Grave Matters

One drippy Sunday afternoon, we headed out in his Jeep, armed with his walking stick and GPS. George turned off Washington Mountain Road just before the Washington Town Offices building and crossed what he referred to as the "four corners." On our way to the cemetery in the woods, he explained that the 16,500 acres of the state forest had been established by William C. Whitney, President Grover Cleveland's secretary of the Navy. Whitney, he said, had started building a game preserve, but "after his wife died, he had no interest in coming here." He abandoned the game preserve, the animals left behind to incorporate themselves into the wilderness.
After parking, we followed a marked trail a short distance into the woods. Suddenly, in a small clearing, we came upon the tiny graveyard. George was surprised to see that since his last visit, which had admittedly been some time ago, a typed list of the cemetery's occupants had been nailed to a tree, protected by a plastic sleeve. The papers said "October Mountain Cemetery, transcribed by Arthur Stringer of Lee," at the top, and then listed each person by name with date of death, age and spouse, if applicable. What a surprising, wonderful help!
Anna Pease, 10 years and 9 months old, who died Jan. 22, 1829, was the oldest grave to be found. The majority of her companions, however, died in the 1840s and '50s.
True to the era, many of the stones bore epitaphs, like that of Allice Sanger, wife of Daniel, who died Jan. 5, 1842, whose stone read: "Go home dear friends,/dry up your tears/I wilst lie here/till Christ appears."
However, what I didn't find in this particular cemetery were the interesting stories I can usually infer from births and dates of death. That was left for our spur-of-the-moment stop at the cemetery adjacent to the Washington Town Offices. That's where our Dorcas, or I should say our Dorcases, come in.
Toward the rear of the cemetery, I came upon a line of stones by themselves. On the left was the grave of Dorcas, wife of Eurola Thorp, who died Jan. 12, 1829. Immediately to her right was the grave of Dorcas M., daughter of Eurola and Dorcas Thorp, who died Oct. 17, 1826, at 1 year old. It occurred to me, as I looked at mother and daughter, that although the convention of naming a son for his father continues today, I have seen many daughters named for their mothers during my cemetery jaunts, a not-so-common practice today.
I moved to the right a bit, and then my brow furrowed in puzzlement. There were five more graves there: Miranda E., Henry D., Mary E. and Joseph E., children of David and Dorcas P. Thorp. At the end of the line, I found Dorcas P. herself, who died, as best as I could read, Oct. 31, 1851, at age 36.
Wait - two Dorcases, with a daughter Dorcas as well? I went over and over it, trying to figure it out. Finally it dawned on me - two women named Dorcas had probably married brothers. What are the chances that two women in the town of Washington would be named Dorcas?
Actually, according to the Social Security Administration Web site (ssa.gov), the chances were better than if they were named Judith, a name I consider to be "old." The SSA's site lists the top 1,000 names by year. In 1880, the first year listed, Dorcas was 521 on the list, while Judith was only 882. Dorcas remains in the top 1,000 until falling off the list in 1956, never to reappear.
But Dorcas was not the only popular name in Washington, apparently. George and I also discovered another mystery - that of the Elizabeths. Elizabeth, wife of Alonzo B. Messenger, died June 6, 1853, at age 33. Elizabeth, wife of Alonzo B. Messenger, died Aug. 25, 1855, at age 29. No, that's not a typo. Apparently, Alonzo had two wives, both named Elizabeth, who died a scant two years apart. At least he wouldn't have had trouble remembering his second wife's name .
Probably the most touching grave George and I found there was that of Benjamin, son of Edwin and Eleanor Neumuth, who died Jan. 16, 1978, at only 4 days old. In a return to traditions past, Benjamin's stone bears an epitaph: "Heaven has gained another treasure/Earth the lowly casket keeps/and the birds will love to linger/where our darling Benjamin sleeps."
George and I left the cemetery pondering one final mystery, that of two Sallys, both gone too soon. Sally Harritt, daughter of George and Sally Smith, died Aug. 30, 1796, at 3 years old. Sally Smith, her mother, died Sept. 4, 1796, at 26 years. Thus, the young mother died only five days after her little girl. Was it an illness that swept through, causing a young man to lose his family in the blink of an eye? It is always these situations that seem to call to me.
I hope to have one final installation of Grave Matters this season, and would love for you to accompany me. Don't forget your detective hats!

Judith Fairweather can be reached at jfairweather@advocateweekly.com or 413-663-7942, ext. 234.