The first tavern that historians can name is Lyons Ordinary, founded on the banks of the Passaic River in the new settlement of Newark around May of 1666. Henry Lyon was charged to “keep an Ordinary for the Entertainment of Travellers and Strangers.” While all traces of this early tavern have vanished under the tarmac and concrete of modern Newark, the idea upon which this this tavern was founded — so far as the legislature saw it: to provide comfort and accommodations for visitors—was the same as every other tavern in New Jersey.

The Cedar Bridge Tavern. Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division, Historic American Buildings Survey, Historic American Engineering Record or Historic American Landscapes Survey, HABS NJ,15-____,1-1

The taverns that may predate Lyons have been lost to history. The British, having just defeated the Dutch and taken control over all of what would eventually become New Jersey in 1664, wasted no time in writing laws to govern the ordinaries. Over the course of the following centuries, laws would be enacted, repealed, enforced, and ignored. The first law regulating taverns appears in the Duke of York’s Laws in the Charter of William Penn on April 2, 1664:

No person or persons shall at any time under any pretence or Colour whatsoever undertake to be a Common Victuler, keeper of a Cookes shop, or House of Common entertainment, or publique seller of wine, Beare, Ale or strong waters by retail or a less quantity than a quarter Caske, without a certificate of his good behaviour from the constable and two Overseers at east of the parish wherein he dwelt and a Lycence first obtained under the hand of two Justices of the peace in the Sessions upon pain of forfeiting five pounds for every such offense, or Imprisonment at the discretion of the court.

Providing hospitality to strangers was of chief importance to the early settlers in America, and legislators enacted laws to ensure that taverns existed to provide entertainment and lodging to visitors. In East Jersey, a law enacted in 1688 provided for a fine of forty shillings per month for each town that did not have an ordinary. West Jersey generally left the matter up to the discretion of the local town. In either province, no one but the holder of a license could charge for giving lodging or meals to strangers. Furthermore, the law required the tavern keeper to maintain a register containing the names of all visitors for the local magistrates.

The earliest colonial taverns usually consisted of two rooms. One room contained a bar and tables for drinking and meals. The second served as residential quarters for the tavern keeper and his family. Like many early buildings the kitchen was usually just a lean-to connected to the back of the building and served double duty as a woodshed. Overnight guests would simply bunk down on the floor of the dining room once the last drinks were served and the night’s dishes were cleared away. The bar of an eighteenth-century tavern stood in a small alcove in the corner of the dining room, with a lockable door to one side and a short narrow ledge long enough for a few people to order drinks and bring them to their tables. At night a wooden barricade would swing down from the ceiling and close off the bar, keeping the proprietors valuable liquors secure from the strangers sleeping in the dining room. An example of this “cage bar” can still be found at the restored Indian King Tavern in Haddonfield.

A cage bar in the King's Tavern, Sunnybrook MD. Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division, Historic American Buildings Survey, Historic American Engineering Record or Historic American Landscapes Survey, HABS MD,3-SUNB,1-1

The tavern building usually featured separate entrances for the bar and the private living quarters and a large covered porch ran across the front of the building. As the fortunes of the colonists improved and the taverns became larger and more elaborate, the builder maintained the tradition of a public and a private entrance. The presence of both doors under the continuous roof of a porch provides a valuable clue that helps differentiate an old tavern building from some farmhouses that also had multiple front doors.

Identifying the tavern would be a large wooden sign either attached to the building itself or hung from a nearby post. This custom began with English pubs and the law required a hanging sign to obtain a tavern license. The sign’s elaborate design directly reflected the fortunes and whims of the proprietor. In some cases the sign was just a simple board with the name of the establishment painted on it. Others might have elaborate carvings and/or surrounded with a wrought iron frame. Tavern keepers also changed locations, and, when leaving, they would often carry the sign to their new establishment. Thus, for example, the Kings Arms Tavern originated in Trenton and then relocated to Perth Amboy when the proprietor sold the original building.

The Noah Brooks Tavern Sign, Middlesex, MA. Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division, Historic American Buildings Survey, Historic American Engineering Record or Historic American Landscapes Survey, HABS MASS,9-LIN,5-3

Conversation and gossip served as the chief mode of entertainment at the tavern for the local gentry and travelers. The tavern keeper also occasionally held dances, although the larger of these gatherings, at least in the Pine Barrens, occurred in dedicated dance halls. The infamous pine robber, Joe Mulliner, had a penchant for the dances held at the Quaker Bridge tavern and the authorities finally apprehended the miscreant at a dance held in the tavern at Nesco.

The games played at taverns often drew the ire of the Legislature. Amusements such as dice, shuffleboard, quoits, long bullets, and ninepins— an ancestor to modern day bowling—provided entertainment at the tavern and many who would have normally worked in the fields or mills loitered around the tavern looking for a game. In 1739 the Legislature lamented in an act that the tavern was not “for the Encouragement of Gaming, Tipling, Drunkenness, and other Vices so much as of late practiced at such Places, to the great Scandal of Religion, and Dishonour of God, and the impoverishing of the Commonwealth.”

In 1779 the Legislature passed a law prohibiting the playing of “Fives, Ninepins, Long Bullets, or similar Games at a Tavern or in the Highway or on the Grounds, or against the House of any Person, without Leave.” Lesgislators later amended the law to allow shuffleboard, bowls, quoits, and ninepins under local option.

The “sport” of Cockfighting became associated with these early taverns. Then, as much as now, officials would not tolerate the fights and the sponsors held the events clandestinely. Owners carried their birds to the tavern yard and men would assemble in a circle lit only by an oil lantern and the stars to watch the birds fight. Sometimes a particularly successful bird, famous at some other tavern, would be brought in to challenge the local champion. Usually the noise and crowd attracted attention, but, more often than not, the men, birds, and prize money would disappear by the time any constable arrived to investigate.

Taverns also attracted traveling shows and carnivals. These exhibitions drew crowds from far and wide to witness the “monstrous sights” of trained animals, slight of hand performances, puppet shows, and various fake mechanical devices. These shows grew in such number and frequency that, yet again, the Legislature felt the need to act and on March 16, 1798 enacted a law with a preamble that read:

“And whereas public shews and exhibitions of divers kinds have of late become very frequent and common within this State, whereby many strangers and worthless persons have unjustly gained and taken to themselves considerable sums of money, and it being found on experience that such shews and exhibitors tend to no good or useful purpose in society, but, on the contrary to collect together great numbers of idle and unwary spectators, as well as children and servants, to gratify vain and useless curiosity, loosen and corrupt the morale of youth, and straiten and impoverish many poor families.”

The Spring Garden Inn, Ancora, NJ. Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division, Historic American Buildings Survey, Historic American Engineering Record or Historic American Landscapes Survey, HABS NJ,4-ANCO,1-1

The type and quality of food served naturally depended on the location of the tavern. For taverns located in cities such as Burlington, Newark, and Princeton, the fare was quite lavish. Accommodations off the beaten path provided far less comfort. John Torrey, the famous New York botanist, traveled through the Pine Barrens in 1818 researching material for his publication Catalogue of Plants growing spontaneously within Thirty Miles of the City of New York. After leaving the tavern at Quaker Bridge he continued on to the tavern at Ten-Mile Hollow in Berkley Township where he noted that:

“After we left Quaker bridge we fared pretty hard. Some places called taverns that we were put up at were not fit for an Arab. At a place called Ten Mile Hollow, or Hell Hollow, we expected to sleep in the woods, for it was with most difficulty that we persuaded them to take us in. This was the most miserable place we ever saw; they were too poor to use candles. No butter, sugar, etc. A little sour stuff which I believe they called rye bread, but which was half sawdust, and a little warm water and molasses were all we had for breakfast. For supper, I could not see what we had, for we ate in the dark.”

The courts set prices for food, drink, and lodging almost from the beginning. The Court in Burlington adopted a resolution on August 8, 1682:

“Ordered by ye Cort that no Person or Persons keeping or shall keep an Ordinary or Inne within ye Jurisdiction of this Cort shall from after ye Tenth day of August inst. take more than Two pence for an Ale quart of good wholesome Ale, or strong Beere, and Benj. West and Henry Grubb are by ye Cort appointed to be Ale Tasters and to see ye measures for Ale & Beere, according to ye order above, until next General Assembly, or further orders.”

These were the days before a la carte menus became the norm, and the food served at the tavern was usually whatever the proprietor felt like cooking at the time. Drinks consisted of beer, ale, cider, wine, or a limited selection of spirits, chiefly rum. Unlike today’s taverns that have a variety of different drinks available, the choices in the past were limited to whatever the tavern may have had on hand.

Drink prices also varied depending on whether you drank indoors or out. The authorities levied serious fines for those who overcharged, particularly during the Revolution. The May 2, 1778 Minutes of the Council of Safety record that the Council levied a heavy fine of six pounds per offense against tavern keeper Samuel Smith for overcharging. The Council also forced him to forfeit the charges for the food, drink, and lodging entirely, bringing his fine to £37.2.6. A schedule of the prices the Burlington Court established in 1739 can be found at the end of this article.

While drinking was tolerated, and perhaps even encouraged, by the most conservative of Quakers , drunkenness proved to be a serious offense in New Jersey’s early days. As early as 1683, the General Assembly passed a law that provided for either a fine of three shillings and four pence per offense or confinement in the stocks for a period of not more than five hours. The courts summoned Peter Groom in 1694 and, having been fined five shillings for standing before the court with his hat on, unluckily had his fine raised to fifty pence once he admitted that “hee had got over much strong drink” and had appeared “before ye Court drunk.”

The law also prohibited the sale of liquor to the Indians. In 1680 the Burlington court decreed that:

“… if any psn or psons shall hereafter, directly or indirectly, sell any Rumme or other strong Liquors to any Indian or Indians, either by great or small measure without order from ye Cort then such pson or psons soe offending shall forfeit & pay for every such offense 50s And upon refusall neglect or non-payment of ye same it shall be Leviyed upon any of ye Goods & Chattles of ye pson or psons soe offending by Distress & sale of ye same. This is to continue until further order.”

The court modified the measure shortly thereafter to allow the sale of liquor to the Indians in small measure provided that the Indians depart “into ye Woods to drinke ye same there, yt [that] soe the people may be nee disturbed by them.”

Taverns in the cities tended to sprout up wherever a licensee may have a house or a plot of land on which to build one. Outside of population centers, however, taverns were constructed at convenient intervals along stagecoach lines and served as rest stops for both the horses and drivers as well as the passengers. Frequently the stages carried freight and mail as well, and the stage stop in Arneytown near the border of Burlington and Monmouth Counties served not only as a tavern but also as a post office and general store.

Lawrie House, Arneytown, NJ. Authors collection.

Before the Revolution, the county courts made it quite difficult to obtain a license for a tavern, yet, despite the population of West Jersey being 13,714 people in 1726, quite a number of taverns existed within the province. After the Revolution, returning veterans and widows of fallen soldiers created a flood of tavern license applications, and the courts were only too happy to oblige. By 1784, fifty-seven taverns existed in Burlington County, thirty in Gloucester, twenty-six in Salem, five in Cape May, forty-seven in Hunterdon, and ten in Cumberland. Just two years later, William Livingston, the first governor of New Jersey, complained:

“I have seen four times as many taverns in the State as are necessary. These superabundant taverns in the State are continuously haunted by idlers. These taverns are confessedly so many nuisances – all well regulated governments abolish them, and yet I have not seen any of our courts that license them willing to retrench the supernumerary ones.”

Two years prior to Livingston’s lament, the residents of Greenwich Township in Gloucester County, perhaps fearing an explosion in the number of taverns operating nearby, filed a petition with the court protesting an increase in the number of tavern licenses. The petition stated “that the number [of taverns] now are Sufficent for the Uses for which they are instituted, that any more May be of Great Disadvantage to Sundry of the Near inhabitants Who are apt to frequent such Places to the Poverishment of Themselves and familys.”

The fears of idleness and drunkenness resulting from the growing number of taverns in New Jersey and beyond, coupled with changing social morals in the early nineteenth century likely provided an impetus for the Temperance movement, which urged the complete abstinence of alcoholic beverages. The closing of the iron furnaces in South Jersey and the migration of the workforce away from these now deserted villages starved the taverns for business. As the nineteenth century came to a close, most stage routes had ceased operations, the horses and carriages replaced by much faster automobiles and trucks and the taverns along the route often underwent conversion into homes. Although illicit distilleries operated in the Pine Barrens during Prohibition, the last of the old taverns had finally closed.

While the heyday of the old taverns is long gone, some of the old taverns and stagecoach stops once again serve alcohol and food. The Cassville Tavern in Jackson still retains much of the feel that an old stagecoach tavern must have had. In Chesterfield, the old Recklesstown Tavern, circa 1710, is again a bar and restaurant called the Chesterfield Inn and still hosts games of quoits. In these hallowed halls you can raise a glass of “good ale or beere” and join over three hundred years of drinking history in New Jersey’s taverns.

Appendix: 1739 Burlington Tavern Price Schedule

On August 19, 1739 the Burlington court set a schedule for the prices a tavern could charge for food, drink, and lodging. This list is an interesting example of the kinds of offerings these old taverns would have had. A tavern may have offered more or less than what this list shows, and should not be considered any sort of canonical “menu” for a contemporary tavern at the time. I have tried to clarify some of the language used in the schedule so it is not “as written” in 1739.

All & Every afsd Liquors to be sold by measures having the Standard mark thereon according to An Act of General Assembly of this Province under sd Pains and Penalties therein contained.

The historian Charles Boyer, in his excellent book Old Inns and Taverns in West Jersey, from which this author copied this schedule, explains some of the words that would be unknown today. “Muscovado sugar” is simply raw, unrefined brown sugar. Boiling down cider to one fourth of its original volume made “Cider Royall.” “Metheglin” is a concoction of fermented honey, herbs, and water. A “mimbo” was a drink made from rum and loaf sugar. Boyer failed in his efforts to determine the consistency of a “tiff,” except he noted that it contained a considerable amount – usually about a pint – of rum.

Of special note is the section about lodging. It was quite the custom for an innkeeper to “pack them in” when he could, and friends and strangers of the same sex frequently found themselves sharing a bed. While someone could request a bed of their own, customs of the day would have made that person look quite obnoxious and fastidious.

The trail today would take me through Crosswicks, home of the famous Quaker meeting house with a cannon ball from the Revolutionary War embedded in it. For Beck the journey along the old country lanes and byways must have taken forever, but the modern highways of Rt. 295 and Rt. 195 made short work of my trip from Princeton. The way to Crosswicks is through Yardville, and almost immediately after exiting the highway time seems to begin to turn back. Old houses line even older roads from a time before a committee or developer named them, but by virtue of what little hamlet they’d bring you to. The area is full of them: Crosswicks-Hamilton Square Road; Crosswicks-Chesterfield Road who’s name inverts once you get closer to Chesterfield; Georgetown-Chesterfield Road – they go on and on.

The description Thomas Gordon gives of Crosswicks in his New Jersey Gazetteer of 1834 still seems a good description of the town:

“… contains from 40-50 dwellings, a very large Quaker meeting house and school, 4 taverns, 5 or 6 stores, a saw mill and grost mill; the village is pleasantly situated in a fertile country, who’s soil is sandy loam; near the town is a bed of iron ore, from which considerable quantities are taken to the furnaces in the lower part of the county.”

The Quaker Meetinghouse at Crosswicks

Dominating the village green of Crosswicks for the last two hundred and thirty years is a large brick Quaker meetinghouse, built in 1773 at a cost of $3750. This is the third meetinghouse located on the site since the congregation began meeting in 1693. During the Revolutionary War both the British and the Colonials used the meetinghouse as barracks, which proved to be difficult for the pacifist Quakers who still continued to hold meetings there during the conflict. Within the meetinghouse is an old bog iron stove from Atsion, one of three known to still exist.

The cannonball embedded in the north wall of the Crosswicks Meetinghouse

Crosswicks was the scene of a skirmish between the British and the Americans during the Revolution. In 1778, as General Clinton and his troops were retreating back towards New York the militia destroyed the bridge over Crosswicks Creek. There were several exchanges of fire including some of the British field pieces, with one wayward British cannonball embedding itself in the side of the meetinghouse. At some point in time a caretaker dug the cannon ball out of the wall and kept it at his house for safekeeping. After his death, sometime in the early 20^th century, the ball was returned and a mason hired to plaster it back into place. The ball is still there today, visible between two windows on the upper story.

The Crosswicks Library

Crosswicks Post Office

Houses in Crosswicks

Bend in the road, Crosswicks.

Walking through the town is like stepping back in time. The Crosswicks Library is located in the building formerly occupied by the Union Fire Company. The old post office, further down the road, is quaint in its red siding. Old houses line the street perilously close to the road, old “wavey glass” still in many of their windowpanes.

Crosswicks Inn

At the end of the town is the Crosswicks Inn, the latest name for a structure that served as a stagecoach stop throughout the 18^th century. Across from there is the old Hamilton Uniforms Factory, originally the Edgar Brick & Sons Mince Meat Factory. The rambling weathered building is from 1874 and appears all but abandoned.

Hamilton Uniforms Factory

Hamilton Uniforms Factory

The road from Crosswicks led on to Chesterfield, once Recklesstown, passing along picturesque farms and a mix of new and old houses. Recklesstown, they say, comes from the Reckless family, one of whom died trying to apprehend John Bacon at the Battle of Cedar Bridge in 1782. In 1834 Gordon found the town to contain “a tavern, store, and 10 or 12 dwellings…” Today the tavern and store are still in operation and not many more dwellings line the ancient roads. It’s a quiet, tranquil place although my presence photographing a tree in the general store parking lot seemed to annoy one person who sneered at me as he drove past in his truck.

Chesterfield Inn Sign

The Chesterfield Inn

The Chesterfield Inn

The trip to Arneytown from Chesterfield continued on through this historic area. Old houses, some clapboard, some brick, mixed in here and there along tree-lined roads that all of a sudden opened up alongside vast farm fields. Province Line Road cuts right into Arneytown, along the old Arneytown Inn that has recently been purchased by a history-minded couple intent on restoring and preserving it. Here, too, historic homes line the street and, at the bend of the road opposite the tavern, lays a little known graveyard said to contain the bones of the notorious Pine Robber John Bacon.

The old Arneytown Tavern, now a private home

Arneytown Graveyard

Arneytown Graveyard

Arneytown Graveyard

The cemetery is a small, unkempt affair. It’s not marked with any signs and the headstones are perilously close to the road. They stretch back into the undergrowth in what seem to be three rows. Doubtless many more stones than just the one that marked Bacon’s grave have been lost to time. Here lie the Harrises, Blacks, Tiltons, Schooleys and Lawries. Nearly forgotten as time – and the road nearby – passes on.

From there, Province Line Road takes you up near Walnford in Upper Freehold Township. Crossing a picturesque single lane bridge you arrive at the back of Historic Walnford Village, now part of the Monmouth County Park System.

The Waln Mansion at Walnford

Mary Ann Furnace Fireback from the Walnford Mansion

The mansion there is similar to the ones at Batsto and Atsion – grandiose country manors that housed masters of industry that the towns centered upon. At Batsto it was iron. At Walnford it was a gristmill, sawmill, fulling mill, blacksmith and cooper ships, tenant homes, farm buildings, and an orchard. Richard Waln, a Philadelphia Quaker, purchased the mills and surrounding land to build a country estate in 1772. He built a beautiful 7 bedroom, five thousand square foot home overlooking the millpond across from the gristmill. It is said that Richard sympathized with the British, which makes sense given the amount of sympathy the British had in old Monmouth County. His political leanings put him at risk to have his property confiscated, but he seems to have dodged that particular bullet when he was arrested. The property stayed in the Waln family until 1973 when it passed to the Mullen family, who still operate a farm nearby. They deeded what is now Historic Walnford Village to the county in 1985.

The mansion is open to visitors, and the similarities to the old Atsion mansion are striking. The kitchen, with its giant brick hearth and ovens, is roughly the same size as Atsion. Some of the mantles around the fireplaces are marble, and all of them have cast iron firebacks. Though the inscriptions are worn over time most seem to be from Pennsylvania furnaces, notably one from Mary Ann Furnace near Hanover, Pennsylvania. Unlike Atsion, however, there are very un-Quaker decorative flourishes throughout the house. In the family room off the formal parlor there are two closets with beautiful scalloped woodwork above decorative flourished wooden shelves. Each bedroom has its own closet, a sign of wealth and prestige back in the 18^th century.

The house once housed a post office. Kept by “Aunt” Sally Waln, who was widowed after only two years of marriage. By all accounts she was a strong woman, simultaneously tending the post office, managing the gristmill operation, and taking care of her elderly mother. The room that the post office was housed in eventually became a kitchen in the 1970s and, while there are no appliances in it anymore, the color and style of cabinetry harks back to that brown and gold era.

Walnford Gristmill

Walnford Gristmill

Walnford Gristmill

Looking out at the Walnford Mansion from the Gristmill

The Walnford Gristmill

In 1822 the gristmill, which had been doing less and less business in the face of neighboring competitors, burnt down. Other Walns who had moved away argued against rebuilding it, but Sally was determined since the mill had been so important to the Waln family in the past. Today the mill is much as it was back then. Leather belts cross overhead, connecting the driving power of the mill turbine to various machines located on the three floors. A pulley elevator, guarded by a sleeping cat when I visited, is in the front of the building, still ready to lower milled corn and grain down to a waiting wagon that will never come again.

Here, then, is the picturesque land where Burlington and Monmouth County meet. A land of slow, narrow country lanes bordered by historic houses, inns, and farms. A land steeped in the time and tradition of bygone days of the past.

Bacon, like many other famed Tory leaders in the province of New Jersey, likely held a commission and gained his “Captain” title from the “Board of Associated Loyalists,” a group formed in New York under a charter from William Franklin, son of Benjamin Franklin and the last Royal governor of New Jersey.[1] The British Government, knowing that an organized force of Loyalists would free up their armies to conduct military operations against the Continentals, approved of the Board and, as such, offered a reward of 200 acres of land to anybody willing to fight for the British for the duration of the war. Raids were to be conducted solely against military targets[2], and Bacon chiefly confined his “picarooning” to well-known members of the Monmouth Militia,[3] unlike many other Pine Robbers who simply used the war as an excuse to plunder indiscriminately. The exploits of Bacon and other Refugees – Tories operating under the auspices of the Board – proved far more violent and sinister than those sanctioned by the Crown.

Prior to the war, Bacon worked as a laborer on the Crane family farm in Manahawkin.[4] Members of the Crane family would later join the Monmouth Militia. It is likely that Bacon’s Tory sympathies caused a rift between himself and his Whig employers and he either was fired or quit to join the Board of Associated Loyalists. At some point, he settled his wife and two sons in Pemberton,[5] but spent most of his time hiding and raiding in the area between Cedar Creek and Tuckerton.
One of the first actions attributable to Bacon is a raiding expedition near Forked River. Bacon plundered the house and mill of John Holmes, who was known to be somewhat wealthy. Bacon and his men camped in the woods near the mill under cover of darkness and waited for daylight. They came forward, put a bayonet to Holmes body, and demanded money. Like many others in the pine country, he buried his valuables outside rather than leave them in the house, but fortunately his wife had some money on her person. Satisfied with that, the Refugees then ransacked the house for whatever supplies they could find and retreated back into the woods.[6]

Immediately after the Holmes raid, Bacon dispatched a detachment of the bandits to Good Luck, now Bayville, to plunder the house of John and William Price. The bandits knew these two brothers well, not only as militiamen, but as people who helped care for those who had suffered at the hands of the enemy. Lieutenant (later Major) John Price once took in the daughter of Captain Ephraim Jenkins, whose house in Toms River endured the torch.[7] John Price managed to escape the house just as Bacon’s men appeared, saving only his Lieutenant’s commission. The bandits booty included Price’s musket and drum. The Refugees used them for their amusement as they made their way back to their group. Hearing the faint drumbeat, Bacon assumed a party of Americans was after him and he set the remainder of his men up on the high ground around the mill and ordered them to fire as soon as the men making the noise emerged from the woods. Fortunately for the approaching bandits, their brethren had sharp eyes and did not shoot when they saw who was making all of the noise![8]

The Prices were not the only patriots with which Bacon had a problem. He ruthlessly robbed and attacked Joseph Soper and his son Reuben—both members of Captain Reuben Randolph’s militia—who lived at a place called Soper’s Landing near Waretown. Bacon’s men visited so frequently that the Sopers often slept in the swamps nearby out of fear for their lives.[9]

Joseph Soper was a shipbuilder, and it’s said that one of his employees, an Englishman named William Wilson, acted as a spy for Bacon. One day Wilson witnessed Soper being paid for a vessel and raced to inform Bacon. Soper, suspicious that Wilson might betray him, split the money into two parcels, one large and one small, and buried them in separate places by his house. His suspicions were confirmed when Bacon and his men raided the house later that same day, aided by a man with a black handkerchief covering his face. Most authorities accept that this mysterious man was Wilson, although no legal proof existed that could attach him to the crime. During the raid, Joseph Soper took refuge in the swamps and only women and children occupied his house. The refugees threatened and frightened the women to such a state that they led Bacon to the smaller of the two parcels. The recovered money apparently satisfied Bacon and he simply cleaned out the house of all of its contents, as he did numerous times before, and departed with the loot.[10]

Produce was fetching exorbitant prices in British-held New York in December of 1780, and three men, Thomas Collins, Richard Barber, and Asa Woodmansee,[11] loaded a whaling ship with produce obtained from the farms around Barnegat Bay and sailed for New York City by way of the old Cranberry Inlet, once located near the mouth of the Toms River. The men made the journey to New York safely, sold their goods, and just as they prepared to return home, John Bacon appeared and compelled the men to allow him to join them on their trip back to Barnegat.

The boat made it back safely to the inlet and they anchored outside it for fear of venturing inside the bay during daylight. In the meantime the local citizens caught wind of the voyage and sought the Toms River militia to seize the vessel and put a stop to the illicit trade with the British.  As night fell the men raised anchor and no sooner had the vessel cleared the inlet then they came upon a boat commanded by Lieutenant Joshua Studson, who stood and demanded their immediate surrender.

The three men, unarmed, prepared to surrender, but Bacon, knowing he would face the gallows for his crimes thus far, steadfastly refused. Having his musket ready, Bacon quickly took aim and fired. Studson fell dead and the militia was thrown into such confusion that Bacon and the other men made their escape. The unfortunate crew, who only sought to make a bit of money selling produce, knew they could not stay at home and fled to the British army, where they were forced into service. Their time with the British was short-lived, however, as they soon fell “sick with the small pox and suffered everything but death” as Collins said afterwards.[12] They later took advantage of amnesty, which General Washington offered to British deserters,  and returned home.

A year later, Bacon and his men claimed another victim. On December 30, 1781, a group of militia under the command of Captain Reuben F. Randolph assembled at his inn in Manahawken to search for Bacon, who had been reported to be in the area. The night grew long, and around 2 or 3 o’clock in the morning, the men in the militia decided to rest and posted sentries to watch for the bandits should they pass nearby. Shortly before sunrise, the Refugees passed by on their way to West Creek. The sentries sounded the alarm and the sleeping militia woke to find they were outnumbered. As they prepared to retreat, the bandits open fire and killed one of the patriots named Lines Pangborn and wounded Sylvester Tilton. Bacon did not give chase, however, and continued on his way to West Creek.[13]

The shot that hit Tilton went clean through below one of his shoulders, and the attending physician passed a silk handkerchief through the wound in search of the musket ball. He recovered his strength and vowed revenge against a man named Brewer, one of Bacon’s men. After the war, Tilton discovered that Brewer resided in some remote cabin and set out to avenge himself. Along the way, he met a Quaker named James Willets who begged in vain for Tilton to abandon his trip. Failing at that, Willets asked to accompany Tilton in hope he might be able to defuse the situation should the two men meet. Tilton, determined to find Brewer, warned the Quaker that, should he interfere, he’d get flogged as well.

Tilton arrived the cabin and burst through the door, surprising Brewer, who didn’t have the chance to reach for his musket. Dragging Brewer to the door, Tilton gave the fellow an unmerciful beating and then told him “You scoundrel! You tried to kill me once, and I have now settled with you for it, and I want you now to leave here and follow the rest of your gang.” By then, most of the Refugees had settled in Nova Scotia.[14]

Bacon’s most notorious act is known as the “Massacre on Long Beach.” On October 25, 1782, the privateer galley Alligator discovered a cutter from Ostend, Holland, bound for St. Thomas, abandoned on the north end of Long Beach Island. It is not known exactly who commanded the Alligator. A contemporary Tory newspaper[15] puts Lieutenant Andrew Steelman of Cape May as captain, while others claim that David Scull was master.[16] Captain Joseph Covenhoven was also on board. The wrecked cutter had a costly load of Hyson tea and other “valuable articles”[17] worth £20,000.[18] Steelman went ashore to round up some locals to help transfer the cargo to the Alligator.

The locals rounded up included William Wilson who, upon seeing the beached vessel and the crew of privateers unloading her, ran to Bacon and told him about the situation. Bacon and nine of his men arrived later that night after the exhausted (and likely drunk) privateers had fallen asleep on the beach. Under the cover of darkness and moving silently across the sand, the Refugees snuck up to the sleeping crew, drew their knives, and murdered most of the crew. Those who awoke to the noise were at a disadvantage and secured their rescue only when Scull, aboard the Alligator, led reinforcements ashore. Scull’s men managed to scare off the Refugees, who withdrew back into the night. Scull, for his part, suffered a wound in the thigh. Steelman was dead, and, according to a British report of the incident, Bacon and the Refugees killed or wounded all of the party except for four or five. Reuben Soper, who had deftly eluded Bacon by sleeping in the swamp with his father, was one of the men killed that day.[19]

From this point, Bacon was a marked man. In late December, 1782 a party of men under the command of Captain Edward Thomas of the Mansfield Militia and Captain Richard Shreeve of the Burlington County Light Horse were in hot pursuit of Bacon near Cedar Creek. Knowing that they were being pursued, Bacon decided to build a barricade across the south side of Cedar Bridge, opposite the tavern on the stage road to Barnegat. The barrier constructed, all that remained was to wait for the Continentals.

The Battle of Cedar Bridge. Painting by Louis Glanzman. http://www.louisglanzman.com/

The militia arrived, opened fire, and charged the Refugees. Bacon, knowing he could not expect anything except the executioner should he be captured, urged his men into a stiff resistance that lasted for a considerable time. Finally the militia seemed to be getting the better of Bacon’s men, when suddenly shots rang out from a different direction. Locals, for some reason sympathetic to Bacon’s cause, began firing on the militia. The confusion allowed Bacon and his men to retreat, and the militia could do nothing more than arrest those that had fired upon them and transport them to the Burlington County Gaol.[20] When the smoke cleared, Thomas and Shreeve discovered the militia had suffered two casualties – William Cook, dead, and Robert Reckless, injured. Ichabod Johnson, a refugee who carried a bounty of £25 on his head, was slain. Bacon and three other of his men suffered injury, but escaped.

Commemorative marker on Rt 72 near Cedar Bridge.

A detachment of Shreeve’s troops consisting of John Stewart, John Brown, Cornet Joel Cook (brother of William), John Brown, Thomas Smith, John Jones, and one other unknown man,[21] pursued Bacon and finally caught up with him on the evening of April 3, 1783[22] at the public house of William Rose, located between West Creek and Tuckerton. Approaching the house, Stewart peered through the window and there spied Bacon sitting with his gun between his knees. Stewart withdrew and gathered his companions, who then all returned to the house. Stewart burst through the door, surprising Bacon, who reached for his gun. Stewart lunged for Bacon before he could fire and wrestled him to the ground.

Bacon then cried out for quarter, which Stewart granted. Both men arose from the floor and Stewart called out to Cook. Cook, upset to finally face his brother’s murderer, gave Bacon a bayonet thrust that somehow went unnoticed to Stewart or the other men. Bacon appeared faint and fell, but shortly revived and attempted to escape through the back door. Stewart pushed a table against the door that Bacon then knocked aside, and then struck Stewart to the floor. Bacon attempted to open the door and escape when Stewart, who had regained his feet, shot him. The ball passed through Bacon, through a piece of the building, and bounced harmlessly off the chest of Cook who stood guard outside.[23]

The militia carried Bacon’s body to Jacobstown, where the Americans began burying his body in the middle of the road in the presence of many locals, who had turned out to see the spectacle. Before they had a chance to lower the body, Bacon’s brother arrived and pleaded with the militia to allow him to claim the body for a private burial. It is said that Bacon, his grave marker now long gone, is buried in the cemetery at Arneytown.[24]

Notes:

[1] Edwin Salter, A History of Monmouth and Ocean Counties, Embracing a Geneolgical Record of the Earliest Settlers in Monmouth and Ocean Counties. (Bayonne, NJ: E. Gardner & Son, 1890), 212.

[2] 1^st NJ Volunteers, 1NJV Tidbits, http://1njv.org/tidbits.html (June 21, 2011).

[3] Salter, 207.

[4] Salter, 178.

[5] Edwin Salter, George C. Beekman, Old Times in Old Monmouth Historical Reminiscences of Old Monmouth County, New Jersey. (Freehold, NJ: The Monmouth Democrat, 1887), 43.

[6] Salter, 208.

[7] Salter and Beekman, 45.

[8] Ibid.

[9] Ibid.

[10] Ibid, 46.

[11] Salter, 203.

[12] Ibid, 204.

[13] Ibid.

[14] Ibid, 45.

[15] Salter, 210

[16] Renee Brecht, The Long Beach Island Massacre, part 2, http://www.njpinelandsanddownjersey.com/open/index.php?module=documents&JAS_DocumentManager_op=viewDocument&JAS_Document_id=205 (June 21, 2011).

[17] Salter, 210.

[18] American War of Independence – At Sea, The Long Beach Island Massacre http://www.awiatsea.com/incidents/25%20October%201782%20The%20Long%20Beach%20Island%20Massacre.html (June 21, 2011).

[19] Salter, 209.

[20] New Jersey Gazette, Trenton, January 8, 1783.

[21] George F. Fort, MD, “An Account of the Capture and Death of the Refugee John Bacon,” Proceedings of the New Jersey Historical Society, (Newark, NJ: New Jersey Historical Society, 1847) 151.

[22] New Jersey Gazette, Trenton, April 9, 1783.

[23] Fort, 152

[24] Henry Charlton Beck, More Forgotten Towns of Southern New Jersey. (Rutgers, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1963) 260.

Now, I am not one to claim that I know everything there is to know about Red Oak Grove, but I have come a long way in piecing together much of its tale.  There is much still unknown about this area, but first let us begin with those common notions that are accepted and held as fact.

Part of the reason for scant information about Red Oak Grove, is that it disappeared.  Its inhabitants either moved away or died out for one reason or another.  Next, it was not a major hotbed of excitement, but rather a small, quiet rural village situated well away from larger towns.  Further, since it was never incorporated as its own municipal entity, there are few public documents pertaining to its existence.  And finally, since it disappeared more than a century ago, few living inhabitants of this region know anything about the area.

The hunt for this little village has been exhausting, in the sense that it has nearly exhausted every research venue that exists.  However, the search has also been somewhat fruitful.  What follows is incomplete, but is also the most comprehensive and detailed history of this elusive village.

The exact origins of Red Oak Grove are hard to pin down.  The village came into existence sometime around the early to mid 1840s.  It was originally a village of Pemberton Township, Burlington County, New Jersey.  Two of its early inhabitants were a man by the name of Samuel Bryant and his wife Leann.  In 1846 Bryant purchased a large parcel of timber land in Burlington County with a mortgage, built a house and lived there with his wife, this was in the vicinity now known as Red Oak Grove. [1] Whether there were many others living nearby is unknown as there are few documents pertaining to this area.  However, this was not Bryant’s only property; he also owned several acres of a development on the Pole Bridge Stream, near Mt. Misery. [2]

A cellar hole at Red Oak Grove

Old bricks in a cellar hole at Red Oak Gove

April 10, 1851 marked the earliest known “official” record for Red Oak Grove as Samuel Bryant applied to establish a Post Office at his home. [3] This post office was listed in several National and State gazetteers as located in Burlington County, New Jersey.[4]  On March 26, 1855 the Red Oak Grove post office of Burlington County was officially closed;[5.] and, in 1856 Bryant’s mortgage for Red Oak Grove was foreclosed upon.[6]  He died in 1857 and his property was divided and sold to several individuals.  One portion was sold to William Irick[7], a founding executive of the Medford Bank and owner of numerous sawmills and lumber tracts; another portion was sold to Lewis Neill,[8] a fire-brick maker from Philadelphia, and later a portion of the same estate was sold to Andrew McCall,[9] Methodist Minister and manager of Neill’s brick works.

Samuel Bryant Property Marker - Photo by Guy Thompson

William Irick held the deed to the lion’s share of Red Oak Grove, but the land was still being used for lumber.  Christopher Estlow, a Burlington County farmer, began to operate the mill on Irick’s behalf.  He moved to the region from Hanover Township[10], farther to the north and west.  In 1858, Estlow re-established the Red Oak Grove post office, situating it in Lacey Township, Ocean County[11] and, by 1859 he purchased the Red Oak Grove tract and launched headlong into the lumber industry.[12.]

In 1856 Lewis Neill began a fire-brick and pottery factory on a small part of the property that was known as Red Oak Grove.[13] However, Neill’s property was not located in Pemberton Township, Burlington County, but in Lacey Township, Ocean County.  Red Oak Grove crossed both township and county borders, but still consisted of adjoining properties.  His brick works, commonly known today as the “Union Clay Works,” was becoming more successful and soon he took on three business partners under the trade name of “Lewis Neill and Company.”[14] Neill began to buy more adjacent properties and expand the size of his land holdings at the factory, and in 1858 an article appeared in the New Jersey Courier, a local newspaper, telling about the new clay industry that was operating in the area.[15]

In 1858, a tobacconist and Methodist Minister from Philadelphia named Andrew McCall bought a parcel adjacent to the clay works and moved there.  The deed to his parcel listed the property as Red Oak Grove.[16]  McCall soon began working as the manager of the clay works[17] and probably also provided for the spiritual development of its workers as well.

1858 was a banner year for the area.  By this time, it was becoming necessary that a school be established for educating the local children.  Christopher Estlow, Lewis Neill, and Samuel Webb applied to the Ocean County Freeholders to establish a school district at an area they called “Plainville.”[18]  This “Plainville” was essentially the area situated around Neill’s factory, and was comprised of portions of what used to be Red Oak Grove.

Old map of Red Oak Grove and the Surrounding Area - Courtesy of Guy Thompson

In 1860,  Christopher Estlow closed the Post Office at Red Oak Grove, and established one at Woodmansie, only about two miles to the north.[19]  Woodmansie was a better area for Estlow due to the fact that the Raritan and Delaware Bay Railroad was planned to (and eventually did) pass right through it.

In 1862, Lewis Neill began to sell off portions of his property.  His first major sale was to Charles Middleton – a Gloucester County iron master who, like Estlow and Irick, was active in the lumber industry – and consisted of a parcel just north of the clay works.[20] He changed directions with his business, and by 1864 was buying land along the Barnegat Bay to use for raising oysters and growing salt hay.[21] By 1865 his shift away from brick-making was complete when he sold his factory to a brick and terra-cotta making operation from Brooklyn, New York and moved to Monmouth County, New Jersey.[22] Joseph K. Brick, the new owner of Neill’s works got the factory up and operating rather quickly.  However, within two years of the sale Joseph Brick died and ownership of the company passed to his wife, Julia.  Amid scandal and intrigue, Brick’s company continued operating underneath the direction of Julia Brick and Edward D. White.[23]  By November of 1867 the factory was firing clay pipe again and ready for distribution.[24]  The company was renamed the Brooklyn Clay Retort and Fire Brick Company[25], and operated only a short while longer until law-suits over Joseph Brick’s estate made keeping this factory afloat too cumbersome.  The factory closed down sometime in the late 1860s.[26]

In 1873 Andrew McCall, unable to pay his mortgage, sold his property at Red Oak Grove.  The buyer was Charles Middleton, who undoubtedly needed the land for his growing lumber business.[27.]  McCall moved to Manchester Village, only several miles away, and served the community as a clergyman.[28]  Also in the 1870s, Christopher Estlow expanded his lumber operations and bought the old mill at Wells Mills, located near Waretown.  He later expanded this operation to include additional saw mills and ran a very successful lumber company.

The Red Oak Grove area saw a lull in activity after the 1870s.  With the exception of Middleton’s lumber industry nearby there was little happening in the region.  The clay works was dormant; abandoned with a full stock of wares and unfired kilns.  The only industry extensive enough to maintain a good population, cranberry growing, was situated up near Woodmansie.  Part of the reason for this lull could be directly related to the Panic of 1873, a major depression that nearly crippled the American economy.  As a result, many banks and small businesses closed their doors bankrupt.

Mining reemerged in this region, however, just before the turn of the century.  Near Woodmansie were the Old Half Way clay mines, the same that were used to supply Neill’s works.  The mines were purchased by Alfred A. Adams, a hotel owner in Woodmansie, who started mining and selling local clay again in 1896.[29]  Part of the impetus for this was talk of a new rail spur being laid through Woodmansie, Union Clay Works, Red Oak Grove, and all the way out to Tuckerton.  In 1895, the Brighton Land Company filed plans for a development called “Red Oak Park,” which was to be situated just north of the defunct “Union” clay works.[30] The development was quite large and spanned the Ocean County / Burlington County border.  When the railroad failed to go through, however, the development failed with it and was bankrupted by the early 1900s.[31]

As for the defunct clay works, it stayed dormant until 1897 when it was bequeathed to the Brooklyn Memorial Hospital in Julia Brick’s will.[32]  By this point, the majority of any settlement, or hope for settlement, in the Plainville / Red Oak Grove area was finished.  The villages of Red Oak Grove, Plainville, and “Union Clay Works” were abandoned.  And, with the exception of the occasional squatter, tenant, or local agricultural worker, these villages were uninhabited memories of places long forgotten.

On account of its pertinent role in the lumber trade, especially early in its existence, it is highly plausible that Red Oak Grove was named simply for that reason – it possessed a concentration of Red Oaks.  Red Oak is still today a highly coveted lumber for furniture, and decorative woodwork.  As millers were the first to name the region, perhaps their reason was very direct.  On the other hand, Red Oak Grove is a name that occurs throughout the United States.  There are Red Oak Groves, dating from the mid to late nineteenth century, in Iowa, Kentucky, Alabama, Michigan, and many other states.  So, it is also very possible that this was a popular name to use at that time.  However, I will leave that for future research, or the reader to decide.

This is the tale of Red Oak Grove as far as the documentary record will allow.  I am positive that more information exists somewhere, but as of yet it is unwilling to be found.  Perhaps in years to come, more information will be uncovered to further flesh out the life and times of this forgotten village.  But, for now, the tale is at an end.

This article was first published on NJPineBarrens.com in 2006.

Notes:

1 Ocean County.  Deed Book 17 (Toms River: Ocean County Clerks 1856), 102.
2 Ocean County.  Deed Book 23 (Toms River: Ocean County Clerks 1856), 382.
3 Jennifer Lynch.  Personal Correspondence.  4 Richard S. Fisher.  A New and Complete Statistical Gazetteer of the United States of America (XX:XXXXX 1853), 714.  See also J. Calvin Smith.  Harper’s Statistical Gazetteer of the World (XX: Harper’s 1855), 1458; and, United States Postal Service.  List of Post Offices in the United States (Washington, D.C.: United States Postal Service 1859), A031.
5 Lynch, Personal Correspondence.
6 Ocean County, Deed Book 17, 102.
7 Ibid.
8 Ocean County.  Deed Book 11 (Toms River: Ocean County Clerks 1856), 73.
9 Ocean County.  Deed Book 15 (Toms River: Ocean County Clerks 1858), 265.
10 United States Census Bureau.  1840 Census of Burlington County (Washington, D.C.: United States Census Bureau 1840).
11 Lynch, Personal Correspondence.
12 Ocean County.  Deed Book 17 (Toms River: Ocean County Clerks 1856), 107.
13 United States Census.  1860 Census of Dover Township, Ocean County, New Jersey (Toms River: Ocean County Historical Society); see also George H. Cook.  Annual Report of the State Geologist for the Year 1878 (New Brunswick: Geological Survey of New Jersey 1878), 55-6.
14 One of these partners, as a matter of fact, was Lewis C. Cassidy – a well-known Philadelphia attorney who lobbied the Pennsylvania Legislature in 1872 to extend suffrage to women.  Interestingly, one person he used as an example for his argument happened to be Margery McManus, wife of another partner in the clay works.
15 New Jersey Courier.  November 21, 1867.
16 Ocean County.  Deed Book 15 (Toms River: Ocean County Clerks 1858), 265.
17 Cook, Annual Report, 55.
18 Ocean County.  Miscellaneous Records Book 1 (Toms River: Ocean County Clerks 1858), 74.
19 Lynch, Personal Correspondence; see also, Major E. M. Woodward and John F. Hageman.  History of Burlington and Mercer Counties, New Jersey, with Biographical Sketches of Many of Their Prominent Men (Philadelphia: Everts and Peck 1883), 508.
20 Ocean County. Deed Book 25 (Toms River: Ocean County Clerks 1862), 101.
21 Ocean County. Deed Book 29 (Toms River: Ocean County Clerks 1864), 359; see also, Ocean County. Deed Book 37 (Toms River: Ocean County Clerks 1866), 230.
22 Ocean County. Deed Book 35 (Toms River: Ocean County Clerks 1865), 5,8; see also, Ocean County. Deed Book 55 (Toms River: Ocean County Clerks 1865), 141.
23 Ocean County, Deed Book 35; Ocean County, Deed Book 55; Ocean County Wills Book 3 (Toms River: Ocean County Clerks), 36; Ocean County Wills Book 9 (Toms River: Ocean County Clerks) 341, 346; see also, Brooklyn Landmarks Preservation Commission [BLPC].  Brooklyn Clay Retort and Fire Brick Works Storehouse (Brooklyn: Brooklyn Landmarks Preservation Commission), 4.
24 NJ Courier, November 21, 1867.
25 BLPC, Storehouse, 4.
26 Cook, Annual Report, 55-6.
27 Ocean County.  Deed Book 70 (Toms River: Ocean County Clerks 1873), 304.
28 United States Census Bureau.  1870 Census of Manchester Township, Ocean County, New Jersey (Toms River: Ocean County Historical Society).
29 George H. Cook.  Annual Report of the State Geologist for the Year 1897 (New Brunswick: Geological Survey of New Jersey 1897), 331.
30 Ocean County.  Map A-18 (Toms River: Ocean County Clerks 1895).
31 State of New Jersey. Corporate Records (Trenton: Division of Commercial Recording).
32 Ocean County.  Deed Book 357 (Toms River: Ocean County Clerks 1897), 190.

I was planning to explore some place unusual – some place that really off the beaten path. I poured over USA Photomaps to try to find a place to explore that fairly inaccessible but wouldn’t require more than a few hours of hiking to get to. I also wanted to actually go to a “place.” A long, difficult hike is no fun unless the destination is something interesting. I wouldn’t have been happy to trek through briars and swamp for a few hours only to find a small, uninteresting clearing – and I certainly would not have enjoyed the trek back.

Another goal was to find some place reasonably close to my house, which disqualifies the Great Swamp and the Southern Pine Barrens. As much as I like Wharton State Forest, it’s a long drive, and there are few places you can go without seeing other people. My search gravitated towards Colliers Mills Wildlife Management Area, which is only forty five minutes or so from my house. The southern part of the tract piqued my interest. I found a road that looked like it passed what might be some abandoned bogs and ruins near High Bridge Road. On the South-Western side of the property, I found what looked like an abandoned cranberry bog and a small mysterious lake without any water systems nearby to feed it. No trails led to the lake, so it would be a nice hike from the abandoned bog. The direction I was going to take was all the better since it crossed a small river – Bordens Mill Branch –  and the topo map showed a small strip of swamp on either side of the stream. It would be a nice challenge.

As soon as I got home from having an early Mothers Day dinner with the in-laws I began to plan my trip. I mapped out the waypoint, downloaded them to my GPS, and printed out a copy of the topo map for the area. I hunted around for a backpack that would be small enough to not be a pain to carry, yet large enough to carry my camera, several lenses, food and water, and some other gear. I was excited at the prospect of bushwhacking through the woods, slogging through a swamp, and the challenge of finding my way across the river without getting too wet.

The wheels of my Jeep touched the sand Colliers Mills around 11AM the following day. My first stop was to explore the ruins off High Bridge. The road that I needed forked off High Bridge Road and led deep into the woods near the border of the WMA and Lakehurst Naval Air Station. I was disappointed to find that the trail was well maintained and had fresh tire tracks. I consoled myself by thinking that there was plenty more exploring to be done, and that this was only a diversion from the big adventure of hiking to the “Lost Lake.”

I decided to swing down a smaller path that led through a clearing and then back to the main trail. My GPS was jumping all over the place – first the ruins were on one side of the road, then they’d swing across to the other side. Thinking that it would be easier to find the ruins on foot, I parked the Jeep on the main trail and headed into the woods.

I didn’t have to hike long as the GPS showed the ruins to only be four hundred feet away. Up ahead I saw a clearing. As I walked closer, I began to see bits of rusted metal in the ground. By the time I got to the clearing I could see that I had been there before, when I had driven through it only a few minutes before. I shook my head at my folly and wondered why my GPS had suddenly become so inaccurate.

If there had been anything in this spot, it’s gone now. As I wandered around the clearing I began to wonder about the abandoned bog nearby. I found a break through the trees and walked towards it. The bog was overgrown, but what interested me was the very abandoned road that seemed to parallel the bog. I made a mental note to add this to my list of places to come back and explore at a later date.

I followed the trail back to the Jeep and checked the map. It appeared that the road I was on led all the way into Lakehurst Naval Air Station. Wondering if it would be blocked off by a fence I decided to check it out. Sugar sand was soon replaced by a thick bed of pine needles as I pressed on, and the tell-tale signs of humanity’s presence (litter) disappeared as the woods passed by in a green blur. My mind began to soak in the solitude when a large puddle blocked my path.  What looked like a floor mat protruded up above the surface and a long discarded tow strap lay on the opposite side of the puddle. I thought of the people who had been stuck here before and that that they likely had no thoughts or cares for solitude in the woods. I wondered if it was really something that could be found in the Pine Barrens today. It was a thought that hung over my head throughout the day.

Realizing that a puddle with a discarded tow-strap is generally news, I decided to turn around and head towards the other side of the WMA and start exploring the area that was sure to be more remote and wild. I got back to the paved road and turned left at Archers Corner. This brings you through where the town of Colliers Mills once was. Fairly new construction lines the road into the town, and the only original building left from the town is used by the rangers for storage. It’s likely that nobody who lives there now could tell you of the tale of Ephraim P. Emson, founder of Colliers Mills, the two horse tracks he built here, or his ultimate doom by one of his prized steeds.

Going straight past the main entrance to the WMA, the road quickly turns from asphalt to rough sand and follows the lake that formed by damming Bordens Mill Branch to power a sawmill. Today the mill is gone, and the only people nearby are a father and his two young boys fishing on the bank of the lake. They’ve driven here in a Chevy Avalanche pickup, with chrome rims and terrible low-profile tires. You can tell that these people aren’t of the Pines – there’s not even a scratch on the glossy black paint. They watch as my dirty yellow Jeep passes by.

If you were to take this road as far as you can, you’d end up on Hornerstown Road. The road is paralleled by a chain link fence, newly erected to protect Lakehurst NAS. If you could continue further down the road once it crosses onto military property you’d pass close to Boyd’s Hotel, an important stop in the stage route from Hanover Furnace.

Taking a left hand turn, I nudge the Jeep down a precariously narrow road that runs alongside an abandoned bog. The clouds that have been hanging low all morning are starting to clear up. I parked the Jeep in a clearing and set off to find the second abandoned bogs. There’s a road leading to it, but at this point in time I had lost my bearings somewhat so I decided to let the GPS lead the way. Stumbling through the woods, I was able to make my way to the path that led to the bogs. Walking along the long-abandoned road I passed the ruins of what might have been a hunting cabin or building somehow attached to the bog operations. All that remains now is the faint outline of a cinder block foundation, an old cast iron sink, and a well pipe sticking out of the ground. The path leads on, curving around a bend and delving into a puddle before entering a swamp. It became wetter and wetter until finally it ended in a clearing – the bog itself.

It was unlike any bog I had ever seen. First, there was no embankment around the edge of the bog. It was literally a path into a marsh. Instead of open water, vegetation grew throughout. I was able to walk through most of it in my knee boots, although there were a few spots that were deep and tried to suck my boots off. Exiting the bogs and walking around the edge in the swamp, I found a discarded tire and an ancient beer bottle. That, and the sounds of shooting from the WMA nearby, served as a reminder that mankind is never far away in the Pine Barrens.

It was nearly two o’clock when I made my way back to the Jeep. The next part of my adventure was about to start – the hike to Lost Lake. After stopping to rest up and reapply my bug spray I started out on the journey. I dove into the woods with renewed vigor as I was sure I would be exploring a place where nobody has been before. At first the going was easy but soon I found myself surrounded by some sort of small trees or shrubs. I pressed on, forcing myself through the vegetation, cursing myself for wearing short sleeves. Finally, I stumbled on what might have been a deer trail leading in the general direction of the lake. The trail took me down towards the river, and the vegetation became more green, lush and thick.

The topo maps on my GPS informed me that I had entered the swamp surrounding Bordens Mill Branch. I’m not entirely sure why, but the ground was remarkably dry. Water sat only in a few small stagnant pools. It appeared that I was standing in what might have once been a river bed, and I came to the conclusion that I was standing in Bordens Mill Branch and it was now dry. The vegetation on either side of the river was extremely dense and I soon had rips in my jeans from the briars. Exhausted from trying to fight my way through the vegetation, I turned around back to the stream bed and began to follow it in an attempt to find a less overgrown area to trek through. It brought me out to a trail which immediately confused me. As far as the topo map was concerned, there is no road here. This was backed up with the satellite photos that I had poured over the night before. Curious, I followed the road. As much as I hate to admit it, I was happy that I came across the road. I really did not enjoy bushwhacking as much as I thought I was going to.

Soon, a curiosity came into sight. A rude bridge crossed a cedar stream. At once I realized my folly – the dry “river bed” that I had assumed to be Bordens Mill Branch was not in fact anything so important, and this river – crossed by a very convenient bridge – was the river that had once powered the mill at Colliers Mill.

The trail led on through the woods in the direction of the lost lake. As I began to pass trees with bright orange blazes on them I began to get depressed. I felt cheated out of the opportunity to be the first person to visit Lost Lake. The path continued on, passing through a series of clearings and continuing on through the woods. After a half an hour of walking the blazes stopped, and I found myself in another clearing. To my right the land dropped down into swamp, and I could make out pools of standing water in-between the trees. According to my GPS, the lake was only a few hundred feet away. Now very happy that I had my knee boots on, I entered the swamp. Following a small trail of water, I soon found myself on the side of the lake. It was not more than thirty or forty feet long, and perhaps twenty across. The water was already nearly to the top of my boots so I dared not go any further.

The "Lost Lake" at Colliers Mills

Ten minutes later I was back on the trail towards the Jeep. It was late, and I was exhausted and slightly disappointed. It’s very likely that I was not the first person to visit the lake. It’s simply too easy to get to – especially as I found that had I continued to drive down the path that the Jeep was parked on, I would have been able to park right at the bridge I found.

First published on NJPineBarrens.com in 2006

Despite the fact that I was didn’t chart any new territory, it still was an enjoyable day. The area isn’t overrun by people, and you do get a sense of isolation out there, despite the fact that every now and then you’ll see evidence of people being there before. In some ways, the Pine Barrens are ideal for weekend explorers, since help is never truly that far away.

The clay pits turned lakes at Old Half Way

The trail begins where Savoy Boulevard ends and Pasadena Road begins. The long abandoned Jersey Central Railroad tracks cross the road near the hamlet of Bullock, and a lone sign signals that you’ve entered Manchester Township. The dirt road leads down into Greenwood Wildlife Management Area, along what is known to the local hunters as the rye-strips – cleared land along the road set aside for deer to graze on. It was here that fox hunter Donald Pomeroy had his funeral service. We speed quickly past, taking the first right hand turn and plunging into the woods.

Today my friend and fellow NJPineBarrens.com poster Guy (Teegate) is with me. The trail isn’t as bad as we had thought. The snow and standing water that I had encountered three weeks before were gone, and all that remained were the ruts in the road from when people drove past when the trail was still snow covered, and the dark gray color of the sand that wasn’t yet dry. We make another right at an intersection where someone has carelessly left a blue drink cooler and come up to a sign prohibiting motor vehicles. From here we continue on foot.

A kiln at Union Clay Works

Old Half Way, also known as Hidden Lakes, once was a town in the wilderness of Burlington County. There was a large clay mining enterprise nearby that eventually took over the town, dug it up, and left two very large pits. Left to time, the area reverted back to nature, the pits filling with water that was tinted aquamarine by the clay in the sand. The only small signs that there ever was civilization here are bits of scattered concrete from the foundations of buildings long lost. We walked to the first lake that ended up being deeper than usual, filling with the massive amount of rainwater and melted snow that we had this winter. We hiked to the second lake and found it even more impressive than the first. Here the lake is surrounded on all sides by very steep hills, making it harder for a vehicle to get to the waters edge. In fact the only vehicles we saw here were ones that had a one-way trip. Cars stolen, stripped, and burnt and left in the wilderness forever. One of these cars was even in the lake itself!

Over the years, Old Half Way became known as a party spot and on any given weekend there could be hundreds of people partying. The area was frequented by four wheelers that drove carelessly in and out of the lake. The result was that much of the land near the first lake had eroded and is very loose and unstable. It would be very easy to get stuck coming in and out of the lake area.

Our travels brought us to Union Clay Works. It’s rumored that the works suffered an outbreak of smallpox that wiped out a large portion of the population in the area. That, coupled with the difficulty of getting clay from the pits to the kilns, and finished products from the kilns to the narrow gauge railroad that connected at Woodmansie spelt disaster for the works. Details are sketchy of when the works were in operation but I believe it was around the years of 1875-1900.

Like many other forgotten towns in the Pine Barrens, the location of the site of Union Clay Works is betrayed by the unmistakable sign of man that has manipulated the environment around him. Two large clearings and a fallen Catalpa Tree, non-native to the Pine Barrens, show that this was the site of the town. Several cellar holes, some brick, and broken pieces of terra cotta are all that is left of this town. We had been told that there were the ruins of several kilns, with discarded pieces of terra cotta pipe to be found, but we only found one ruin that looked like it could have been a kiln. It seemed too small to have been used for making large pipes, however. Union Clay Works still keeps some of her secrets hidden.

Henry Charlton Beck, the famed historian, visited this area in the 1930s after being told of a small graveyard lost in the woods. Guy and I had been determined to find it for several months. Like Beck, we had both made trips into the area without much success. Becks directions were purposely vague and not much help. We eventually did find it, by accident, and we can see why Beck was confused. The graves are small and only visible once you’re almost on top of them. They are in very poor shape, and the presence of too many curious visitors will spell disaster for them. As such I won’t be giving precise directions to them.

The grave of Mary Atkerson at Union Clay Works

We found three headstones. All three are in poor condition. The one standing is devoid of any markings, but is missing a large portion of it’s back. It’s has been cracked straight through, and as Guy’s daughter found out, touching it causes it to fall apart. Like a jigsaw puzzle it was put back into one piece. The second headstone is just a small chunk of a larger stone that is missing. The grave is of “Willie —-.” Nothing further can be learnt from it. The final stone is in the best shape of all three, but is still missing pieces. Someone has built a wooden frame around it, and put the pieces back together. Beck mentions one of the stones being a jigsaw puzzle of pieces – perhaps this is the stone that he reconstructed back in the 1930s? Possibly only a dozen or so people have visited the graves since Beck was there seventy years ago.

Red Oak Grove seems to have suffered the worst fate of the three towns. Old Half Way and Union Clay Works have ruins to show where they were. Red Oak Grove only exists as the name on a topographic map. I made several searches through the area over the last few months and have found nothing except a lone stolen car along the side of a barely used path. Red Oak Grove lies in anonymity.

The triumvirate of towns – Red Oak Grove, Union Clay Works, and Old Half Way stand testament to a time when industry ruled the Pine Barrens. Not far from these sites, another large company mines the earth for clay and minerals much like their predecessors did one hundred and twenty-five years ago. The air is full of melancholia. Not of sadness, but of a place that time has all but forgotten. Beck ends his chapter with an abridged version of an epitaph from one of the graves at Union Clay Works. It is just as fitting now as it was then.

Lay away your little dresses that ____ darling used to wear
for she nevermore will need them for she has climbed the golden stairs
Gone but not forgotting

Originally published on NJPineBarrens.com in 2003

The Marker at Pomeroy Crossroads

I made my way to the intersection, randomly driving along forgotten sand roads, while keeping an eye on my GPS to keep me from getting hopelessly lost. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a cement marker with the inscription “Pomeroy Crossroads” carved. I had never heard this place mentioned in any books or discussion with fellow Lost Town Explorers, so I took a picture and headed on my way, determined to find out what this place was.

The Location of Pomeroy Crossroads

A month or so slipped by without any further clues as to what this place was. I had nearly forgotten about it until I bought a copy of Chaseworld – Foxhunting and Storytelling in New Jersey’s Pine Barrens by Mary Hufford. Finally, I was able to get some information on who Pomeroy was and why there is a marker for him in the Pine Barrens!The sport of foxhunting, which normally draws images of hounds crashing across the fields of England, is alive and well in the Pine Barrens, where it has developed it’s own unique identity. Instead of men on horseback, pickup trucks are used. Instead of shouts and yells between hunters, a CB radio keeps them all together. Donald Pomeroy was one of those hunters. In 1985, right before the opening of deer season, he lost control of his pickup truck and crashed into a tree. The New Jersey Sporting Dogs Association placed the marker there in memory of Donald Pomeroy, who had been a well respected member of the foxhunting community.

This article was first published on NJPineBarrens.com in 2003.

The end of the French and Indian War led to a financial depression which severely affected the price of land, rendering Read’s vast holdings significantly less valuable. The iron furnaces, with their expensive labor, shipping costs, and near constant upkeep requirements, continued to be a drain on his finances. The salaries and fees collected from his political appointments failed to cover the costs for the furnaces – especially as Read became increasingly ill and unable to perform his duties. In 1768 he secured a mortgage on the Etna tract for ₤500, which held the wolf at bay for a while.

Tragedy struck on November 13, 1769 when Read’s wife, Alice, died after struggling with an illness. As befitting her husband’s position, a large number of distinguished citizens attended Alice’s burial at St. Mary’s Episcopal Church in Burlington. Said the Pennsylvania Gazette: “The Corpse was carried to the Grave by respectable Housekeepers of the Place: The Pall was supported by the Gentleman of His Majesty’s Council. The Chief Justice, and Attorney-General. The great Number of the most respectable People assembled on this Occasion from the adjacent Towns manifested the affectionate Regard paid to her Memory.”

Alice, knowing that she would soon pass, prepared a will providing for the distribution of her estate, which contained a large amount of land in the West Indies. The estate was split evenly between her husband and their son, Charles Jr. with a trust fund established for their son, Jacob, who had turned out to be idle and irresponsible both in money and morals. While Charles Jr. did not have the same level of aspirations and ambitions that his father possessed, he proved to be a capable businessman and did a fair job managing the iron works at Etna and caring for his father who, following Alice’s death, moved to Etna.

Death did not quickly leave the Read household. Less than one month after Alice passed, Charles Read IV, the 13-month-old son of Charles Jr. died. He was buried at the Evesham Friends’ Meeting in Mt. Laurel.

Throughout the winter of 1770-71, Read fell desperately ill. He described the situation as a “Excessive tedious & dangerous sickness wth wch I have been afflicted the last fall & Winter the most of which I spent in bed and my recovery not expected by my friends…” Shortly after, in November of 1772 he lost his granddaughter, as he exclaimed in a letter to John Pemberton: “This day we are engaged with the burial of my Dear little grand daughter who died of the measles her little brother went thro’ them with great difficulty.”

By 1773, with his creditors clamoring to be paid, his body wracked with illness, and his heart in despair, he arranged for a trip to the West Indies to settle Alice’s estate and possibly convalesce in the more agreeable weather. Read left, presumably under a veil of some secrecy, without resigning his legislative offices or notifying his creditors. It is likely that most people did not know he had departed until his trustees placed this notice in the Pennsylvania Gazette on June 30, 1773:

Whereas Charles Read, Esq.; for the recovery of his health, as well as for securing and recovering some large sums of money due him in the West-Indies, has lately embarked thither, and, being desirous of preventing any uneasiness among such as he may owe money to, has appointed us as the subscribers, trustees, to make sale of such parts of his estate, as may be necessary for the discharge of his debts, which we purpose proceeding to do so as soon as possible. We therefore desire all persons who have any demands against him to bring in their accounts, properly proved, that they may be settled; and all who are indebted to him, by mortgage, bond, note or book-debt, are desired immediately to discharge their respective debts to the subscribers, who are authorized to receive the same.

Daniel Ellis, at Burlington
Charles Read, Junior; Aetna Furnace.
Thomas Fisher, Philadelphia.

Read continued correspondence from St. Croix throughout 1773; it appears, however, that the money from Alice’s estate never materialized. In a postscript to a letter that Read wrote he said: “My love to all Frds. I hope no man shall lose by me tho’ they may be longer than I choose out of ye money.”

Without the money from Alice’s estate it seems as if Read gave up on the idea of returning to New Jersey to settle his debts. It is likely that the collapse of his empire, the death of his wife and grandchildren, coupled with the disappointment of not being able to settle his debts through the estate of his wife drove him to the brink of sanity. Sometime in November 1773, he left St. Croix and opened a small general store in Martinburg, North Carolina. On December 27, 1774, Read died without leaving a will, and without having an opportunity to say goodbye to his family and the land upon which he built his empire. Charles Jr. did not learn of his father’s death until May of 1775.

It appears his grave has disappeared over time. Burlington County historian Henry Bisbee traveled to North Carolina to search for it during the 1960s. Today, Martinburg is Greenville, and Bisbee found a new supermarket constructed on the last of the old burial grounds in the city. Read “may have been a prominent citizen in New Jersey,” Bisbee explains, “but in North Carolina he had simply been an elderly storekeeper. Who would pay for his headstone?”

Postscript

One of the most curious biographies of Read comes from a contemporary of his, Aaron Leaming, of Cape May. Leaming, a Quaker who was also involved in the legislature and land speculation, and likely had run-ins with the powerful Read, does not hold back in his diary. Of Read he writes:

“He had more vices than virtues. He had many of both and thise of the high rank. He was intriegueing to the highest degree. No man knew so well as he how to riggle himself into office, nor keep it so long, nor make so much of it… His intrigues with women, tho’ they employed a large share of his thought, were not worth naming; they were rather the foibles than the vices in so large a character yet because I know he would never have pardoned the man that should attempt his Story without making honorable mention of them I draw them into his shade. He was so van of them that if he had penned this character they would have filled many pages.”

Of his fortunes and family: “His offices furnished him with a constant flow of Cash. This power & flow of Cash enlarged his mind above himself. Instead of founding a fortune to his two sons as he ought to have done in those prosperous times, he ran upon schemes for the improvement of the Country. Witness his Fishery at Lamberton, his Iron Works, and many other schemes which tho’ virtuous in a very high degree in a man of great fortune, it ought to be treated with distrust with men of little estates. He was industrious in the most unremitting degree. No man planned a scheme so well as he, nor executed him better. He loved the country better than his family. And knew no friend but the man that could serve him.”

Notes:

1. Carl Raymond Woodward, Ploughs and Politicks: Charles Read of New Jersey and his Notes on Agriculture (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1941) p. 212

2. Ibid, p. 213

3. Ibid, p. 214

4. Ibid

5. Ibid, p. 215

6. Henry H. Bisbee, The Burlington Story. Vol. 9, No 1. 1979, pg 4.

7. Woodward, p. 405

8. Ibid

Read, having already owned large parcels of land yielding bog iron, focused his attention acquiring land around Atsion, Batsto, Etna, and Taunton. In 1755 he signed a 999-year lease on 1,128 acres along the Atsion Creek.[1] Ten years later he purchased a large parcel of land in the Forks of the Atsion and Batsto Rivers and a one-half interest in Richard Westcott’s sawmill in the area. Read also purchased rights to mine iron ore and cut timber on adjacent lands.[2]

In 1765 Read petitioned the legislature’s for permission to dam the Batsto Creek for the purpose of building a furnace there. After seeking consent from Joseph Burr and ensuring that the dam would not interfere with his sawmill located on the head of the creek, the legislature replied in:

An Act to enable the Honourable Charles Read, Esquire, to erect a Dam over Batstow Creek; and also enable John Estell to erect a Dam over Atsion River.

And whereas the Honourable Charles Read sets forth, that he hath proved to Demonstration good Merchantable Bar-Iron may be drawn from such Ore as may be found in plenty in the bogs and . . .  in such parts of this Province which are too poor for cultivation, which he conceived will be a public emolument; and that in order to erect the necessary Works, he had lately purchased a considerable Tract of Land laying on both sides of Batstow Creek, near Little Egg Harbour in the County of Burlington praying the aid of the Legislature to enable him to erect a Dam across the said Creek for the use of an Iron-Works; and in order to remove every objection against the Prayer of his Petition hath produced a certificate from Joseph Burr, Jun., purporting that he, the said Joseph Burr, is and for several years path hath been in possession of a Saw-Mill at the head of Batstow Creek aforesaid, from whence Boards only have been floated down but attended with such Expense as to afford a probability that the said Creek will not be hereafter used for the like purpose; hence the said Burr alleges that the Dam over the said Creek as petitioned for by the said Charles Read, can not be of any public or private detriment, but on the contrary greatly advantageous.[3]

After receiving legislative approval, Read began looking for investors in the Batsto and other iron ventures. He placed an advertisement in the Pennsylvania Journal, which read in part:

Charles Read of Burlington, gives notice to the public, that he is possessed of several tracts of land, having in them streams of water, as constant and governable as can be wished . . . There is at all these places, plenty of food for the cattle from the middle of May to the middle of October. As Mr. Read’s situation renders it inconvenient to him to take upon himself the expense or care of works so extensive, he notifies to the public that it will be agreeable to him to let the conveniences to any gentleman of credit reserving a share of the produce, or to ender into a partnership with any persons of good dispositions, fortune, and integrity.

Read constructed his first two furnaces at Taunton and Etna. Taunton, located on Haines Creek about three and a half miles from Medford, comprised a small furnace and a three-fire forge. Read completed Taunton in 1766. Other buildings included a coaling house that could hold 400 loads of charcoal as well as a house for the manager of the works and various outbuildings for the employees. Also located nearby was one of Read’s sawmills and an orchard.[4]

Workmen finished construction of Etna Furnace shortly after Taunton went into blast. Like Taunton, Etna had a single furnace and a three-fire forge. Etna also featured a company store, gristmill, stamping mill, and a sawmill that Read rented out annually for £200. The primary product of both furnaces was bar iron, which would either be sold or worked into flatirons, wagon boxes, iron handles, and various pieces of cast ware. [5]

Read also completed Batsto Furnace in 1766. Located on the Batsto Creek, there was sufficient water power to drive four bellows and two hammer wheels. Unlike Etna and Taunton, Batsto was a five-way venture between the following partners: Read; Ruben Haines, a Philadelphia brewer; Walter Franklin, a merchant from New York; and John Cooper and John Wilson, both of Burlington County.[6]

The last of Read’s works, Atsion, dates to 1767-1768. For a time, Atsion and Batsto, located a similar distance apart as Taunton and Etna, shared a smith, carpenter, and clerk. It is unclear whether Read retained this arrangement after he sold his interest in Batsto.

Managing four ironworks, plus Read’s political duties, turned out to be too much for one person to handle. Falling iron prices made the industrial ventures unprofitable, and Read’s health began to fail. Between 1767 and 1768, Read sold his share of Batsto back to his partners – a half-interest to Haines, a quarter-interest to Cooper, and an eighth each to Franklin and Wilson. On January 26, 1768 Read sold a 249/1000 interest each to David Ogden, Jr. and Richard Saltar for £50. Presumably this was to lower Read’s financial risk in the venture while keeping majority control for himself. It took until 1773 for Read to finally sell Atstion. Taunton proved hard to sell, and, in 1773, Read turned it over to his trustees who listed it for public sale in 1774. Read’s son, Charles IV, assumed control of Etna, the largest of the works, after it had failed to attract a buyer. Charles Jr. continued operation for a while, but shortly afterwards had leased it to Jonathan Merryman. The furnace was eventually abandoned and ownership passed to William Richards.[7]

Reads ambition to become the greatest ironmaster in the province is likely what proved to be his downfall. While the iron enterprises were well thought out, the responsibilities of running them while simultaneously maintaining his public offices was simply too much for one man – especially one who was suffering health issues – to handle.

In the final episode of this series we’ll follow Read as he flees New Jersey in a last ditch effort to rebuild his financial wealth and avoid his creditors.

Notes:

1. Carl Raymond Woodward, Ploughs and Politicks: Charles Read of New Jersey and his Notes on Agriculture (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1941) p. 67

2. Ibid, p. 68

3. Arthur D. Pierce, Iron in the Pines: The Story of New Jersey’s Ghost Towns and Bog Iron (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1957) p. 119 (1990 Edition)

4. Woodward, p. 90-91

5. Ibid, p. 93

6. Pierce, p. 120

7. Charles S. Boyer, Early Forges and Furnaces in New Jersey (Philadelphia, University of Pennsylvania Press, 1931) p. 166

On November 10, 1744 Read was sworn in to the post of Secretary of the Province. This was a post appointed directly by the Crown, although usually given to someone who remained in England and then farmed out to a deputy that lived in the colony. The Provincial Secretary had an eclectic set of responsibilities including managing the correspondence between the Colonial Office in London and the government in New Jersey as well as maintaining records and documents such as birth and death certificates, land surveys, registrations, and writs.[i] The fees associated with each of the documents created were given to the secretary in lieu of a salary, making this position greatly coveted and incredibly powerful.

The same month, Governor Lewis Morris named Read one of the surrogates of the prerogative court, which was a Royal court that had jurisdiction over the estates of deceased persons. Later that year he was commissioned as Justice of the Peace for Monmouth County and thereafter received a commission of Dedimus Potestatem, granting the authority to administer oaths to all officers within the province.[ii]

Read quickly became friendly with Morris, and upon the Governors death on May 21, 1746 Read served as pallbearer for the funeral. With the passing of Morris, Read became nervous about his prospects in government, fearing that he’d be replaced by others. In 1748 he wrote James Pemberton, afraid that “an Irishman from Amboy” would replace him in office of Secretary. He wrote Pemberton again in 1757 and once again in 1759 about “renewing the contract” which was about to expire. Seemingly, Read did not need to worry. On February 17, 1762 he received a new commission from Governor Josiah Hardy.

On May 20, 1751 Read took his place as assemblyman for the 18^th Assembly after Governor Jonathan Belcher encouraged him to run for election. Likely due to the influence of Belcher, Read was selected for the post of speaker, despite this being his first year in the body. In addition to coming up with plans to fund the colonial government, which included the salary of the governor and other provincial officials as well as a stipend of 6s per diem for members of the assembly, an allowance of 14s per week for “use of a Room, Firewood, and Candle for the Council” the body was also responsible for issues of taxation. One of the first orders of the day was to settle the ancient conflict of how land was taxed – based on the quantity of land owned by an individual, or based on the quality of the land.

Owners of manufacturing interests would often petition the assembly for tax exemptions. In 1751 owners of ironworks in Morris County asked for a bounty on iron and tax exceptions for their works. The following January owners of glassworks petitioned for a similar exemption, and later in 1754 citizens from Cape May County asked for the same for their gristmills. [iii]

The legislature was also asked to address various other issues. In 1752 the inhabitants of Morris County asked for relief from the inconveniences and damages from having “great numbers of cattle from the neighboring counties drove up into their county.” A petition of bolters set forth “that it is almost impractical to comply with the Act concerning Flour, because much wheat is threshed on earthen floors” and asked for an act to prevent the practice. Read also benefitted personally from his position in the assembly. In 1769 a law was passed giving owners of ironworks the right to provide employees with “Rum or other strong liquor, in such quantity as they shall from experience find necessary.” This law also made it illegal for anybody within four miles of Read’s ironworks, which will be discussed in the next article, to “entertain in or about their House, in idling or drinking, or shall sell any strong drink, to any wood-cutter, collier, or workman employed at said works.” A fine of 10s was to be levied for each offense, with the money to be spent on road maintenance.[iv] It was a brilliant piece of law for Read, who constantly battled with the effects of liquor on his workers. By putting the control of the quantity and type of liquor that could be distributed to his employees, Read could theoretically control how much they drank.

Another example of his personal interests affecting public law was the 1759 sponsorship of a law “for the further Preservation of Timber in the Colony of New Jersey.” This was to replace the act “for preventing the waste of Timber, Pine, and Cedar Trees and Poles.” This act had been on the books since 1714, yet it’s “good intentions” had been defeated by people trespassing on land and cutting down timer that did not belong to them. The new act provided a remedy in the form of a 20s fine to anyone who should “cut, box, bore, or destroy any Tree, Saplin, or Pole” on lands that did not belong to them. [v] Clearly Read, with thousands of acres of woods, had an interest in keeping the trees for his own lumber interests.

Read, while not a Quaker, frequently shared the ideals and opinions of the Society of Friends. While Native Americans in New Jersey had generally received fairer treatment than their brethren in the other colonies, there were legitimate grievances that needed to be settled. Many of the Lenape, the tribe native to New Jersey, felt that they had not been compensated fairly by settlers who came to occupy their land. Other complaints included the construction of dams made navigation impossible on some creeks that were previously accessible to their canoes as well as the use of large steel traps to catch deer. Things began to come to a head around 1755, with the French & Indian War underway, scaring residents into thinking that the Native Americans would possibly start attacking colonists.

That year several Indians from Pennsylvania were held in the Trenton jail, despite New Jersey not having jurisdiction over them. Read protested their capture fearing that it might bring New Jersey into an Indian war which “of all Others is the most alarming and Ought to be Studiously avoided.”[vi] Read’s protestations were not for vain, and Governor Belcher ordered the Indians released to the governor of Pennsylvania. Read was in the forefront of the debate of what to do with the Indians, and in December of 1755 Read, along with Richard Saltar and Samuel Smith were named as commissioners to meet with the representatives of several Native American tribes.  The commission met with success, and in 1757 the legislature adopted a series of reforms and guidelines limiting the size of steel traps, the sale of alcohol, the regulation of land purchases, and made illegal jailing a Native American for debts.

On December 8, 1755 Read proposed the idea of creating a reservation for the Native Americans. Various lotteries were run and donations accepted to generate the money required to purchase the land for a reservation as well as settle any outstanding claims the tribes may have had. At a conference in Burlington on August 7, 1758 the representatives from the tribes requested a parcel of land be purchased in Evesham Township for a reservation for those Indians living south of the Raritan River. In exchange, all land claims and grievances the tribes south of the Raritan would be considered settled. £1600 was appropriated, half of that going towards buying the property and the other half would be spent settling claims that the northern tribes had.

Three tracts of land were purchased near Edge Pillock, on Bread and Cheese Run. The settlement was named Brotherton, now Indian Mills, and is generally thought to be the first Indian reservation in North America. Brotherton was to be an agricultural community, as evidenced in a letter from Read to Israel Pemberton:[vii]

“. . . We have purchased a tract of Land for them extreamly Convenient for them abt. 2000 or 2500 acres & have this day sent a Surveyor to Survey a parcel of Wild natural meadow near the place where they can cut their Hay & directed him to take up 500 Acres of it. They can in a day come from the Sea within 5 miles of this place with Clams & oysters. There are 300 bearing apple trees on it & 24 acres of good Indian Corn whc We propose to lay down with Rye & this will be their first Years provisions on their removal.”

Despite being occupied by public life, Read began broadening his real estate holdings when he moved to New Jersey. By 1749 he wrote to James Pemberton explaining, “my estate lays chiefly in land.”[viii] He sold his properties in Pennsylvania and now focused most of his attention on land in New Jersey. Between 1740 and 1742 he sold a tract of land and a 250-acre plantation in Burlington County.[ix] In 1741 he owned 8 acres by the Delaware River in Willingsboro Township. 1745 saw him purchase a 6 acre lot in Burlington, and the following year an acre lot in Burlington City on the east side of High Street. There’s no record of Read having built a house there, so it’s likely that he was just looking to hold on to the land and sell it at a profit rather than go through the hassle and expense of building a house for himself.

Read tended to lean towards owning larger tracts of land. In 1744 he purchased 1,725 acres of un-appropriated land in West New Jersey.[x] In 1751 he received two grants from the West Jersey Proprietors – one for 5,378 acres and the other for 3,750. His holdings stretched from Burlington County to Morris, Hunterdon, and Gloucester Counties.

It’s likely that his experience with his father’s ironworks as well as his interest in farming influenced the type of real estate that Read was interested in. Tracts of cedar swamp could be cut, milled into lumber, and the land then repurposed for farming. The pine forest could also be cut, milled into lumber or made into charcoal. In 1746 he leased a 10-acre tract of swampland, one of the terms of the lease being that Read should “clear the said Swamp and make it meadow fit for the scythe.”[xi]

In 1745 he purchased a tract of 2,000 acres on Cotoxing Creek below Lumberton and built a sawmill. Two years later he leased the mill to Benjamin Moore, Jr. and four others who agreed to cut at least 50,000 feet of pine boards annually, with one-fifth of the product delivered to Read.[xii] Such deals were typical for the time – a landowner would acquire land, build a mill, and lease the mill itself for both an annual rent as well as a portion of the output.

The fees collected for the documents issued in his position as Secretary of the Province in addition to the salaries that the other various positions that he occupied offered, coupled with his own private income provided a substantial income from which he could fund his greatest ambition – becoming an ironmaster.

In the next installment of this series we’ll follow Read as he constructs, and nearly goes bankrupt from, his four ironworks.