Lancaster City Pennsylvania History

When I was a boy, our good city of Lancaster was quite a different affair from what it is at present, with its Conestoga navigation, its railway, and improvements of every kind. At the formerly quiet corner of North Queen and Chestnut streets, where lived a few old-fashioned German families, making fortunes by untiring industry and the most minute economy, there is now nothing but bustle and confusion, arrivals and departures of cars, stages, carriages, hacks, drays, and wheelbarrows, with hundreds of people, and thousands of tons of merchandise. In other respects that part of the city is not the same. New houses have started up in every direction, and old ones have been altered and dressed anew. Many of these buildings are very handsome, and about all there is an air of what moderns call prosperity, which was formerly unknown. Among the improvements are the handsome buildings about Centre-square, in place of the one-story stone houses with which the corners were occupied. Then there are the two banks and the places of worship, all of which are new, or materially improved, during my remembrance. The most remarkable of the latter is the Episcopal church, which occupies the place of the venerable and time-worn edifice that I remember. If I recollect aright, it was built under the charter granted by George II. It had never been entirely finished, and I am informed that, so great was its age and infirmities, the congregation were obliged to have it taken down, to prevent its tumbling about their ears. I shall never forget the last time I sat in it. Everything about the antique and sacred structure made an impression on my mind not easily to be effaced; even the old sexton, John Webster, a colored man, and his wife Dinah, who used to rustle past in her old-fashioned silks, with white sleeves, apron, and “kerchief.” Another remarkable character was old Mr. McFall, with his glass-headed cane, bent figure, and hoary locks. This patriarch was never absent in time of worship from the broken pew in the corner, except when prevented by sickness from attending.

While I am in Orange-street, I cannot help contrasting its present appearance with what it was in my boyhood. At that time it was little more than a wide lane, with half a dozen houses, nearly all of which are yet standing. The peaceable and retired-looking mansion, with the willow-trees in front, at present inhabited by the widow of Judge Franklin, I remember as a commission store, where trade was carried on with a few Indians still in the neighborhood, and also with those from a greater distance, who exchanged their furs and peltries for beads, blankets, cutlery, and rum, as is still done in many parts of the western country. The house in which the North American Hotel is kept, was occupied by the land commissioners a few years later.

I remember the forest-trees standing in East King-street, nearly as far down as Mr. McGonigle’s tavern. What is now called Adams-street, then Adamstown, was the most thickly inhabited place about. It was a village unconnected with Lancaster. The old two-story brick house now owned by Mr. Donelly, was used as an hospital for the sick and wounded soldiers of the revolution, and numbers lie buried in the lot on which it stands. What is now the old storehouse, was then the new college, at which I was placed, by way of making me a “gentleman.”

Annually in those days a fair was held on the first Thursday and Friday in June. You could hardly see the street for the tables and booths, covered with merchandise and trinkets of every kind. There were silks, laces, and jewelry, calicoes, gingerbread, and sweetmeats, such as the ladies love; and that was the time they got plenty of them, too, for the young fellows used to hoard up their pocket-money for months together to spend at the fair; and no girl felt ashamed to be treated to a fairing, even by a lad she had never seen before. This was the first step towards expressing admiration, and she who got the most fairings was considered as the belle. Then the corners of the streets were taken up with mountebanks, rope-dancers, and all the latest amusements. To see these, each young man took the girl that pleased him most; or, if he had a capacious heart, he sometimes took half a dozen.

Then there were the dances, the crowning pleasures of all. In every tavern there was to be heard the sound of the violin. * * * * * Even the mode of dress has changed. In my young days the girls wore shortgowns and pe—, but I dare not pronounce the word in this refined age. One thing I know, the girls looked very neat and trim in their linsey-woolsey short-jackets or gowns.

The swamp north of Gibson’s is supposed to have extended from the center of the square bounded by Duke, Queen, Chestnut, and Orange streets, to the swamp along the run, now Water-street. Gibson’s pasture, afterwards Sanderson’s pasture, was leased at an early period by Mr. Hamilton to Adam Reigart, Esq. An old letter mentions “the log-cabin of the widow Buchanan.” She was probably merely a tenant, as her name is not among the purchasers.

Among the early deeds may be found the names of Jacob Funk, Frederick Stroble, John Pow, and George Gibson. Their deeds were dated in 1735, except Gibson’s, which was dated in 1740 and granted lot No. 221. Gibson’s original tavern is said to have been situated where Cooper’s hotel now is, and the spring was nearly opposite.

1734. Seat of justice removed from Postlewaite’s to Lancaster, and the first German Lutheran church and schoolhouse built.

1745. The German pastor of the Lutheran church united a portion of his congregation with the Moravian. A great ferment was excited among the Lutherans: they told the governor they were compelled either to hear a doctrine which they did not approve, or resign their church. The governor told them he could not interfere, but that the law would protect them in their rights.

1751. House of employment erected; farm connected with it, and manufacturing implements. Lancaster became remarkable for the excellent stockings made in that establishment.

1759. Barracks erected to contain 500 men, for the security of this part of the province, [and to accommodate Gen. Forbes’s returning army.] Mr. Bausman, barrack-master.

1760. Lancaster co.: 436,346 acres of land, 5,635 taxables — each taxed £1 2s. Total tax, £6,178 10s.

1763. House of correction erected.

1765. Presbyterians put up a large meetinghouse; building committee, William Montgomery, John Craig, James Davis.

1769. The German Reformed church completed; the Episcopal church enlarged; and several other religious denominations—Friends, Roman Catholics, Baptists—mentioned as being in prosperous circumstances.

Gov. Pownal visited Lancaster in 1754. In his journal he says, “Lancaster, a growing town and making money; a manufactory here of saddles and pack-saddles. It is a stage town — 500 houses, 2000 inhabitants.” In the same book, (an ancient copy,) some one has written in manuscript — “When Gov. Pownal visited Lancaster there was not one good house in the town; the houses were chiefly of frame filled in with stone, of logs, and a few of stone. When Lancaster was laid out, it was the desire of the proprietor to raise an annual revenue from the lots; no lots were therefore sold of any large amount, but settlers were encouraged to build and receive a lot, paying an annual sum as ground-rent. Hence the large number of persons in indigent circumstances, who were induced to settle in Lancaster. The Lancaster town was therefore too large, at an early period, in proportion to the population of the surrounding country, and its inhabitants suffered much from a want of employment; as from its local situation, remote from water, it was not, nor could it ever possibly become, a place of business. The proprietor was therefore wrong in forcing the building and settlement of Lancaster. The town outgrew its strength, and looks dull and gloomy in consequence.”

On the night of the 14th Dec. 1763, a number of armed and mounted men from the townships of Donnegal and Paxton, most of them belonging to the company of frontier Rangers of those townships, concerted an attack on the Indians at Conestoga, for the purpose, as they alleged, of securing one or more hostile Indians, who were harbored there, and who were supposed to have recently murdered several families of the whites. The number of the Paxton men is variously estimated from twenty to upwards of fifty. Few of the Indians were at home — the men probably being absent either in hunting or trading their baskets and furs at Lancaster. In the dead of night the white men fell upon the village: some defense was doubtless attempted by the few male Indians present, (Dr. Franklin’s narrative says there were only three men, two women, and a young boy,) but they were overpowered, and the whole, men, women, and children, fell victims to the rifle, the tomahawk, and the knife of the frontier-men. The dwellings were burnt to the ground.

The citizens and magistrates of Lancaster, shocked at the horrible outrage, with commendable humanity gathered the scattered individuals of the tribe who remained into the stone workhouse at Lancaster, where, under bolts and bars, and the strict supervision of the keeper, they could not doubt but the Indians would be safe until they could be conveyed to Philadelphia for more secure protection.

But the Paxton men were satisfied with nothing short of the extermination of the tribe, alleging, however, that one or two of the hostile Indians were still among the Indians protected by the civil authority at Lancaster. Concealing themselves at night near Lancaster, they waited until the next day, 27th Dec., when the whole community was engaged in the solemnities of the sanctuary; then, riding suddenly into town at a gallop, the band seized upon the keeper of the workhouse and overpowered him, and rushing into the prison, the work of death was speedily accomplished: the poor Indians, about fourteen in number, were left weltering in gore, while the Paxton men left the town in the same haste with which they had entered it. The alarm was raised through the town; but, before the citizens could assemble, the murderers were beyond their reach. In consequence of this affair, the Moravian Indians from Wyalusing and Nain, who had come to Philadelphia for protection, were removed to Province Island near the city, and placed under the charge of the garrison.

The Paxton men, elated by their recent success, assembled in greater numbers early in January and threatened to march to Philadelphia in a body, and destroy the Indians there. The people of the city were prodigiously alarmed, and several companies of foot, horse, and artillery were formed to repel the expected attack. The Paxton men, who had approached the Schuylkill on their march, finding such a force prepared to receive them, returned home.

A proclamation was issued by the governor, expressing the strongest indignation at the outrage at Conestoga and Lancaster, and offering a reward for the arrest of the perpetrators; but such was the state of public opinion in the interior counties that no one dared to bring the offenders to justice, although they mingled openly among their fellow-citizens.

The prisoners were confined in barracks, enclosed with a stockade and vigilantly guarded; but in spite of all precautions, they often disappeared in an unaccountable manner, and nothing was heard of them until they resumed their places in the British army. It was presumed that they were aided by American Tories, but where suspicion should fall, no one could conjecture. Gen. Hazen had charge of the post. He devised a stratagem for detecting the culprits, and selected Capt. Lee, afterwards Maj. Lee, a distinguished partisan officer, to carry out his plan. It was given out that Lee had left the post on furlough. He, however, having disguised himself as a British prisoner, was thrown into the prison with the others. So complete was the disguise, that even the intendant, familiar with him from long daily intercourse, did not penetrate it. Had his fellow-prisoners detected him, his history might have been embraced in the proverb, “Dead men tell no tales.”

For many days he remained in this situation, making no discoveries whatever. He thought he perceived at times signs of intelligence between the prisoners and an old woman who was allowed to bring fruit for sale within the enclosure. She was known to be deaf and half-witted, and was therefore no object of suspicion. It was known that her son had been disgraced and punished in the American army, but she had never betrayed any malice on that account, and no one dreamed that she could have the power to do injury if she possessed the will. Lee watched her closely, but saw nothing to confirm his suspicions. Her dwelling was about a mile distant, in a wild retreat, where she shared her miserable quarters with a dog and cat.

One dark stormy night in autumn, Lee was lying awake at midnight. All at once the door was gently opened, and a figure moved silently into the room. It was too dark to observe its motions narrowly, but he could see that it stooped towards one of the sleepers, who immediately rose. Next it approached and touched him on the shoulder. Lee immediately started up. The figure then allowed a slight gleam from a dark lantern to pass over his face, and as it did so whispered, impatiently, “Not the man—but come!” It then occurred to Lee that it was the opportunity he desired. The unknown whispered to him to keep his place till another man was called; but just at that moment something disturbed him, and making a signal to Lee to follow, he moved silently out of the room. They found the door of the house unbarred, and a small part of the fence removed, where they passed out without molestation. The sentry had retired to a shelter, where he thought he could guard his post without suffering from the rain; but Lee saw his conductors put themselves in preparation to silence him if he should happen to address them. Just without the fence appeared a stooping figure, wrapped in a red cloak, and supporting itself with a large stick, which Lee at once perceived could be no other than the old fruit-woman. But the most profound silence was observed: a man came out from a thicket at a little distance and joined them, and the whole party moved onward by the guidance of the old woman. At first they frequently stopped to listen, but having heard the sentinel cry “All’s well!” they seemed reassured, and moved with more confidence than before.

They soon came to her cottage. A table was spread with some coarse provisions upon it, and a large jug, which one of the soldiers was about to seize, when the man who conducted them withheld him. “No,” said he, “we must first proceed to business.”

The conductor, a middle-aged, harsh-looking man, was here about to require all present, before he could conduct them farther, to swear upon the Scriptures not to make the least attempt at escape, and never to reveal the circumstances or agents in the proceeding, whatever might befall them. But before they had time to take the oath, their practiced ears detected the sound of the alarm-gun; and the conductor, directing the party to follow him in close order, immediately left the house, taking with him a dark lantern. Lee’s reflections were not now the most agreeable. If he were to be compelled to accompany his party to the British lines in New York, he would be detected and hanged as a spy; and he saw that the conductor had prepared arms for them which they were to use in taking the life of any one who should attempt to escape. They went on with great dispatch, but not without difficulty. Lee might now have deserted, in this hurry and alarm; but he had made no discovery, and he could not bear to confess that he had not nerve enough to carry him through. They went on, and were concealed in a barn the whole of the next day. Provisions were brought, and low whistles and other signs showed that the owner of the barn was in collusion with his secret guests. The barn was attached to a small farm-house. Lee was so near the house that he could overhear the conversation which was carried on about the door. The morning rose clear, and it was evident from the inquiries of horsemen, who occasionally galloped up to the door, that the country was alarmed. The farmer gave short and surly replies, as if unwilling to be taken off from his labor; but the other inmates of the house were eager in their questions; and from the answers Lee gathered that the means by which he and his companions had escaped were as mysterious as ever. The next night, when all was quiet, they resumed their march, and explained to Lee that, as he was not with them in their conspiracy, and was accidentally associated with them in their escape, they should take the precaution to keep him before them, just behind the guide. He submitted without opposition, though the arrangement considerably lessened his chances of escape.

For several nights they went on in this manner, being delivered over to different persons from time to time; and, as Lee could gather from their whispering conversations, they were regularly employed on occasions like the present, and well rewarded by the British for their services. Their employment was full of danger; and though they seemed like desperate men, he could observe that they never remitted their precautions. They were concealed days in barns, cellars, caves made for the purpose, and similar retreats; and one day was passed in a tomb, the dimensions of which had been enlarged, and the inmates, if there had been any, banished to make room for the living. The burying-grounds were a favorite retreat, and on more occasions than one they were obliged to resort to superstitious alarms to remove intruders upon their path. Their success fully justified the experiment; and unpleasantly situated as he was, in the prospect of soon being a ghost himself, he could not avoid laughing at the expedition with which old and young fled from the fancied apparitions.

Though the distance to the Delaware was not great, they had now been 13 days on the road, and such was the vigilance and suspicion prevailing throughout the country, that they almost despaired of effecting their object. The conductor grew impatient, and Lee’s companions, at least one of them, became ferocious. There was, as we have said, something unpleasant to him in the glances of this fellow towards him, which became more and more fierce as they went on; but it did not appear whether it was owing to circumstances, or actual suspicion. It so happened that, on the twelfth night, Lee was placed in a barn, while the rest of the party sheltered themselves in the cellar of a little stone church, where they could talk and act with more freedom; both because the solitude of the church was not often disturbed even on the Sabbath, and because even the proprietors did not know that illegal hands had added a cellar to the conveniences of the building.

Here they were smoking pipes with great diligence, and, at intervals not distant, applying a huge canteen to their mouths, from which they drank with upturned faces, expressive of solemn satisfaction. While they were thus engaged, the short soldier asked them, in a careless way, if they knew whom they had in their party. The others started, and took their pipes from their mouths to ask him what he meant. “I mean,” said he, “that we are honored with the company of Capt. Lee, of the rebel army. The rascal once punished me, and I never mistook my man when I had a debt of that kind to pay. Now I shall have my revenge.”

The others expressed their disgust at his ferocity, saying that if, as he said, their companion was an American officer, all they had to do was to watch him closely. As he had come among them uninvited, he must go with them to New York, and take the consequences; but meantime it was their interest not to seem to suspect him, otherwise he might give an alarm — whereas it was evidently his intention to go with them till they were ready to embark for New York. The other person persisted in saying that he would have his revenge with his own hand, upon which the conductor, drawing a pistol, declared to him that if he saw the least attempt to injure Capt. Lee, or any conduct which would lead him to suspect that his disguise was discovered, he would that moment shoot him through the head. The soldier put his hand upon his knife, with an ominous scowl upon his conductor; but he restrained himself.

The next night they went on as usual, but the manner of their conductor showed that there was more danger than before; in fact, he explained to the party that they were now not far from the Delaware, and hoped to reach it before midnight. They occasionally heard the report of a musket, which seemed to indicate that some movement was going on in the country.

When they came to the bank there were no traces of a boat on the waters. Their conductor stood still for a moment in dismay; but, recollecting himself, he said it was possible it might have been secured lower down the stream; and forgetting everything else, he directed the larger soldier to accompany him. Giving a pistol to the other, he whispered, “If the rebel officer attempts to betray us, shoot him; if not, you will not, for your own sake, make any noise to show where we are.” In the same instant they departed, and Lee was left alone with the ruffian.

He had before suspected that the fellow knew him, and now doubts were changed to certainty at once. Dark as it was, it seemed as if fire flashed from his eye, now he felt that revenge was within his power. Lee was as brave as any officer in the army; but he was unarmed; and though he was strong, his adversary was still more powerful. While he stood, uncertain what to do, the fellow seemed enjoying the prospect of revenge, as he looked on him with a steady eye. Though the officer stood to appearance unmoved, the sweat rolled in heavy drops from his brow. Lee soon took his resolution, and sprang upon his adversary with the intention of wresting the pistol from his hand; but the other was upon his guard, and aimed with such precision that, had the pistol been charged with a bullet, that moment would have been his last. But it seemed that the conductor had trusted to the sight of his weapons to render them unnecessary, and had therefore only loaded them with powder. As it was, the shock threw Lee to the ground; but fortunately, as the fellow dropped the pistol, it fell where Lee could reach it; and as his adversary stooped, and was drawing his knife from his bosom, Lee was able to give him a stunning blow. He immediately threw himself upon the assassin, and a long and bloody struggle began. They were so nearly matched in strength and advantage, that neither dared unclench his hold for the sake of grasping the knife. The blood gushed from their mouths, and the combat would have probably ended in favor of the assassin — when steps and voices were heard advancing, and they found themselves in the hands of a party of countrymen, who were armed for the occasion, and were scouring the banks of the river. They were forcibly torn apart, but so exhausted and breathless that neither could make any explanation; and they submitted quietly to their captors.

The party of the armed countrymen, though they had succeeded in their attempt, and were sufficiently triumphant on the occasion, were sorely perplexed how to dispose of their prisoners. After some discussion, one of them proposed to throw the decision upon the wisdom of the nearest magistrate. They accordingly proceeded with their prisoners to his mansion, about two miles distant, and called upon him to arise and attend to business. A window was hastily thrown up, and the justice put forth his night-capped head, and with more wrath than became his dignity, ordered them off; and in requital for their calling him out of bed in the cold, generously wished them in the warmest place. However, resistance was vain: he was compelled to rise; and as soon as the prisoners were brought before him, he ordered them to be taken in irons to the prison at Philadelphia. Lee improved the opportunity to take the old gentleman aside, and told him who he was, and why he was thus disguised. The justice only interrupted him with the occasional inquiry, “Most done?” When he had finished, the magistrate told him that his story was very well made, and told in a manner very creditable to his address; and that he should give it all the weight it seemed to require. And Lee’s remonstrances were unavailing.

As soon as they were fairly lodged in the prison, Lee prevailed on the jailer to carry a note to Gen. Lincoln, informing him of his condition. The general received it as he was dressing in the morning, and immediately sent one of his aids to the jail. That officer could not believe his eyes that he saw Capt. Lee. His uniform, worn out when he assumed it, was now hanging in rags about him; and he had not been shaved for a fortnight. He wished, very naturally, to improve his appearance before presenting himself before the secretary of war; but the orders were peremptory to bring him as he was. The general loved a joke full well: his laughter was hardly exceeded by the report of his own cannon; and long and loud did he laugh that day.

When Capt. Lee returned to Lancaster, he immediately attempted to retrace the ground; and so accurate, under all the unfavorable circumstances, had been his investigation, that he brought to justice fifteen persons who had aided the escape of British prisoners. It is hardly necessary to say, to those who know the fate of revolutionary officers, that he received, for his hazardous and effectual service, no reward whatever.