Three Rivers
Hudson~Mohawk~Schoharie
History From America's Most Famous Valleys
The
Frontiersmen of New York
by
Jeptha R. Simms
Albany, NY
1883
Page 484, Volune II
Anecdotes of Zachariah
Keyes—Here
are several incidents that should have gone in the first volume, in connection
with the large wagon transport, that were accidentally omitted there, which
I think the reader will be pleased to find here. The most eccentric inn-keeper on the
Western Turnpike, was “Zach” Keyes, as familiarly called, in
the time of large covered wagons of whom several pleasing anecdotes are told. About
the year 1817, a Cayuga county merchant went to Albany on horseback and from
thence to New York on a sloop to purchase goods. Steamboats were then
running, but as the fare was from five to seven dollars on them, and only
two dollars on sloops, the latter were still much patronized. Returning
to Albany he there expected to meet teams after his goods; and with finances
low he left the city, hoping to meet his expected teams or some acquaintance
to put him in funds. Toward night he called at several taverns and
made known his condition, but found no one who cared to entertain a stranger
unable to cancel his bill in the morning. He resolved to change his
tactics, and much fatigued he halted at the house of Keyes, about 40 miles
from Albany, making no allusion to his assets. Mine host with the
suavity and politeness of a Frenchman catered to his liberal calls for the
best the house afforded.
In
the morning the stranger mounted his horse to resume his journey, and
as he drew up the reins, Zach, in his most affable manner, said to him: “Sir,
;I think you have forgotten something?” “No, nothing at all!” replied
the stranger, clapping his hand upon a portmanteau, “Sir,” continued
the host, “I think you must have forgotten to pay your bill!” “No,” said
the traveler emphatically, “I have not forgotten to pay it, but sir,
the honest truth is, there is every farthing I have in my pocket!” saying
which, he exhibited four solitary coppers. “What may I call your
name sir?” demanded Zach with an excited bow. “My name is
____, I am a merchant, reside at _____, Cayuga county, have been to New York
to buy goods, my expenses thus far have exceeded my expectation; I left Albany
supposing I should meet teams going after my goods, and from the drivers obtain
some money.”
Keyes
then asked the stranger to dismount and enter the house. Once more in
the bar-office, Zach enquired how much money his guest would need to take him
home. “Five dollars,” was the reply, “less the amount
of your own bill.” As he received the needful from the confiding
landlord, he said: “Such a day you may expect the money by mail.’ He
once more vaulted into the saddle, was bowed from the door, and was soon out
of sight. In due time a letter arrived for the Sharon landlord from his
western customer, containing a ten dollar bank note, from which he
was directed to cancel his own claim, and retain the balance as a fund for
travelers circumstanced as he had been when last at his house. Zach Keyes
liked a good practical joke, and as this incident was highly relished, it afforded
him an additional yarn to spin on proper occasions.
--From Judge Tiffany, Henry Butler, and others.
A Peep at the Goat.—When Zach Keyes was keeping tavern in
Sharon, a Masonic Lodge held its meeting in a ballroom on the second floor
of his house; of which lodge he was a prominent member. Over the ballroom was an opening
for ventilation, and when the lodge was in session, Stephen, a son of the landlord,
of 16 summer, essayed to get over the unfloored timbers of the garret, to see
from this hole the proverbial goat; when a misstep let him through the plastering
into the lodge room, landing him near his mortified father. Without any
ceremony or delay the parent seized his inquisitive boy and cast him neck and
heels out of the open window upon the ground; certainly a wise young man if
he had nto seen just what he expected to see—for he had learned better
how to estimate the strength of lathing, and gained a surer knowledge of his
own specific gravity.—John Crownse, a former neighbor of Keyes.
Novel Courtship and Marriage of the Innkeeper Keyes.—About the
year 1825, the eccentric Zach Keyes being a widower went to Cherry Valley on
horseback; and riding up to the public house then kept by the widow of Thomas
Whitaker—a plump and rosy widow—he requested her called to the
door. As she appeared with a smile and invited him indoors, he said nay, “I
have some business with Esq. Hudson, which shall detain me two hours. I
have concluded to marry again, and have thought of you for a wife, and”—
“Pray
dismount and come in, Mr. Keyes!” said the charming widow. “No,” said
the horseman, “I cannot go in, but if you think favorably of marrying
me, you can let me know it on my return.” Her sweetest smile could
not win him from the horse, and he rode away.
Returning
at the specified time, cupid’s candidate again halted at the widow’s
door, who reappeared with bewitching allurements; but the suitor excused himself
from her pressing invitations to enter the dwelling, as he desired to know
her determination. She was much excited, but at once concluding the event
was registered above, and it was folly to war with fate, she blushed
and whispered through her smiling tears—“I have concluded to marry
you!” He then told her that on a certain day she should with her
friends, come to his house, where he would have all things ready for their
nuptials, and thus contravene village gossip.
In
the absence of a desired clergyman, Keyes secured the services of a Baptist
minister residing on the hill above him, and at the appointed time the guests
were assembled. The Elder on foot put in his appearance, wearing a Scotch
plaid mantle and a straw hat. As he entered the room the eccentric groom
thus addressed him: “Now Dominie, if you have any praying to do, please
defer it for rainy days and Sundays, but proceed and marry me to Mrs. Whitaker,
as soon as the Lord will let you.” As may be supposed, there was
no delay in tying the knot after such an episode; and when done, a friend placed
in the palm of the Elder, a fee of five silver dollars—casting
rather a carnal look upon which, the good man slipped them into his vest pocket. He
was tendered a glass of wine which he refused, and after wishing the married
couple much happiness, he proceeded directly home. Hawk-eyed people are
not uncommon guests at weddings, and one of this kind from a window saw the
Dominie take from his pocket, look at and replace the filthy lucre so easily
obtained, half a dozen times in going to the old Myndert place, distant from
the inn about 20 rods. Somel Coelebs sill in search of a wife may inquire
if this couple lived happily? Of course they did, for when was a match
ever recorded in Heaven, that did not prove a happy one. –Thomas
Machin and John Crownse.
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