Morrison's Pensions
The Frontiersmen of New York by Jeptha R. Simms, Albany, NY, 1883
Note from Jim Morrison: Zachariah Keyes supplied testimony for J.C. Smith on how Smith and Willet met at his public house.
Page 484. 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.