"The Noble North American Groundhog": Philip Schuyler's Underappreciated Engineering Inspiration

The guffaws of neither gentlemen of Agriculture nor polite Society, will ever shake me from my maintenance that the creature most Worth[y] of emulation & praise is the Noble north American Ground Hog.                                                                                                  -Philip Schuyler, to John Cadwalader, November 6^th, 1785

 

A groundhog, or woodchuck, outside of its burrow in Quebec.

While best-known as a general and politician, Philip Schuyler’s primary occupation over the course of his life was that of the “gentleman farmer”. Though he seldom labored in the fields himself, much of his time was taken up with the management of thousands of acres of farmland, the transport and sale of crops from that land, and the pursuit of more sophisticated scientific approaches to agriculture. It can be surprising to learn, therefore, that Schuyler could speak so highly of the North American woodchuck, or groundhog. And yet, the generational feud that has existed between farmers and groundhogs since the first crop was planted in North America notwithstanding, for Philip Schuyler, this creature held a fascination bordering on obsession.

In 1785, just as Cadwalader was helping to found the Philadelphia Society for the Promotion of Agriculture and Agricultural Reform, Philip Schuyler penned the words above. He went on to explain his appreciation of the groundhog, saying: 

Cadwalader and family, by Charles Wilson Peale

The greatest agrarian minds in New York, Pennsylvania, Maryland, and elsewhere have sought to best the groundhog, to no avail, and though they rant and rave to the point of apoplexy at the depredations done by this denizen of our fields and forests, neither the most inspired creations of their minds, nor the furor of all their vented spleen can scarce suffice to protect a single lettuce should this furred artificer of the soil select it for consumption... In their mannerisms they are neat and tidy, practicing good grooming and washing their faces in like manner to squirrels, cats, and rakecoons [sic] and the better sort of persons. They are as attentive to their young as the most doting parent, and cooperate with one another in the industrious construction of their sprawling domiciles or dens. Their patient procurement of foodstuffs against the harsh winter months ought be a measured example to the young and reckless Farmer who seeks to sell all he may with no thought to laying by a stock against want or poor markets, and their coats are markable [sic] soft and warm for a creature that lives so much of its life in the soil - more so than musk rats [sic], though not so suitable for hats as beaver when it was more plentiful. In short, while they may plague our crops and frustrate our ambitions at every turn, the ground hog is better regarded as a Teacher to men such as ourselves, rather than an Adversary.

Despite Schuyler’s reputation as a respected farm manager himself, Cadwalader was unconvinced, and said so to fellow progressive agriculturalist, George Logan in a letter just a few weeks later, on November 23rd:

…I have received another letter from Ph. Scuyler [sic] at Albany on the subject of Ground Hogs. I own the man is a self-taught genius on many matters relating to our Fields -should you pardon my punning- but to hear him write so much on the subject of this garden posst [sic- pest] strains credulity. How can this be the same man whose flax mills garner such praise?

From this letter, it seems that this was not the first time Schuyler had expounded upon the qualities of the woodchuck. In fact, evidence of his interest in the creature can be traced back to the 1750’s at least. According to Schuyler Mansion site director Heidi Hill, “Philip Schuyler long marveled over the engineering prowess of the groundhogs of NYS…first taking note of the groundhog’s genius as it relates to root and bolder support and bearing weight in an elaborate maze of woodchuck dens he discovered near Lake Oneida while stationed there during the French and Indian conflict.”

Philip Schuyler's proposed plan for the use of 
tunnels to seize French food supplies from the
storehouse, bakery, and gardens at Frontenac
as outlined on a British map of the fort.

Further evidence of his appreciation can likewise be traced to his early military service in a letter from Schuyler to his mentor, John Bradstreet. Bradstreet was one of the leading British military officers in North America. In 1758, Bradstreet was attempting to capture the vital French fortification at Frontenac, near modern day Kingston, Ontario. In laying plans for the anticipated siege, Philip Schuyler apparently looked to woodchucks for inspiration once again, suggesting that, “...should the French prove firm in their defense, hunger has a way of breaking men of their resolve. I propose that a team of sappers be employed at good rates as to instill a sense of expedition in them, that they might dig under the walls of the fortress and, locating the French food supplies, make off with them, as does the wily ground hog or, as the French in Canada call it, the siffleux.”

Bradstreet, however, elected not to take his protégé’s advice in this case, replying, “as to the ground hog plan, we have neither the men nor the time to undertake such a digging, and if we had, what cause would I have not to simply send in soldiers to effect a capture through these tunnels? I suggest we look to another animal for our guide in this matter, perhaps I might suggest a more martial creature?” Fortunately for the British, following a well-orchestrated campaign, Frontenac surrendered after a two-day siege.

Recently, further evidence has been found in Schuyler’s original plans for the construction of his Albany mansion. Visitors often ask if Philip Schuyler had a secret escape tunnel leading out of the home, in case of attack. While there is no evidence that it was ever constructed, his early notes on the project include a letter to his friend Abraham Ten Broeck in which Schuyler wrote, “As for the matter of selecting a plot upon which to situate the House I intend, it is best it be atop a hill, with a good view of the river, plenty of cultivatable land about it, and perhaps a stream for maintaining a mill. The soil must needs be firm enough for reliable construction, but not so stony as to preclude the digging of passages such as we have spoken of.”

It has always been assumed that the “passages” he referred to were for storage or some sort of unspecified industrial application, however, in January of 2022, archivists Jan Mack and Allan Dyssop found documents that radically altered our understanding of the process of designing the home: Philip Schuyler’s original, hand-sketched blueprints for what would become Schuyler Mansion. What they saw was surprising, to say the least!

According to Mack and Dyssop, “Philip Schuyler likely drafted these plans well before ever purchasing the plot of land on the hill overlooking the Dutch Reformed Church’s pastureland, so it is unsurprising that it differs significantly from the ultimate construction. The most notable change, however, really took us off guard. As you can see from the lines radiating off of the sides of the house, it appears that Schuyler saw his home as the hub of a vast system of underground tunnels connecting him to various locations in the city of Albany and the surrounding area. From his notes on the paper, it appears that his inspiration for this design was the burrow pattern of a woodchuck or groundhog.”[1]

Philip Schuyler's early vision for his estate, complete with groundhog-inspired subterranean passageways. The eventual construction was moved to the south side of the Beaverkill (shown at left), and the tunnel-plan was abandoned.

The locations connected by the tunnel system include the Dutch Church, Schuyler’s mother’s house, and the home of his friend Abraham Ten Broeck. While there are still many questions to answer, staff at Schuyler Mansion are excited. “This is just incredible,” says Ian Mumpton, historic site assistant, “I mean this is literally incredible information.”

Today is April 1^st, meaning reservations are now available for our April tour dates. Check out our Facebook page for more information about visiting the site this month, and we will hope to see you soon!

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Happy April Fools!

Yes, it’s that time again where we make stuff up, but as usual, the prank article contains references to plenty of fascinating real history! So, what's real?

To start with, Schuyler, Cadwalader, and Morgan were all prominent agriculturalists of their day, and leaders in the post-Revolutionary War effort to modernize and expand scientific agriculture in the early United States republic. You can learn more about the formation of the Philadelphia Society for the Promotion of Agriculture here and explore sources related to it here. You can also click here for sources about the New York Society for the Promotion of Agriculture, Arts, and Manufactures, the origin of the Albany Institute of History and Art. Founded in New York City in 1791, the organization moved from NYC to Albany in 1797, and their history is closely connected to the Schuyler family and the mansion! Similarly, Schuyler’s flax mills really were a key part of his agricultural empire, and garnered praise and awards in their day. (Check back soon for an article about the exhibit expansion currently in the works, that will include an opportunity for visitors to “talk” with a tenant laborer about what work was like in the flax mill!)

While Schuyler did not propose groundhog-related stratagems to his commander during the French and Indian war, he did serve with distinction under Bradstreet, and was involved in the logistics of military operations against the French colonial empire in Canada. He did traverse Oneida lake en-route to Oswego, and was involved in the campaign to capture of Frontenac. He knew the importance of supply lines intimately, and was well aware of how precarious an operation or defense could become without food! The map of Frontenac shown is real as well and can be viewed here (minus the added groundhog tunnels of course), courtesy of the Massachusetts Historical Society. The same source also includes maps of the defenses built at Oneida lake during the conflict, as well as Forts Stanwix, Ticonderoga, and Ontario, Schenectady and Albany, and many other locations Schuyler visited over the course of his service in the French and Indian war and the Revolution.

As we noted last year, Schuyler was close friends with Abraham Ten Broeck, and talked with him about many of his plans over the course of his life. “Brahm” was likely Philip’s closest friend, besides his wife Catharine, and had Philip intended to build a woodchuck warren beneath his mansion, would almost certainly have been roped into the plan. As it is, the thought of Philip Schuyler and his best friend sneaking off to the coffeehouse together through their secret tunnel must be written off as the product of an overactive imagination.

As some folks caught, we were “making this up” with archivist authors Mack and Dyssop. Similarly their editor, Anne Notherpun is another pun, and their publisher is in fact, not a real press (and therefore not located in the Pennsylvania town universally associated with Groundhog’sDay in the US). But while the names were nothing more than fun wordplay, the uncovering of old documents capable of shedding new light on old ideas is very real, and very topical, here at Schuyler Mansion. Whether through newly acquired or discovered documents, revisiting old sources with fresh eyes, or good old-fashioned historical sleuthing in pursuit of answers to new questions, we a constantly learning new information about the people whose histories are intertwined with Schuyler mansion. In fact, “What’s New?” is the theme for our social media this month. Be sure to follow us on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram to hear out about new discoveries, get the scoop on cutting edge research, and sneak a peek at upcoming exhibit content still in development!

As always, thank you to everyone who played along with our tradition. And remember, it is important to keep an open mind when exploring the past, because the truth is sometimes weirder than the fiction, but always make sure to check your sources, especially is the information seems particularly… incredible!

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[1] Mack, Jan, and Allan Dyssop. 2022. An Archival Analysis of Documents Relating to the Construction of Schuyler Mansion. Edited by Anne Notherpun. Punxsutawney, PA: Knott Ariel Press.

 

A Hundred Leagues I’d Walk to My Love: Philip Schuyler’s Musical Courtship of Catharine van Rensselaer

***The article that follows was written as Schuyler Mansion's annual April Fools post. Unfortunately, Philip Schuyler did not write the music that would eventually become "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)". Thank you to everyone who played along!***

“But I would walk 500 miles And I would walk 500 more just to be the man who walked a 1000 miles to fall down at your door!” With the rhythmic guitar, heartfelt lyrics, and captivating Scottish accents, who can resist the Proclaimers 1988 hit “I’m Gonna Be”, better known in the US as “500 Miles”? But did you know that the Reid brothers found their inspiration for the song in a piece written by an earlier composer? As it turns out, this composer was none other than our very own Philip Schuyler!

Cover art of the 1988 album Sunshine on Leith,
which included the hit "I'm Gonna Be".

It can be jarring to think of the stern, aristocratic Philip Schuyler as a young musical heartthrob, but letters from Philip’s late teenage years indicate that he briefly took up music, not as a career, but as a way to win the love of the beautiful and elegant Miss Catharine van Rensselaer, or, as Philip referred to her in a letter to his friend Abraham Ten Broeck, “Sweet Kitty VR”. In fact, it was while pining for “Sweet Kitty” during a trip to Quebec that Philip composed a musical arrangement he titled “A Hundred Leagues I’ll Walk for My Love”.

The first evidence of this song comes from a letter written by Schuyler to Abraham Ten Broeck. While the date on the letter is illegible, it must have been written on a trip to Quebec Philip took prior to the outbreak of the French and Indian, or Seven Years, war, likely in 1753. There to discuss a potential business arrangement with Scottish merchant Angus McGonagle (himself no stranger to musical performance), the young man found his mind focused more on romance than finance.

My Dear Brahm; 

Matters here progress but so slowly that I fear it will be two weeks more be fore [sic] I return to Albany. I am whistful [sic] for your companionship and all our happy company there. I trust you will not think that I undervalue our friendship tho if I tell you that my mind and heart turn moment after moment to a certain young lady, the identity of whom I am certain you will guess at. You must not laugh at me Brahm to hear that I have put those thoughts of her into music, thoughts that I might demonstrate the fondness of my heart for hers by walking, without pause, the full hundred leagues and more between us, resting only when I fall down at her door. But music on paper cannot compair [sic] to music on the ear, and so I hope that you will accompany me on your violoncello, along with our two friends so we make a quartet. I esteem my self a poor composer, but I hope that this will make my affections for her evident in ways mere words cannot…

 Philip included the sheet music with his letter; an arrangement for violins, viola, and cello, that has a very familiar sound to it. We do not know if he, Abraham, and their unnamed friends ever ended up performing for Catharine, but not long after this letter was sent, Philip and Catharine were married, and had their first child, Angelica, just five months later. The sparks of romance were definitely bright for these two!

Philip and Catharine Schuyler in later life

According to music historian Dr. Emma Jennery, Craig and Charlie Reid ran across Philip's letter and music in late 1987 in a book about Scottish musicians (in relation to Angus McGonagle's career). As explained by Dr. Jennery in an unrecorded broadcast for BBC Scotland, “Craig and Charlie so often tap into the confluence of place and emotion, drawing on timeless inspiration and interpreting it through their iconic sound. They knew they had something there, with Philip Schuyler’s evocative phrasing about wanting to walk that hundred leagues from Quebec to Albany (the one on New York that is), only to fall down at her [Catharine’s] door. They gave his composition the lyrics it deserved and presented it for a modern audience.” Click here to listen to the Wedding String Quartet perform their rendition of “A Hundred Leagues I’d Walk to My Love”, known to the world today as “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)”

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Happy April Fools! As you might have guessed, Philip Schuyler is not the composer behind the Proclaimer's hit, but at least you have it playing through your head again? As is tradition for us, however, we put a lot of real historical content and references into the post. The inspiration for the whole thing came from a letter that Philip Schuyler wrote to his daughter Elizabeth in 1799, in which he made reference to youthful dancing and strolls around Albany.

Abraham Ten Broeck and Philip Schuyler really were childhood friends who maintained a closeness throughout their adult lives. Philip was even initially buried in the Ten Broeck family vault in 1804. The "possible date" for the letter was chosen based on when young Ten Broeck would have returned from a year-long trip to Europe in 1752, and the outbreak of the French and Indian War, or Seven Years War, in 1754. Philip did write to Ten Broeck often, and the reference to "Sweet Kitty VR" comes directly from one of their real-life letters.

So far, there is no known evidence for Philip Schuyler possessing much musical talent or ability, but he certainly encouraged it in his children, especially as part of his daughters' educations. Eliza and Caty are both noted for their skill on the pianoforte, some of their brothers played the flute, and Angelica is believed to have played the parlor guitar. Quartet arrangements were popular in the 1750's, in large part due to the work of composer Joseph Haydn (himself only a year older than Philip). While Philip did not (as far as we know) compose or play music to woo Catharine, the dancing reference in his letter to Elizabeth has been read as an allusion to his early courtship of Catharine. In either case, their relationship does seem to have been as passionate as described here- Philip included frequent attestations of affection in correspondence, and Angelica's birthdate fell well shy of the nine-month-mark from her parents' wedding date.

While Philip Schuyler never did business with Angus McGonagle, the argyle gargoyle who gargles Gershwin gorgeously in season 4 of the Muppet Show, he did work from a young age to develop a broad network of mercantile contacts, both locally and farther afield. This would include trips to Canada throughout his life, as well as New York City, and even a trans-Atlantic voyage to England and Ireland less than a decade after this supposed letter was sent.

Lastly, Dr. Emma Jennery is, in fact, imaginary, but her description of the Proclaimers' music is accurate- many of their songs use emotionally evocative language tied to a specific place or community to tell a story of longing for home and loved ones far away. Year round, staff at Schuyler Mansion are committed to telling all of the many stories that make up our site, both the more familiar ones of the Schuyler family, and those that have received less attention in the past. This commitment to sharing a fuller narrative is apparently something that we share with the Proclaimers as well!

So thanks for reading, and remember...

“Devoid of any facet of interest or spectacle”: Rensselaer Schuyler’s Unrealized Masquerade Emporium

***The article that follows was written as Schuyler Mansion's annual April Fools post. Unfortunately, Rensselaer Schuyler never planned to open a store called "Fancy Masks" (that we know of!). Thank you to everyone who played along!***

In August of 1792, Angelica Schuyler Church sent her brother Rensselaer a letter from London, where she was living at the time with her husband and children. She included the usual news of friends and family abroad, updates on conflict with France, and inquiries as to the health of her loved ones in America. However, despite being separated by an entire ocean and an age-gap of 17 years, the primary content of the letter indicates a deep familiarity on Angelica’s part with young Rensselaer’s most pressing concerns at that time- business and romance:

Though I am certain that Papa has been applying you heed the Advise [sic] of our brother Hamilton in matters of Finance, my heart beats maloncholy [sic] that he has not told you who it is who Advises him[.] For if he had, she expects she should have had a Letter from you some time ago, entreating her (that is, myself), to relate unto you all that she (that is, I) have to tell of the State of Finance in London, a matter on which I am very much Informed and Most Happy to share with my dear Brother…

As to that Other Matter, touching the Heart and all the Exhortions [sic] of Venus, you should not think it Amiss to say Amas*, nor to apply to your loving sister for Advise [sic] on this matter either. To this I will say only that you must take to a Ball the object of your Affections, the effection [sic] of which will be made most agreeable should you escort her to a Masquerade. It is a gathering of the most fashionable and amusing sort[;] at it all the couples wear Mascks [sic] and all of the most fantastical sort, with feathers and silks and all manner of Bazaar [sic] creatures, tigresses and Devils and other such phantasms. Such a gathering was had at the Prince [of Wales]’s apartments Several nights past, and tho [sic] I spent the whole night in good company there, several couples spent less time with the ensemble...

A Masquerade of the type described by Angelica Schuyler

Whether or not Rensselaer took his big-sister’s advice on romance to heart, he apparently saw in her letter a chance for a business venture.  While we do not have Rensselaer’s letter to his father, a letter written by Philip Schuyler to his son several weeks after Rensselaer received Angelica’s message sheds light on Rensselaer’s latest inspiration.

My Dear Son, 

Pleased tho [sic] I am to hear that you intend to take an interest in entering the World of Business at last[,] your letter of the 3^rd instnt [sic] has given me cause to offer Trepeditious [sic] counsel. I fear you may have misread your dear sister Angelica’s intent in her advisement, for while she tells me she offered you advice on Both business and matrimony, I fear you have Conflated the Two into One. Your proposed course, that of establishing a Store for the selling of Maskerade fashions and other such frivolities, seems to me ill-advised and a poor use of the education in Maths, science, History, and all other Useful Arts which I have ever endevored [sic] to provide you with and Furthermore can only result in your unhappiness and mine, and the squandering of the fortune you request of me to secure the enterprise. Further, the illustrations of your Intentions, though artistically adept in their accuracy, are poor things, devoid of any facet of interest or spectacle capable of capturing the interest of those who attend such parties. Lastly, the name of the establishment, Fancy Masks, as you propose it, is a ridiculous thing, and beneath you in all ways I advise instead you apply yourself to Farming or Commerce, both of which in perfect harmony suffice to make a man wealthy and respected.

I remain, ever and adieu,

Yr Fthr

Ph: Schuyler

From this letter, it appears that Rensselaer’s plan was to open a store (whether in New York or Albany is not specified), for selling masks and fancy clothing for Masquerade Balls, as described by his sister, Angelica. For years, the only reference to Rensselaer’s designs for his masks was Philip’s description in this letter. However, a recently discovered ledger book from within the Schuyler family contains a loose leaf of paper depicting what appears to be one of Rensselaer’s illustrations of the sorts of masks he intended to sell in his establishment. If this is the case, then it seems that his father’s description is unfortunately accurate.

Rensselaer never got to open Fancy Masks. Instead he set out on a life plagued by debt for many years before finally settling in to the life his father intended for him as a land-lord and developer. Still, one cannot help but wonder what his life would have been like had his creative impulses been better nurtured. Alas, we will never know.


* Latin for, "You love..."- wordplay off of "Amiss".




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Happy April Fools! So as many have guessed, this article was, as they say, complete hogwash. However, while the overall premise was written as a prank, there is plenty of real historical inspiration. Masquerades were an extremely popular form of high-society entertainment, with an industry of purveyors of masquerade costumes and masks on hand to outfit the spectacular events. The mask depicted, however, was not a masquerade disguise, but actually a depiction of an 18th century fencing mask from Diderot's Encyclopédie.

The family dynamics in the (fabricated) letters are also rooted in historical reality. Angelica's reference to advising Alexander Hamilton on financial matters was inspired by correspondence with her brother-in-law in which she recommended and sent financial treatises to him from Europe. Similarly, Philip Schuyler's tone of disproval in the letter to Rensselaer matches his actual tone in discussing his youngest son's financial difficulties and education recalcitrance. We talk about these topics and more elsewhere on the blog and during tours and programming at Schuyler Mansion, so keep your eyes open for upcoming events and new articles!

The Grasmaand Boze Geest: 17th Century Albany’s Springtime Demon

by Ian Mumpton

***The article that follows was written as Schuyler Mansion's annual April Fools post. Unfortunately, the Grasmaand Boze Geest is the product of the author's overactive imagination and experience as a story teller specializing in Adirondack Tall Tales. Thank you to everyone who played along!***

Albany has always been a community with rich cultural traditions and festivities. Often these are a time of celebration, from Pinkster and Twelfth Night in the 17^th and 18^th centuries, to Tulip Fest and the numerous cultural and musical festivals that bring color and fun to our community. But not all of Albany’s traditions are as light-hearted. For Dutch colonists of the 17^th century and their descendants, the night of April 1^st was a night of darkness and terror, for on that dark eve, even as the weather turned kind once again, the Grasmaand Boze Geest, the April Devil, stalked the forests, fields, and even the very streets of the community.

The earliest identified Dutch reference to the April Devil comes from 1631, when Evart Pachter reported an attack on his sheep as his court defense for disrupting the peace,

Evart Pachter of this place charged with disrupting the peace and the unlawful discharge of a fire arm on or about 3 April of, attests that on or about the night of 3 April he heard a wild noise from where his sheep grazed outside the walls of the Fort[-] that he went out with musket and sidearm there saw an unholy beast of great size[,] terrible to describe[,] devouring a ewe. He discharged his musket, which caused it no apparent harm but the noise of it so disrupted it that it grabbed up another ewe and a new lamb and leaping a great distance did go into the night and was seen no more. When the guard arrived they smelled a great stink of brimstone which all attested was so foul as to have come from Hell itself.

In Pachter’s case, the court found that he had acted wrongly in discharging his musket, asserting that the proper course of action was to have informed the guard and had them respond to the situation. This is the only legal document involving the creature, but it soon entered the folklore of the Dutch community. Over the next one two hundred years, tales of the “Grasmaand Boze Geest” were repeated and embellished by each generation.

By the early 18^th century, the legend had given rise to a tradition called Grasmaand Nacht. Abbe Julien Sainte-Jean Couperin described the observance during a visit to Albany in 1739.

The Dutch of Albany, who are very plentiful and still hold much of the land as they did before the English came, maintain that on the night between the first and second day of April, a fiend of Hell comes amongst them, taking sheep from their flocks or, should the Winter have been cruel and few lambs born, will carry off an unfaithful man, woman, or child from their home and sate its devilish appetite upon wayward Christian flesh. It is said to seek out lambs especially, just as the Devil seeks to undo the blessing of the Lamb of God to the faithful.

Couperin described the creature as, “A beast larger in every way than a man, with the face and claws of a fierce tiger, long ears, the legs of an eagle, and covered all over with scales and fur. It is accompanied by a terrible stink of sulphur." A number of traditions grew up around the legend as well. According to Couperin, "To protect themselves, no Dutchman goes abroad on this night, but sends his servants, if he has them, to tend the sheep. Every family prepares a bowl of grain, fish, and entrails, soaked in milk, which they leave upon their stoop- a propitiation to blunt the creature’s appetite should it seek to enter. On the Sunday before, it is considered especially bad luck not to be seen in the church.”

"The Grasmaand Boze Geest", as depicted by Joseph Valsenaam, from The Complete and Honest History of the New York Colony under the Dutch, by Edward Thomas Nash, 1775

The description of the creature sounds bizarre, and contemporary illustrations are even more so. A 1775 publication included an image by Albany-based print-maker Joseph Valsenaam that closely matches the description given by Couperin. Historians and folklorists have speculated that the appearance of the creature reflected the colonists' fears of a world new and unknown to them, where strange, potentially dangerous beasts dwelt in the unending forests. It is likely that Native American and African traditions of supernatural beasts also contributed to the growth of the legend.

The question then, is did the Schuyler family observe Grasmaand Nacht with the rest of Dutch Albany? Philip Schuyler was both a faithful member of the Dutch Reformed Congregation, and a man of Science. This was not a contradictory position for him, as he merged both aspects of his life on a regular basis, developing a mathematical proof of God and demonstrating the necessity of human mortality by calculating how much space each person would have if no one had died since Adam and Eve. But what of matters of supernatural demons?

From what little evidence we have, it seems that Philip did take part, though whether this was out of belief in evil spirits or because he was simply participating in a community ritual is unclear. On March 31^st, 1780 he wrote to his friend, Abraham Ten Broeck, that, “Cuff and Tone I will send over the day after tomorrow, but Tom I cannot as Schermerhorn has hired him of me to keep watch on his lambs all night tomorrow until dawn as is the custom.” Here we see that the tradition of sending enslaved servants to watch over the sheep on the night of April 1^st continued well into the 18^th century. Even more solid is the evidence provided by a note in Philip’s account book from 1781 that details, “2 sh 6p to S[arah] Pemberton for milk, grain, and offal for Grozemaand, she is paid in full”.

Whether Philip truly believed, or was simply playing the part in a long-standing local tradition may be unclear, but we do know that not everyone in the Schuyler family put stock in the “holiday”. Washington Morton, who married Cornelia Schuyler (in what proved to be the third of four elopements in the family), wrote to his friend Elijah McMaster in New Jersey to say,

Washington Morton (depicted here in a portrait by
Thomas Sully), put no stock in legends of
the Grasmaand Boze Geest

Our stay with Mrs. Morton’s parent’s has, as usual, been a most tedious affair, with her father giving off at once both sullen looks for me and a pained façade of paternal anguish for his dear daughter, deluded by such a rogue as I- as if any force upon this earth could have made her mind other than it was to be my beloved and wife! Having had my fill of his glowering and sermonizing, I had resolved to take a stroll that evening rather than dine in such company, when he hobbled his way into the hall and bade me stop, for it was the night they call Grazmand, when a devil is supposed to haunt all of Albany taking the wicked (amongst whom he no doubt counts me). I laughed, and offered to absolve it with my cane should it appear before me, and took my ease that night with our friends in the town.

The legend of the April Devil seems to have died out by the middle of the 19^th century, but in the two hundred years that it lasted, it left quite the mark on the community, and can still chill us to this day. The last reference to the Grasmaand Boze Geest comes from an anonymous poem written sometime around 1830:

                                  When lambs are born, and Winter gives way
                                            Prepare your soul at least,
                                 For in the dark of Grasmaand Night
                                         Beware the Grasmaand beast!

The Rebellious Son: Philip Jeremiah’s Elopement

By Jessie Serfilippi

Philip Jeremiah Schuyler.

 Myth: Only daughters of the Schuyler family eloped.

When Angelica Schuyler, the eldest of the Schuyler children, eloped with John Barker Church on June 23, 1777, she taught her younger siblings a valuable lesson: you can ask your parents for forgiveness later. She had no way of knowing that her actions would inspire three more of her siblings­­—one of whom, Catharine, wasn’t yet born at the time of Angelica’s elopement—to follow in her footsteps. Out of the four Schuyler children to elope, Philip Jeremiah, the fifth surviving child and second son, was the only boy to do so. He was only eleven at the time of Angelica’s transgression, but he clearly took his sister’s lesson to heart.

The Golden Child

Philip Jeremiah possessed every quality his brothers, John Bradstreet and Rensselaer, lacked, according to their father. He was a studious and well-educated boy. As a child, he was instructed in English grammar, French, Catechism, and the German flute among other subjects. He likely received some tutoring at the Academy at Albany, as a 1783 receipt indicates, as well.

While his brothers, especially Rensselaer, were competent students, Philip Jeremiah was the only son to go to college. In 1787, at the age of 19, Philip Jeremiah studied at Columbia College (now Columbia University). He studied with William Cochran, who taught Latin and Greek at the college. As the only Schuyler son to attend college, his father had high expectations for him. Elder brother Johnny had proven to be a lousy businessman, much to Schuyler’s disappointment. Although Rensselaer, aged 14 when Philip Jeremiah entered college, was still young, he would eventually become addicted to gambling and accrue a large amount of debt. Philip Jeremiah quickly became his father’s one chance at a son achieving renown. He likely hoped for Philip Jeremiah to become a lawyer.

Yet it seems as if Philip Jeremiah didn’t finish his coursework at Columbia. Instead, he did something his father did not want him to do. Philip Jeremiah, the golden child, eloped.

The Childhood of the Bride-to-be

Sarah Rutsen.

Sarah Rutsen came from a wealthy landowning family in Rhinebeck, NY. Her ancestry was full of notable Dutch families. Her paternal grandmother was Alida Livingston and her paternal great-great grandparents included Livingstons and Beekmans. Further back still, she was the x3 great granddaughter of Alida Schuyler. Her father’s family had been in the Ulster area for generations—her grandparents moving to Rhinebeck shortly after their marriage—whereas her mother’s family seems to have migrated upstate from the Long Island area. Her father, Colonel John Rutsen, likely served in the local militia. He died in 1772, when he was twenty-eight and his daughter was two.

Phebe Carman Rutsen.

Sarah and her older sister, Catharina, were raised by their mother, Phebe Carman. Phebe had been married to John for only five years when he left her a widow with two young children. The small family was said to have lived in a stone house in Rhinebeck, and were likely well-supported by the grist mill Sarah’s paternal grandfather, Jacob Rutsen, had established in 1739, and by Beekman land she, her mother, and sister inherited upon the death of her father. Their mother was able to collect enough rent from the tenant farmers living on the inherited land to keep her and her daughters comfortable.

How, exactly, Sarah Rutsen met Philip Jeremiah Schuyler is a bit of a mystery. At the time of their meeting, Philip Jeremiah was studying at Columbia College, but he did have relatives who lived in the Rhinebeck area, so he was likely familiar with the neighborhood and families living there. Sometime after Philip Jeremiah and Sarah met, his interest in his studies seemed to have tapered off, and his heart became set on starting a family.

The Elopement

Philip Jeremiah did two things that likely infuriated his father: he dropped out of Columbia College and eloped. He likely dropped out of Columbia College to elope and start his married life. Philip Jeremiah was twenty when he married Sarah Rutsen, who was eighteen at the time. They married on May 31, 1788. Where they married is not known, although her family home is certainly a possibility, since it doesn’t seem to have been an elopement for her, but only for her husband.

Philip Jeremiah tried getting his parents' permission to marry Sarah, but to no avail. Once it became clear to him his parents would not change their minds, he decided to marry Sarah anyway. In a letter from April 27, 1788, penned to his eldest son, Schuyler writes “Your Brother Philip is at Rhynbeck and I fear is married, I have not heard from him himself since he left [?]” Philip Jeremiah wasn’t actually married at that point, but would be within the next month.

There has long been an assumption that because Philip Schuyler didn’t approve of the marriage he automatically didn’t approve of Sarah Rutsen. It is evident that he had no contact with Sarah for at least the first year of her marriage to Philip Jeremiah, but whether that was because he was upset with his son or with his choice of bride remains unknown. What is known is that Schuyler attempted to make whatever bad feelings may have existed between himself and Sarah vanish by May of 1789.

In a letter to his son-in-law, Alexander Hamilton, Schuyler details out his plans for making Sarah Rutsen feel welcomed into the family. He writes this clearly in response to a question or concern Hamilton posed to him in his last letter. Schuyler states “Philip [Jeremiah] has visited me since his return from England he is returned to his wife with a message from me that will afford her comfort & confidence in my friendly intentions towards her. I have charged him to bring her here immediately on the Arrival of his Mother & Sisters.”

No matter how he felt for that year of no contact with his newest daughter-in-law, he at least attempted (and was later proven successful) in making amends and welcoming her into the family. He also seemed to have accepted Philip Jeremiah back into the family regardless of his transgression. This period of disapproval seemingly lasted much longer than Angelica’s two weeks after her elopement, and less is known of the circumstances. But whatever happened, within a year Philip Jeremiah and Sarah Rutsen were finally given their proper place in the Schuyler family.

Read more: "Inquire of the Subscriber at Rhinebeck: Philip Jeremiah Schuyler and Slavery"

Want to explore Philip Jeremiah and Sarah's Rhinebeck? Click here to access a Google Maps with homes that would have existed, along with their own home, mapped out. Click each point for a picture and information about the home. Enjoy!

Philip Jeremiah and Sarah's Rhinebeck home, which still exists today as apartments.

Sarah Rutsen's ancestral home in Ulster, which burnt down in 1911.

The Many Graves of Philip Schuyler

by Jessie Serfilippi

Philip Schuyler's grave
 in Albany Rural Cemetery.

There are many questions and myths surrounding the journey Philip Schuyler’s body took after his death in 1804. Some people believe there was a burial vault on Schuyler property that both he and Catharine were interred in. Others believe he was placed in the Van Rensselaer vault upon his death.

In reality, there was no Schuyler vault, and the Van Rensselaer vault was not Schuyler’s first resting place. This begs the question: where did he go?

When Philip Schuyler died at the Schuyler Mansion on November 18, 1804, he was eulogized throughout Albany and beyond. One newspaper laments: “At Albany, on Sunday evening, at 6 o’clock, P.M. after a lingering illness, Gen. PHILIP SCHUYLER, in the 73^rd year of age,­­-- As an officer of Superior merit, a most valuable citizen, and enlightened and able statesman, his loss is deeply regretted.” The Boston Gazette reports his death “At Albany, on 18^th inft. Gen. PHILIP SCHUYLER, aged 73.” While both of these newspapers cite him as being 73 at the time of his death, he was actually days shy of his 71^st birthday. An Albany newspaper still incorrectly cites him as being 71, but spends half a column extolling him:

Albany, November 22, 1804.

IT is with deep regret that we announce the death of the Hon. MAJOR GENERAL PHILIP SCHUYLER, on Sunday evening last, in the 71^st year of his age… A man eminent for his useful labours, in the military and civil affairs of our country. Distinguished by strength and intellect, extensive knowledge, soundness and purity of moral and political principles. He was an active, not a visionary patriot. He was wise in divising [sic], enterprising and persevering in execution of plans of great and public utility. Too intelligent to found his notions of political or civil government, upon the perfectibility of man, or upon any other views of the human character, than those derived from the experience of ages: And too honest to tell the people, that their liberties could be preserved in any other way, than by the wholesome restraints of a constitution and laws, energetic, yet free.

In private life, he was dignified but courteous; in his manners, hospitable; a pleasing and instructive companion; ardent and sincere in his friendships; affectionate in his domestic relations, and just in his dealings.

                                     The death of such a man is truly a subject of private and public sorrow.

On Wednesday his remains were entered, with military honors, in the family vault of the Hon. ABRAHAM TEN BROECK.

It is from this obituary that we learn two important facts about Schuyler’s death: he received military honors at his funeral and he was buried in the Ten Broeck family vault.

The military honors Philip Schuyler received upon his death were not unlike what deceased veterans receive today. Schuyler’s casket was draped with the American flag, then decorated with fifteen stars instead of today’s fifty. He also would have been honored with three volleys over his gravesite. This tradition originates from a signal used during ceasefire in battle to let the opposing army know all the dead have been removed from the field and the fighting may continue. It likely serves as a sign of respect for deceased veterans both now and during Schuyler’s time.

After the funeral, Schuyler’s body was placed in Abraham Ten Broeck’s vault, which sat some distance behind the Ten Broeck mansion on the north side of Albany. Schuyler was the first to be interred there. He was followed by Abraham himself in 1810, the Ten Broeck’s daughter, Margaret, in 1812, and Abraham’s wife, Elizabeth, in 1813.

While Schuyler’s body rested there peacefully for some years, that changed in the late 1830s. According to Theodore H. Fossieck, who writes twice about the vault and journey the bodies inside of it took for the Albany County Historical Association’s newsletters in August and September of 1989, the Ten Broeck’s vault fell into disrepair and collapsed in 1836.

Preceding the collapse of the vault was its journey through numerous different owners. The plot the vault sat on was sold three times between Elizabeth Ten Broeck’s death in 1813 and 1831. In addition to this, in the 1830s the City of Albany proposed the creation of three new streets in the area surrounding Ten Broeck’s former grounds, including the vault. The construction of these streets is what caused the grounds around the vault to erode, leading to its collapse in 1836.         

It is between 1839 and the late 1860s that the location of Schuyler’s body becomes somewhat of a mystery. The bodies in the Ten Broeck vault were moved by 1839, but the grounds of Albany Rural Cemetery, Schuyler’s current resting place, were not purchased until 1844. What lends further credence to the theory that Schuyler was not buried in Albany Rural until at least the late 1860s is that no General Schuyler grave site is mentioned in the first walking tour of the cemetery, which was published in 1858. It is not until 1871, in another walking tour of the cemetery, that Schuyler’s grave site is mentioned. So where was his body for about fifteen to twenty years?

A letter from a Schuyler descendant to the Albany Rural Cemetery board of trustees provides a clue. In yet another walking tour of the cemetery published in 1893, the letter, written in 1869, from this descendant, Mrs. W. Starr Miller, is included. In it she refers to “the funeral of the late Patron Van Rensselaer.” The funeral she writes about is likely that of Stephen Van Rensselaer IV, sometimes known as the “young Patroon” or “last Patroon,” who died in 1868, one year before the letter is written.

Letter from Mrs. W. Starr Miller as published
 in 1893 walking tour of the cemetery.

The Van Rensselaer Manor Home.

 

In the letter she laments finding “the old family vault broken up,” and relays surprise when she discovered that its “contents had all been removed.” Among those remains said to be moved were “Gen. Schuyler, his wife and son, John Bradstreet Schuyler [who] had been placed, and interred in the Van Rensselaer lot […] without note or mark as to the spot, save the diagram of the lot [in Albany Rural]!”

The old family vault she refers to is likely the Van Rensselaer family vault, which sat on the Van Rensselaer Manor property in Albany. When the property was later surrounded by railroads the family abandoned it, and it was eventually dismantled in the early 1890s. But even as early as 1868—at the time of Stephen Van Rensselaer IV’s funeral—the vault which held the remains of the family had crumbled beyond repair.

It is with the help of this letter that the journey Schuyler’s body took after his death becomes slightly clearer. It seems as if, after his removal from the Ten Broeck vault in the late 1830s, he was placed in the Van Rensselaer family vault. He remained there until it was pillaged, and was then removed to Albany Rural Cemetery at some point before 1868, when Mrs. Starr Miller was present for Stephen Van Rensselaer IV’s funeral, and was placed in the Van Rensselaer plot at the cemetery with no headstone to mark his resting place. While so far the exact year when this transfer took place cannot be determined, it was at some point between 1858—when the walking tour that does not include him is published— and 1868.

Monument to Philip Schuyler as pictured
in 1893 walking tour of cemetery.

In 1870 Mrs. Starr Miller was granted permission by the Albany Rural Cemetery board of trustees to move Schuyler’s body to its current resting place within those grounds. She then commissioned the monument which still marks his grave site.

Where Catharine Van Rensselaer Schuyler’s body is remains somewhat of a mystery. If she actually was in the Van Rensselaer vault with her husband at the time of his removal then it is likely that she—and her son, Johnny Bradstreet, who was said to be buried there, as well—is still in the Van Rensselaer plot in Albany Rural, where her daughter, Margaret “Peggy” Schuyler Van Rensselaer, her husband, and his second wife, are buried. Also buried there is Abraham Ten Broeck, whose grave is marked not by a headstone, but by a flag holder that declares him a veteran of the Revolutionary War.

Philip Schuyler’s body went on quite the journey after his death in 1804, leading him from the Ten Broeck vault, then to the Van Rensselaer vault, and finally to Albany Rural Cemetery. Hopefully this is his final destination!

Discomfort and Discourse: Myths of 18th Century Women’s Fashion Part 2

by Danielle Funiciello

In March, we dove into some myths about women’s fashion with an article about what was and wasn’t considered scandalous dress in the 18^th-century. Today we will be continuing that thread with some myths about the ‘corset’ or, more accurately, ‘stays’. I will not be covering the terminology shifts in this article, but within the 18^th-century, ‘corsets’ were actually a soft garment quite the opposite of the rigid stays that we have come to think of as corsets (if you want more on the distinctions and history of the terminology this fascinating blog by The Dreamstress should do the trick). For the rest of the article, we will be using the 18^th-century terms; ‘stays’, ‘pair of stays’, or ‘pair of bodies’. Whatever the terminology, I have never done a program in historic clothing where someone has not wanted to know about my underthings. The questions and assumptions about these garments are almost always the same, so without further ado;

The Myths: Stays are uncomfortable torture devices that make it impractical to do work or breathe properly and caused women to faint frequently. Women needed to be laced into their stays by a servant or their husband. Historically, men used stays to subjugate women, as a way to keep women as the fragile, weaker sex by limiting their movement and preventing them from doing work.

For Disney fans, the arguments may sound familiar. Emma Watson had strong feelings about wearing ‘corsets’ as Belle in the March-released live-action remake of Beauty and the Beast. Her concerns were based in feminism and the idea that stays restricted women and made them incapable of action (if you are not a Disney fan, just Google ‘Emma Watson corset’ to see the dozens of articles surrounding her decision not to wear structure garments). The film is slated as a fantasy setting, so delving too deep into the “accuracy” of various costume pieces would be unproductive, but it is worth pointing out that the majority of costuming fits into the late 18^th-century and, as we shall discuss today, stays had different fits, purpose, and societal meaning within the 18^th-century than they do today.

The author in full 18th-
century kit, with stays
underneath.

Let us first address something from personal experiences (my own and those of other female reenactors I have spoken to); worn properly, stays are not uncomfortable. Or, more accurately, stays are not much less comfortable than modern support garments. Like modern support garments, the intent was two-fold – as the name suggests, they offer support, and they create the ideal female shape as prescribed by the culture of their time. That shape was much different from what we consider attractive today – a stiff, conically shaped torso which gave contrast to the soft swell of the bosom and tapered down to jut out at the hips with the help of wide skirts, padding, or paniers.

Also like modern support garments, there are trade-offs to the structure offered. Stays support the lower back and create good posture. However, they can cause chafing depending on the fit and the quality of the shift - the linen underdress worn beneath the stays. For us modern folk who are not used to wearing stays, the posture created also uses muscles we are not accustomed to using, which can ache on new or infrequent wearers.

Talk to many female reenactors and they will tell you; sitting for long periods of time is more problematic than standing, dancing, or performing labor. With these latter actions, properly worn stays can act as a back brace and make labor or movement more comfortable over the course of a day. Few describe breathing problems or fainting spells, even amongst reenactors who wear stays on a daily basis.

As for getting into stays? Believe it or not, getting out of stays by yourself is typically more difficult than getting into them (think getting stuck with an XXS t-shirt halfway over your head!). No servants or husbands required here - at least, with 18^th-century stays. There are two key factors that make this a one-woman job in the 18^th-century. The first is that stays did not exclusively lace up the back. In the mid-1700s in particular, many stays laced front and back to accommodate a fashion called a stomacher. This would allow a woman to easily lace herself up from the front. The second factor is the way the lacing was done – cross-lacing, as is commonly seen on modern corsets, was not the preferred style of the time and as this lacing how-to on the Hand Bound blog says: “seems to be reserved for lace-up bodices only, as you often see it in images of working class girls”. In other words, cross-lacing was only used, if at all, when it was at the front of a garment where a woman could see what she was doing. For most stays, straight-lacing, also called spiral-lacing, was used. 

Corset lacing, or cross-lacing, shown left, is what you may be familiar with from corsets after the mid 19th-century. Spiral or straight-lacing, much more common in the 18th-century is shown on the right.*

Compared to cross-lacing, straight-lacing does not create a lot of friction when pulled, and so can pulled from the tail of the lacing, rather than from the hard-to-reach center of the back as one would have to in order to properly cross-lace. Straight-lacing also has the benefit of lying flatter under garments and allowing for more flexibility. In the later 19^th-century, cross-lacing was adopted because the friction created prevented the lacing from loosening during tight-lacing (see below) – a particular problem with upperclass garments which used silk lacing.

Children's stays in the collections of
The Metropolitan Museum

Within the 18^th-century, many physicians praised stays for their support and the posture they created. There were arguments for the ‘beauty of the human form’ that this created as well, but people within the 18^th-century seemed to consider stays, worn properly, to be first a boon to health, and second a fashion item. While the whalebone used in upper-class stays could be cost prohibitive for some, materials like thick reeds could be substituted, which allowed women from all walks of life to wear them for support. They were considered so healthful, that even children – male and female – in wealthier households grew up wearing stays. We’ll come back to this later.

You may have noticed a key mantra in the preceding text; “worn properly”. NOT tight-laced.

Tight-lacing, waist-cinching, or waist-training, as it has become known in modern times, has been practiced as long as these stiff, laced undergarments have existed (since at least the late 1500s). It became particularly popular during the Regency Era (1795-1820), again in the late Victorian Era (1837-1901), and has had a rebirth with celebrities like Kim Kardashian who advertise their use of spanxs and waist-cinchers (often no longer laced) as a way for women to look thinner by wearing their undergarments too tightly.

Rather than allowing a woman the bracing effects intended by stays, tight-laced stays can create all of the issues in our myth – they cut off circulation, make it difficult to move and breath, and create the unrealistic Barbie-doll-like figures oft’ criticized in the modern era.

"A cutting wind" shows the perils associated with tight-lacing c. 1820

Within the Schuyler’s lifetime, tight-lacing was practiced by both men and women to create a fashionable figure, but it was also heavily criticized by physicians, satirists and other contemporaries. It was denounced as vain, unhealthy, and dishonest, much as some consider similar practices today. It should therefore be thought of as an extreme fashion, rather than typical use of the garment within the 18^th-century. The wealthier one was within that century, the more likely one was to practice tight-lacing. After all, the negative symptoms, particularly the difficulty of movement, were not as much of a strain if one did not have to perform any labor. As one might today wear Spanx™, or even stiletto heels to a party - but not on a walking tour or around one’s house - tight-lacing and other uncomfortable fashions were often reserved for formal and public occasions.

Men's stays from the Bard Graduate Center.

As far as feminist concerns about stays go – while stays were a standard part of women’s dress during the 18^th-century, as alluded to earlier in this article, many male children in wealthy families wore stays as well. George Washington, for example, wore stays until he was around 5 years old. These stays were designed to alter the male form into the preferred shape, à la binding practiced by other cultures. In this case, the ideal male form included low sloped shoulders, which gave the illusion of a longer neck, and which was created by lightly binding the ribcage. This in turn pulled the ribs, and thereby the shoulder sockets, down and inward. One can extrapolate that if stays were, to any degree, forced on women because they were known to be unhealthful and cause weakness at

the time, the Washingtons, and other wealthy families, would not have applied such practices to their sons.

"Lacing a Dandy" shows the numerous padding
and garments that could go into sculpting the
fashionable male form, 1819.

As the 1790s progressed into the 1800s, young men of the fashionable set began wearing a male version of stays more regularly. We might now refer to such a garment as a girdle, but the express purpose for these garments was to create the slender wasp-waist that was popular with both men and women. As waists got artificially thinner, criticism of tight-lacing became more prevalent. Health concerns caused by the fashion trend were broadcast by more and more physicians in the 19^th-century. In order to discourage men from practicing the trend in the late Regency Period, tight-lacing was often shown as feminine and emasculating. While criticism was also pointed at women, the narrative of it being feminine led to more of a “girls-will-be-girls” attitude when it came to tight-lacing, which in turn led to the stereotypes we forged about stays/corsets throughout the Victorian Era.

"A Dandy fainting or_ An Exquisite in Fits" simultaneously criticizes the negative health consequences of tight-laced garments, and begins to feminize "dandy" fashion trends, including tight-lacing.

Want to learn more about women in the 18^th-century, the Schuyler Sisters, and even handle a pair of stays yourself? Check out our Women of Schuyler Mansion Focus Tours. Reservations are required by calling the site. See Facebook for more information.

*Image sources:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B4Y_V5L_wAw

https://passionalcorsets.wordpress.com/lacing-corsets/

Larkin and Smith Patterns

C.F. Griffith