"Indian Deed of December 13, 1640"

Christmas 1953

Helen & Jesse Halsey Christmas Card | 1953

Seasons Greetings

Helen and Jesse Halsey Christmas Card | 1950

“A Lady—Thinking Backward and Living Forward”

Introduction to Sermon c1926

Delivered in Avondale Presbyterian Church by Jesse Herrmann

[Pastor | 1916-1928]

Matthew 5:17—“I came not to destroy but to fulfill.”

One of my most vivid vacation memories clusters around a weekend spent in Southampton, Long Island. Southampton, as you may know, is a so-called fashionable summer resort. It is a popular rendezvous for men with millions. But in the midst of these ultra-modern externals you distinctly sense an invigorating atmosphere reminiscent of other days. I know of no community of its size in America that has more direct human and material contacts with the Colonial period than Southampton. On Sunday, I preached in the oldest Presbyterian church in America, founded in 1640—twenty years after the landing of the Pilgrims. Many of the permanent families in Southampton today are the direct descendents of these founding fathers. Hard by this town is the Shinnecock Hills Golf Course, where an Indian caddie carries your clubs, for close by is a government reservation for the ancient Shinnecock tribe.

A man must be exceptionally dull if his memory and emotions are not stirred in a place where the Indian hut, the colonial house, and the Millionaire’s mansion stand within a stone’s throw of one another.

But the experience that I treasure most, after a brief visit to Southampton, centers in a home whose presiding genius is a gracious lady who has rounded out more than eight decades of life. For over fifty years she had been the uncrowned queen and the unmetered priestess of that whole community—mother to the orphan, friend to the wayward, and delightful companion for the young and old. In a remarkable way she gathers up in her character the fruitage of the past, the opportunity of the present, and the promise of the future. In perfect blend the three tenses mingle in her person.

Her home clearly belongs to the Colonial vintage. Much of its furniture was built and carved by skilled ancestors. During her youth, in the open fireplace, now an interesting museum, all the meals were prepared. But these antiques stand in marked contrast with the furnishings of her mind. On the table the latest books are  found. Unless compelled otherwise by the visitor her conversation is geared exclusively to the present and the future. The windows of her soul are ever open to the winds of God as they blow from the four corners of the modern world. The roots of life are deeply embedded in the congenial soil of the past, but every branch is n intimate contact with the fresh breeze of a new born day.

In the person of this delightful character I find a living commentary on my theme: “Thinking backward and living forward.” Her life illustrates what Jesus meant when he said: “I came not to destroy, but to fulfill.” He came to reveal the beauty and to unfold the value of the old and to build them anew into the living tissues of today and tomorrow. There is supreme need in our day for skilled hands and broad-gaged souls who can sense the permanent values in the past and weave them effectively and artistically into a new garment fit for modern wear. Men and women who can think backward and live forward.

The Jesse Halsey Manuscript Collection. Special Collections, Princeton Theological Seminary Library.

"to what purpose is this waste?”

The Jesse Halsey Manuscript Collection. Special Collections, Princeton Theological Seminary Library.

"We'll Float Tonight or We'll Go to Hell!"

The Circassian Story

LOST FROM THE SHIP'S ORIGINAL CREW
RICHARD WILLIAMS, Captain of the Circassian, a Welshman from Liverpool, about forty years old, married, Ieaving two children
EVAN JOHNSON, Third Mate, from Liverpool, twenty. unmarried; just completed apprenticeship
THOMAS ORR, Carpenter's Mate, from Liverpool. twenty-five years old, married with no children
WILLIAM KEEFE, Boatswain, native of Finland. unmarried
HENRY FREEMAN, Sailmaker, from Philadelphia, thirty years old, married, leaving two children
JOHN GRANT, Cook, about forty-five years old, a Negro
FRANK WRIGHT, Apprentice, from Liverpool, eighteen years old
ANDREW NODDER, Apprentice, from Wavertree, England (near Liverpool), seventeen years old
WALTER COLBURN, Apprentice, from Liverpool, eighteen years old
JAMES SCOTT. Seaman, native of England, twenty-three years old; belonged to the Royal Navy Reserve
HORATIO JOHNSON, Steward, born in Liverpool, about forty-five years old, married with several children, a Negro
ANDREW LADAGO, Seaman, native of Italy, thirty years old
JOHN McDERMOTT, the stowaway, from Liverpool, nineteen years old
 
LOCAL MEN LOST
LEWIS WALKER, a Shinnecock, twenty-six, married, leaving three children
JOHN WALKER, a Shinnecock, fifty-one, married, leaving nine children, a former whaler
DAVID W. BUNN, a Shinnecock, forty-seven, married, leaving five children, a former whaler
J. FRANKLIN BUNN, a Shinnecock, thirty-nine, married with no children, a former whaler
RUSSELL BUNN, a Shinnecock, forty-nine, married, leaving four children, a former whaler
WILLIAM CUFFEE a Shinnecock, twenty-three, unmarried
WARREN N. COFFEE, a Shinnecock, thirty-three. married leaving three children, a Civil War veteran
GEORGE W. COFFEE, a Shinnecock, twenty-five, married, leaving one child
JAMES R. LEE, a Shinnecock, thirty-three, married with no children, a former whaler
OLIVER J. KELLIS, a Shinnecock, thirty-nine, married with no children, a former whaler
JAMES THURSTON, from Southampton, twenty-four, unmarried
 
COAST WRECKING COMPANY EMPLOYEES LOST
JOHN LEWIS, foreman of the wreckers, about forty-five years old, married, with no living children
LUKE STILLMAN, engineer, in his thirties, married, leaving eight children. from Brooklyn
PHILIP KEARNS, engineer, in his thirties, from Staten Island
PATRICK DONOHUE, engineer, in his thirties, married with several children, from Stapleton, Staten Island

Mary Ann Cuffee

Caption on back of photograph reads: "Aunt Mary Ann, as she was known to her people, was an excellent type of Shinnecock Indian. Her home was visited by many people and she cooked for many years at a hotel in nearby Watermill, L.I. Her dishes and recipes were quite famous and several of them are still prepared in the homes of her descendants today. On the table next to her is a Shinnecock mortar and stone pestle. This was made out of a hollowed pepperide log and was once a standard kitchen item in every Shinnecock home, as well as, among other Eastern tribes. Corn kernels were pounded into meal and herbs and nuts of many types were once crushed by the women in the ever faithful mortar. Mortar and pestle are no longer used by present day Shinnecocks, but may still be seen in use among the Indians of Mashpee and Gay Head, Massachusetts, Narragansetts in Rhode Island, Senecas of New York, Powhatans of Virginia and Nanticokes of Delaware, in food preparation."

Jesse Halsey in essay on  Dr. Morris Fishbein notes:
"Aunt Mary Ann [Mary Ann Cuffee mother to Mary Emma Bunn], the old Indian who did my grandmother’s cooking on the great days of the New England year, like Thanksgiving, town meeting, Fourth of July, and butchering day—old Mary Ann and her daughter after her, who still comes with us in the summer, had no end of superstitions, an admixture of Indian tradition and negroe superstition."

"My father paid no attention to the phases of the moon in the planting operations of the spring. The disappearance of the frost and the condition of the weather were the sole determining factors. Not so with Mary Ann and the Indians. Planting must be done in the dark of the moon, whether it was corn or potatoes. This is an almost universal superstition, not only among Indians, but other primitive peoples. Or should it be called a tradition? That is, has it any basis in fact?"

See also: Clam Chowder

Photo credit: The East Hampton Library, Long Island Collection.

Map of the East End

Jesse Halsey | c1934

Jesse Halsey 

The East Riding of Yorkshire in the olden days, it still retains a flavor not found on the west end of the Island where Dutch influence predominated then, and where the Big City reaches out now. The atmosphere changes when one nears the Shinnecock canal. It is, for one thing, always cooler out there; and for another, here one comes to the New England part of Long Island.

Although the modern cottager has come in numbers and with affluence, these “Yorkers,” as the native used to call them, have not changed the scene essentially as many of the summer homes follow the old lines of the colonial or farm house type though there are notable exceptions in [Mr. Atterbury’s] shingled houses that hug the dunes and in an occasional Italian villa or other importation.

Cement has been used on the main highways, but one misses the real beauty of the countryside if he follows these, after he reaches “The East End.” In the last twenty years the local road-masters have developed a road of loam, sand, and oil, which, smoothly honed after each rain, make a perfect highway much more resilient and easy riding than cement or macadam.

Southampton and East Hampton towns are threaded with such roads, almost unknown to the motorist, who goes flying through on the numbered state highway, and misses the innumerable ponds and bays, almost forgetting the ocean itself, until he reaches Nappeague, that long narrow Cape-Cod-like-sand-dune-stretch leading to Montauk. Aside from this one piece of concrete, it is pleasanter to keep to the dirt roads and to spend a little time seeking the natural beauty of the Island’s southeastern fluke.

For like a great leviathan, Long Island throws itself out into the ocean, paralleling the Connecticut shore; with its head safely anchored to Manhattan by the bridges, bathed by the Sound on the starboard, and the Atlantic on the port side, its caudal-fins stick out to sea. One is called Orient, the other Montauk Point.

Historically, this is interesting country. Southampton was founded in June of 1640 and is the oldest English settlement in New York state. Half a dozen “undertakers,” as they were called, organized in Lynn and sailed for western Long Island where they were driven off by the Dutch and so, finally, landed in an estuary of Peconic Bay that they named the North Sea. Four miles further south on the ocean they made their permanent settlement. Several old houses remain from that general period and are worthy of a visit.

The summer colony that has become famous is, naturally, off the main road. First Neck, Cooper’s Neck, or Halsey’s Neck; each has its “lane”; Great Plains and Ox Pasture have theirs also. It will pay one to follow them, driving slowly.

East Hampton is the most perfect New England village outside New England and more perfect than many in New England. Its wide village street with a Common and duck pond, its cemetery, dividing the main street, and the gorgeous elms, make it a perfect setting for “Home Sweet Home,” the boyhood home of John Howard Payne, which faces The Green. “Maidstone” was the old name brought from England. It seems a pity that it was ever changed. This is possibly true of Southampton also, as the old communion cups of the Southampton Church (now loaned to the Metropolitan Museum) spell the name “Sought Hampton”—the Hampton within the sound, or “soughing,” of the sea.

Both Bridge Hampton and Sag Harbor have striking examples of colonial churches with white spires. The Sag Harbor church tower dominates the landscape (or seascape) for miles, and was built in the palmy days of the whaling industry when “The Harbor” rivaled New Bedford and Nantucket. The wharves are deserted now, where once the old whalers lay awaiting their turn to discharge their smelly cargoes of oil. Numerous house in this village have lovely doorways, and there are gardens with box-wood hedges.

Use “Further Lane” or “Hither Lane,” by all means, as you go on from East Hampton. Pass south of Amagansett and take the beach road toward Montauk, then (for once) use the concrete across the Neappeague Beach—all else is white sand. When on Montauk, roam by the side roads and cross roads from bay to ocean. There are several hills where ocean and sound can be seen at once, and in clear weather, the Connecticut shore and Block Island are visible. Visit the fishing dock at Fort Pond (near the station) and plan to spend the late afternoon at the Point driving back into the sunset along the ridge road, with the surf and ocean stretching away on your left.

Another time take the “back road” to Springs from East Hampton and come out at “Fireplace,” opposite Gardiner’s Island where Captain Kidd buried his treasure and where the heirs of old Lyon Gardiner still hold the island in entailed succession.

Six or eight old windmills of Dutch design still stand in this territory. Two of them occasionally can be seen revolving, under sail though no longer actually grinding grist.

Before the days of speed, each hamlet had its name, and though the sign boards no longer indicate anything except the larger villages it will pay to slow down and with a local map visit such a spot as Canoe Place where the Indians portaged their canoes from the South to the North Bay. You will see Quogue on the road map, but not Quiogue; Hampton Bays but neither Good Ground, nor Ram Pasture. You will, likely, brave one sand road and visit the Shinnecock Indian Reservation and there pick up a scrub or a basket. Ponquoque Bridge will take you across Shinnecock Bay to the ocean road, which you can follow—with several short breaks (as indicated on the map) all the way to Montauk.

The cement “slab” is all right for speed. The back lanes, dustless and smooth, are much more interesting and less frequented. This is a leisurely country; explore a bit. No roads are long—they can’t be: sooner or later they lead to water; this bay or that pond—Tiana, Mecox, Georgica, Peconic, or whatnot. And they seem indiscriminately mixed; fresh water lakes within a stone’s throw of the ocean, alternating with tidal estuaries.

Cold Spring, Seabonac, Towd, Wickapogue, Littleworth, Hay Ground, Scuttle Hole are as interesting as the villages, if you can find a guide who knows the local lore and the hidden spots of beauty in the woods. An inquiry addressed to the Colonial Society in Southampton or the Historical Society in East Hampton, should bring a response that would put the antiquarian motorist in touch with a local historian who can lead to genealogical data, or local legends, or authentic history. James Truslow Adams, then a Wall Street broker, began his career as a historian, in a cemetery near Wainscott, studying epitaphs!

British soldiers were stationed in these parts during the Revolution. The fireplace where their General’s mess was prepared still stands in the Herrick House in the North End of Southampton. Near Pudding Hill, British raiders were driven off by a steaming teakettle in the hands of a patriot housewife. A local doctor routed the red coats from Hay Ground with a small pox scare. Old Pomp, a salve, dispatched horses of the enemy, with ground glass placed in their feed.

The oldest house was built by Thomas Halsey in 1688, in the South End of Southampton. The present owner, over zealously, has placed 1628 over the door. (He is a “Yorker” not a native).

In Littleworth, Foster’s Museum deserves a visit—an old barn filled with whaling and other relics. The library at East Hampton contains the priceless Pennypacker collection of books and papers relating to all Long Island subjects. In Southampton and East Hampton there are worthy art museums. Nature’s best contribution is found on the “wood roads” and back lanes.

Good hotels abound, but unfortunately, few farmhouses cater to the tourists. Parks, however, at Montauk provide camping accommodations and cooking places. What could be more fitting than to visit the Montauk docks, buying some live lobsters from the fishermen and then taking them to one of the parks on the Atlantic, and boiling them in sea water? This requires only a good sized kettle. To the more ambitious camp-cook, there is always fish available—“blues” from the surf or weakfish from the bays. (Likely the quickest way to get them is to visit Captain Tithill’s at Fort Pond.)

For the twin eight or the old four, alike, the East End offers its back roads and hidden beauties. The four-ply cement to Jericho or the Merrick Road certainly (25 or 27), but dirt roads after crossing Shinnecock Canal! They will lead through Millstone Brook where the trees have never been cut off; out to the Scallop Pond or around Big Fresh, called Nippaug by the Indians. Minnesunk Lake, or Little Fresh, Conscience Point, where the first settlers landed, Tuckahoe, Squaw Hill, Towd Point, and Holmes Hill—these and dozens of other places are found along the dirt roads.

"Half-Baked"

Jesse Halsey c1937

(Hoping that possibly out of the process there may be matured a wholesome loaf of bread or, more likely, a small pan of biscuits.)

There follow some random memories and observations out of experience that ultimately might find their way into a brief autobiography.

When I read about the peasantry of France or the yeomanry of England, I always rather proudly assert to myself, “that is the pit from which I was digged,” ‘though the farming element of New England does not, so far as I know, have attached to it any similar term.

In 1640, my ancestors settled on eastern Long Island. They bought land from the Indians and wrested a living from the soil and the sea. The wife of my paternal ancestor, the pioneer, Thomas Halsey, was carried off and murdered by the Indians, but the local tribes pursued the murders up into New England and executed them. There is no record of any further serious disturbance between whites and Indians.

Gayety at Southampton | 1895

June 23, 1895 | The New York Times

Summer Life at Long Island’s Great Resort

SOUTHAMPTON, L.I. June 22—As the season advances, this popular east end cottage resort resumes its old-time gayety. All the houses are now occupied. Many plans are being perfected for driving parties, teas, dances, and other social pastimes, and the present season promised to be a lively and jolly one among the cottage contingent. There is probably not another Summer place on Long Island that has such a large number of costly and fashionable drags, tally-hos, and other equipages as are to be seen upon the shady thoroughfares of this village. The many pretty drive in the north woods are much sought by merry driving parties, as are also the breezy and picturesque roads on Shinnecock Hills, leading to the golf links.

The bathing pavilions at the ocean shore opened for the season today. The facilities are better than ever this season, and especial attention has been paid to the safety and convenience of the bathers. Two bathing masters will be in constant attendance during the day to help anyone who may be in danger. The bathing at this pint is admitted to be the finest along the coast, owing to the peculiar form of the shore and the absence of the gravel bottom.

***

The Meadow Club courts present a gala appearance each morning. It is customary to play tennis until noon, when, after the season opens a grand rush is made to the beach and to Agawam Lake, a short distance away, where bathing suits are donned and bathing is indulged in. Among the most enthusiastic bathers are the Misses Barney (nieces of William C. Whitney), the Misses Moeran, The Misses Walton of Brooklyn, the Misses Russell, Mrs. T. G. Thomas, Mrs. Metcalfe Thomas, Messrs. Edward Bell, Roderick Terry, Dr. Thomas, Dr. George A. Dixon, the Rev. William S. Rainsford, and William Walton.

William Walton and family of Vanderbilt Avenue, Brooklyn, have arrived at their handsome Summer village at Hampton Park.

Walter E. Parfitt and family of Brooklyn are at their Summer place at Bridgehampton.

P. G. Bartlett, the lawyer, of New York has rented a cottage at Bridgehampton for the season.

***

The Art School at Shinnecock Hills has opened, and whole umbrellas can be seen in all directions about the hills. William M. Chase, who has charge of the school, has arrived at his cottage on the hills. The large dormitory, which has been built since last season, near the studio, is proving a great convenience to the students, who, in past Summers, have been obliged to put up at neighboring farmhouses, and who did not receive in a great many instances good entertainment.

***

The Southampton Village Trustees have decided to change the name of Windmill Lane to Agawam Avenue, and to apply this designation also to the continuation of the same street past Salem H. Wales’s house to Elihu Root’s corner. As this street is of generous width, the Trustees have violated all precedents in our village. Hitherto the name “avenue” has been applied only to narrow alleys and by-roads, while streets of this width have been designated largely as “lanes” as, for example, First Neck Lane, Gin Lane, Halsey’s Neck Lane, &c, all wide roadways.

***

The Shinnecock Indians, who have not been very friendly in past seasons with the art students, have buried the hatchet and signed a treaty of peace with Art Village, as the little settlement of studios on the eastern slope of the hills is called. Last Summer some of the Indians demanded tribute from the artists for the privilege of sketching on their reservation, which is situated on a neck of land about a mile away from the Art Village. The artists refused to reimburse the redmen, and on several occasions the students were attached by the Indians, and were obliged to withdraw from the field minus their sketching paraphernalia.

***

It is proposed to erect a six-thousand dollar addition to the Union School Building in this village. A meeting will soon be held to vote on the matter.

***

The car containing material for the new chapel and addition to the Presbyterian Church was burned at Middleport, this State, one day the past week.

***

A number of students from the art department of Pratt Institute of Brooklyn will spend their vacation at Art Village, Shinnecock Hills. The art students of the Brooklyn Institute will also attend the art school this season.

Salem H. Wales of New York, who has a handsome Summer place adjoining his son-in-law’s, Elihu Root, on the west shore of Lake Agawam, has been receiving the first congratulations of his numerous cottage friends for his appointment by Mayor Strong as a member of the new East River Bridge Commission. Mr. Wales is one of Southampton’s pioneer cottage residents, and takes a deep interest in the welfare of the village. He is a Director of the Southampton Bank, an officer of the Rogers Memorial Library Association, and a member of the Village Improvement Association.

Secretary Root and Family to be Guests of Mrs. S.H. Wales | 1907

August 16, 1907

Grave of Paul Cuffee at Hampton Bays (Canoe Place)

On Montauk Highway | Inscription

Erected by the New York Missionary Society in memory of the Rev. Paul Cuffee, an Indian of the Shinnecock Tribe, who was employed by that society for the last fifteen years of his life on the eastern part of Long Island where he labored with fidelity and success.

Humble, pious, and indefatigable in testifying to the gospel of the grace of God, he finished his course with joy on the 7^th of March 1812. Ae. 55 yrs. 5 days.

Talmadge-Ruland | Wedding

Southampton Press

Thursday, October 27, 1932

Leroy & Edna Ruland, Charles, Amanda, & Mary Talmadge
c1945 Shinnecock | film still

Talmadge-Ruland

A very pretty wedding took place on Friday evening. October 21, at the home [on North Main Street] of Mr. and Mrs. [Edna Halsey] Leroy W. Ruland, when their daughter, Amanda Halsey, was united in marriage to Charles DeWitt Talmadge of East Hampton.

The ceremony was performed by the Rev. Jesse Halsey, D.D. pastor of the Seventh Church, Walnut Hills, Cincinnati, who was a near relative of the family and had come for the occasion. The bride wore a gown of ivory stain and carried white roses with lilies-of-the-valley and orchids. Her only attendant was her sister, Joanna, Mrs. Thomas Honnett, who wore a gown of turquoise blue and carried a bouquet of roses. The best man was Charles Frank Dayton of East Hampton. The bride was given away by her father and the ring was used in the marriage ceremony. The wedding march was played by Ralph Douglass.

The decorations were of Autumn leaves and laurel with chrysanthemums and roses. About forty guests were present, near relatives and few intimate friends of the families of the bride and bridegroom.

The wedding ceremony was performed at 8:30 o’clock after which a bountiful collation was served.

The bridal couple left by automobile for their wedding journey, after which they will reside in East Hampton, where they will be at home after November 15. They were the recipients of many beautiful gifts from friends who wish them joy and long-continued happiness.

"From the Archives: Zella de Milhau Was Conventionality's Enemy"

Zella de Milhau: Dispatches from the Archives, by Mary Cummings

Southampton Patch | June 1, 2011

 

Making art, making life merry and facing danger when it mattered made for a life full of adventure and fun. 

 

Feminine fussbudgets and finicky old gents may have dominated the social scene in Southampton at the turn of the last century but not without plenty of competition from the irrepressible Zella de Milhau, who came to Shinnecock Hills to study at William Merritt Chase’s Summer Art School and stayed to stir things up.

Here is fellow art student Marietta Minnigerode Andrews’ description of the friend she called Della:
“[She] came to Shinnecock to be with friends and to make life merry for others in her own absurd and lovable way …”

Short in stature and favoring short-cropped hair and plus-fours, de Milhau called the Art Village cottage she shared with Molly Lawton “Laffalot.” When she was adopted by the Shinnecocks in a blood ceremony she took the name Chiola (she who laughs) and when she gave a party, she pulled out all the stops. Heads turned and hearts stopped when she drove her Tally-ho (four-in-hand coach) through the village at a hair-raising clip, a frequent occurrence that inspired this bit of verse:
“When Miss Zella Milhau
Drives her Tally-hau
She takes her whip
And hits ‘em a clip
And makes the horses gau”

“Laffalot” was thought so original that Charles Jagger devoted an admiring article to its charms in the autumn 1912 issue of his Southampton Magazine. Purchased from Mrs. William S. Hoyt, the structure was but a “bare little hut,” he wrote, until it was transformed by de Milhau’s magical hand (with help from her friend, architect Katherine Budd). De Milhau filled it with exotica — “Barbaric rugs and draperies … thousands of Indian relics and trophies of the chase or other sports or adventures in France, in Egypt, on Shinnecock Bay on the Western plains, in the Rocky Mountains, in the woods of Maine or elsewhere all over the world.”

She got around.

With her student days behind her — she also studied printmaking with Mary Moran in East Hampton — she went on to experiment with etching, aquatint and mezzotint, rather successfully it seems: the Library of Congress owns 15 of her prints. She and Ms. Budd were driving forces in the much publicized Street Greenery Movement in Brooklyn Heights where she lived off-season, and she continued to leap into action whenever she thought she could help.

During World War I de Milhau raised the money for an ambulance and shipped it to France where she took the wheel. Writing from France in a letter reprinted in the November 21, 1918, edition of The Southampton Press, she described her service “evacuating ‘old uns’ under shell fire and carrying wounded, too, under the same conditions.” For this act of generosity and heroism the French awarded her the Croix de Guerre.

Twenty years later she was again in rescue mode when the 1938 Hurricane struck while she was spending time at her Montauk hideaway, “Pirate’s Cove.” With Napeague awash, she rallied three men to help her gather supplies of food and medicine for the cut-off community. For this, she was cited by the Red Cross for her courage.

Recalling an impression of childhood, when de Milhau was a family friend, Barbara Lord spoke in a 2007 interview of de Milhau’s unique sense of style. She remembered picnics at “Pirate’s Cove,” where her family was entertained by de Milhau, and Fourth of July parades in which de Milhau could always be spotted marching proudly through town.

“She was an eccentric,” Ms. Lord said. “She was a live wire.”

Sources from the Southampton Historical Museum archives: “Memoirs of a Poor Relation” by Marietta Minnigerode Andrews; “Laffalot,” Southampton Magazine, Autumn 1912; Southampton Press 21 November 1918; “The Students of William Merritt Chase,” The Parrish Art Museum exhibition catalog, 1973; Interview with Barbara Lord, March 2007.

About this column: Lessons on local history from the manager of the Southampton Historical Museum Archives and Research Center

"Historical Pageant on the Reservation"

Shinnecock Indians c1939

Southampton Press

Friday, June 23, 1939

Members of the Shinnecock Tribe Will Present History in Six Episodes

On Saturday, July 1^st at 3:30 p.m. a pageant, written and directed by Miss Abigail F. Halsey will be presented on Shinnecock Reservation, near Southampton. In this manner the descendents of the Shinnecocks of 1640 will tell the story of the ancient days and ways of their ancestors, the coming of the first white man, and their treaty with hi “Never sworn to and never broken;” the coming the Christian missionaries and Christian teachers, Azariah Horton and Sarrison Occom being the first; the first June meeting under the great Cuffee; the lament of the Indian women whose news reaches them that so many of the men had lost their lives in the Circassian disaster in 1876; and a finale in which they will express their hope for the future—the days that are yet to be.

This pageant is being presented in connection with the building of a new church and parish house on the Reservation. Their church, erected near Canoe Place almost two centuries ago. . . was so badly damaged by the hurricane that it could no longer be used by them. It is significant that all this should be done in 1939—one year before the white people of Southampton Town and Southold Town will celebrate the three hundredth anniversary of the coming of the first white people.

On Sunday, July 2^nd, “Shinnecock Day” will be observed widely in the churches of the county. Pastors will preach historical sermons and an opportunity will be given to everyone to contribute to the building fund of the new church. The official board of a church in Utica made a contribution to the fund, stating they wanted to have a part in paying the white man’s debt of honor.

Dr. J. Percival Huget, president of the County Council of Churches, is chairman of the building committee. The Reverend Herbert E. Moyer is treasurer. The architect is Arthur New man of Bridgehampton, and the builder is Lester Raynor of Southampton.

The people of the Reservation are working hard under Miss Halsey’s direction to prepare a pageant true to the life of their people. They gather almost every night to practice. Mrs. Edward Foster and Leon Terry are helping with the singing. Mrs. Corey of the Y.M.C.A. is helping with the games, Miss Zella de Milhau with the costumes, and Miss Rachel Hartley with the publicity.

The Presbytery of Long Island is backing the project and the participants hope to make a good deal of money for their new church. Tickets will be on sale at Corwith’s Drug Store and the Shinnecock children will sell them.

A good cause, a good Saturday show, an inspiring Sunday vesper service.

Photo courtesy Abigail Fithian Halsey Files | Southampton Historical Museum Archives and Research Center

"Indian Pageant to be Presented"

Southampton Press

Friday, June 30, 1939

Suffolk County to Honor the Indians of Long Island; “Shinnecock Day”

In 1940 two of Suffolk County’s ten towns, i.e. Southampton and Southold, will celebrate the three hundredth anniversary of the coming of the first English settlers. In giving thought to those who lived here before the white man came and to their descendants in 1939 the people of the county are showing an excellent spirit.

In 1639 there were thirteen tribes of Indians on the Island, i.e. the Canarsie, the Rockaways, the Meracocks, the Massapeaques, the Matinecocks, the Nissaquoques, the Setaukets, the Corchaugs, the Secatogues, the Shinnecocks, the Patchogues, the Montauks. Offshore on Shelter Island lived the Manhanset Tribe. The Indian population numbered many thousands. Three hundred years later only one tribe remains—the Shinnecock. They still maintain tribal government. Historians tell us that fifty years after the white man came, one-third of the Indian population had disappeared. Today only a small remnant remains. The white man’s ways, his diseases, his fire water, and helping him fight his wars turned out to be deadly enemies to the red man.

On Saturday and Sunday, July 1^st and 2^nd, at 3:30 p.m. on their reservation at the entrance to the Shinnecock Hills, the Shinnecocks will enact three hundred years of their history in an historical pageant. The pageant was written and is being directed by Abigail F. Halsey of Southampton. The Shinnecocks have been working faithfully, doing all the manual labor themselves, and making their own costumes.

“Shinnecock Day” will be observed in many of the churches of the county on Sunday, July 2^nd. Pastors will preach appropriate sermons and an opportunity will be given to the people of the county to contribute to the Shinnecock’s building fund. The hurricane of 1938 damaged the reservation church so severely that it could no longer be used for worship. A new church, equipped with social and educational facilitates is being erected at a cost of $30,000. One half of this amount has already been raised. Dr. J. Percival Huget, president of the County Council of Churches is chairman of the building fund. Rev. Herbert E. Moyer of Bridgehampton is treasurer.

When Summer Camps Were For The Whole Family

Bishop's Tower at Shinnecock

The East Hampton Press & The Southampton Press

By Heather Girgent

The word “camp” is more often used to describe a place where parents can send their children during the summer to enjoy various activities away from home.

However, in the early 1900s there was an entirely different meaning of the word “camp” for many Southampton residents. At that time, it was fairly common for local businessmen, farmers and other middle-class families who lived in the village to build small, simple structures close to the bay, which became a sort of summer escape, a camp they could enjoy with their families.

The Southampton Historical Museum will present an “Escape to the Bay: Family Camps in Southampton” exhibit, featuring several of these historic camps, opening on Saturday, August 18.
Exhibit curator and museum advisory committee member Hilary Woodward said she took up an interest in the history of these camps about seven years ago.

“I felt that this was a story that should not be forgotten,” she said during a telephone interview last Thursday. “The history was being lost and I really wanted to document it before it was too late.”
Ms. Woodward’s vested interests in the history of these camps may have something to do with her own fond memories of summer days spent on the bay.

“I’m a Herrick and my family was one of the families that owned a camp, so this was a culture I knew about,” she said. “I remember enjoying scalloping, clamming and having clambakes on the beach. It was a real simple, fun way that people spent their summers and the exhibit really celebrates that.”

Ms. Woodward’s family camp was called “Whalebone” and was built by her grandfather, John Austin Herrick, the second generation owner of Herrick Hardware on Main Street in Southampton.
The Herrick camp, located on Noyac Bay, was sold in 1959 to Justice Robert Kendrick and his family when Ms. Woodward was just 5 years old. The Kendricks sold Whalebone just a few years ago, and according to Ms. Woodward, it was just recently torn down.

At the start of her research, Ms. Woodward visited a few other original camp owners and heard stories about their experiences.

“Those who could remember being children spending their summers in the camps during the 1920s were in their 80s and now, several of them have passed away,” she said. “Their stories and their reminiscences of the camps were disappearing.”

While Ms. Woodward spent time with the families, she was able to gather photos and hear stories about their escape to the bay. She learned that some of these camps were in fact still being used by the families. Others were being sold and would eventually be torn down to open up the land for bigger houses to be built.

According to Ms. Woodward, each of the camps she had the pleasure of learning about had a significant name and were built in such a way that reflected the personality of the owner.

For example, the Halseys’ camp on Peconic Bay. According to Ms. Woodward, Jesse Halsey was a minister in Cleveland and the church was doing renovations, so he brought the doors from the church to Southampton and used them to build his camp in 1946.

The Halsey family’s camp was called “Shiconnic.” Ms. Woodward reported that the family was happily using it up until a few years ago.

Other camps included “The Tower,” a three-story camp built on the highest spot of land owned by the Bishop family. True to its name, The Tower was a strategic structure that allowed the family to see views of the bay and the ocean.

Another, owned by the Alexander family, was built from timber left from Camp Upton, a Long Island-based induction and training facility for new soldiers who were to fight in World War I. The camp, still standing, is appropriately called “War Timber.” It has not been changed since 1918 and the family still uses it, according to Ms. Woodward.

Another family that has no plans to surrender their camp is the Corwin family. According to Susan Corwin Mitchell, her family’s camp has three separate buildings and is located off Millstone Brook Road, at the end of a long driveway, which was originally dirt but is now paved with crushed clamshells the family acquires from their days on the boat.

During a telephone interview last Friday, Ms. Mitchell explained that her grandparents, who lived on North Main Street, built the main camp in 1902. Two other buildings followed later.
When Ms. Mitchell was born, she and her parents lived at the second building on the property, she said. Approximately five years later, they moved to Big Fresh Pond Road.

At that time, the camps used only firewood for heat. So, according to Ms. Mitchell, her father had to dig out an area under the camp for a heating system, in preparation for the family’s arrival. Over time, more improvements were added, including indoor plumbing and electricity. But Ms. Mitchell said she still remembers the time when outhouses and a hand pump were the way.

“I remember my grandpa keeping a jug of water next to the water pump so that if we had to prime it, we could,” she said. “And I remember there was a hurricane one summer but we had gas for the stove and water from the pump, so we could still cook.”

Now living in Florida, Ms. Mitchell said that she makes sure to come up and spend time at the camp several times a year.

“I thought having a camp like that was normal,” she said laughing. “We just walked out the door and went to play in the woods, making tree forts, discovering things and going on the boat clamming and crabbing. My grandpa taught us how to sail there. It was a wonderful experience growing up. We enjoy our camp and plan to have it for generations to come because we feel blessed that we’ve been able to hold on to it this long.”

The exhibit will feature original photos and stories from all of these camps but there will also be a scrapbook wall. According to Ms. Woodward, there are most likely many other families in the area who have a family camp history or memories of a childhood spent on the bay. For that reason, she said, she encourages the community to come in, view the exhibit and bring along any photos they have of having fun at the bay, even if it wasn’t at a camp.

The “Escape to the Bay” exhibit will be on view at Rogers Mansion in Southampton from Saturday, August 18, opening at 4 p.m., through Saturday, November 3. Exhibit hours are from 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. Tuesday through Saturday. Entrance to the exhibit is $4 for adults, and free for members and children. For more information, call 283-2494 or visit southamptonhistoricalmuseum.org.

"the life of the little colony"

from "Southampton—Her Records and Her Landmarks" by Lizbeth Halsey White, Reprinted from the New York History, Vol. XIV, No. 4, October 1933.  

“In loving memory, October 1933”

We must go to the Dutch records, to learn of the adventures of the part of the Company, which sailing from Lynn down Long Island Sound [in 1640] made a landing at Cow Bay, adjacent to the Dutch settlement at New Amsterdam. They were shortly arrested by the Dutch authorities and imprisoned in the fort at New Amsterdam, and released only upon the promise to depart and never again return. From the testimony given at the inquiry we learn that hey had come to Long Island to plant and make a plantation; that twenty families were to come and if the land should be good they expected a good many. We learn also the names of the eight men who had a part in this expedition of whom six were under 28 years of ge. Edward Howell, the leader of the company and Daniel Howe, captain of the vessel, were of more mature years. A woman and a child were among the number. The time of the release of the prisoners is given as May 19, 1640, giving ample time for the party to make its passage down Long Island Sound and into the waters of Peconic Bay, named by the settlers the “North Sea”—a name given also to the hamlet which grew up around it.

Tradition tells us that, when the woman of the party stepped ashore after her long and tedious voyage, she exclaimed “For Conscience’s Sake, We’re on dry land once more!” and thus originated the name of the landing place of the colonists of 1640. From the records it is easy to infer that the woman was Eleanor, second wife of Edward Howell, and that the boy was their son Arthur, born 1635, who later became a picturesque figure in the life of the little colony.

When the settlers landed they discovered they were in the vicinity of an encampment of the Indian tribe of the Shinnecocks and near the headquarters of the sachem, Mandush.

Making their peace with the Indians, they made their way through the woods and wilderness to a ridge of land within sight of the “South Sea,” where were built their first rude habitations. On the corner of Meeting House Lane and Old Town Road, where now is the hospital garden, in 1641 was built the earliest church to which had already come its first minister. The name Abraham Pierson stands first on the Indian deed, finally consummated December 13, 1640, and which he no doubt helped to compose.

*Paper read before the New York state Historical Association, at Southampton, October 6, 1932. The author, Mrs. Edward P. White, had been town historian since 1923 and was most active in preparing for the meeting of the Association. AS already noted in New York History, April 1933, Mrs. White Died very suddenly on October 25, 1932. We are indebted to her sister, Miss Abigail F. Halsey, for the manuscript of this paper. Editors.

The East Riding of Yorkshire

By Jesse Halsey, c1938

The East Riding of Yorkshire. Thus it was called in the early days. The name has changed but the savor of the old time lingers.

Farmhouses low and sturdy with gray weathered shingles punctuate the flat countryside. Shingles three feet long, rived from red cedar that grew in the swamps, worn thin now where they have defied the east-wind-driven storms of two hundred winters and the bristling heat of as many summers, but with butts still thick enough to cast healthy shadows in endless parallel windows where the long sweeping roofs on the north side slope almost to the ground.

“Regardless of the direction of the highway those houses were set by their builders always facing the south—and the sun and the sea. Farm houses like that, gray and weathered but trim and tight against the weather, were built, some on village streets and some at the hub of the surrounding acres.

Tiny windowpanes peek out, diamond, and square and oblong, most from the days when glass came from over the water and was priced in shillings and pence and is bubble-scarred and blue streaked and is enchantingly distorting as one peers out.

Lanes there are that wind as one did the cow-paths. Lanes with names like this: Job’s Land, Gin Lane, Loylsome Lane, Hither Lane, Further Land, Middle Lane. Some lead through the woods and some across the meadows but all come at long last—or short—to some water, great or small, fresh or salt—any one of a dozen bays or ponds, or the beach banks and the Ocean.

Squat and square brick chimneys anchor the houses to the ground. Within, these chimneys are fed by fireplaces, one in each and every room. Floorboards creak when you enter, boards half as wide as puncheon head. Low ceilings, paneled woodwork, musical H and L hinges on gently squeaking doors.

Leaning barns and wood sheds where eel-spears and clam rakes and harpoons prod the latest agricultural machinery. A discarded seine is sometimes seen, used now for a net for tennis or volley ball, but a swift reminder of days when corn was grown with fish for fertilizer—“two bunkers to a hill.”

By trim white Churches, surmounted by pointing spires, one comes upon ancestral burying rounds where rhymed epitaphs quarrel with life’s adventures to attempt to perpetuate the excellence of some village worthy—or mayhem his idiosyncrasies.

Names nostalgic attach to the villages, reminiscent of Old England—Southwold, Maidstone, Southampton. The music of the Indian words echoes in geographic designations –Quoque, Quioque, Ponquogue, Kumsebog, Shinnecock, Amagansett, Montauk, as the New Yorkers say. Or as the natives say, Montawk. (I am a native.)

Hamlets, two house or a dozen, a mile apart, or two, the names come back as you flash through, remembering the days when in the springless farm wagon it took half the day to take a grist to the mill. Littleworth, Good Ground, Scuttle Hole, and Hecox. Tuckahoe, Seabonac, North Ben, or Hog Neck. Towd and Cobb and Little Cobb, Flying Point, the Sea Poose, and Wickapoque. Then there was—and is—Scuttle Hole and Wainscott, Sag and Sag Harbor, Water Hill and North Sea and Canoe Place.

Captain’s Neck is there, and Cooper’s Neck, First Neck, and Halsey’s Neck is there, and Cooper’s Neck, First Neck, and the Great and Little Plains.

Windmills, a dozen or so, some in wreck, some in good repair, one, or maybe two, still grinding! And Whalebone Landing, Sandy Hollow, and Coopers Hill, The Twelve Acres or Reeves’ Orchard. In each of these my grandfather owned parcels of woodland. They furnished fuel aplenty for his many fire-placed house. He had inherited the woodland from his father, and he from his, for seven generations since the settlement date. I own it now. It is worth little, that land, but it has furnished fuel for Halsey households for nigh on to three hundred years, one generation after another—ten of them now. A cutting of new growth, is ready, say, once each thirty years.

Some of the wood from those parental acres I heap upon the fire tonight—steady burning hickory with a back of fragrant cedar—and in its glow of memory many things come back some out of the dim past. For I have lived a long time. Sometimes I think it must be close on to two centuries. What I mean is this—in fifty years, and odd, I’ve seen in the village where I was born the change from colonial simplicity in belief, in practice, and in custom to the usages of modern mechanized today.

I can remember for example when one family in our community kept Sabbath from Saturday sundown to Sunday evening, when everyone kept Sabbath in some strict form, when many people had candle moulds and some used them. When the few cottagers were called Yorkers. When most families raised and cured their own pork and canned their own fruit and dried their own vegetables. When potatoes and turnips and cabbage were the sole and staple vegetables for nine months of the year. Salt pork, salt codfish, steady diet. Carrots were for horses, pumpkins would keep only up to Christmas and were never canned, hence the untiring profusion of “pumpkin” pie this time of year.

It is as it were, a sprightly evening in early winter and a fire is burning on the hearth. It seldom snaps; it never smokes for grandfather was a skilled mason and knew his trade. Supper is over and the dishes cleared away, from the kitchen come the sounds of cleaning up and the stirring of buckwheat cakes being “set to rise” for breakfast. A Kerosene lamp burns on the erstwhile dining table now covered with a turkey-red damask cloth. In a Boston rocker by the fire sits and old man and on a foot-stool, toasting his shins, stretches a little boy. Whether he is six or eight or ten I cannot quite tell—no it is not the smoke, grandfather was a capable mason—it must be my eyes. Against the wall, so near that the boy can lean on it, is a seaman’s chest. The old man is reading, the boy listening, when he gets drowsy he leans his head on the chest and dozes off, waking with a start as Napoleon leaves Moscow, or Alexander reaches Babylon.

We must open that chest. Its stout rope handle smell of oakum, its battered exterior betrays its history knocking ‘round the seven seas in more than one forecastle. We should like to see what’s inside. The hand-hammered strap hinges gently protest but the boy turns back the lid. I’ve read in William James that smells quicken sure remembrance—well, they are here in urgent suggestions of far Cathay, the Moluccas, of the Celebes and other spice islands. The old people call it “cassia,” though we say cinnamon; this chest must have brought home cassia on occasion: at any rate its lined with strips of red cedar and San Domingo mahogany and sandal wood. It has fragrance when opened that to me is pleasant, though pungent and pervasive.

The boy explores the contents while his father holds the lamp. A broken backed leather bound Bible, with s’s that look like f’s, an old log book, some maps and charts, a volume of town records, a bunch of yellow letters tied with a faded blue linen rag, a copy of Pilgrim’s Progress, a Bodwich’s Navigator and a box that used to hold a sextant. These and some sea shells from the south seas, (the boy holds one to his ear to hear the throbbing ocean), a few small nuggets of gold from California, more books—a lot of junk, so the boy thought—then. Now—with reverence he closes the lid realizing that the chest is empty—except for memories.

Mary Ann

by Jesse Halsey

Thanksgiving is the Great Day in New England, or was so in my boyhood. We lived on Long Island, the east end of which is pure New England, while the wet end is Dutch---with a Kriskingle. So we had, both; Thanksgiving and Christmas. Grandfather was much of a Puritan and frowned on Christmas celebrations—in theory. Being a deacon he had to agree with the Parson who never would preach a Christmas sermon at Christmas nor an Easter sermon at Easter! (“It was papish.”)

But our grandmother was different. SHE was supreme in her own domain, indoors, and knew, moreover, just how to handle grandfather who was naturally fat and jolly and, as a young man, had lived in New York where Christmas and New Years were real celebrations that centered largely in the home. This was the beginning of the Nineteenth century—our grandfather’s boyhood; while our childhood was in the years near its close.

Mary Ann Cuffee

We were lucky, I say, with a New England Thanksgiving and a Dutch-flavored Christmas. And then we were blessed with Mary Ann.

She came to help on all great occasions. Funerals, births, butchering days, Town Meeting, Thanksgiving, the Christmas week, and many other times in between. No family occasion was complete without her. The little “back chamber,” a half attic over the kitchen, was her room, never used by another so far as I know.

An Indian of the Poosepatuck tribe, she was born before Eighteen hundred, near Montauk Point, but in our time lived on the Shinnecock Reservation, where she had married. Her features were as severe, as my faded snap-shot will show, but she was the soul of goodness and withal a most excellent cook.

Snow sometimes came with Thanksgiving, and almost always by Christmas time was continuously on the ground. It was my greatest joy, as a boy, early Thanksgiving morning to drive (with some of my cronies), in the old apple-cart, or in a sleigh, to the Indian reservation, two miles away “to fetch Mary Ann.” She had a grandson just my age who always came along.

Her mind was full of old sayings—this old woman; old traditions and superstitions. She believed in ghosts “and such like;” had hard common sense, stoic discipline, but a soft spot for us boys. She remembered wigwam days and knew the nature-lore of her ancestors, could predict the weather and, as I said, she could cook.

The simplest fare became ambrosial at her touch. I mean this in a countrified sense for she knew nothing of salads and appetizers. None were needed. The odors that hung round the home for hours before a meal, though kitchen doors were closed, these were enough to set one’s appetite agog.

She had no written recipes. Like all good cooks, she just guessed, but when my oldest sister was married “Aunt Mary Ann,” as we children called her, consented to be questioned regarding her art and with Grandmother’s help the bride got some semi-recipes on paper. With the passage of the years we came to think that sister “Nynne” had caught some of the culinary secrets of Mary Ann. From her cookbook and other family sources I have tried to write down some of the old Indian’s best dishes best suited to the Holiday Season.

Historic image courtesy Abigail Fithian Halsey Files, Southampton Historical Museum Archives and Research Center.