the Revolutionary War, the family Kitchell and other short stories....

 

 

Steppin' Wolf, Born to be Wild

 

I love history... French and English, especially, (way back when I was in my teens). It took awhile for me to really love American history, but then I got hooked. Of course, wouldn't ya know  it, I married into a family who are so intertwined in the history of the United States (and the United Kingdom dating back to Charlemagne) it's hard to tell where one got started and the other left off.

Having said all that to add, my fav holiday, has always been Independence Day; family get togethers, fireworks.  In fact, one of my first memories of the 4th of July was being around 2 years old, stepping down off the back porch step of my great aunt's home and stepping firmly onto a firecracker that had not gone off until I stepped on it. Yeah, I wouldn't advise doing that.

In honor of today, I wanted to celebrate some of the Kitchell's who fought in the Revolutionary War along side of George Washington (who was related through marriage) with pictures and short stories written by Kitchell family members.

                                      the Kitchell's resided in Morristown, New Jersey, 1776

 

 

Aaron Kitchell (July 10, 1744 – June 25, 1820) was a blacksmith and politician from Hanover Township, New Jersey. He represented New Jersey in both the United States House of Representatives and the Senate.
Born in Hanover, he attended the common schools and became a blacksmith. He was a member of the New Jersey General Assembly in 1781–1782, 1784, 1786–1790, 1793–1794, 1797, 1801–1804, and 1809. and was elected to the Second Congress (March 4, 1791 to March 4, 1793). He was elected to the Third Congress to fill the vacancy caused by the death of Abraham Clark and was reelected to the Fourth Congress, serving from January 29, 1795, to March 4, 1797. He resumed his former business activities, and was elected to the Sixth Congress (March 4, 1799 – March 4, 1801). He was then elected as a Democratic Republican to the U.S. Senate and served from March 4, 1805, to March 12, 1809, when he resigned

Headstone and grave of American Revolutionary war veteran, Aaron Kitchell. It is located in the cemetery at the Hanover Presbyterian Church, East Hanover, NJ.

Biographical and Genealogical History of Morris County New Jersey. Illustrated. Vol. II., Lewis Publishing Company, New York and Chicago, 1899.
Two decades had not passed after the landing of the Pilgrims at Plymouth Rock when the Kitchell family was founded in America, by Robert Kitchell, who was born in England in 1604. He married Margaret, daughter of Rev. Edward Sheaffer, of Cranbrook, Kent county, England, and on the 29th of April, 1639, they sailed for America with a company of Puritan refugees, on the first vessel that anchored in the harbor of Quinnepiac, now New Haven, Connecticut. They soon afterward settled at Guilford, on the border of the sound, and Robert Kitchell became a man of considerable prominence in the colony.
His son Samuel, who was born in England in 1633, was twice married. He first wedded Elizabeth Wakeman, of Connecticut; and afterward married Grace, daughter of Rev. Abraham Pierson, a leader in the Newark, New Jersey, settlement in 1666. By his first wife, Samuel Kitchell had six children: Sarah, Elizabeth, Abigail, Samuel, Mary and Susannah; and by his second wife he had two children: Abraham and Grace. The father of this family died in 1690.
Abraham Kitchell, the son of the second marriage and the next in line of this family, had seven children as follows: Samuel, Joseph, John, David, Grace, Mary and Abigail. Abraham Kitchell moved from Newark in the early part of 1700 and in 1724 purchased one thousand and seventy-five acres from Rebecca Wheeler and lived with his family at Hanover Neck. Abraham Kitchell's son Joseph was the father of the Hon. Aaron Kitchell, who was the most noted member of the Kitchell family. He was born June 25, 17544, and married Phebe Farrand, who was born in 1743 and died March 12, 1807. He was one of the most conspicuous figures in the history of Morris county. For several years after the Revolutionary war he served as a member of the state legislature of New Jersey. From 1799 until 1807 he was a member of the lower house of congress and from 1807 until 1811 was a United States senator.
His brilliant mental attainments, his character, worth and his sound judgment on matters of governmental policy, made him a leading figure in the council chambers of the nation, and his individuality was strongly impressed on the national legislation.

 Some Tales of Horseneck during the Revolution

Aaron Kitchell, Statesman & Friend of George Washington

From Kitchell Family Genealogy by Margaret Ellen Kitchell Whallon, 1932: Aaron Kitchel, cousin of Daniel Kitchel who came to Cincinnati in 1788, was one of the most notable members of the family. He was a U.S. Senator from New Jersey and a warm friend and counselor of General George Washington, on his staff and was one of his pall bearers. He is buried in the Churchyard Cemetery at Hanover, New Jersey. For 36 years he was a member of the state legislator, the national congress and the senate, on the commission of forfeited estates of Tories and on the commission that established the Northwest territory. He was the son of Joseph.

---

The Crane Family Mansion in Cranetown was once
used by Gen. George Washington as his headquarters

From The Genealogy of the Crane Family Vol. II by Ellery Bicknell Crane, 1900: WILLIAM CRANE-4, (Nathaniel-3, Azariah-2, Jasper-1), married 1st, _____ Wheeler, of Newark; 2d, Mary (or Mercy) _____. He resided in that part of Newark called for many years Cranetown, then West Bloomfield, now Mont Clair, NJ, and was a subscriber for the purpose of hiring a minister to preach the Gospel there. He was overseer of the poor from 1753 to 1756 inclusive, and of highways from 1760 to 1764; freeholder, 1767. He may have inherited property here from his father, and possibly succeeded to the home estate; of that, however, we are not certain, but the notable Crane mansion occupied by him or his family during the period of the war of the Revolution, still standing at the junction of Valley road and Clairmont avenue, was his home, and occupied about three weeks by Gen. Washington as his headquarters, Gen. Lafayette being with him. The time of occupation doubtless being from the later week in October to about the middle of November, 1780. While those two great generals were making Mr. Crane's house their home, he with four if not five of his sons were performing soldiers' duties in the army of which they were the commanders. It is related by Rev. Oliver Crane, D.D., LL. D., that on the arrival of Gen. Washington at the house, Mercy Crane then in charge, and causing supper to be prepared, discovered she had no tea to serve, and becoming quite disturbed about it offered an apology to the General for the lack of what might seem to him an important feature of his repast. "Never mind, my good lady," replied His Excellency, "please have a crust of bread toasted and use it for tea, that is good enough for me." Mrs. Crane's anxiety was thus dispelled, and supper was served. Night came on, and the capacity of the house for beds was overtaxed, the lower back room selected by the two generals for their use, had been used for the dining-room, the deficiency of beds then was thereupon made known to the General, who rejoined, "But there is plenty of straw in the barn, is there not?" The straw was soon brought in and spread in one corner of the room, and the two famous generals retired to rest, wrapped in their army blankets, on that bundle of straw.

---

The British are Coming! (the Horseneck Version)

From The Genealogy of the Crane Family Vol. II by Ellery Bicknell Crane, 1900: ZADOC CRANE-5, (William-4, Nathaniel-3, Azariah-2, Jasper-1), b. 1758; m.; no children; d. 1841. Gen. Washington had an old gray horse which was almost as well known as its rider. Zadoc Crane, one of the Revolutionary Fathers, took care of the old gray when Washington was at Cranetown, in New Jersey. While Zadoc took care of the horse, the family entertained Washington, and waited upon him with a finely Japanned server. This server, though the Japanning is all worn off, was brought to the Fair to exhibit in Bric-a-brac, by Mrs. Emma Fasshaber, whose father was Zadoc Crane's uncle. Those were times famous for having tried men's souls, and it was absolutely necessary to exercise the greatest care and vigilance. The oats fed to Washington's horse were kept concealed under a stack of hay, and every time Zadoc got a mess from under it he replaced the hay nicely, and after feeding, he carefully picked up every scattered straw for fear the British might nose the oats and "cabbage" them. During the time Washington was occupying "Cranetown Gap," as he styled it, the alarm came that the British were about to make an attempt on the American lines in their somewhat insecure position, and desiring to be in readiness to meet such a movement should it be made, and not feeling at this critical moment that he had a man to spare from the ranks, he called for volunteers outside of those in the service to act as couriers to warn the minute-men living beyond the so called "first and second mountains," covering the region between the Passaic River and the second mountain, including Horseneck, Pine Brook, Swinefield, etc. Zadoc, a son of William, who had been lame from boyhood, offered to assume the difficult and perilous undertaking. Although lame, on leg being shorter than the other, was well able to ride on horseback, and soon appeared mounted on his own spirited horse, and armed with a heavy cutlass, this being his only weapon; just as the sun was disappearing behind the mountains, under special orders from the General, he set out on his important errand. It was a ride for the night, calling at every house and routing them from their slumbers. As the gray of the morning began to show itself, he was marching his men toward the Crane mansion, and just at daybreak drew up his squad in front of the doorstep, on which stood Gen. Washington for the purpose of inspecting them. "Well done, my man," was the salute of His Excellency. "Now come in and take a horn of whiskey, for you must need it."

Cranetown is now known at Montclair, New Jersey. I thought these would be cool pix of the old Crane (the Cranes were related to the Kitchell's through marriage) homestead to share

 

 

Benjamin served in the Morris County Militia during the Revolutionary War

 

 

The grave of 58-year-old Obadiah Kitchell, who served as a captain in the Morris County militia during the Revolutionary War, is marked by a sandstone stele, a flat granite military marker, & a bronze D.A.R. medallion. I thought it fitting on this Independence Day to remember these family ancestors who not only believed in freedom, but participated in a Revolutionary War that brought freedom to all Americans these many decades later.  In concluding today's blog I thought it appropriate to include poetry about an event that occurred in 1775, later written by by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 1807-1882 Written April 19, 1860; first published in 1863 as part of "Tales of a Wayside Inn"       Listen my children and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five; Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous day and year. He said to his friend, "If the British march By land or sea from the town to-night, Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch Of the North Church tower as a signal light,-- One if by land, and two if by sea; And I on the opposite shore will be, Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and farm, For the country folk to be up and to arm." Then he said "Good-night!" and with muffled oar Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, Just as the moon rose over the bay, Where swinging wide at her moorings lay The Somerset, British man-of-war; A phantom ship, with each mast and spar Across the moon like a prison bar, And a huge black hulk, that was magnified By its own reflection in the tide. Meanwhile, his friend through alley and street Wanders and watches, with eager ears, Till in the silence around him he hears The muster of men at the barrack door, The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet, And the measured tread of the grenadiers, Marching down to their boats on the shore. Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church, By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, To the belfry chamber overhead, And startled the pigeons from their perch On the sombre rafters, that round him made Masses and moving shapes of shade,-- By the trembling ladder, steep and tall, To the highest window in the wall, Where he paused to listen and look down A moment on the roofs of the town And the moonlight flowing over all. Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, In their night encampment on the hill, Wrapped in silence so deep and still That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread, The watchful night-wind, as it went Creeping along from tent to tent, And seeming to whisper, "All is well!" A moment only he feels the spell Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread Of the lonely belfry and the dead; For suddenly all his thoughts are bent On a shadowy something far away, Where the river widens to meet the bay,-- A line of black that bends and floats On the rising tide like a bridge of boats. Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. Now he patted his horse's side, Now he gazed at the landscape far and near, Then, impetuous, stamped the earth, And turned and tightened his saddle girth; But mostly he watched with eager search The belfry tower of the Old North Church, As it rose above the graves on the hill, Lonely and spectral and sombre and still. And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height A glimmer, and then a gleam of light! He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight A second lamp in the belfry burns. A hurry of hoofs in a village street, A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet; That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light, The fate of a nation was riding that night; And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, Kindled the land into flame with its heat. He has left the village and mounted the steep, And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep, Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides; And under the alders that skirt its edge, Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. It was twelve by the village clock When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. He heard the crowing of the cock, And the barking of the farmer's dog, And felt the damp of the river fog, That rises after the sun goes down. It was one by the village clock, When he galloped into Lexington. He saw the gilded weathercock Swim in the moonlight as he passed, And the meeting-house windows, black and bare, Gaze at him with a spectral glare, As if they already stood aghast At the bloody work they would look upon. It was two by the village clock, When he came to the bridge in Concord town. He heard the bleating of the flock, And the twitter of birds among the trees, And felt the breath of the morning breeze Blowing over the meadow brown. And one was safe and asleep in his bed Who at the bridge would be first to fall, Who that day would be lying dead, Pierced by a British musket ball. You know the rest. In the books you have read How the British Regulars fired and fled,--- How the farmers gave them ball for ball, From behind each fence and farmyard wall, Chasing the redcoats down the lane, Then crossing the fields to emerge again Under the trees at the turn of the road, And only pausing to fire and load. So through the night rode Paul Revere; And so through the night went his cry of alarm To every Middlesex village and farm,--- A cry of defiance, and not of fear, A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, And a word that shall echo for evermore! For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, Through all our history, to the last, In the hour of darkness and peril and need, The people will waken and listen to hear The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed, And the midnight message of Paul Revere.: