter of four miles, while a 1000 acre plantation has a perimeter of five miles. 

            Finally, I’m almost done now – as King Henry VIII said to one of his wives, “I won’t keep you long” – I chose the word “Lawyers” for the title of this talk from Society of the Bench and Bar, hoping that I might hold your interest in legal matters.  You know the story about lawyers, how they’re different from doctors.  (I don’t think many lawyers answer the call “Is there a doctor in the house.”)  As the story goes, a new doctor comes to town, and he gets busy right away.  He’ll scare off any other doctor who comes along, because that would cut into his business.  But a new lawyer, he’s got nothing to do.  Then another lawyer comes to town, and then they’re both busy. 

            So for the lawyers, and those who might be interested in the history of the bench and bar, I’ll tell you a couple of things that I learned about the subject of crime and punishment and the law in colonialPennsylvania.  It appears to me that many of William Penn’s noble intentions were finally realized.  Not perfectly, and not in his lifetime, but we can see some of his goals appear in modern American laws and in judicial practice.

            William Penn and the Quakers assumed that no one would intentionally harm another person, and that if people had arguments, had differences of opinion, they could be settled peacefully.  So his laws were generally very gentle, and there were few instances in which cases actually went to court.  For example, my ancestor, John Sharples, only appeared three times in court records, and in none of these records was he challenged with a crime or for a civil suit.  The peaceful life of the Quakers was, however, soon disturbed by the immigration into Pennsylvaniaof others who were not so obliging.  Within twenty years, Pennsylvaniabecame notorious for its lawlessness.  In addition, Penn had to agree that English law would prevail unless the ordinances of the colony were approved by the Crown.  English law was very severe at that time, and half of the laws passed by Pennsylvaniawere refused by Queen Anne, which left English law in force in such cases.  In addition, in order to control the lawless nature of the non-Quaker immigrants, the penalties became increasingly severe in Pennsylvanialaw.  By 1718, 36 years after the Colony was founded, the laws of Pennsylvaniahad become more severe in all respects than the Puritan colony of Connecticut.  Curiously, the colonies of Massachusettsand Connecticutwere permitted at that time to write their own laws.  However, if someone committed an offense, and there was no law that mentioned the crime and the punishment, the expectation was that Mosaic law – the law of the Torah – would be used. Amelioration came in Pennsylvania, however, from the failure of Pennsylvanialegal authorities to enforce the punishments that were specified in the law.  And then gradually, after 1718, the specified punishments were gradually lessened.  Pennsylvanialed the colonies, and later the United States, into the modern world of non-capital punishment, treatment of the mentally ill, and rehabilitation of criminals.[5]

            Pennsylvaniadidn’t have many lawyers in its early days, but it eventually became famous for its lawyers.  The Universityof Pennsylvaniadidn’t establish a school of law until 1852.[6]  A history of Pennsylvania by Philip Klein and Ari Hoogenboom in 1980 says the legend of the “‘Philadelphia lawyer’ as one who was extraordinarily shrewd was begun” in 1735.[7]   They wrote that “Penn had little regard for lawyers, and the Quakers considered them a source of mischief and evil.  The Friends and the German Plain Sects wished to settle their differences out of court.  The Assembly in 1686 passed a law forbidding lawyers to receive ‘any reward whatsoever’ for representing a client, under penalty of a fine of £5 for taking pay [and] the idea persisted that courts and lawyers were tools of the rich and powerful to take advantage of the poor and weak.” The Quakers of colonialPennsylvania set high standards.  They admonished, counseled, or if necessary, sometimes “read out of meeting” those who couldn’t or wouldn’t follow the rules.  God bless them.

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"The Khyber Pass and Peshawar in 1943:

 When the U.S. Entered the Great Game."

  George J. Hill, M.D., D.Litt.

  Remarks to the joint dinner meeting of The National Society Sons of the American Colonists and The Society of the Descendants of the Colonial Clergy, at the University Club,Washington,D.C., April 12, 2014

I appreciate the invitation that I received from Governor General John Bourne of the Sons of the American Colonists to speak tonight to both the SAC and the Descendants of the Colonial Clergy.  I will speak on a subject that has long been important to Americans, but has often been forgotten.   The subject of this talk is the age-old contest for control of the highlands ofCentral Asia.  This is where Afghanistanis located, and it is where we are now engaged in the longest war in our history. 

            The contest for control of Central Asiawas called the “Great Game” by Rudyard Kipling in his enormously popular novel, Kim, published in 1901.  The Great Game referred to the contest between two empires – Britain and Russia – for control of India.  When India and Pakistan became free in 1947, it appeared to some that the Great Game had ended, for Britain no longer had a stake in the game.  But the contest was continued by the Russians.  The USSR fought an unsuccessful ten-year war in Afghanistan, from 1979-1989.  The role of the British was now played by America, which supported the insurgents who fought against the USSR and its Afghan allies.  You may remember this as “Charlie Wilson’s War,” and it was the last episode of the Cold War.   Within a year after the USSR withdrew, the Soviet Union collapsed.[1] 

            Some have called this a “New Great Game,” in which the major players and the goals of the game in Central Asiaappear to be different than they were at the time of Kipling’s Kim.   Near the end of the year 2013, the contest was called “America’s Great Game” in a book published by Hugh Wilford.  Many of us believe that the long view of the history of Central Asia can be seen as an ancient struggle, in which Alexander the Great was famously the first European to enter the contest.  He reached the Indian Ocean before he turned back.  Before that time, and ever since then, Central Asia has been the battleground for many other groups, such as the Persians, the Moguls, and Genghis Khan’s Golden Horde.  The present contenders in this New Great Game are the nations whose borders extend to Central Asia, including Iran, Pakistan, India, China, the five “stan” states that were formerly in the USSR – Turkestan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Kazakhstan, and Turkmenistan – and Russia.  America entered the contest shortly after September 11, 2001, because the Taliban had given shelter to Osama bin Laden, and it was from his base in Afghanistan that he launched the attacks on 9/11.  Osama bin Laden has since been killed, and al Qaeda may have been weakened, but America is still engaged in the Afghan war.  There are many reasons for continued American involvement in the Central Asian conflict, and many problems that the U.S. will encounter as it engages there.  It is a difficult task to accomplish, for – unlike the other players – we do not have a border there.  Our friends are few, and our allies are wary.[2] 

            I hope to add something to the discussion of America’s present and future role in Central Asiathrough a story of an adventurous trip that was made many years ago and long forgotten.  I will tell of the time in November and December 1943, during World War II, when Americafirst entered the Great Game.  Two U.S.military intelligence officers – one from the Army, Major Gordon Enders, and one from the Navy, Lieut. Albert Zimmermann – were escorted by a British officer, Major Sir Benjamin Bromhead, along several hundred miles of the Durand Line, the southern border of Afghanistan.  The trip was authorized to show the Americans what problems the British had with the frontier tribes, and how the British dealt with them.  It is the subject of my last book.[3] 

            Problems with the frontier tribes – the Pashtuns, who live along both sides of the Border – had been faced by the British for a very long time.  By 1943, British policy had evolved, and at that time, the Border was relatively quiet.  But problems with the border tribes still exist to this day, and they are perhaps the most vexing of all of the issues inCentral Asia.  The lessons learned by the American intelligence officers ought to be remembered.  I would summarize them as: courage, tolerance, and patience.  

            I’d like to speak about the discovery and deciphering of documents about the trip; what they say about this unique adventure; and about the long-forgotten time whenAmericaentered the Great Game.

            The story of this long-forgotten Anglo-American mission was re-discovered almost by accident.  The existence of an unusual trip taken by Lieut. Zimmermann, a Naval Intelligence Officer and my wife’s father, was known from a long-lost letter from him to his wife.  The original letter had apparently been lost.  In the summer of 2003, I found a copy of the letter that my mother-in-law had transcribed on a typewriter, when I was going through old papers to write the genealogy of my wife’s family.  Written fromPeshawar, near the Khyber Pass, Lieut. Al Zimmermann, stationed in Karachi,India, nowPakistan– told of a trip in theNorth-West Frontier Province.  He and two others had made the first motor vehicle traverse over theLowariPass, a place that I had never heard of.  He spoke of meeting the Wali of Swat, the Nawab of Dir, and the Mehtar of Chitral.  And he told of the garden party given by the Governor inPeshawarfor the Viceroy, Lord Wavell, who came to hear about the trip from the Americans.  The letter was tantalizing, but there was nothing much that I could do with it.  However, on 25 February 2007, my wife was invited by her sister to look in her attic for any old photos that she might like to have, before she moved into a retirement home.  The attic was going to be cleaned out and everything left in it would be thrown away.  I went along for the ride, and saw hundreds of items: countless photos in albums and loose on the floor, several boxes of letters, many loose papers, maps, Navy documents and records, a large scrapbook, and two reels of 16mm movies.  I scooped it all up.  It filled the back of my SUV, and it eventually filled three footlockers. 

            I gradually worked through the documents and photos, organizing them, deciphering and transcribing the hand-written letters.  I studied what had been done by my father-in-law and the others mentioned in the documents, and made copies of the photos and movies.  I visited the National Archives to look for more information about my father-in-law’s work inKarachi.  By the time I was done, I realized I had something that was unique.  Except for the story of the Navy code-breakers atPearl Harbor, this is probably the only U.S. Navy Intelligence Officer’s story that has been published.  Of the thousands of officers who were assigned to the Office of Naval Intelligence in World War II, Zimmermann’s papers are apparently the only ones that have survived.

            When Zimmermann and his partner, Major Enders, made the trip in a jeep over the Lowari Passto Chitral, they were warned repeatedly that it was too dangerous, and they should not attempt it.  But they did it any way.  When they continued along the Durand Line toPeshawar, North and South Waziristan, toQuetta, they dodged tank traps that had been set to prevent Rommel from invadingIndia, and occasionally bullets from bandits and brigands.  They went in an armed convoy for protection.  But they were received hospitably along the way, by the British political and military leaders, and the Pashtun tribal elders. 

            Courage to do a job like this has long been a common virtue of Americans.  The travelers also learned to appreciate the customs of the Border people – the ancient traditions known as Pastunwali, and Muslim customs, such as eating with the right hand.  Tolerance, it’s called.  Along with courage, Americans have learned tolerance, too.  But what the people of Asia and Europe have long known, and what has been so elusive for Americans, is patience.  Along the Border, after more than a hundred years, the British had finally learned to be patient: to sit, if need be, for hours, while the tribal leaders debated in jirgas, and then made their decisions, which they then asked the British to enforce.  Patience is not a virtue that is understood or readily appreciated by Americans.  It is rare to see something planned and started in America that could never be accomplished in one lifetime, such as the Great Wall in China, or a cathedral in Europe.   To play the Great Game successfully, we will need courage, tolerance, and patience.

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Good Bye Florence

By George J. Hill

------------------

Florence Hill

August 13, 2002, Beckely West Virginia

March 12, 2014, West Orange, New Jersey

SN 92144706  American Kennel Club

We shared our last visit with you this morning.  You were so still, but peaceful, your eyes closed, your body still warm.  We petted your nose, your head, your floppy ears … hugged you under the blanket … sat and cried, because you couldn’t come home with us. 

Never again.

We remember …

You came as a puppy, your coat liver and white as an English Springer Spaniel, more than eleven and a half years ago.  You never learned tricks, and you didn’t learn to swim.  You were always a companion, not … I don’t know what … Not just a dog. 

You learned how to behave in the house, in the yard, and on our walks, a steady companion.  Never made a mess.  You moved about the house with us, sometimes with one, and sometimes with the other.  You seemed to want to share time with each of us.  Sometimes you slept across our feet, as we worked at our desks or computer.  It was awkward for us, but we loved it, and rarely pushed you away. 

You would always rise quickly with a slight tug on your collar, but then you’d come back again.  We’ll miss that … oh how we’ll miss you. 

You didn’t fetch, you didn’t play much with other dogs, you just cared about us, and you were always there for us.  You greeted us at the door, and then moved to sit looking up at the cookie jar for a reward, so we could show how much we appreciated your guard duty.   It was your house, as much as it was ours.

The rain is running down on the windows tonight, at Newport,Rhode Island, like the tears on my cheeks.  Where are you now?  Where is your spirit?  Good by, lover dog, Flo-ee.  You loved long walks with us – three, four, five miles.  And you loved coming back even more than going out.  When the time came, my whispered word was “Home,” and you wheeled around and pulled on the leash to go back for your treat. 

You bounced across the back yard every morning to “do your thing” in the cage, and then you dashed back happily, at a gallop, to sit pointing up for your reward, for good behavior.  You slobbered so much, but our neighbor Mr. McCole loved it.  He’ll be heartbroken to hear that you are gone.  To Doggie Heaven?  I wonder.  

Your little tail would wag with happiness, even your whole body would wag when you were really happy.  Or it would tuck down under when you were worried or admonished for some little transgression.  Very sensitive barometer, that tail.  You were almost human. 

You could ride for hours, stretched out, sleeping on the back seat of the car, once we learned to put you in a seat belt so you wouldn’t throw up. 

Everyone in our neighborhood asks about you, and worries about you.  When you spent a morning getting groomed, they would ask, “Where’sFlorence.”  Now we have to say, you’ve left us.  But we’ll never forget you. 

You pawed at the storm door to show that you needed to go out, and you scratched at my bathroom door to say that you wanted to get to the water bowl. You only did those things when I was there.  I’m sure you wanted to show me what you wanted, and to do them with me. 

The rest of the time, you slept, moving from the curled up position to the flat on your side position.  You loved to sleep by my side of the bed, except when the full moon shone in the south window – and then you wanted to sleep in the moon light.

When you ate, you had a wonderful, amusing habit – you nosed and nosed your food, up and out, and we loved to watch you.  We’d put it back, and then you’d finish it.  You had a poached egg every Saturday morning and two pancakes every Sunday.  We’ll miss seeing you enjoy those treats with us, and we’ll think of you when we cook them …

Dr. Derek Boen tried hard to save you.  He was so thoughtful.  We’ll thank him and the staff at theWest OrangeAnimalHospital.  We’ll also say good-bye for you to the staff that loved to have you stay with them at Hal Wheeler’s and at Petco, where you were groomed every six weeks. 

Your insinuating nose … it would push and push until you got attention.

Your loveable slobbery tongue … it would always come out and start licking when you had a chance to show how much you loved us.

You barked only when you were lonely, or to warn us of what you thought might be danger.  Very rarely, because our life is pretty safe.

You could open a door or a gate with that nose, or your paws, so clever …

My, how you could snore!! That big nose was made for snoring, I guess.

Sleeping or watching.   ….  You would curl up, with your head tucked in … or with your head poking out over the side of your little bed …. or stretched out on your side … or with your head between your front paws, watching intently to see what we were going to do next.

You would pause at the top of the stairs every morning until I punched the alarm code into the key pay, and then you would run down the stairs with me, galloping, two stairs at a time.  What will I do without you?

You always had a gentle mouth, except when you found a meaty piece of garbage on the street… and you would then clamp down and God forbid anyone to try to take it away.

Our walks were at the same pace.  I think you took exactly four steps to every one that I took … Your feet were exactly in line, with both left feet hitting the ground at the same spot, and both right feet in the same spot on the other side.  Beautiful, graceful. You loved to walk with us, and you could do the usual things – sit, stay, down, come, home – about a dozen words that you knew.  But after you got to be blind and deaf, you couldn’t hear, and couldn’t see, so a gentle touch or a push or a pull would accomplish the task.  You knew what to do.

Your first illness was Lyme Disease, limping and sore, and we were so grateful to see you well again after a month or so of antibiotics … then blind or almost blind from retinal degeneration and those signal cataracts … then slowly deafness came on … but you could find your way in the house … and then Cushing’s Syndrome which caused overeating and much water drinking, bowl after bowl.  We rationed you, and it worked well for a month or two … and then something happened, you gradually became less interested in food, couldn’t be tempted with anything.  And then you suddenly stopped eating and drinking.  It was pancreatitis and acute severe diabetes, with vomiting and blood in the stomach.  But you never whimpered, just laid down and went to sleep.  Still rousing, trying to lick my hand, at the very end.

Florence at one year

 Florence, as remembered by Keith Kinsella, reproduced with permission (2014)

 Florence, remembered by Eamon Kinsella

 Florence, at age 11, wistful

 Florence and her family, Eaton, N.H., August 2013

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Pancreatitis complicated by diabetes is a not uncommon complication of Cushing’s Syndrome in dogs, especially in Springer Spaniels.  See Caroline D. Levin, Dogs, Diet, & Disease: An Owner's Guide to Diabetes Mellitus, Pancreatitis, Cushing's Disease, & More (2001).

www.georgejhill.com     15 March 2014

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RECONCILIATION

Notes for a talk by

George J. Hill, M.D., D.Litt.

to the 

National Order of the Blue and Gray

and

Hereditary Order of the Descendants of the Loyalists and Patriots of the American Revolution

 ----------------

The Washington Club

Washington, D.C.

April 15, 2013

Thank you, Madame President.

I appreciate the opportunity to share my thoughts on Reconciliation with our societies this evening. 

I would first like to give you some good news.  You may wonder if I am going to speak about reconciliation as my father, a small-town banker, thought of it.  In his bank, no employee went home at the end of the day until the books were balanced – reconciled – and every penny was accounted for.  If the till was short, the cashier would have to dip into his pocket to make up the difference.  But no, that’s not the reconciliation that I am thinking of.  And in the second place, there will be no test at the end of this talk.  You can just sit back and listen.

I hope that others may wish to share their thoughts about reconciliation after I finish my remarks.  This is a meditation, not a lecture.

My mother taught me never to pick a fight, and never to hate anyone.  I learned from her the verse that is the keystone of Christian charity:  “A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another” (John 13:34).

My mother also taught me that “Sticks and stones may hurt my bones, but words can never hurt me.”  Many of you recall these words, too.  With them in my mind, I had strength to withstand taunting, at least some of the time.  Boys will fight over little things.  But the statement is only half true.  Ill-chosen words can cut deeply, and be long remembered.  On the other hand, carefully chosen words may lead to reconciliation, to a peaceful settlement, and to harmony. 

My mother’s mother was the daughter of a Quaker.  This great-grandmother of mine was “read out of meeting” for marrying a non-Quaker without permission.  She and her husband became Methodists, but they still kept Quaker ways and passed them on to their descendants. 

I often heard “thee” and “thou” in Grandma’s house when I was a boy.  Grandma often said, “If you can’t say something nice about someone, don’t say anything at all.”  Grandma would never use the word “hate,” and she taught this concept to my mother. The word “hate” is not in my vocabulary, and even now, I utter the word with a note of caution.  Putting hate aside is an important first step in reconciliation.

Good will eventually allows differences to be forgotten.  In the Orient, it is called “face.”  You “give face” by showing respect, and you never “take face” by showing disrespect.

I have a couple of stories to tell tonight, which I hope will illustrate how reconciliation has helped my own family get past awful tragedies.  Many of you probably have stories like this in your families, though many others are unknown.  I only learned of these stories after I began research on my family’s genealogy.  In my family, “family secrets,” as they were called, were intended to be suppressed.  I believe, however, that suppression of uncomfortable facts is not as good a way to deal with tragedy as acceptance.  I prefer to “forgive but remember,” as the saying goes.

One of my stories is about the witchcraft delusion in Salem in 1692, and the other describes the shooting of a Tory farmer in Vermont in 1776.  I have chosen them because the original words of the participants were preserved.  With some imagination, when I read the words, you may be able to recreate these scenes in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.[1] 

I first became aware of the events in Salem when I saw “The Crucible” in 1952.  My understanding of the witchcraft delusion has since been changed, and deepened.  In the past twenty years, I have learned that both my wife and I have ancestors and close relatives who lived in Salem.  I learned that her ancient grandmother was a sister of the Rev. John Hale, who interrogated some of the accused; and that John Proctor, who was hanged, had been married to my wife’s cousin.  I then had to reconcile what Arthur Miller wrote about Proctor – portraying him as an adulterer and pedophile – with what is the true story.  I learned that Miller used sex to sell his play on Broadway.  That was a difficult issue for me.  Historians call this “counterfactual.”  But I reconciled myself to this.  I have forgiven Arthur Miller.  Not that he would have cared.  But it was important for me to do this, in order to move on.

I then learned that I, too, through my mother, had relatives who lived in Salem at that time.  They included the Towne sisters, who are best known by their married names – Rebecca Nurse (my ancient grandmother), Sarah Cloyse, and Mary Easty.  I am also related to the Putnams who appear in the trials.  All of us are descended from John Putnam, the Emigrant.  And I have learned that the Magistrate, John Hathorn, and the spiritual leader of the trials, Cotton Mather, were married to my distant cousins.  

The official records of Salem document the arrest of Rebecca Nurse, who was seventy years old; and of her interrogation, the testimony against her, two statements given on her behalf, and of her plea to the court.  Here are some direct quotations from the record, beginning on March 23, 1692:

“To the Marshall of Essex, or his deputy.

“There being complained this day, made before us by Edward Putnam and Jonathan Putnam, yeomen, both of Salem Village, against Rebecca Nurse, the wife of Francis Nurse of Salem Village for vehement suspicion of having committed sundry acts of witchcraft and thereby having done much hurt and injury to the bodies of Ann Putnam, the wife of Thomas Putnam of Salem Village; Ann Putnam ye daughter of said Thomas Putnam; and . . . others.

            “You are therefore in their Majesties names hereby required to apprehend and bring before us Rebecca Nurse, tomorrow in the afternoon, at Salem. . . . [signed] John Hathorne”

Rebecca Nurse was said to have “hurt, tortured, and afflicted” Ann Putnam Jr., Mary Walcott, Elizabeth Hubbard, and Abigail Williams.   All four of them testified against her, and they screamed and writhed whenever Goody Nurse moved her hands or shifted her body in the courtroom.   The transcript continues:

“Mr. Hathorn:  What do you say (speaking to one afflicted):  Have you seen this woman hurt you?

Abigail: Yes, she beat me this morning. 

Ann Putnam in a grievous fit cried out that she hurt her.

Hathorn: Goody Nurse, here are two – Ann Putnam, the child, and Abigail Williams, complains of your hurting them.  What do you say to it? 

Nurse.  I can say before my Eternal Father, I am innocent and God will clear my innocency.

Hathorn: Here is never a one in the Assembly but desires it.  But if you be guilty, pray God discover you. . . .  . . . Here are not only these but here is ye wife of Mr. Thomas Putnam who accuseth you by creditable information and that both of tempting her to iniquity and of greatly hurting her.

Nurse:  I am innocent and clear, and have not been able to get out of doors these 8 or 9 days.  I never afflicted no child, no never in my life. 

Hathorn:  You see these accuse you.  Is it true?

Nurse:  No.  Oh Lord, help me, and spread out her hands. (The afflicted were grievously vexed.)   The Lord knows, I have not hurt them.  I am an innocent person. . . .

Hathorn: It is strange to see you stand with dry eyes when there are so many wet.

Nurse:  You do not know my heart.

Hathorn:  You would do well if you are guilty to confess.  Give Glory to God.

Nurse:  I am as clear as the child unborn.

Hathorn:  They say now they see there familiar spirits come to your bodily person, now what do you say to that?

Nurse:  I have none, Sir.

Hathorn:  Have you any familiarity with these spirits?

Nurse:  No I have none but with God alone.  . . .

Hathorn:  Have you no wounds. 

Nurse:  I have not but old age. [An unusual “wound” was thought to be a mark made by the Devil.  She was examined by a midwife and found to have none, but to no avail.]

Harthorn:  You do know whether you are guilty and have familiarity with the devil.

Nurse:  It is all false.  I am clear.

Hathorn:  Possibly you may apprehend you are no witch, but have you not been led aside by temptations that way.

Nurse:  I have not.

Hathorn:  What a sad thing it is that a church member . . . of Salem, should be thus accused and charged.  Have not you had visible appearances more than what is common in nature?

Nurse:  I have none nor never had in my life.

Hathorn:  Do you think these suffer voluntary or involuntary?

Nurse:  I cannot tell.

Hathorn:  That is strange. Every one can judge.

Nurse:  I must be silent. . . .

Hathorn:  Why should not you also be guilty, for your apparition doth hurt also?

Nurse:  Would you have me belie myself?

[The record then says that] She held her neck on one side, and accordingly so were the afflicted taken.  Nurse held her neck on one side and Elizabeth Hubbard (one of the sufferers) had her neck set in that posture.  Whereupon another patient, Abigail Williams, cried out, and set up Goody Nurse’s head.  The maid’s neck will be broke, and when some set up Nurse’s head, Betty Hubbard’s was immediately righted.”

“We committed Rebecca Nurse ye wife of Francis Nurse of Salem village unto their Majesty’s Goale in Salem . . . JOHN HATHORNE”

Rebecca was examined by a midwife, who found no unusual marks, and she petitioned the court, “And being conscious of my own innocence, I humbly beg that I may have liberty to manifest itself to the world, . . . by the means above said.”

But it was to no avail:  The “Warrant for execution of Rebecca Nurse [and others], on Tuesday 19 July 1692. [They were] sent to Boston Goale, April 12^th, on account of witchcraft at Salem.”   

Nineteen years later, on October 17, 1711, the court issued An Act to reverse the attainders of John Proctor, Rebecca Nurse and others for Witchcraft, and declared them “to be null and void.”

Thirty-four years after that, on June 27, 1745, in Salem Village, Rebecca Nurse’s great-granddaughter Elizabeth Nurse married Caleb Putnam, grandson of John Putnam [III].  The grandfather was Constable of Salem during the witchcraft episode, and an accuser of Rebecca Nurse.  Elizabeth Nurse and Caleb Putnam were descended from bitter enemies.  Elizabeth and Caleb could have been considered “blood enemies” (as in Romeo and Juliet, or the Hatfields and McCoys), but they were, instead, my mother’s great (x4) grandparents.  The families were, with this marriage, reconciled.

Another story:  In my father’s family, there is also a story of blood that was shed between two families.  And of reconciliation which began in the next generation and was completed in the generation of the grandchildren.  It began at the beginning of the Revolutionary War, near Bennington, in the southwestern part of the New Hampshire Grants – which is now the state of Vermont.

On one side, there were families that favored independence from England.  They are now called Patriots in the United States, but they are still referred to in Canada as rebels.  They were opposed by the Loyalists, who were derisively called “Tories” by the Patriots.  Those who did not want to take part in this conflict, such as Quakers, were under pressure from both sides.  In one branch of my family which lived just north of Bennington, we had Patriots:  Allens (of whom Ethan was the most famous), Wards (General Artemas Ward, head of all New England forces), Hydes (of Cambridge, Massachusetts, and Hyde Park, Vt.), and Potters from Rhode Island.  Oliver Potter was a captain of the Green Mountain Boys under Ethan Allen.  He died on the failed expedition to Quebec in the fall of 1775.   

The other side was led by the Quaker Jesse Irish, also from Rhode Island, who had refused to bear arms in the French and Indian War.  His eight sons included two who were surely Loyalists, two who later became lukewarm Patriots, and four who managed to dodge the war.  When Burgoyne was at Ticonderoga in 1777, on his way to Bennington and Saratoga, Jesse Irish appealed to him for protection.  As a result, the Patriots considered that all of the Irishes were Tories, and they went after them with a vengeance.  On one afternoon in August 1777, a Patriot band killed John Irish at his farmhouse in Danby, Vermont, in front of his wife and three young children.  The first shot that hit Irish was fired by the leader, Ebenezer Allen.  The Patriots then departed to have dinner with the “widow Potter,” Mary Colvin Potter. 

As a result of the later marriage between Jesse’s granddaughter Dolly Irish and Oliver’s son Freeborn Potter (who were my great-great-great grandparents), Ebenezer Allen, who shot, and John Irish, who died, both became my great-x5 uncles.  John Irish’s widow was given three months to vacate her farm, and after she went into the wilderness, her youngest child died of exposure.  Before she left, the widow Irish was harassed by Noel Potter, a teen-aged son of the widow Potter, but she prevailed by brandishing a poker at him.

The widow Rebecca Doty Irish later testified about the afternoon of 27 July 1777, when she

begged [her husband] not to leave the house.  He advanced about three rods from the door, when [Ebenezer] Allen raised up from behind a maple log and shot Irish through the hand, severing his third and little finger from his hand, or nearly so.  [Isaac] Clark then in a rough manner asked him if he wanted to take more prisoners.  Irish answered that he should take or harm no man, and added, you have wounded me, upon which he held up his hand and Clark shot him through the heart.  He turned, walked about a rod and fell dead upon his face.  When Clark and Allen shot him he was not more than three or four feet from the muzzles of their guns – so near that the smoke rolled up on his breast as lie turned round.  

After this the men all disappeared in the woods.  Mrs. Irish went immediately to Mr. William Irish's, who was just putting on his clean clothes, being on Sunday.  He said 'Becca, you must take care of yourself, I cannot help you.’  He immediately started off and did not return until about six weeks afterwards.   

Ebenezer Allen later became a colonel.  One of the “Three Heroes” Islands in Lake Champlain is named for him.  Isaac Clark became a general.  And Ethan Allen’s brother, General Ira Allen, married the daughter of my third cousin, 5 removes, Colonel Roger Enos, who was later a general in the Vermont militia.   So much for the Patriots.

William Irish, the Tory, is my great-x3 grandfather.  He fled alone to Canada, but later returned to Danby, where he gathered up his family.  They spent the rest of the war in Kinderhook, N.Y., and then became original settlers of Milton, a small town in northern Vermont.  William Irish’s daughter Dolly was eight or nine years old, too young to help her brother and sister and her aunt Becca bring her uncle John’s body into his house.  But Dolly Irish must have remembered the events of that awful day, and she reconciled them in some way.  For in 1790, she married the widow Potter’s son, Freeborn.  He was ten years old and lived only a few miles from Dolly, when her uncle John was killed by the raiding party. 

Freeborn Potter and Dolly Irish had a child, Fidelia, who married Harvey Hyde. The Hydes were staunch Patriots, too.  Yet Emma Hyde, Fidelia and Harvey’s daughter, married Benajah Stockwell, who was a descendant of a well-known Tory leader – John Saxe, known as “Tory John.”  Saxe and his family were expelled to Canada after the Revolution.  Saxe led a large band of Tories from Dutchess County, N.Y., across frozen Lake Champlain, to the wilderness north of Vermont. 

So in addition to all of my Patriot ancestors and collateral relatives in Vermont, I am also a descendant of two Tories – John Saxe and William Irish – and of several other collaterals who were Loyalists.    

There are other stories of Reconciliation, sometimes unintended, in my own family, and I’ll bet you have similar ones, too:

In the War Between the States, also known as the Civil War: 

My grandmother’s great-grandfather, William Manly, was a wealthy slave owner, who became a quiet abolitionist.  After the War of 1812, probably inspired by his wife, he gave up his successful mill and his large farm and relocated from Cecil County, Md., to Pennsylvania.  His slaves were thus automatically freed when they entered Pennsylvania.  In my grandmother’s family tree there are perhaps two dozen Union soldiers, some of whom died in the war, and one – Aaron Tompkins – who won the Medal of Honor as a Yankee captain.  But also in my grandmother’s family tree, there was Varina Ann “Winnie” Davis, daughter of President Jefferson Davis, known as “The Daughter of the Confederacy.”  Winnie was my grandmother’s fifth cousin.  Her grandfather, my third cousin, 4 removes, was truly blue and gray; a Lieutenant at the Battle of Plattsburg in the War of 1812, and Collector of Customs in New Orleans for the Confederacy when he died in 1863.

My father-in-law was a Lieutenant in the U.S. Navy in World War II, and he had second cousins who were in the German army at that time.  After the war, my wife visited her German cousins, and they became friends.

My brother was a Lieutenant Colonel in the U.S. Air Force, while his brother-in-law was in the Japanese army in World War II.  We now have a very warm relationship with our Japanese in-laws.

Adam Makos recently asked, in his book A Higher Call, which is a story of chivalry in the skies of World War II, “Can good men be found on both sides of a bad war?”[2]

An answer to this question can be found in Paul’s letter to the Romans:  Abhor that which is evil … Be kindly affectioned one to another … Bless them which persecute you: bless, and curse not … Be of the same mind one toward another … Recompense to no man evil for evil . . . [and] If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men (Romans 12:10).

Thank you.

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4/25/13, e-mail from Jane Power:

I especially want to thank you for your program.  It was well thought out and remarkable that you have all the elements in your own family!

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THE HISTORY OF MEDICINE IN ESSEX COUNTY, NEW JERSEY, AND OF THE ESSEX COUNTY MEDICAL SOCIETY, FROM 1816 TO 2010

George J. Hill, M.D., D.Litt.

President, ECMS, 1995-1996

Notes for Presentation at Founders Day Dinner in Honor of Dr. Anita Falla

 November 17, 2010

On November 17, 2010, at the Second Annual Founders Day Dinner of the Essex County Medical Society, we celebrate the outstanding service to the medical profession and to the public at large of one of our great leaders, Dr. Anita Falla.

     I am pleased to be able summarize some of the highlights of the history of our Society.  In so doing, I will call attention to the contributions of some of the previous leaders of this organization whose names have been carefully preserved in the records of the Society.  I wish also to attest to the work of the hundreds of other physicians of Essex County who spent their lives in service to the public over the past three centuries, and whose names are known but to God.         

     This society was formed and had its first meeting in Newark at the house of Moses Roff, an Inn Keeper, on Tuesday, June 4, 1816.  The meeting was held in response to an act of the New Jersey State Legislature that was passed in 1816, re-incorporating the fifty-year old New Jersey Medical Society (later renamed as the Medical Society of New Jersey [MSNJ]).  This act authorized the formation of medical societies in five named counties – called “districts” – which would then compose the MSNJ.  At that time, Essex County included what is now Union County, and I believe it also may have included parts of what are now Passaic and Morris Counties.  Three men were named to form the society, and they, with eight others, were its organizers.  At the first meeting, Dr. John D. Williams was chosen President, Dr. Joseph Quimby was made Secretary, Dr. Uzal Johnson was elected Vice President, and Dr. Samuel Hayes became Treasurer.  Dr. Williams served for three years.  He was succeeded by Dr. Johnson, who served for six years.  Dr. Hayes was the sixth President, serving from 1831-1833. 

            The practice of medicine in Essex County actually began when European immigrants first came to what we now call New Jersey .  This area was then part of New Netherland, because the first to arrive here were Dutch.  They began to settle around the mouth of the North River – now the Hudson – in 1626.  Dutchmen and their families in the Reformed Church settled on Second River, a branch of the Passaic – and their village is now called Belleville.  Dutch physicians were the leaders of the medical profession in the seventeenth century.  The English Presbyterians who came in 1664 to the west bank of the Arthur Kill (now Elizabeth) and in 1666 to First River (now Newark) appreciated the clear writing of Dutch physicians such as Dr. Hermann Boerhaave.  His 19-volume medical textbook was a prized possession at that time.  The physical and spiritual health of the little English colony that became Newark was under the care of the Reverend Abraham Pierson, who later returned to Connecticut to become the first president of the college now known as Yale University.  The third president of the Essex County Medical Society, Dr. Isaac Pierson, is said to be a kinsman of the Reverend Abraham. 

            In 1766, one hundred years after Newark was founded by Robert Treat and his band of pilgrims from Connecticut, the Medical Society of New Jersey was established.  The small group of physicians who founded the MSNJ included several from Essex County.  Many Essex County physicians later served as presidents of the MSNJ – the most recent being Dr. Anthony P. Caggiano, Jr., and Dr. Mark Olesnicky.  The MSNJ is now the oldest medical society in the United States that has met at least once a year since it was established.  It claims, with some justification, to be the oldest professional society in the United States.  Be that as it may, it is surely true that its five original component county medical societies – including the Essex County Medical Society – are thus among the oldest county medical societies in America. 

            The Minutes, Ledgers, Bulletins, and other documents of the ECMS that are now in the Special Collections of the UMDNJ Library in Newark may represent the longest continuous, documented record of any county medical society in America.  Several histories of the MSNJ and ECMS have previously been published and are available for review at the UMDNJ Special Collections.  The most important of these histories are those of the ECMS in 1867 by J. Henry Clark, M.D. (29th president of ECMS), and of the MSNJ in 1875 by Stephen Wickes, M.D. (24th president of ECMS), and of the MSNJ in 1966 by Drs. Fred B. Rogers and A. Reasoner Sayre.  Another interesting document in the collection is an 1865 publication of the Law Incorporating Medical Societies which includes the “By-Laws” and “Table of Fees and Rates for Charging” of the MSNJ. 

            The contents of the ECMS archive can be seen on the internet by a simple search:  UMDNJ.edu/LIBRWEB/SPECOLL + ECMSPresidents&AnnualMeetings1816-2005.  I have added three of my own publications and two manuscripts about the ECMS to this archive.  The ECMS archive at the UMDNJ consists of many linear feet of documents, bound volumes (including the original hand-written Minute Books and Treasurer’s Ledger), and many boxes of files of papers.  The collation of ECMS records and their transfer to the UMDNJ Special Collections was greatly facilitated by Arthur Ellenberger during the time that he was Executive Director of the ECMS from 1952-December 31, 2008.

            Two other important archives are held in the UMDNJ Special Collections that relate to medicine in Essex County.  One of these is the archive of the history of the UMDNJ itself, which moved its principal offices to Newark in 1967 at the invitation of the Essex County Medical Society.  Founded as the Seton Hall College of Medicine and later known as the College of Medicine and Dentistry of New Jersey, the UMDNJ is now the largest health sciences university in the United States.  The first two presidents of the UMDNJ, Dr. Stanley S. Bergen, Jr., and Dr. Stuart Cook, were members of the ECMS and at least two Deans of the New Jersey Medical School have been members of the ECMS – Dr. Stuart Cook and Dr. Ruy Lourenco.  Other Deans of the New Jersey Medical School may also have been members of the ECMS, and I hope I will be corrected if anyone knows of names that I have omitted.  The other important archive related to medicine in Essex County is the Radiation File, which includes documents about the U.S. Radium Corporation of Orange, N.J.  This company employed the “radium girls” who painted watch dials in World War I and whose illnesses were discovered and characterized by Dr. Harrison Martland (82nd President of the ECMS).

            The principal purpose of the Essex County Medical Society in its original Rules and Regulations state that “the members consider themselves bound to act on the principles of honour, in all their proceedings to cultivate friendship with one another, and to promote the interest and improvement of the science of medicine.”  The records of the ECMS show that the members formed and operated the society for four reasons:  for the benefit, financially, socially, and politically, of themselves and their families; to enhance the profession of medicine and the field of science; for the good of their patients, and the sick, in general; and to promote the health and welfare of the public.  Particular care was taken to insure that consultations must be requested whenever needed, and would be given to the requesting physician with courtesy (either after a visit to the patient, or to the physician directly as a “case for advisement”), and that patients would be never be “stolen” by the consultant. 

            The society originally functioned somewhat like a typical gentlemen’s club, with strict rules of decorum and behavior.  Regulations included required attendance at meetings, unless excused for cause, and presentation of scholarly papers by members; violators could be expelled, and some were.  Applicants were vetted by a panel of Censors, later known as a Credentials Committee.  In contrast to many clubs, a two-thirds affirmative vote resulted in election, and a single “black ball” was not disqualifying.  However, on the few occasions in which the Censors recommended rejection of an applicant, it appears that the society’s members never disagreed with this recommendation. 

            The M.D. degree was initially not a requirement for membership in the ECMS, and indeed most of the physicians in the early 19th century received their training as apprentices and did not hold the M.D. degree.  Later, the ECMS and other medical societies were authorized to award the M.D. degree. The M.D. degree was first granted to a candidate by the ECMS in 1872, although (presumably with some embarrassment) this action was later declared to be moot when it was found that the candidate already was an M.D.  The first ECMS President who is recorded with an M.D. degree is Stephen Wickes, M.D. (#24, 1861-1863), but it was not until 1871 and thereafter that all Presidents and other officers were shown to have the M.D. degree.  It is not clear when the authority to grant the M.D. degree was taken away from the medical society.   County medical societies were also empowered to grant the license to practice medicine.  When Dr. Armin Fisher died in 1926, it was observed that he was the last person who had been examined by the ECMS for a license to practice medicine in New Jersey.  The license is now granted by the State Board of Medical Examiners and practitioners are required to register with the county government. 

            Most of the early leaders of the ECMS were from the English founding families of Newark and New Jersey.  The names are familiar.  There were several Wards -- Drs. John Ward (5th President), John F. Ward (18th), and Arthur Ward (30th).  Other bearers of old New Jersey English family names were Samuel H. Pennington (28th President, also an MSNJ President); William Pierson Jr. (7th President); and J. Smith Crane (21st President).  In the first century of the society there were only a few Dutch and German names (George A. Van Wagenen, 55th President; and Charles J. Kipp, 42nd President, and also MSNJ President and AMA vice president; and Henry J. F. Wallhauser, 73rd president); and an occasional Irishman (beginning with Alexander H. Dougherty Jr., 19th President), but apparently no Italians until William D. Crocca (107th President, 1945-46).  It is not clear when the first woman was accepted as a member of the ECMS, but it was probably not until late in the 19th century.  Dr. Cora Osborn (11th President, 1838-1840) was undoubtedly a man, in spite of the given name.  Only two women are known to have been president of the ECMS (Drs. Anita Falla, 156th President, 1994-95; and Satwant G. Keswani, 163rd president, 2001-2).

            The Society originally met once a year, and it functioned as what Robert’s Rules would now call a Committee of the Whole.  Elections were never contested in the early years.  However, after reorganization and a change in By-Laws to make the term two years (starting in 1838) and then one year (starting in 1865), many of the elections of officers in the nineteenth and early twentieth century were contested.  Nevertheless, I believe the only contested election for President occurred at the 107th annual meeting on 3 October 1922 when Dr. A. J. Mitchell defeated Dr. James S. Brown, 105-70.  By the early twentieth century, the Society was governed by a Council of six, with two elected each year, and officers that included the President, Vice President, Secretary, Treasurer, and a (presumably paid) Librarian.  The Secretary and Treasurer provided important continuity in their respective offices.  Between 1816 and 1939, only twenty members – all men – served as Secretary (average term, 6 years), seven of whom became President; and only thirteen served as Treasurer (average term 9 years), seven of whom became President.  After the Society was reorganized to be governed by a Council, with Committees doing much of the work of the society, impressive achievements were made in many fields – including professional and public education and public health.  The society was active in recruitment and training of physicians in the Civil War and in the two World Wars, and it was nationally recognized for the success achieved by its committees – for example the committees on Tuberculosis, and Milk, and Hygiene (a euphemism for sexually transmitted diseases). 

            Some of the best-remembered Presidents of the Society are Dr. Harrison Sanford Martland (whose given names are two of the founding families of Newark); Dr. Edward J. Ill (58th President, 1896-97, whose name lives on in the Edward J. Ill Award, originally given by the Academy of Medicine of New Jersey and now by a non-profit foundation that bears his name), and the distinguished and provocative medical examiner Dr. Edwin H. Albano (120th President, 1958-59).  Some notable physicians of Essex County were not Presidents of the ECMS, such as Dr. Leslie Dodd Ward – the founding Medical Director of the Prudential Insurance Company and a powerful Republican politician.  Indeed, Dr. Leslie Dodd Ward was apparently never a member of the ECMS, to the expressed exasperation of many local physicians.

            The Essex County Medical Society was at one time the largest county medical society in New Jersey, with a membership peaking at over 2,000 in the early 1960s.  It was hoped by many that the society would continue to grow with members of the medical faculty of the College of Medicine and Dentistry of New Jersey – now the faculty of the New Jersey Medical School – when the CMDNJ came to Newark.  This did not occur.  With but few exceptions, most of the New Jersey Medical School’s full-time faculty has not joined the MSNJ and the ECMS.  The absence from county and state medical society affairs by the members of the largest practice group in Essex County – which is perhaps the largest group practice in New Jersey – resulted in an early and steady decline in membership in the Essex County Medical Society.  It has also caused an unfortunate, persistent estrangement between the practitioners at the University Hospital and those in the other hospitals and offices in Essex County.  The alliance between organized medicine and the medical faculty that was hoped for in 1966-67 when the ECMS strongly supported the move of the CMDNJ to Newark never actually developed, and these two organizations still remain largely disconnected.

Bibliography

1. Clark, J. Henry, A.M., M.D. The Medical Men of New Jersey in Essex District, From 1666 to 1866. Newark, N.J.: Published for the Author, 1867.

2. Gordon, Maurice Bear, M.D. Aesculapius Comes to the Colonies: The Story of the Early Days of Medicine in the Thirteen Original Colonies. Ventnor, N.J.: Ventnor Publishers, Inc., 1949. Chapter 13, “New Jersey” (313-402).

3. [Medical Society of New Jersey] The Law Incorporating Medical Societies and the By-Laws, Rules and Regulations, with the Table of Fees and Rates for Charging of the Medical Society of New Jersey. Newark, N.J.: Printed at the Daily Advertiser Office, 1865.

4. [Wickes, Stephen, M.D.] The Rise, Minutes, and Proceedings, of the New Jersey Medical Society, Established July 23d, 1766. Newark, N.J.: Jennings & Hardham, 1875.

5. Hill, George J. “From the Quill Pen to the Computer: A Survey of the Archives of the Essex County Medical Society, 1816-1997.”  MS in Archives of ECMS at UMDNJ Special Collections, 24 pp., 2008.

6. Hill, George J.  “Presidents and Annual Meetings of the Essex County Medical Society.” MS printed from http://www.umdnj.edu/librweb/speccoll + ECMSPresidents&AnnualMeetings1816-2005. 28 pp., 2005.

                                        “John Paul Jones in Paris, 18 July 1792”

By George J. Hill

Posted June 5, 2010

The scene:  A small drawing room, with two doors – one of which is to the outside, and the other leads into a bedchamber – and a small table, on which is set a candle, a sword, a large gold medal, and a smaller medal on a drape ribbon.  There are papers on the table, and two chairs are near it.  All of the words are spoken by “John Paul Jones,” a man who is 45 years old but who looks much older, stooped, obviously in pain, using a walking stick for support.  He is dressed in deep blue breeches with white stockings, buckled shoes, wearing a white linen shirt with white stock, and a white weskit (vest) with gold buttons.  On one of the chairs is a deep blue full-length Navy uniform coat with gold buttons and red facings and cuffs, gold epaulettes on each shoulder; a scarlet vest trimmed in gold braid; a wine-red sash; and a black three-cornered hat.  There are two medals on the left lapel of the coat; one is the “Cincinnati Eagle” (suspended on a pale blue and white drape ribbon), and the other is a star or cross with a deep blue ribbon, representing the now extinct Order of Military Merit of the Kingdom of France. The year is 1792, three years after George Washington was installed as President of the United States, and the French Revolution began.  The French Royal Family will flee the palace of the Tuileries in less than a month; they will be executed in January 1793.   It is late on a hot summer’s day in Paris, and the windows to the apartment are wide open to permit whatever breeze may be present to cool the room. 

(John Paul Jones is at the door, saying good-bye to a man who cannot be seen).

Good day, sir.  Good day, Mr. Morris.  Do not tarry long, for my heart is weak this afternoon.  I shall await you in this drawing room, or in my bedchamber.  (Jones turns away from the door, and muses aloud …)

Gouverneur Morris, our Minister to France.  A great patriot in the War of Independence.  I am glad that he agreed to take down my will, for although my mind is clear, my body is very weak.  The ague that has troubled me for the past few weeks has not relented.  It has not responded to the fever bark or bleeding.  My kidneys ache and I pass foul-smelling water.  I believe that my time will soon be at hand.  Mr. Morris has an important dinner engagement, but he promised to return later this evening with the document for me to sign.  Well, I will be glad to do that, if he comes in time.  Otherwise, it will be up to him to explain my wishes to my warring sisters.  

            It is now Tuesday evening.  I had hoped to be better by next Lord’s Day, but that seems not to be the Lord’s intention.  It is said that when a man’s end is near, his life passes in review.  And so it does.  I well recall my birthplace, a cozy cottage on the Solway Firth, in the southwest of Scotland.  It was 45 years ago this month.  I have set down a few notes about my life, as many do as they age.  Perhaps I should look them over once more.  (He puts on glasses and picks up papers from the table, referring to them as he speaks.)

My name was just John Paul then, named I was for my father, gardener of the estate of Arbigland, near Whitehaven.  The Pauls came from the Isle of Fife.  I played with little boats as a boy at the edge of the Firth, and clambered over the ships in port, so naturally I was thrilled to become an apprentice seaman when I was 13.  We sailed to Barbados and then to Virginia, where my brother William was a tailor, and I spent seven months.  At 17, I was third mate on a slaver, but after two years of this awful work I quit slave ships forever, and sailed for home.  The captain and mate on that ship died on the passage, and I took command and was then qualified as a master.  As a master – or captain, whatever the rank – of a British ship of the line, or a British merchant ship, I wore the white weskit that I am wearing now.  It became a useful disguise when the Continental Navy was formed and its officers wore red vests. 

            I had a temper, and I was a bit of a dandy, too, so I suppose it is no surprise that I had some problems.  Accused I was of flogging a man and thus causing his death in ‘72.  Though I was found not guilty, it was remembered and held against me the next year when I was forced to kill the ringleader of a mutiny – he was three times my size, but I ran him through and through with my sword.  Discretion advised me to leave the Indies and settle in Virginia, and to add another surname that was Welsh, not Scottish.  I thus became John Paul Jones, although those who knew me called me Paul Jones.  I had been a Mason since ’70 in Scotland, and the Masonic Lodge of Virginia welcomed me into their fellowship.  In fact, as a member of Virginia society, I competed for the hand of one of Virginia’s leading ladies, and lost (narrowly, I think) to a noisy fellow named Patrick Henry, who later went on to be governor of that state.  

(Jones begins to take off his white vest, and puts on the red vest, the blue coat, and the red sash, as he speaks.)

Revolution was brewing in ’74 and ’75.  The Continental Navy was run by seven members of the Continental Congress who knew little about the sea.  But this “Maritime Committee” knew many members of their family and friends who wanted to be captains, and they filled all of these positions with fools and cowards.  With my experience and a bit of bravado, however, I obtained a commission as one of the first lieutenants in the Continental Navy.  That was in December ‘75.  I sailed on the Alfred and we did well, captured some small ships and supplies, and evaded capture ourselves.  I was then given command of Providence in May ‘76, and on 8 August I was commissioned Captain, the first such appointment since Independence was declared.  In sharp actions in September, I escaped from two British frigates and captured 16 vessels, 8 of which were sent in as prizes.  How did I in just a brig escape from two larger, stronger frigates?  Well, that’s a good story.  Perhaps I should add it to my notes.

(He muses for a moment, and then continues.) 

In October and November of ‘76, I captured two brigs and a transport, burned enemy buildings and captured 6 more vessels.  In February ’77, I commanded a fleet of six vessels that sailed to Pensacola, and in May I was ordered to take the Amphitrite from Boston to France.  But my orders were changed, and I was given a marvelous ship, Ranger, raised our new Stars and Stripes on her, and sailed from Portsmouth, New Hampshire, on 1 November.  I captured two brigs on the way and anchored off Nantes in France on 2 December.  We were saluted with 9 guns in Quiberon Bay on the 14th of February of ’78.  I think it was the first salute to the Stars and Stripes in any foreign port, though I know other Captains who have falsely claimed that honor.  I captured a brig, a ship, a boat, and sank two more ships in April of ‘78.  Came back to my home shore at Whitehaven, hard by Scotland, and tried to capture the Earl of Selkirk but he was away, so I got only his silver.  And that’s quite a story, too.  I wonder if it will be remembered after I am gone.  … I then captured His Majesty’s Britannic Ships Drake and Patience and terrified the British Isles – where some still say that I am a pirate.   

         I sent a pair of gold epaulettes to General Washington in August ’78.  Nicer than my own (He points to his own epaulettes.), with stars and thus fit for a general.  His Excellency was always my patron and mentor, and of course, he was a Mason, too – Grand Master of the Virginia Lodge, he was.  I stayed in France when Ranger was called back to New Hampshire, and in December, I was summoned to an audience with His Serene Highness, Louis XVI.  The king gave me a three-decked ship, rather a sloshy tub but one that I thought I could make into a warship – and I did.  It violated my rule, in which I wrote that, “I wish to have no connection with any ship that does not sail fast; for I intend to go in harm’s way,” but it was, after all, a gift from the king.  With His Highness’s permission, I renamed her Bonhomme Richard in honor of Mr. Franklin’s famous character, “Poor Richard.” 

         Eventually, I formed a fleet of seven warships and sailed out at its Commodore on 14 August, looking for British shipping.  Five weeks later, on 23 September ’79, we encountered His Majesty’s Britannic Ships Serapis and Countess of Scarborough off Flamborough Head.  My ships Alliance and Pallis took the Countess, and I took Serapis by grappling with her, clearing her decks from my tops, and then boarding for the capture.  The entire action lasted three and one-half hours, and more than half of the crews of the two ships were casualties.  My lieutenant and I were both wounded.  Bonhomme Richard was sinking, so I transferred my flag to Serapis.  Bonhomme Richard in fact did sink the next day, and I sailed into a Dutch port with Serapis and her captive crew.  A considerable diplomatic fuss resulted from the arrival of this British ship flying the Stars and Stripes in the neutral Netherlands.  Captain Pearson of Serapis had asked if I would strike – haul down my colors – because he could see that we were in trouble and an inferior ship at that, but I replied in words that are now well known:  “I have not yet begun to fight.”  Pearson was made a knight after he returned home – only the British can understand why they would do that – and I then said, “Send him back with another ship, and I will make him a Lord.”  By this time I was being called Admiral by many, and it now became my goal to really be an Admiral.  I was presented with a gold sword (He picks up the sword and then sets it down again) and the Order of Military Merit by the King of France on 21 July of ’79.  I saw more action in ’80, took several prizes and sent them back to America, and in December, I sailed home for Philadelphia in the Ariel. 

            In February ’81, I was ordered to attend Congress, and was commended and authorized to accept and wear the Order of Military Merit from Louis XVI.  (He points to his medal.)  His Excellency General Washington sent me a most gracious letter of Congratulations on 15 May.  In August I visited the General at White Plains to plead to participate in his forthcoming campaign with Rochambeau in the South.  Sad to say so, but the General said that he had no authority over the Navy; and I should proceed as ordered to Portsmouth,New Hampshire, where I was to fit out the new battleship America that was under construction.  DeGrasse and Washington bottled up Cornwallis at Yorktown in October, without my help, but it could have been a close thing, and if so, my experience would have been crucial. 

            Major engagements in the war ceased after our victory at Yorktown, so on 5 November ’82, when America was launched, it was handed over to France as partial repayment of our debt – much to my dismay.  I was back in Philadelphia in April ’83, lobbying – successfully – to be appointed U.S. prize agent in Paris.  I was once again with General Washington and the Continental Congress when they met in Princeton during the summer of ’83.  I sailed for Europe in November, shortly after we learned that the Treaty of Peace had been signed in Paris.  I arrived there in December.  I also became an original member of the Society of the Cincinnati when it was formed in ’83, as the army was being demobilized.  (He points to his medal of the Cincinnati.)  His Excellency General Washington served as the Society’s first President General.  I was presented to the king in December and I wrote a biography of him that was published in ’84.  I was back in Philadelphia that year with Lafayette.  And of course, I saw His Excellency General Washington once again in the fall of ’84, when we all came to Trenton, New Jersey, to escape the yellow fever in Philadelphia.  I soon went back to France to continue my work as U.S. prize agent.  I have never seen America or the New World again.

            In 1787 Congress ordered a Gold Medal for me, which was to be made in Paris under the supervision of that shifty fellow, Thomas Jefferson.  (He picks up the gold medal from the table, and then sets it down again.)  I had been unable to secure a promotion in the U.S. Navy, which in fact was being dismantled, so I applied for permission to accept an appointment in the Russian Navy.  Permission was granted by Jefferson.  (I think he was glad to be rid of me).  General Washington was informed, and in May ’88 I took command of a Russian fleet at the mouth of the Dnieper River with the rank of Rear Admiral.  We saw much action against the Turks, and it was a grim business.  I will say no more about that.  I met with the Empress Catherine II on 31 December – she addressed me as a Vice Admiral and presented me with the Russian Order of St. Anne.  (He picks up a medal and looks fondly at it.)  I continued to work for the Empress until July, when ill and wanting to return to America, I asked for a leave of absence, which she granted to me.  I never got to America, though, for I stopped in Paris to rest, and have not had the strength to proceed.  Jefferson, that devious man, refused to forward to Congress my request to wear the Order of St. Anne. 

            My bust by Jean Houdon was commissioned by the Masonic Lodge of Le Neuf Soeurs, Paris, in May 1780.  It is a rather good likeness, and I have sent copies to 20 of my friends.  I hope they will remember me.

            I weary now, and must lie down for a while.  It may be for a very long time.  (He turns slightly toward the door of the bedchamber and looks toward someone who is invisible to the audience.)

            Who is that man that I see in the shadows?  Ah, he is the boatman, waiting for me.  The small boat on the river:  Sir, is it the Admiral’s jolly boat?  And is that the river that one never crosses a second time?  You nod, Yes, that is correct.  Well, then, let us be off.  But first, May I ask if you could give me a glimpse of the future?  You say that my body will be placed in a lead coffin, to remain buried in Paris until it is returned to America?  And when will that be?  One hundred and thirteen years from now?  And where will I be entombed?  Oh, I see the vessel with the coffin approaching the mouth of a river that is familiar – it is the Severn – and it is the city named for her gracious majesty Queen Anne – Annapolis, in Maryland.  And now the casket is being lowered into a crypt under a magnificent chapel, with young officers – midshipmen I believe – lined up on either side.  And the mausoleum in which it rests is fit for an emperor.   … I do believe that I have not been forgotten. 

(He exits through the door to the bedchamber.  If there is no other door, he simply sits down in one of the chairs, slowly closes his eyes, and lets his head drop, motionless.)

© 2010, George J. Hill, 3 Silver Spring Road, West Orange, NJ  07052 captgjh@yahoo.com

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"'The Winthrop Woman': Winthrops, Feakes, and Jamestowne

George J. Hill, M.D., D.Litt.

The Winthrop Woman is the title of a book written by Anya Seton Chase of Greenwich, Connecticut.  It was first published in 1958 and it is still in print.  Anya Seton wrote a dozen novels, and this one, written near the end of her career, has been a “towering great seller.”  Publication facts are elusive, but it is likely that millions of copies have been sold.  It is a historical novel – that is, it is a novel that is based on actual history and real people, with solid documentary evidence.  It also qualifies as a “romance novel” – by which I mean a racy novel set in a historical context, in which hints of seduction, adultery, and illicit sex titillate the reader and make it a page-turner.  The enduring success of this book is a tribute to Seton’s mastery of the details of history and her ability to tell a story well, plus the incredible story that she has to tell – the story of the “Winthrop Woman” herself, the woman who was, to give her full name, Elizabeth Fones Winthrop Feake Hallett.

            Philippa Gregory wrote a Foreword to the 2006 edition published by the Chicago Review Press, which I will quote.  Gregory, born in 1954, is a prize-winning novelist and media expert on the Tudor period.  She is the author of The Virgin’s Lover, about Queen Elizabeth, and The Other Boleyn Girl, about the sister of Anne Boleyn, which appeared as a Miramax movie in 2008.  Philppa Gregory wrote, and I agree:  “Of all Anya Seton’s historical fiction, The Winthrop Woman is my personal favorite. [xiii – xvi]

            Seton wrote [xii] that she used “hundreds of source books,” and she names many of them.  I have a few of these books in my own library, such as George Francis Dow’s Every Day Life in the Massachusetts Bay Colony.  Furthermore, I am pretty well acquainted with the history of medicine, and I can say that I have never read a better description of medicine, surgery, and pharmacy (especially pharmacy) in the seventeenth century than is in Seton’s book.  I read parts of it to a medical society recently, where it was received very well.  For example, “It snowed softly on Christmas Eve in the year of our Lord 1628 . . . Achilles millefolium.” [pp. 47-49, 1965 paperback edition, printed in 1974]

            Here is the story of the real Winthrop Woman, excerpted from Wikipedia (4/19/10):  “Elizabeth Fones (21 January 1610 – 1 February 1673) was an early settler in the Massachusetts Bay Colony where her father-in-law (and uncle) John Winthrop served as Governor . . . Elizabeth has numerous descendants in the United States, including those from the marriage of her daughter, Martha Johanna Winthrop, to Thomas Lyon of Byram’s Neck, Greenwich, CT.”

            The Winthrop Woman is important to me, for I am the descendant of her father-in-law, James Feake Jr., and also, in another branch of my family tree, of her son-in-law, Thomas Lyon.  James Feake, Jr., was the father of both the ill-fated Robert Feake, who married Elizabeth as her second husband, and of my ancestor Judith Feake.  Judith married Lieutenant William Palmer and appears in this book as Judith Palmer, Elizabeth’s sister-in-law.  The Feakes were goldsmiths of London in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth century.  I became a member of the Jamestowne Society by right of descent from James Feake Sr., goldsmith of London during the qualifying period for the Jamestowne Society, because the goldsmiths’ guild – like the other principal guilds of London – invested in the Jamestowne Company.  Guild members such as James Feake Sr. (and probably also Jr.) were therefore individually and collectively “adventurers of purse” in the Company.  Robert Feake was also apprenticed as a goldsmith, but I have not tried to prove his membership in the guild, because he is not my ancestor.  James Feake Jr. was a member of the guild of goldsmiths, but his membership may have begun after the end of the qualifying period, so I did not list him as my ancestor of record.  James Feake Sr.’s father William was also probably a goldsmith – this was a lucrative family business in those days – but the guild was not investing in Jamestowne by the time he died.  After Robert Feake disappeared and his partner was killed, Elizabeth (the “Winthrop Woman”) became the patroon (or at least a patroon) of Greenwich during the period when New Netherland claimed (and actually ruled) the land north and east of New Amsterdam to the right bank of the Miamus River.  I am not a descendant of the Winthrop Woman, who was Thomas Lyon’s first wife, but rather I am a descendant of his second wife, Mary Hoyt, who was a daughter of Simon Hoyt.  

        I would like to close by placing Elizabeth Fones in the context of women of historical significance in the first century of English colonies in America, from 1607-1707.  In spite of their great contributions to the life of New England and Jamestowne, most of them were femmes covert, and we know little about them.  A few exceptions:  Anne (Dudley) Bradstreet, the poet; Anne Hutchinson, rebellious antinomian Puritan, for whom the Hutchinson River (and Parkway) are named; Priscilla (Mullins) Alden, who famously spurned Miles Standish; Eunice (Mather) Williams, killed near Deerfield in 1704, and mother of Eunice Jr., “the Unredeemed Captive” of John Demos’ book by the same name; Rebecca “Goody” (Towne) Nurse, hanged at Salem in 1692 and immortalized in The Crucible; Hannah Dustin and Mary Rowlandson, who were captured by Indians and lived to tell about it – Rowlandson’s narrative is still in print; and Elizabeth Fones, whose story is perhaps the most remarkable of all. 

     To paraphrase Garrison Keilor, these women were all strong, and I like to think they were all good looking; and their children were surely “above average.”  Some were probably tender-hearted, too.  Although none could probably express their feelings as well as Anne Bradstreet:  “To my Dear and Loving Husband – If ever two were one, then surely we . . .” [The Oxford Book of American Verse, p. 9].

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“‘The Winthrop Woman’: Winthrops, Feakes, and Jamestowne,” 22 May 2010 

©  2010 George J. Hill, 3 Silver Spring Road, West Orange, NJ  07052

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February 27, 2010 

           EDISON’S VISION: FROM ELECTRIC CARS TO ATOMIC POWER

George J. Hill, M.D., D.Litt.

         New Jersey can be proud that the famous inventor Thomas Alva Edison  – who Life magazine called the “Man of the Millennium – lived most of his life in New Jersey, and that it was in New Jersey where Edison created most of his inventions and products.  His lifetime list of 1093 patents still stands as a record of achievement, and yet it does not include many other inventions such as the fluoroscope that he never patented. 

        Edison’s credits include the invention of the phonograph and the long-burning incandescent lamp – now usually called the electric light – and major contributions to telegraphy, electric generators, motion pictures, and storage batteries.  He founded the company now known as General Electric, and he then formed Thomas A. Edison, Inc., which manufactured products ranging from organic chemicals and concentrated iron ore to cement and medical gases.  Some of his products were flops, such as the cement canoe, and he often bragged that he had invented something only to raise money to finish the job.  He was, in other words, both visionary and hyperbolic – but his contemporaries nevertheless enjoyed the folksy comments and predictions that issued from the man they called “The Wizard of Menlo Park.”

          For Edison, the storage battery was a constant preoccupation, from his days as a teen-aged telegrapher in Ohio to his final years as an industrialist in New Jersey.  He never ceased trying to find ways to improve the battery that was used in telegraphy – heavy with lead and dripping with sulfuric acid.  We can therefore thank Edison for the compact modern lead-acid battery that powers the starter in our automobiles.  Long after Edison’s death in 1931, his enormous battery factory in West Orange remains as a reminder of this achievement.  Edison’s battery factory is now being transformed into condominiums as part of a redevelopment along Main Street, just down the hill from his home, “Glenmont,” in Llewellyn Park. 

          But Edison knew that the heavy lead-acid battery could never be used to power what he dreamed would be the ideal horseless carriage.  Edison’s goal was to create the electric automobile – and to do this he would need a different type of battery.  Edison and others eventually developed the nickel-lithium-alkaline battery; and the lithium-alkaline battery, which we know and use in so many of our appliances, is the fruit of this labor.  And now, emission-free, battery-powered electric automobiles and gasoline-battery hybrids are no longer seen as curiosities; they appear to be the wave of the future.  In the late nineteenth century, ninety percent of the trucks in New York City were battery powered, lumbering along slowly, carrying their heavy batteries as they made their rounds.  In the early twentieth century, development of a small, efficient internal combustion engine, powered by gasoline, then made it possible for Henry Ford and others like him to put a car on the road that every man could afford, and enjoy tinkering with.  But by the end of the twentieth century, the search for ways to limit the environmental damage of carbon emissions and to decrease the use of fossil fuels brought renewed interest in Edison’s idea of an electric car, and it now appears to be here to stay.

            Edison’s vision for the use of electricity for transportation was first implemented when he built an electric engine, powered by an on-board dynamo, and used it to pull several train cars on tracks that he laid at Menlo Park in the late 1870s.  We can therefore thank Edison for the idea of the electric train, even though the modern electric train does not use an on-board generator; like an electric street car or subway, it draws power from a distant source.

            Edison also imagined the possibilities of what in 1922 he called “atomic energy,” which he believed “could be turned into electricity.”  Edison acknowledged that this source of energy could not yet be “harnessed and utilized,” although he claimed (probably falsely) to be experimenting with it in his laboratory.  He added that “The force residing in such a power is gigantic and illimitable.”  Edison also referred appreciatively to another source of power, “already harnessed” in Italy (and now in Iceland), from volcanoes.  Edison also believed that “the motion of the earth alone as it turns on its axis … would give us all the light, power, and heat that we want,” and that “one day we may harness the rise and fall of the tides and imprison the rays of the sun.”

            Although we now recognize that the Great Inventor, Thomas Edison, was not clairvoyant, and that he was a showman as well as a seer, his accomplishments and his predictions provide a useful lesson for us to study.  Edison has shown us in many ways that to accomplish something that is really important, you must first imagine it, and then work, work, and continue working until the job is done.

Sources: George J. Hill, Edison’s Environment: Invention and Pollution in the Career of Thomas Edison (Morristown, N.J.: New Jersey Heritage Press, 2007), 91 (electric railroad), 99 (trucks for electric locomotive, photo), 326 (atomic energy), 330 (electric automobile) 414 (“Man of the Millennium,” 1997); Matthew Josephson, Edison: A Biography (New York: John Wiley & Sons, Inc., [1959] 1992), plates 8-9 (electric railway at Menlo Park, photos 1880, 1882), 404-10 (electric cars, storage batteries, Ford); Neil Baldwin, Edison: Inventing the Century (New York: Hyperion, 1995), 283 (batteries), 292 (electric cars), 304 (Edison and Ford); Dagobert D. Runes, The Diary and Sundry Observations of Thomas Alva Edison (New York: Philosophical Library, 1948), 89-94 (quotations from 1922 on atomic power, other “new powers”); Francis Jehl, Menlo Park Reminiscences Vol. 1 (New York: Dover Publications, [1937] 1990), 316 (electric motor for sewing machines, small elevators, water pumps; Jehl apparently does not mention the electric train at Menlo Park); Robert Conot, Thomas A. Edison: A Streak of Luck (New York: Da Capo Press, 1979), 377 (“ ‘I have solved the automobile problem,’ he announced in 1902 ... ‘The speed of storage battery machines is unlimited.’ ”), 382-3 (Edison and Ford); Paul Israel, Edison: A Life of Invention (New York: John Wiley & Sons, 1998), 410-12 (Edison’s work on electric car and electric tricycle, 1899); Randall Stross, The Wizard of Menlo Park: How Thomas Alva Edison Invented the Modern World (New York: Crown Publishers, 2007), 216-7 (prototype of electric car, 1901-2), 250 (failure of electric engine in Ford chassis, 1913); and Wyn Wachhorst, Thomas Alva Edison: An American Myth (Cambridge, Mass.: The MIT Press, 1981), 99-100 (electric auto, 1901: “began a publicity campaign way ahead of the fact”), 187 (“Edison’s total ignorance of atomic theory”).

 March 12, 2008                                   PETS

 Eddie:  A Story of Courage and Love

George J. Hill, M.D.

There was nothing unusual about your last morning.  As usual, you woke me once during the night to take you out for a short walk in the back yard, and we enjoyed the cool darkness together for a few minutes.  And as usual, you slept through our wake-up alarm when it went off at 6 o’clock.

          But when I sat in my chair to say “Good morning,” you got up, stretched, and put your nose under my arm to snuggle, until I patted you on the head and stood up to go to the bathroom.  You bounded down the stairs and set off the alarm when the motion detector spotted you – and then you then scampered back up the stairs, howling for Mom to shut it off.  You put your paws on Mom’s lap at breakfast, and she gently put them down so she could finish her toast.  You ate most of your breakfast, swallowed your pills, and drank a big bowl of water.  We went out to get the newspapers together, and you used the back yard again – racing back to tell me that you got all of your jobs done.  And you then lay down and waited until it was time to go for our walk.

         We were relieved that you were feeling well again, because the last two days had been tough for all of us.  Your cluster seizures had been worse than usual – the worst you had for several months – and you had staggered and stumbled about, hardly able to stand to eat and drink.  We knew that you had to keep drinking water regularly, because your kidney function was bad after your nearly-fatal infection with leptospirosis four years ago.   What a medicine man you were!  A special diet to control your potassium and creatinine levels; antacid tablets to keep your phosphorus level down; erythropoietin  injections for your anemia; phenobarbital, diazepam, potassium bromide, and clorazepate for your seizures, and water, water, water – because you couldn’t concentrate your urine at all.  Yet you were still the best looking dog in the neighborhood.  Springer spaniels are born to be handsome, and you were a champion.  Your registration papers say that you were “Rangale and Maggie’s Edison,” and you were officially “liver and white.”  But your silky coat was mostly a beautiful chocolate color, with a streak of white down your nose, a band of white across your shoulders, a white chest, and four white paws.  You had four lovely gaits – walk, trot, canter, and gallop.  People would stop their cars to say to us, “What a happy dog he is!”  You knew Sit, Come, Wait, Settle, Off, and Fetch (though you thought it just meant Find), and you loved to go into your own place when I said, “Crate!”  You never left my side when I was in the house, and we walked three or four miles together every day.  You loved to sniff and lick, and you slipped away for a swim whenever you could get away with it.  But as your seizures and your renal function got worse, we worried that you would begin to suffer, and perhaps we would have to make an awful decision . . . 

     However, all was well when we started out on our last morning walk.  You pulled hard at the end of your leash, sniffing at all of your favorite spots – until you suddenly stopped and looked up at me.  You seemed puzzled, and I said to Mom, “We’ve got to take Eddie home.”  You walked back for a few yards, and then you stopped and looked up again.  So I carried you for a little while, something that I never had to do before.  When I put you on the ground, you took a few more steps, and then you began to lie down.  I then carried you like a baby for about a hundred yards before I realized that you weren’t moving at all.  Suddenly, you were gone.  An arrhythmia, I guess.  We were still looking at each other, but there was no life in your eyes and you were completely limp in my arms.  Mom said, “Is he dead?” and I said, “Yes.”  She wept, and so did I.  Our days will never be the same without you.  If there is a Heaven for dogs, you must be there. 

“Maggie and Rangale’s Edison,” known to his family as "Edison" or just "Eddie"

Address for Correspondence:  George J. Hill, M.D., 3 Silver Spring Road, West Orange, NJ  07052   

EARLY HIGHGATE, VERMONT:

THE STOCKWELL CONNECTIONS

ANCESTORS, RELATIVES, and IN-LAWS OF JESSIE FIDELIA STOCKWELL (1863-1940) IN THE HISTORY OF HIGHGATE, ABBREVIATED AND ANNOTATED

INCLUDING NOTES ON THE FAMILIES OF ALBEE, ALLEN, BARR, DRURY, FREEBORN, HERRICK, HYDE, KEITH, POTTER, SAXE, STOCKWELL, WEAVER, and WINTERS

Prepared by

George J. Hill, M.D., D.Litt.

April 6, 2009

Based upon

History of Highgate, Vermont

Edited and published by Miss Abby, Marian Hemenway, 1871
HISTORY OF HIGHGATE, VERMONT[1]

The original text was downloaded on April 5, 2009, from http://www.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~vermont/FranklinHighgate.html

The website appears to have been developed from a publication of 1871 entitled: 

"The Vermont Historical Gazetteer:  A Magazine Embracing A History of Each Town, 
Civil, Ecclesiastical, Biographical and Military." Volume II, Franklin, Grand Isle, Lamoille & Orange Counties. Including Also The Natural History of Chittenden County.

Edited and Published by Miss Abby, Maria Hemenway. Burlington, VT. 1871.

Page 254-275.

Transcribed by Karima Allison 2004

The text (below) refers to notes made by Amos Skeels, but never published, and by additions made by others, including the anonymous “writer” who edited Amos Skeels’ work and added to it.  At the end of Part II is a poem by a Mrs. M. R. W. Skeels, presumably a relative or in-law of Amos Skeels, followed by poems by John Godfrey Saxe that were apparently selected by Mrs. Skeels.  Clues left by the anonymous “writer” suggest that Amos Skeels died in the 1860s.  The “writer” may be “Miss Abby, Maria Hemenway” who is named at the end of the web page.  The citation to “Miss Abby, Maria Hemenway” on the web page has been brought forward and appears above.  

ABBREVIATED AND ANNOTATED TO SHOW RELATIONSHIPS TO THE ANCESTORS, RELATIVES and IN-LAWS OF JESSIE FIDELIA STOCKWELL, WIFE OF GEORGE J. HILL, OF WRIGHT COUNTY, IOWA

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HIGHGATE

Township Information

"The Missico River enters this township from Sheldon, and after running some distance in the south part of it, passes in Swanton . . . About six miles above Swanton Falls is a fall in the river of about forty feet, affording some excellent mill privileges . . . The first settlers in this town were Germans, mostly soldiers who had served in the British army during the revolution, but the time of their settlement is not known.  The town was chartered in 1763." 

Gazetteer of Vermont, Hayward, 1849.

HISTORY OF THE TOWN OFHIGHGATE
 

PART ONE

INTRODUCTION TO THE HISTORY OF HIGHGATE.
FROM THE PAPERS OF AMOS SKEELS

      Highgate, in the north-west part of Franklin County, bounded N. by Canada, E. by Franklin, S. by Swanton and Sheldon, W. by Lake Champlain and Swanton; was chartered Aug. 17, 1763, by Gov. Wentworth to Samuel HUNT and 63 others, 6 miles square. Later surveys extended its boundaries in the form of a diamond on the S. E. nearly half through and between Sheldon and Franklin. None of the original grantees ever settled in town.

FIRST SETTLERS

      In 1785-6, Joseph REYCARD, on the Canada line, on the farm now owned by C. and L. DRURY[i]; John HILLIKER on Missisquoi River below Swanton; Jeremiah BREWSTER and Thomas BUTTERFIELD on the west side of Rock River, near the lake shore; in 1787, Conrad BARR,[ii] John SAXE,[iii] John STINEHOUSE, John SHELTEE, George WILSON, John Hogle, _____ LAMPMAN and Peter WAGGONNER.

     1787, Henry STINEHOUSE, Abram REYCARD and Catherine SHELTEE were born -- the first children supposed to have been born in town, and the same year, John SAXE built the first grist-mill on a small stream in the N. W. part of the town, where a mill has ever since been running, still called "SAXE's Mill." Before this there were no mills short of Burlington, 35 miles distant, a part of the way through pathless woods, or Plattsburgh, where the lake must be crossed by the settler with his grist in a canoe in addition to carrying it a great distance oh his back; hence the little log-mill, with its one run of stone, was a great blessing, and brought many settlers into town soon after it was built …

     1791, Catherine, wife of John SAXE, died; supposed to be the first death in town.

     1791, the first school was taught by Simeon FOSTER, in a house on Conrad BARR's farm, near SAXE's mill ….

     1797, Andrew POTTER[iv] built the first saw-mill at Highgate Falls, and a grist-mill, soon after.

     1799, Conrad BARR, and W. MOULTE built the first framed barns in town.

     1801, Matthew GODFREY and Peter SAXE[v] kept the first store and tavern.

     1802, the first framed houses were built by Elijah ROOD, on Missisquoi river; ____ NEWCOMB, at Highgate Springs and Conrad BARR, near SAXE's Mills.

     1804, the first proprietors' meeting held in town, was at the house of John SAXE, the second Monday of January.

     1805, the town was organized; Mathew SAXE[vi] being the first town clerk. …

     1807, Abel DRURY[vii] built the first furnace. …

      The first settlers were principally Dutch [sic] refugees who supposed they had settled in Canada till after the establishment of the line between Canada and the States, and at the time there were no settlers found between Highgate and Burlington.  John SAXE visited Burlington in 1786 with no guide but his pocket compass, and, when there was no house between SAXE's Mills and Burlington.

      At Highgate Falls is one of the most powerful waterfalls in the State.  Heman ALLEN,[viii] brother of Ethan, purchased the mills of Andrew POTTER, and the title to numerous lots of land in town which were held subject to annual rent, to which the right of title has been purchased in many instances.

      Indians frequented the settlement and sometimes pitched their wigwams near the settlers' cabins, and the children of the Indian and the white man have often played and frolicked together during the Indians' short sojourn.  Encounters with wild animals were too numerous to be of much interest, and our early settlers pretty generally believed in spooks (as they called the apparitions of the departed) and would much rather have faced any wild animal of this region than to have seen a Jack O'Lantern in the night-time; they had also great confidence in the influence of the moon upon almost everything they undertook to do, and so far as the putting in of some kinds of crops is concerned, the moon is a ill consulted.

This township is, geographically, very pleasantly situated, and, in picturesque scenery and sporting grounds, cannot be surpassed in the State.  Champlain bounds it principally on the west with its silvery waters, its bold or level, gravelly shores, its charming islands, with now and then a white sail glimmering as it passes between or beyond them, -- on the seat, wooded hills, for many miles, dotted here and there with the dwellings and clearings; these hills are some 20 miles from the nearest range of the Green Mountains, and are the last range of hills between the Green Mountains and Lake Champlain. They continue southerly as far as Chittenden, about 6 miles, on an average, from the lake, giving, in many places, a beautiful descending grade from their bass to the lake. A large marsh near the lake, too wet for the farmer, grows a quantity of blueberries that the people from the neighboring towns, from miles around, come to gather, every season.

      The nearest depot, on the Vermont and Canada railroad, is at Swanton Falls, 4 miles from Highgate Falls, near the lake shore. Some 3 miles from Swanton depot is located Highgate Springs.

HIGHGATE
BY HON. WARREN ROBINSON.

PREFATORY.

      The writer regrets exceedingly the decease of our friend and townsman who had commenced the history of Highgate, and justice to whose memory requires the publication of his papers, so far as he had progressed at the time of his demise, although he had made only a beginning before the rapid decline which terminated in death, so sadly, in the 45th year of his age; so well known was his character for energy, we have reason to believe that, had he lived in the enjoyment of health to have completed the account, he would have made a far more acceptable history than the writer may be able to do.  But as the history is thus left for some one to finish, and no other man has been found willing to undertake, -- and Highgate is my adopted, if not my native town, -- at the solicitations of the projector of this work, I have put my hand to the task so difficult even for one born and reared in the locality; feeling my disadvantages, yet preferring to do what I can for the town rather than see it go undone.  [The writer evidently refers to his “friend and townsman” Amos Skeels, referred to on page 1 and on the next page]

      I find, first, on examination of the early records, many imperfections and a want of system which makes it extremely arduous and difficult to glean the desired facts from them, and if some important facts are found wanting it may be charged to the fact that I have not been able to find them, and the memory of our venerable ancestors could not supply them.

ORIGINAL GRANTEES

      Samuel HUNT, Jonah ELMER, Eleazer POMROY, Elisha HUNT, Nehamiah HUGHTON, Samuel MARBLE, Hilkiah GROT, John BEAMAN, Josiah WILLARD, Samuel BENNET, Philip ALEXANDER, Elisha HARDING, Henry BOND. Nathaniel DART, Hophni BING, Joseph Loro, Benjamin DIKE, Joseph ASHLEY, Jeremiah HALL, Peter BELLOWS, Josiah POMROY, Jonathan HUNT, Arad HUNT, Elijah WELLS, Samuel HUNT, jr., Ebenezer POMROY, Samson WILLARD, Ebenezer MATTOON, Joseph SPENCER, William SHATON, John HUNT, Josiah STEBBINS, Josiah STEBBINS, jr., Elisha STEBBINS, Josiah HIDE, Samuel WILLIAMS, Thomas TAYLOR, William SYMS, Hezekiah ELMER, Elisha SMITH, John FARRAR, Savage TRESCOTT.

Israel KNOWLS, John FISH, Benoni SMITH, Isaac ROBINSON, Caleb NOBLE, James MATTHEWS, John WILLIAMS, Nathan WILLIAMS, Joseph PROSE. Leonard WILLIAMS, Nathan WILLIAMS, Samuel HENSDALE, Thomas WILLIAMS, Barnabas HENSDALE, Capt. Thomas BELL, Hon. Theodore ATKINSON, Mark H. G. WENTWORTH, James NEVEN, Theodore ATKINSON, John FISHER, Esq., Daniel BING, Moses EVENS, William WHITE.

      The 1st condition of the grant was that every grantee, his heirs, or assigns, shall plant and cultivate 5 acres of land within 5 years, for every 50 acres of land contained in his or their share, or forfeit his right, which condition evidently was not complied with in a single case. The second condition was,

      That all white and other pine fit for roasting the royal navy be carefully preserved for that use.

     3d, before any division of the land be made, as near the center of the town as convenient, shall be reserved and marked out for town lots, one acre to each grantee.

     4th, Yielding and paying to us (Gov. WENTWORTH), for the space of ten years the rent of one ear of Indian corn on the 25th day of December, annually, and after the ten years to pay as above one shilling proclamation money for every hundred acres."

      From the conditions of the grant it is evident the original proprietors forfeited all right held under the grant, as not one of the above conditions was ever complied with, and it does not from the records appear that any one of these proprietors ever received any consideration for his interest therein. But in all the proceedings of the proprietors' meeting they seemed to respect the original grant as though it had been fulfilled to the letter on the part of the settlers. The first settlement, however, it appears was 23 years from the date of the grant, and without permission of Governor WENTWORTH or King George; and it is a question if King George III, or King George IV., his successor, had not been disturbed in his American possessions, whether Gov. WENTWORTH or his heirs might not disturb the peaceable possession of the present proprietors. However I am of the opinion that our land titles in Highgate are good and valid.

      Mr. SKEELS makes the statement that Highgate was not organized until 1805.  I have not as yet seen any proof of the same, but find in the early records that Highgate held regular meetings in March of each year, and a freeman's meeting to September also. They regularly elected their town clerks, selectmen, grand jurors, treasurer, fence viewers, constables, and all other town officers as early as 1791, when they made choice of John WAGONER, moderator; Jonathan BUTTERFIELD, town clerk; Isaac ASSELTINE and Minard TEACHOUT, constables; John WAGONER, Mikel LAMPMAN and John HILLIKER, selectmen; Jacob HILLIKER, Peter LAMPMAN, fence viewers, and agreed that hogs might run at liberty. A meeting was legally warned and held Sept. 4, 1792, the record of which reads:

"In obedience to a warning dated 24th August, 1792, signed by the first constable of Highgate, met and the meeting was opened, and the freemen made choice of John KNICHABOKER to represent them in the General Assembly for the year ensuing. Then brought in their votes for governor, lieutenant governor, 12 counsellors. Then brought in their votes for treasurer. Then nominated Jonathan BUTTERFIELD and George WILLISON, justices of the peace."

At this meeting there were 15 votes cast. 

      In 1793-4 Jonathan BUTTERFIELD was chosen representative. In 1794 there were 45 names entered upon the grand list. In 1795 there were but 13 votes cast for any officer, and the same year 55 names entered upon the grand list. On

the 23d of March, 1795, a tax was raised of 3d. on the pound of all ratable estate in town.

[to be continued]

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