Historic Pelham

Presenting the rich history of Pelham, NY in Westchester County: current historical research, descriptions of how to research Pelham history online and genealogy discussions of Pelham families.

Friday, October 25, 2019

The Ghost of the Haunted Hardenbrook House on Shore Road


Halloween is nearly upon us.  As has been the tradition for years, on each of the five business days until Halloween beginning today, Historic Pelham will present another new Pelham ghost story based upon years of research.  Next year, this author will publish a third book on Pelham history centered on the many, many ghost stories centered in Pelham.  It tentatively is entitled "A Haunted History of Pelham, New York" and combines ghost stories and lore passed down in Pelham for generations with the historical context and backdrop from which many such stories originate.  Today's story begins the week before Halloween with "The Ghost of the Haunted Hardenbrook House on Shore Road" and includes what may be the only known image, or one of the only known images, of a Pelham ghoul.

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Marvin R. Clark of New York City was a dyed-in-the-wool skeptic.  He did not believe in superstitions.  He did not believe in ghosts, goblins, ghouls, or spirits.  Indeed, he devoted his life to proving that such things are poppycock.

Clark was the thirteenth member of the original thirteen members of the famous "Thirteen Club" of New York City.  The Club existed to flout such things, nay, to disprove them.  Its members met in room 13 of the Knickerbocker Cottage on Sixth Avenue and 28th Street in Manhattan at 8:13 p.m. each Friday the 13th.  Club members broke mirrors, opened umbrellas inside, passed beneath ladders, kept black cats, and forbade the tossing of salt over the shoulder.  The Club even placed advertisements in The New York Herald offering a reward to anyone who could identify a truly haunted house in New York City in which members of the club might dine.  They never found one.  

Yet, there Clark stood in the garden of a Pelham home at midnight on a cool September evening in 1886 staring into the derisive countenance of a Pelham ghost that seemed to beckon him forward.  Frozen in place in abject terror, Clark could only listen as a housekeeper standing behind him let loose a blood-curdling scream.  

The story of Clark's amazing ghostly encounter that night later warranted nearly half a page of coverage in The World of New York City.  Indeed, the article included two images reflecting events of that night, one of which may be the only known image of a Pelham ghost based on an eyewitness account (see below).

The tale of that night of terror is one of the most fascinating Pelham ghost stories ever told.  Here is the saga of the ghost of the haunted Hardenbrook house on Shore Road.

On a moonless, breeze-less, and cool night in September, 1886, Marvin Clark visited his friend, John A. Hardenbrook, at the Hardenbrook home on Shore Road in the Town of Pelham.  Hardenbrook's beautiful cottage was on the Long Island Sound side of Shore Road.  The cottage sat on a slope that led to the water.  The entry and parlor of the home was at road level in the front of the home.  The rear of the cottage was a story lower than the parlor level.  

The lower level of the home included a cozy dining room that also served as a comfortable sitting room for after-dinner drinks, chats, and smoking.  Adjacent to that cozy room was a kitchen.  Both the dining room and the kitchen looked out over Long Island Sound.  Between the cottage and the Sound was a small garden planted with all the vegetables a housekeeper and cook might need including corn, cabbage, carrots, radishes, lettuce, pumpkins, and much more. 

Hardenbrook lived in the cottage with his housekeeper named "Mrs. Gordon."  Mrs. Gordon was a little gray-haired lady with a boundless sense of humor.  She was surprisingly active and kindhearted.  She adored John Hardenbrook and worked hard at her job to keep the cottage immaculate and to cook, and clean for him.

Like Marvin Clark, John Hardenbrook was a journalist.  He was a bright and intellectual journalist who had been nicknamed "Doctor" by his journalist peers.  That September he invited Marvin Clark to stay with him at his cottage for several days to get away from the hustle and bustle of New York City.

Every evening during Clark's visit, Mrs. Gordon prepared a sumptuous meal for Hardenbrook and his guest.  At the conclusion of every meal, after Mrs. Gordon had cleared the table, cleaned, and put away the dishes, the three would sit in the cozy dining room to sip beer while the men smoked their pipes and swapped stories.

Doc Hardenbrook knew his friend was a member of the Thirteen Club.  Hardenbrook, like his friend, was a jaded journalist and a skeptic who harbored no superstitions and did not believe in ghosts, ghouls, goblins, or spirits.

On a particularly black night, the threesome enjoyed after-dinner aperitifs and swapped stories in the brightly-lit cottage.  The kerosene lanterns were un-shaded.  Their tall wicks burned intensely, casting brilliant light throughout the room and out of the windows of the cottage into the inky night.  

As the clock crawled to midnight, Doc Hardenbrook and Mrs. Gordon prepared to retire for the evening.  As they busied themselves, Marvin Clark leaned back in his chair to read a little of the "Book of Martyrs" by John Foxe.  

Clark became thoroughly engrossed in his book.  A death-like stillness pervaded the cottage broken only by the sound of Doc Hardenbrook and Mrs. Gordon opening the door from the kitchen to the garden to step outside to count chickens and check on the old sow in a nearby pen.  Not a breeze stirred.  

Remaining absorbed in his book, Clark soon heard a gasp and glanced toward the door.  He saw Hardenbrook holding the door slightly ajar as Mrs. Gordon stretched to watch over his shoulder through the crack of the open door.  Both had ghastly, horrific looks on their ashen faces with wild-eyed stares directed at something immediately outside.  

Paralyzed with fear, Mrs. Gordon whispered hoarsely "It's a real, live ghost"  She urged Doc Hardenbrook to "lock the doors!"  

"Nonsense!" replied Hardenbrook.  Yet, Hardenbrook never averted his gaze.  He remained wild-eyed, with his stare transfixed on something just beyond the door.  

Marvin Clark could see that Mrs. Gordon was shaking with fright.  She said with alarm "See, Doctor, it is moving this way!  Oh, what will become of us all!  I say, Doctor, don't stay there!  I cannot bear to look at it!  Come in and shut the door!"

Ever the skeptic, Clark smiled.  He assumed the pair was playing a prank precisely because he was ever the skeptic and a member of the Thirteen Club.  He remained seated until. . . .

Mrs. Gordon gave a horrified shriek and turned toward Marvin Clark with a "ghastly white face."  Clark later wrote that the scream "almost curdled the blood in my veins."  He realized at that moment that whatever the pair saw outside the door had truly terrified them.  He stood and "crept cautiously" toward the door.  Doctor Hardenbrook was holding tightly to the edge of the slightly ajar door.  His knuckles were white and bloodless from gripping the door so fearfully.  The housekeeper continued to peek over his shoulder timidly through the crack of the door at something in the garden.

As Clark approached the door, he realized that the pair were shivering with terror.  He then understood that it was no prank.  The pair could see something, as he later wrote, "a long way out of the ordinary, nay, beyond the extraordinary."  

When Clark reached the door, Doc Hardenbrook whispered "Look there!" and made barely enough room for Clark to step around him onto the doorstep to look.  What Clark saw sent shivers down his spine.  He later described his feelings at that moment:

"I gasped when my eyes fell upon the object which had riveted their attention for so long a time while I had sat in the dining-room, under the impression that they were trying to play a joke upon me and frighten a Thirteener.  The smile that was upon my face faded away instantly, and was superseded by a look of real alarm. . . . I was suffused with an indescribable fear which was the very extreme of terror. . . . It is the feeling of despair, which surrounds one like a cloud, with the knowledge of a quickly impending and unavoidable doom, and yet more than this.  It is the knowledge that this is something supernatural not of the earth, but intangible, and therefore irresistible.  It is the overpowering sensation that the bravest of the brave must go down before it as helplessly as the most cowardly of all cowards.  It is the realization that strong and weak alike must succumb to its ghostly influence, as to the avalanche, . . . the hurricane, the mountain torrent and the tidal wave, against which human power of resistance is as a straw."

Outside in the garden Clark saw a luminous, shimmering shape floating above the ground.  He later described it as an "awful shape, as plainly defined as ever was mortal man, all gleaming with white, its form perfect and outlined in silvery waves of light, standing out clear and distinct against the ebony darkness of the night for a background."  According to Clark, the luminous shape plainly was that of a man from head to foot.  Though there was no breeze and not a leaf stirred, Clark later maintained that from neck to floating feet, a shimmery robe-like light seemed to undulate as if it were blowing in a soft breeze that could not be felt in the black night.  As Clark described it, it seemed to undulate with "graceful oscillations."  In addition, the creature's arms rose and fell with a peculiar motion as if to beckon Clark to approach if he dared.  Clark shivered involuntarily as he looked at the face of the creature.  As he later wrote, its face was "smiling upon me derisively, as if to say, tauntingly, that I dared not" approach.  Even Clark realized that to doubt what he saw before him was to doubt not only the evidence of his own senses, but also that of his two friends who likewise stood mute and paralyzed beside him.  

Clark later wrote:  "I am not exaggerating -- not one hair's breadth.  There was the image, just as I have described it, and its long, white robe, almost reaching the ground where it stood, softly moving to and fro, while the arms waved and the ghastly head nodded and bowed at me solemnly."  Yet, with "more than human effort," Clark took a step forward and stopped.  

The terrible spirit neither advanced, nor retreated.  Clark advanced another step.  The shimmering ghost stood its ground, shimmering and undulating in the still night.  Clark could stand it no longer.  He rushed forward to touch and grab the awful creature.

Mrs. Gordon uttered a soul-piercing scream that rang out shrill and clear in the still darkness.  Doc Hardenbrook sprang forward and attempted to grab Marvin Clark by the arm to stop him.  Clark grasped at the creature's outstretched arms.  He felt utterly nothing.  It was as if the apparition was made of light -- no substance; no mass; no heft; only shimmering, dancing light.

Marvin Clark was a dedicated skeptic and a loyal Thirteener.  He simply never could accept what he saw that night in the Hardenbrook House on Shore Road in Bartow-on-the-Sound.  Indeed, for years he maintained that all that he and the others had seen was dancing light from an un-shaded kerosene lantern shining through a cottage window and playing through waving stalks of corn in the garden.  He claimed that when he later examined the rows of corn outside the cottage window there were two odd stalks that "stood out distinctly from the others" and were peculiarly shaped just right to filter the light so as to cast an image of "the tall figure of a man" into the night.  He claimed that "our fevered imaginations pictured the rest."

Of course, loyal Thirteener Marvin Clark never explained how the corn stalks could sway on a wind-less night.  He could not clarify how what he had seen was the luminous image of a man with its "form so perfect" as he admitted in writing.  Nor could he explain what strange sort of screen or substance the lantern light had projected onto to create so perfect an image of a floating man.  Perhaps most significantly, he never tried to explain the look of derision on the apparition's face as it seemed to beckon him to approach.  

Though his explanation of what he had witnessed that night may have satisfied smug members of the Thirteen Club, Clark's explanations and rationalizations fell on the deaf ears of at least two others:  Doc John Hardenbrook and Mrs. Gordon.  Those two never stepped into the garden of the Hardenbrook house in the dead of night again.  Both knew what they had seen that awful night:  the ghost of the haunted Hardenbrook house on Shore Road.

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Below is the text of the news article from The World on which today's Historic Pelham ghost story is based.  The text is followed by a citation and link to its source.  Also included below are two images that appeared with the article, including one that purported to show the spirit the group encountered that night.

"ALL SURE THEY SAW A GHOST.
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By Marvin R. Clark, thirteenth of the original thirteen of the famous Thirteen Club.

It may be considered remarkable that I, who have been one of the chief pillars of the Thirteen Club, for seven consecutive years its Archivist, loudest in my denunciations of the old, injurious superstitions, I, who have defied every known one of them and particularly scoffed at ghost stories, should, with grave deliberation, in all seriousness, tell the millions who have often heard of this now famous Thirteen Club, that I have actually seen a ghost!  Yet such is the fact.  What the consequences may be to me when it comes to the eyes and ears of my fellow-members of that anti-superstitious concern I will not stop to consider, but will leave the reader to surmise.

Every author of note has had his ghost, and I claim one as my inalienable right.  Charles Dickens had several, Shakespeare had a church full, Thackeray, Bulwer Lytton, G. P. R. James, Wilkie Collins, Charles Lamb, Capt. Marryatt, Washington Irving and a thousand more authors, both great and small, did not consider their work well done until they had introduced to the world at least one ghost, whose fame ran in an equal ration with the fame of the author.  In view of this fact, and considering that I am an author, I hope to be rubbed down less severely by the hard brick, now become so proverbial, in the hands of an irascible Thirteen Club, and would beg that the knowledge of my being the thirteenth thirteener of the original thirteen will not lead them to place any confidence in the superstition that I may be the Judas of that great anti-superstitious club of the world.

During the year 1884, I, as the representative, and with the sanction of the Thirteen Club, advertised in the New York Herald for a haunted house, they seeming, at that time, according to the newspapers, to be in season and the crop large, offering a reward for such residence of spooks, and agreeing to lay out any number of ghosts that might put in an appearance, and the more the merrier.  It may surprise the reader to learn that there was not even one response to that advertisement, although it was repeated several times, in the vain hope that something in the shape of what we most desired might put in an appearance.  As an anti-superstitious club, and one devoted to heart and soul to the laying of all manner of superstitions, including that of shades from the land of supernatural creations, we had pined and waxed impatient for a ghost.  Contrary to our fond hopes, none had visited us at our festive board, and experience had shown that, as far as the city of New York was concerned, there was not a genuine haunted house in it, and so far as the club was concerned, there wasn't a ghost in it.  It was after this effort that I began to look around on my own account for a veritable, unadulterated ghost.  After four long, weary years of waiting my industry was rewarded in a most unexpected manner and at a time and place when and where I could not have been forewarned of its coming.

I had a friend once of the name of Hardenbrook.  I say 'once' because it is past finding out how long you will have a friend unless you borrow his money and forget to return it, or run away with his daughter, sweetheart or mother-in-law, or do some other pleasant thing like that, so that he will keep you in mind and stick to you with commendable fidelity.  He was a fellow-journalist, and being brother Bohemians I may consider the friendship still on, I suppose.

Our great Washington Irving, in his 'Knickerbocker's History of New York,' speaks pathetically of the families of Tenbroeck and Tinbroeck.  Anglicizing them into Tenbreeches and Tinbreeches, claiming that their names originated in the fact that one of the heads of each of these families wore ten breeches and the other tin breeches, at that time, on account of the coldness of the atmosphere.  With equal pathos the great author mentions the existence of the ancient family of Hardenbroecks, or Hardbreeches, so called because they were particularly hard netherlings.  I mention this in order to account for a belief which has always existed in my mind that the 'Doctor,' as he is familiarly known among journalists, came of that grand old Holland Dutch stock of Hardbreeches, and on account of which statement he may honestly say that he owes me one, and also thank me for tracing  his pedigree as far as the famous Dutch, who are accused of being wide-awake enough, at one opportune moment to commit themselves to all time by taking Holland.

Dr. Hardenbreeches looked like a Hollander then, and still being in the land of the living and the place of his birth, he looks still more like a Hollander at this writing.  He was tall, gaunt, thin as a wafer, in appearance grand as Don Quixote, whom he resembled in many respects otherwise than his looks, and he wore a remarkable cloak in all his travels which the scraggy Don would have given a kingdom for, it he had possessed one, and Hardbreeches's travels were from Dan to Beersheba.  I do not know how it came about, but I always imagined that the Doctor wore that cloak in a spirit of weak imitation of the famous white coat of the reverend Horace Greeley, and this proverbial cloak clung pathetically to the old man's stooping shoulders until it became exhausted, which occurred after many years of good and faithful service.  When he emerged from it, like the butterfly from the chrysalis, he lost his identity until we became both accustomed and reconciled to the transformation he created in a new overcoat.  But the man was there, all the same, with a heart in his old breast and a growl upon his smiling lips for everybody.  The latter as a sop to Cerberus.

You will wonder how Doc Hardenbrook is in it, and I will inform you.  Hardenbrook owned a small place on the water side of Bartow-on-the-Sound, a small town in Westchester County, N. Y., now within the boundaries of what is known as Pelham Park, with a comfortable two-story and basement cottage on it, where he lived in peace and quietness with his housekeeper, Mrs. Gordon, a pleasant, little, gray-haired lady of immeasurable spirits and activity.  I was frequently a guest at this cottage during the summer and fall of the year 1886 and it was here that my ghost appeared one cool evening in the month of September.

The house being built upon a decline, the parlor floor was on a level with the road in front of the house, while the rear of the cottage was a story lower.  The dining room which was also the sitting-room, and the kitchen were in the basement, and both looked out upon a vegetable garden where was planted all kinds of garden truck.  Every evening after dinner when I was there, we remained in the dining room in preference to occupying the less congenial parlor, and smoked our pipes and drank our beer -- Dutch fashion to be sure and told yarns such as are rare and all the more enjoyable for that.  We did not spare each other on ghost stories and the most improbable we pressed most to believe.  After the ordinary run of this class of fiction was exhausted we set to work at manufacturing something beyond reason in order to grand discount those which had gone before.

One evening we had been engaged the Doctor and I in a powerful effort to frighten the pleasant housekeeper with some awful revelations, and, I may claim, with some degree of success.  After hours of labor, reaching up to the topmost figures on the clock's dial the Doctor and the lady went about preparing for retirement to the restful land of Nod, while I remained seated at the dining-table, engrossed in the mysteries of Fos's [sic; should be "Foxe's"] 'Book of Martyrs,' which no family is complete without.  They had gone into the kitchen together, and, as I supposed, out into the garden to count the chickens and the old sow.  A death-like stillness pervaded the premises and I was absorbed in the book until a whispered conversation fell upon my ear and awakened my suspicions.  I looked up and saw them standing at the outer door of the kitchen, leading into the garden, with the wonder in my mind as to what caused them to remain there so long, pinned, as it were, to the spot.  After straining my ears for a sound I heard a whisper of the Doctor, saying:

'Don't tell him for the world!'

Then came the reply from the housekeeper:

'Bless you, no.  It would scare him out of a year's growth.  But did you ever see anything like it, Doctor?  It's a real, live ghost and no mistake!  See it wave its arms and shake its head!  Doctor, let's go in and lock the doors!'

'Nonsense!' replied Hardenbrook, still in a frightened whisper, 'You can't get away from it that way.  Wait and see what it'll do next.'

'Come in, I say!' whispered Mrs. Gordon, with strong emphasis and shivering with alarm.  'See, Doctor, it is moving this way!  Oh, what will become of us all!'

'Nonsense!' answered he of the Dutch descent.  'It doesn't move an inch.  But what can it be, do you suppose?'

'Don't' exclaimed Mrs. Gordon.  'I say, doctor, don't stay there!  I cannot bear to look at it!  Come in and shut the door!'

I had listened to these whispers with a broad smile upon my face, and in the firm belief that they were playing upon me, with a hope that they would succeed in frightening me.  Consequently I sat still, and smiled a significant smile with a wink in the corner of my eye, saying to myself that they were barking up the wrong tree and that I was not the kind of coon to come down anyway.  But when the lady gave a horrified shriek, which almost curdled the blood in my veins -- for she was not more than fifteen feet from where I was sitting, and I saw her shiver and turn towards me a ghastly white face -- I arose and crept, cautiously, to where they were standing, at the open door, the doctor holding tightly to its edge and the housekeeper peeking timidly through the crack at something in the garden.

There was no moon that night, and all was black darkness, save for the faint light of a few stars, which seemed to make the darkness more impenetrable.  The water of the Sound lapped the shore with a melancholy sob and all else was silent, even to painfulness, at that midnight hour.  They stood there, perfectly mute, when I reached them and did not volunteer a word of explanation to my wondering look of inquiry.  Mrs. Gordon looked all that she felt of fear, and Hardenbrook's face was blanched as I never saw it before or since, and the door shook in his grasp.

'What is it?' I asked, realizing that something unearthly was presenting itself to their visitors.

There is something in this expression of fear which cannot be described.  These two were permeated with it to overflowing, and communicated the overflow to me, as I stood there and realized that they were shivering with terror at the sight of what, to them, was something supernatural.  They were man and woman past the meridian of life, and had seen much of it.  Younger people would have fainted at the sight and been justified in so doing on account of the extraordinary cause.  Evidently it was no hoax which they were endeavoring to practice upon me, but something a long way out of the ordinary, nay, beyond the extraordinary.

I cannot say that the old doctor's hair stood upon end, but it must have done so while I gazed at him and heard him, in a harsh whisper, say

'Look there!'

Even the whisper had a tremble in it as he nodded faintly around the edge of the open door, while holding tightly to it, as if to support his trembling limbs.  As he spoke he made room for me to pass out just one step of the board platform, and I turned my gaze in the direction to which he nodded.

I gasped when my eyes fell upon the object which had riveted their attention for so long a time while I had sat in the dining-room, under the impression that they were trying to play a joke upon me and frighten a Thirteener.  The smile that was upon my face faded away instantly, and was superseded by a look of real alarm, I am sure.

'Good gracious!' I exclaimed, 'It's a ghost!'

It is only by those who have had such an experience that my feelings can be appreciated, for the English language does not contain words adequate to the description.  I was suffused with an indescribable fear which was the very extreme of terror.  Even wild beasts tremble at such sights, and remain fixed to the spot.  There is a humble and religious awe that permeates the worshiper when he stands upon holy ground, and it sometimes overcomes him, but the feeling was not of that character.  There is a feeling of worship of the Almighty in the view of his grandest works, but it cannot be compared to that.  There is a painful feeling when in the presence of death, but my feelings were not of that character.  There may be that which overcomes the mind and terrorizes one when in the very gasp of the lightning's flash and the thunder's roll, but it was not that which I felt.  There is an unutterable feeling of loneliness and desertion that overwhelms one from whom loved ones, friends, and sympathetic acquaintances have dropped, one by one, and left him standing alone, without a helping hand to save him from the flood of affliction which sweeps down upon him, but it was not this that I felt.  It is the feeling of despair, which surrounds one like a cloud, with the knowledge of a quickly impending and unavoidable doom, and yet more than this.  It is the knowledge that this is something supernatural not of the earth, but intangible, and therefore irresistible.  It is the overpowering sensation that the bravest of the brave must go down before it as helplessly as the most cowardly of all cowards.  It is the realization that strong and weak alike must succumb to its ghostly influence, as to the avalanche, the simoon [sic], the hurricane, the mountain torrent and the tidal wave, against which human power of resistance is as a straw.

'Hush!' whispered the doctor, his voice ending in a hiss that made me start and shiver.

For what seemed to be a long time I remained silent, absolutely unable to remove my gaze from the ghost.  There, in the rear of the house, stood the awful shape, as plainly defined as ever was mortal man, all gleaming with white, its form perfect and outlined in silvery waves of light, standing out clear and distinct against the ebony darkness of the night for a background.  From head to foot it was a man, and from neck to feet it was clothed in a pure white, flowing robe, which undulated in the soft breeze -- so gentle that it did not stir a leaf -- with graceful oscillations, while its arms rose and fell with a peculiar motion, and seemed to beckon me to approach, the face smiling upon me derisively, as if to say, tauntingly, that I dared not.

I had never experienced such a sensation, and never since that evening have I felt anything like it, thanks to my good fortune.  Of course, I did not then approach the thing.  Nothing so foolhardy was in my mind.  I stood there tremblingly transfixed to the spot like my companions, without power of action, waiting, if for anything, to see it approach us, when I knew I must turn, if I could summon up the courage to do so, and fly in terror, whither I could not have cared as long as it might be out of sight of that undulating enormity, which with open eyes I then saw but had always before scoffed at and invariably ridiculed others for supposing that such visitors could have an existence upon this too solid earth after they had met with the same experience which was then overwhelming me. 

Quickly, as through the mind of a drowning mortal, rushed memories of all I had ever said in derision about just such supernatural visitors, and I became frightened at the thought that perhaps this wrath had come to mete out to me a terrible punishment for my mockeries and skepticism, so often vaunted at the festive board of the boldly defiant Thirteen Club.

I felt the clammy sweat oozing from every pore of my body.  I attempted to utter a long, loud and defiant laugh in aid of my forlorn condition and in evidence of an unfelt bravado.  But my courage had trickled out from my fingertips and, like the others, I was paralyzed with a fear such as I never had felt before, saving in a painful nightmare.  And this was a reality, while there stood the embodiment of the supernatural, waving its arms in the midnight darkness and beckoning me to its embrace of death.

I am not exaggerating -- not one hair's breadth.  There was the image, just as I have described it, and its long, white robe, almost reaching the ground where it stood, softly moving to and fro, while the arms waved and the ghastly head nodded and bowed at me solemnly, yet gracefully, as if to say that to doubt its existence was to doubt the evidence of, not only my own senses, but those of my two friends who stood mute and paralyzed beside me.

At last, with more than human effort, I moved a step forward and halted.  But seeing that the ghost neither advanced nor retreated, I again stepped forward, and then rushed towards it with a frantic desire to solve the mystery, while Mrs. Gordon uttered a scream that rang out shrill and clear through the night, and the doctor sprang after and seized me by the arm.  At the same instant, and when within a few feet of it, we looked up at the thing, and, as we grasped its outstretched arms, we burst out into a loud laugh, which was all the louder for the relief it brought to our overwrought feelings.

Shall I tell what my ghost was, or shall I leave the reader to surmise the real facts?  I prefer to clear up the mystery, and show that it was what many a ghost has been that has gone before it.

In the sitting-room, upon the dining table, was a kerosene lamp which gave out an unusually bright light.  There was no shade upon this lamp, and there was no shade down at the window opening out upon the garden.  Immediately in front of the garden, a few feet from the steps, were several rows of corn, and as the stalks waved in the air the bright light fell upon them.  Two of these stalks, which stood out distinctly from the others, were so peculiarly shaped that the light delineated in them the tall figure of a man, and our fevered imaginations pictured the rest.  I solemnly aver to you that we were as completely deceived by the vision that, had we retreated in affright, without solving the mystery, not one of us would have hesitated to swear that we had witnessed the supernatural, and that it stood plainly, and without the shadow of a doubt before us that night."

Source:  ALL SURE THEY SAW A GHOST, The World [NY, NY], Oct. 8, 1893, Vol. XXXIV, No. 11,737, p. 19, cols. 1-3.  



"WE DID NOT SCARE EACH OTHER ON GHOST STORIES."
Image shows, left to right, Housekeeper Mrs. Gordon, Dr.
Hardenbrook of Bartow-on-the-Sound, and Marvin R.
Clark of the Thirteen Club, in the Dining Area of the Hardenbrook
Home.  Source:  ALL SURE THEY SAW A GHOSTThe World [NY, NY], 
Oct. 8, 1893, Vol. XXXIV, No. 11,737, p. 19, cols. 1-3.  NOTE:  Click
on Image to Enlarge.


"THE DOCTOR SEIZED ME BY THE ARM."
Image shows, left to right, Housekeeper Mrs. Gordon, Dr.
Hardenbrook of Bartow-on-the-Sound, and Marvin R.
Clark of the Thirteen Club, in the Garden Area of the Hardenbrook
Home.  This may be the only eyewitness-based image depicting
a Pelham ghost.  Source:  ALL SURE THEY SAW A GHOSTThe World 
[NY, NY], Oct. 8, 1893, Vol. XXXIV, No. 11,737, p. 19, cols. 1-3.  NOTE:  
Click on Image to Enlarge.
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Monday, April 16, 2018

More on the Strange Disappearance -- and Stranger Reappearance -- of Mary Grote of Pelham in 1884


One of the strangest missing person cases ever to arise in the Town of Pelham occurred in 1884 involving a young woman servant who worked in a home at Bartow, a tiny settlement that once stood along today's Shore Road in the Town of Pelham.  Indeed, with uncharacteristic understatement, The Daily Brooklyn Eagle of October 11, 1884 reported on the matter, saying: 

"The hamlet of Bartow, on the Sound, near New Rochelle, is excited over the mysterious disappearance of Mary Grote, a young woman employed as a domestic in the family of Mr. May, a well to do farmer, living in that neighborhood. She disappeared on Thursday from the grounds near the house, where she had gone to gather apples. It is feared that she has been murdered by tramps, who infest the country in that vicinity." Source:  Current Events, The Daily Brooklyn Eagle, Oct. 11, 1884, p. 6. 

Saying that the little Pelham hamlet known as "Bartow," "Bartow-on-the-Sound," and "Bartow Village" was "excited" over the matter was putting it mildly. The entire Town was up in arms. There were no villages, nor village police departments, to provide police protection at the time. "Tramps" (as Pelhamites called them) were a constant problem with up to twenty-five a day hopping off New Haven Branch Line trains and camping in huts they built in the woods along today's Shore Road.  

Such "tramps" became such a problem that residents of Pelham Manor formed the "Pelham Manor Protective Club" -- a vigilance committee -- in late 1881 to take matters into their own hands. The "Club" offered rewards for the arrest and conviction of tramps and, in effect, played the role of a local citizen police force. Mary Grote's "disappearance" led local residents to fear the worst -- that the buxom young beauty with dark hair and ruddy cheeks had been abducted and murdered.

I have written before quite extensively regarding the strange case of Mary Grote.  See:

Fri., Mar. 11, 2005: The Strange Disappearance -- and Reappearance -- of Mary Grote of Pelham in 1884: Part I.

Mon., Mar. 14, 2005:  The Strange Disappearance -- and Reappearance -- of Mary Grote of Pelham in 1884: Part II.

The young woman disappeared only a short time after she began working in the home of Bartow farmer Francis May.  The disappearance was so abrupt and the circumstances so mysterious that all of Pelham assumed the worst.  Convinced that the poor young woman had been kidnapped by tramps and murdered, farmer May and local citizens searched the countryside without success before going on a rampage and burning a dozen crude huts built by "tramps" in the woods near Shore Road.  

Only a day or so later, Mary Grote was found!  She was hidden beneath hay on the grounds of farmer May's farm. . . . The true reasons for the young woman's strange disappearance and even stranger reappearance are lost to history.

Today's Historic Pelham article transcribes the text of an extensive article on the disappearance and reappearance of young Mary Grote.  It is followed by a citation and link to its source.


Detail from 1893 Map by Julius Bien & Co. Showing the Bartow-on-the-
Sound Region of the Town of Pelham.  NOTE:  Click on Image to Enlarge.


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"THE ESCAPADE AT BARTOW
-----
MARY GROTE NOW UNWELCOME AT FARMER MAYS.
THE FARMER VERY ANGRY AND TRYING TO SEND THE GIRL AWAY -- BURNING THE TRAMPS' HUTS IN THE WOODS.

BARTOW-ON-THE-SOUND, Oct. 12. -- Farmer Francis May was not in A1 spirits this morning.  After the excitement of yesterday and the weary work of sitting up all night, as he claims, to see that Mary Grote did not run away again from his hospitable board, he was, if the truth be told, decidedly ugly.

'I ton't give a tam!' he remarked with emphasis.  'If anypoty say vone word against me I shoot 'em tam quick.  I come tam near shootin' one of de dirty tramps this morning, and, py tam, I shoot some neighbors if this talk not shtop.'

Mr. May was in earnest.  He affirmed, by all the roast beef on the dinner table before him, that he had known nothing of Mary's whereabouts from the time of her disappearance on Thursday until she was found buried in the hay yesterday afternoon.  Neither did his son nor the red-headed boy called George employed as a farm hand.  Everybody about the homestead was innocent of everything that had been or might be charged.  All the same Mr. May made a mighty effort to ship Mary away last night.  Carrie Hartmann, her friend, who arrived from New-York in the morning, pleaded that she must go to City Island, but would meet Mary at the 9 o'clock train.  Mr. May took the buxom, red-cheeked Mary to the train at the hour named.  No Carrie was there.  So Mary refused to go alone, and went back to the May household for the night, says Mr. May.

The May farmhouse was overrun with visitors to-day, mostly women.  Mary staied [sic] in the parlor and refused to talk with one and all.  She sat on her packed trunk, grinned bewitchingly to show her white, regular teeth, but never a word said she, excepting to admit that she lied yesterday when she said, 'Mrs. May made a face at me.'

'What made you say that Mary,' was asked, 'if it wasn't true?'

Then the damsel buried her rosy cheeks in her palms, pulled her flowing hair over her face, and was as dumb as a Sound oyster under 10 fathoms of water.  The Bartow hotels, too, were overrun with visitors to-day.  Mary's peculiar disappearance and still more peculiar finding formed the one topic.  All citizens were unanimous in the belief that something was very wrong, but each hesitated to take the initiative in demanding an investigation.  All sorts of wild rumors were afloat, and all the men of the May homestead were implicated therein.  To Justice Steve, yesterday, Mr. May gave his word of honor, heard by a TIMES reporter, that he would keep Mary there for at least a week until certain clues could be traced.  Scarcely had the Justice turned his back when Mr. May urged the girl to leave the place with Carrie Hartmann.  Mary's mouth is shut effectually, but by what means is a problem.

At noon it had been decided to go north along the railway and break up some of the tramps homes.  Rain until 1:30 o'clock caused many to back out of the agreement, so that only a few started.  First was set on fire the tumble-down shanty of rails and saplings which had been occupied by one of the wandering arabs [sic] since 1878 until this Summer.  Other huts were found, and at 3 o'clock this afternoon half a dozen fires were blazing between here and Pelham Manor.  Since the excitement here not more than five tramps have passed through each day, where before there were 25 at a low average.  It is said they now take the main line out of the New-Haven Road, which leaves the Grand Central Station in New-York.  The branch starting at Harlem Bridge, joins the main line at New Rochelle.  Many weary miles are saved by this road, but that is nothing to the tramps compared with arrest.  To-morrow the tramp cave will be blown up.  

'Py tam!' said Mr. May at 2 o'clock this afternoon.  'Mary must go to Niyarruck on the 4 o'clock train.'

The 4 o'clock train was late.  Mary was not at the station at 3:55, and THE TIMES'S reporter cut through the woods to the May farm.

'She gone, py tam!' said Mr. May.  Scarcely had he uttered the words when Mary appeared at the parlor door, showing her white teeth as she smiled.  'Well,' said Mr. May, 'I knew some tam man see her if I took her down.  I'll drive her into the city to-night.'

He probably will.  Paying no attention to his word as given to Justice Steve, Mr. May is determined to railroad the girl away.  It is the best thing he can do, say his friends.  With Mary gone the case will be dropped.  With her here some who are loud in threats but afraid to act will be compelled to swear out a complaint on which rigid investigation will follow.  The action of the authorities is generally condemned in not at the outset acting vigorously."

Source:  THE ESCAPADE AT BARTOW -- MARY GROTE NOW UNWELCOME AT FARMER MAYS -- THE FARMER VERY ANGRY AND TRYING TO SEND THE GIRL AWAY -- BURNING THE TRAMPS' HUTS IN THE WOODS, N.Y. Times, Oct. 13, 1884, p. 5, col. 5.

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Thursday, August 10, 2017

Bitten by a Dog Showing Rabies Symptoms, Pelham Woman Traveled to Europe to See Pasteur


After developing the process of pasteurization whereby liquids such as raw milk are boiled to kill microorganisms that might spoil the liquid or cause illness in those who consume it, French chemist and biologist Louis Pasteur turned his attention to a more thorough study of bacteria and other microorganisms.  During the 1880s, Pasteur's work as the director of scientific studies at the Ecole Normale in Paris focused on so-called germ theory and efforts to develop vaccines against some of the most prevalent diseases of the day.  Pasteur worked on a rabies vaccine, initially, by infecting rabbits with the rabies virus then, after death, drying their affected nerve tissue to weaken the virus so it could be applied as a safe vaccine.

On July 6, 1885, nine-year-old Joseph Meister was brought to Pasteur.  The young lad had been attacked by a rabid dog.  Pasteur administered his experimental vaccine to the boy who survived the ordeal and was spared a painful death from rabies.  

The world was stunned.  Pasteur became a national hero and an internationally-acclaimed scientist.  Publications throughout the world breathlessly acclaimed his success with treating the rabies virus.  People throughout the world read about his successful vaccination against the disease -- people including many who lived in the Town of Pelham, an ocean away from Paris, France.  

Among those who heard about the rabies vaccine was Mrs. John S. Ellis of the tiny settlement of Bartow-on-the-Sound in the Town of Pelham.  She was a sister of John M. Waterbury who also resided at Bartow.

Mrs. Ellis and her family had a beautiful collie as a family pet.  In the first week of January, 1887, the family collie had a fight with another local dog.  As Mrs. Ellis tried to break up the fight, her collie bit her on the hand and arm.  

She was shocked that the gentle family pet had turned on her, but attributed it to the fear and confusion of a dogfight.  As her wounds healed, however, the family pet became sick.  Soon the collie was acting mad and, shortly, it died.  Family and friends were terrified.  The dog exhibited signs of hydrophobia -- rabies!

Mrs. Ellis and her family became "greatly alarmed."  So did the local Board of Health.  A number of local dogs were killed and the Board ordered that all dogs that may have been bitten by the collie before it died were to be chained until further notice.

On Tuesday, January 4, 1887, only days after she suffered the dog bite, Mrs. Ellis and her husband boarded the Arizona and set sail for Liverpool from which they planned to travel to Paris to place Mrs. Ellis under the care of the famed Louis Pasteur who had previously saved the life of little nine-year-old Joseph Meister with his rabies vaccine.  

We may never know whether the collie did not have rabies or the rabies vaccine was administered by Louis Pasteur and saved the life of Mrs. Ellis.  We do know, however, that the following autumn, a healthy and robust Mrs. Ellis was hosting parties for members of The Country Club at Pelham. . . . . 



Louis Pasteur in His Laboratory.  A Painting by A. Edelfeldt.
NOTE:  Click on Image to Enlarge.

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"THE COUNTY. . . .

A little over a week ago, Mrs. John S. Ellis, a sister of John M. Waterbury, who resides at Bartow, was bitten on the hand by her pet dog, while she was trying to stop him fighting with another dog.  The wound healed up and nothing more was thought of it until a couple of days afterward, when it was discovered the dog was mad.  This greatly alarmed the lady, and on Tuesday she sailed for Paris, to be treated by Pasteur.  A number of dogs have been killed, and the Board of Health has ordered that all dogs that may have been bitten by the Ellis dog, be chained."

Source:  THE COUNTY, The Chronicle [Mount Vernon, NY], Jan. 7, 1887, Vol. XVIII, No. 948, p. 2, col. 4.  

"CHATTER. . . .

-- Mrs. John S. Ellis of Bartow-on Sound has gone sailing over the sea to M. Pasteur.  A pet dog, a large and hitherto gentle collie, bit her somewhat severely in the arm.  Although Mrs. Ellis felt no apprehension regarding the injury, she has yielded to the persuasions of her family, and last Tuesday with her husband and son sailed for Paris.  Mrs. Ellis is the sister of Mrs. Pierrepont Edwards, wife of the British Consul, and of Mrs. C. C. Johnstou.  Her brother is James M. Waterbury, adjoining whose magnificent country seat, 'Plaisance,' is the handsome home of the Ellises where they live the year round.  Apropos of Mr. Waterbury's superb place, Baron Selliere (he with the noble showing of $5,000,000) says it is incomparably the prettiest and most complete country seat he has ever seen, excepting, of course, the show places of England."

Source:  CHATTER, The Daily Graphic [NY, NY], Jan. 8, 1887, p. 519, cols. 1-2.  

"WHAT IS GOING ON IN SOCIETY. . . .

The accident which has befallen Mrs. John S. Ellis at her home at Bartow on the Sound has cast a gloom over society in West Chester and caused grave anxiety in the Waterbury family.  The beautiful collie dog, which has been the special pet and companion of its mistress for several years, attacked her most unexpectedly a few days since and inflicted a severe wound on her arm with his teeth.  The animal soon afterward sickened and died, and Mrs. Ellis became so nervous and apprehensive that her medical adviser recommended her to go at once to Paris and put herself under Pasteur's care.  Mr. and Mrs. Ellis therefore sailed in the Arizona.  It is extremely unlikely that any serious consequences will follow, but if the patient can be persuaded in her own mind that M. Pasteur's treatment is infallible, more than half the battle will be won."

Source:  WHAT IS GOING ON IN SOCIETY, The Sun [NY, NY], Jan. 9, 1887, p. 8, col. 7 (Note:  Paid subscription required to access via this link).  

"To be Treated by Pasteur.
-----

NEW YORK, Jan. 5. -- Mrs. John S. Ellis of Bartow-on-the-Sound, a well known society lady, sailed yesterday on the Arizona for Liverpoll and will go thence to Paris to be treated by Pasteur.  She was recently bitten by a pet dog which showed signs of hydrophobia, and while she does not apprehend danger her friends think it best to take all possible precautions."

Source:  To be Treated by Pasteur, The Daily News [Batavia, NY], Jan. 15, 1887, Vol. IX, No. 2,624, p. 1, col. 2.  See also Going to be Treated by Pasteur, Rome Daily Sentinel [Rome, NY], Vol. XV, No. 4,348, p. 3, col. 3 (same text).  

"SOCIETY SMALL TALK. . . .

Mrs. John S. Ellis, 'The Elms,' Bartow on the Sound, will give a dance at her country place tonight.  The guests will include the prominent members of the Country Club.  Pinard will serve the supper."

Source:  SOCIETY SMALL TALK, The Evening Telegram [NY, NY] Oct. 6, 1887, p. 2, col. 4.  

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Wednesday, August 09, 2017

Two Brave Children Saved Their Father Off Pelham Shores in 1886


By all accounts, little Walter and George Rahtjens of the Town of Pelham were bright little boys who lived in the tiny settlement of Bartow-on-the-Sound in 1886.  Walter Rahtjens was the youngest.  He was ten years old but was so tiny that he looked like a six-year-old child.  George was his older brother and was twelve years old.  

In 1885, the two little boys and their parents moved into a "neat little cottage" that overlooked the shore of Long Island Sound in the little settlement of Bartow in the Town of Pelham.  The following summer of 1886, the two tiny lads learned to swim.  It was a good thing that they did. . . . 

On Sunday, August 29, 1886, the boys and their father decided to go for a swim in Long Island Sound.  The three left Mrs. Rahtjens with the family's new baby in the little cottage on shore.  They rowed a little boat out into the waters and shed their clothes which they left in the boat.  The older brother, George, dove into the water and swam for shore.  The younger brother remained in the boat with the boys' father.

Mr. Rahtjens took his time to enjoy the day.  As his older son swam toward shore, he shed his own clothes and dove into the refreshing waters.  No sooner did he enter the water than he suffered a debilitating cramp and sank beneath the waves.  He struggled to get back to the surface and, for what seemed an "interminable period," he struggled to surface for air.  He made it to the surface, gasped for air and sank again without shouting for help.  Again he struggled beneath the waters until he could surface again when, this time, he shouted "lustily" for help.

Mrs. Rahtjens heard the shout from the cottage.  She put the baby on the floor and ran to the water's edge where she saw her husband fighting for his life.  According to numerous accounts, there Mrs. Rahtjens "stood wringing her hands, terrified beyond speech."  

Tiny little Walter Rahtjens also heard his father's cry for help.  Without hesitation, the little fellow plunged headfirst into the water and swam to his father.  At the same time his older brother, George, heard the cry.  George had nearly reached shore.  He turned and swam furiously back toward the boat to help his stricken father.

Little Walter reached his father first.  He grabbed his father by the chin and began kicking furiously to keep his father's head above the water.  Agonizing moments passed before the older boy, George, reached the struggling pair.  When he arrived, he grabbed his father by the arm and began kicking furiously to propel the threesome toward shore while his little brother held his father's face out of the water.  In the meantime, Mr. Rahtjens was doing all he could to quell his instinctive impulse to clutch at the two youngsters and drag them to their watery deaths with him.

Mrs. Rahtjens watched in terror for five agonizing minutes as the two youngsters struggled to get their father to shore.  Finally, the pair dragged their exhausted father onto land as Mrs. Rahtjens raced to the three.  According to a number of reports, "A little family thanksgiving took place right there" on the Pelham shore.

Soon the entire settlement of Bartow-on-the-Sound was aware of the heroic deed.  Everyone in the settlement was talking about it.

The New York Herald was among the first to report on the boys' heroic feat.  Soon, however, newspapers throughout the country were extolling their virtues and describing their rescue.  Newspapers Connecticut, North Carolina, Montana, and elsewhere told the story of the rescue off the waters of Pelham.  

The two little boys, however, were nonplused by the attention.  As the New York Herald put it, "The young life savers have borne their honors lightly.  They seem to think their deed the most natural one in the world."




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"BOYS TO BE PROUD OF.
-----
TWO YOUTHFUL SWIMMERS TOW THEIR DISABLED FATHER TO THE SHORE.

Two bright little boys of Bartow, on the Sound, have won for themselves the deserved commendation of their old and young friends by a display of courage and intelligence.  The whole village does nothing but talk about the heroism of the youngsters who last Sunday saved their father, Mr. George Rahtjens, from death by drowning.

The boys are named Walter and George, and are respectively ten and twelve years of age.  The family have lived in a neat cottage near the water's edge since last year, and the boys have this summer learned to swim.  Walter, the younger, is a smart lad, but in appearance is not more than six.  Sunday morning Mr. Rahtjens went down to the beach for a bath.  He took the boys with him, and together they divested themselves of their clothing, leaving it in a boat, which they had hauled off some distance from land.  George took the first header, and then swam ashore. 

Mr. Rahtjens jumped from the boat, but had no sooner struck the water than he was seized with a cramp and sank.  After what seemed to him an interminable period he rose to the surface.  For some reason he was unable to shout.  A second time he went down and then came up, and this time he called lustily for help.

The natural impulse of a small boy would be to run for help.  Not so with the ten-year-old son.  Into the water he plunged without a moment's hesitation.  He swam to his father, who was once more sinking.  Catching him under the chin with one hand, the little hero put the other around the exhausted man's neck and kicked with his feet to keep them afloat.  No far behind him was his brother George, who struck out from the shore at the first cry of distress.  George took hold of the father's arm.  

Mr. Rahtjens said he had to exert all his will power to refrain from clutching the boys and dragging them down to their death.  

Not a word was spoken.

Valiant little Walter, with tears coursing down his cheeks, did his utmost to keep his father's head above water, while the older son, his teeth hard set, struggled vigorously to tow him ashore.

Mrs. Rahtjens was tending the baby in her parlor when she heard the cry from her husband.  Leaving the child on the floor, she ran to the shore, and stood wringing her hands, terrified beyond speech.  Five minutes dragged their slow lengths along before the boys reached land with their burden.  A little family thanksgiving took place right there.

The young life savers have borne their honors lightly.  They seem to think their deed the most natural one in the world."

Source:  BOYS TO BE PROUD OF -- TWO YOUTHFUL SWIMMERS TOW THEIR DISABLED FATHER TO THE SHORE, N. Y. Herald, Sep. 6, 1886, p. 6, col. 4.  

"George and Walter Rahtjen, aged respectively ten and twelve years, saved their father from drowning in the Sound on Friday afternoon.  They were bathing off Bartow, when Mr. Rahtjen was taken with cramps and sank.  The two little fellows dove and raised their father to the surface and both held his chin out of water while they swam and floated him to the shore, about twenty-five feet distant.  The boys were almost exhausted."

Source:  [Untitled], Hartford Courant [Hartford, CT], Sep. 6, 1886, p. 3, col. 6 (Note:  Paid subscription required to access via this link).  

"TWO BRAVE BOYS.

Two bright little boys of Bartow, on the Sound, have won for themselves the deserved commendation of their young and old friends by a display of courage and intelligence.  The whole village does nothing but talk about the heroism of the youngsters who last Sunday saved their father from drowning.  

The boys are named Walter and George, and are respectively 10 and 12 years of age.  The family have lived in a neat cottage near the water's edge since last year, and the boys have this summer learned to swim.  Walter, the younger, is a smart lad but in appearance is not more than six.  Sunday, Mr. Rathjens went down to the beach for a bath.  He took the boys with him, and together they divested themselves of their clothing, leaving it in a boat, which they had hauled off some distance from land.  George took the first header, and then slowly swam ashore.  

Mr. Rahtjens jumped from the boat, but no sooner struck the water than he was seized with a cramp and sank.  After what seemed an interminable period he rose to the surface.  For some reason he was unable to shout.  A second time he went down and came up, and he called for help.  The natural impulse of a small boy would be to run for help.  Not so with the 10-year-old son.  Into the water he plunged without a moment's hesitation.  He swam to his father, who was once more sinking.  Catching him under the chin with one hand, the little hero put the other around the exhausted man's neck and kicked with his feet to keep them afloat.  Not far behind them was his brother George, who struck out from the shore at the first cry of distress.  George took hold of the father's arm.  

Mr. Rahtjens said he had to exert all of his will power to refrain from clutching the boys and dragging them down to their death.

Not a word was spoken.  

Valiant little Walter, with tears coursing down his cheeks, did his utmost to keep his father's head above the water, while the elder son, George, with his teeth hard set, struggled vigorously to tow him ashore.

Mrs. Rahtjens was tending the baby in the parlor when she heard the cry from her husband.  Leaving the baby on the floor, she ran to the shore, and stood wringing her hands, terrified beyond speech.  Five minutes dragged their slow length along before the boys reached land with their burden.  A little family thanks-giving took place right then and there.  The young life-savers have born their honors lightly.  They seem to think their deed the most natural one in the world."

Source:  TWO BRAVE BOYS, Goldsboro Messenger [Goldsboro, NC], Nov. 18, 1886, p. 6, col. 1 (Note:  Paid subscription required to access via this link).  See also Two Brave Boys, Great Falls Tribune [Great Falls, MT], Nov. 13, 1886, p. 2, cols 1-2 (same text; paid subscription required to access via this link).  

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