The Toledo chronicle. [volume] (Toledo, Tama County, Iowa) 1873-1924, 1878-03-21
The Hermit Of Cavan's Point.

:
Point, N. j., died on Monday. and was
buried on the same day in Potter's
Field. He was seventy-six years of
age, and was thorough recluse. His
only intimates were dogs, thirteen of
which were in his cabin when he died.
He would allow no human being to
cross his threshold if he could help it.
The reporter saw crouching before the
door on Wednesday five mongrel dogs
whining for admittance, and as the
door was thrown open they leaped upon
the straw tick on which the hermit
died and howled. Some rustics, at
tracted by the visitor, gathered around
and joked and laughed. The cabin
was crowded with stove in the GEN.
ter, the tick in one corner in long
box that was falling to pieces, turn
ing-lathe on one side and a carpenters
bench on the other, and was Uttered
witt rusty tools, scraps of old iron,
junk, wood, horns of cattle, and all
kinds of useless rubbish. Clam-shells
were heaped up just outside of the
doorway. On CLANS, dug from the
beach, the neighbors say, the hermit
and his canine companions subsisted.
In many ways he was remarkable
man. His thirst for reading was insa-
table, and he would stop on the road
and talk by the hour on political econ
omy and history. His political opin-
ions were strong and undismayed. He
would stoutly defend them in the midst
of a throng of threatening gainsayers.
While roaming along the beach, with
all his dogs at his heels, he has been
seen to pick up objects and stand alb
stractedly studying them until those
who saw him tired of looking. On the
most unimportant objects around him
he would talk learnedly and with in
terest. He was noted beside for his
mastery of many trades. He was an
adept at painting, shoemaking, car
pentering, kalsomining, plastering and
sign-painting, and he made gentlemen s
canes.
He was sensitive and proud to the
last in being self-dependent. To offer
him aims was to offend and hurt him;
but he would take in provisions three
times the value of his services in filing
saw, patching shoe, riveting jack
knife, or mending gun.
| Little is known of his history. Six
years ago he entered the empty cabin
Before that he had lived in an old canal
boat on the shore of Mile Creek. In
cendiaries burned the boat one day in
his absence, together with all his tools
and library that he had collected. He
said that two burglars who broke into
the boat and robbed him were sent to
the State Prison for five years each.
The history of his life he would never
tell, although often pressed to do So.
His biz thplace was in Northern Yer
mont, and he lived for years in Meriden
and New Haven, Conn. He has a
brother, shipbuilder, in New Haven,
to whom the news of his death was
sent. There is a gap in his history
that he could never fill. Suddenly he
took to travelling, and at the time of
the Seminole War he was in Florida
trapping, hunting and fishing. Then
he worked westward to Texas, and
came hack in time to go to Mexico in
the Mexican War. His wandering
habits chung to him afterward, and at
the outbreak of the war he entered tie
Army of the Potomac.
On being pressed to live after more
civilized fashion, he positively refused.
He was sick about week, and refused
all attempts to make him comfortable.
A sympathetic neighbor, Mrs. Michael
Welch. sent for County Physician Case.
He visited the old man, left an order
for medicine, and did not see him again
until two days afterward, on Thursday
last. Then he recommended that the
hermit should be taken to the Washing
ton-Street Hospital. The old man re
fused to go after the ambulance came.
saying that the physicians would kill
him anyway, and that he wanted to die,
if he must die, where he had lived. Yet
he would not admit that death was
overtaking him. From Friday until
Monday, the day of his death, there was
no fire in his stove. 1913
Seeing that he was dying, Mrs. WEIGH
asked him if he did not want a clergy
man. In feeble voice the hermit re-
piled: s'No; I've lived without them,
and can die without Them
Don't you know that you're going
to meet your God?'' asked the good
woman.
The old man nodded his head. His
dogs were then in the room, some by
his side, and seven pups at his beds
head in wooden box. His dark eyes
were clear and bright until death. He
called over the names of his dogs, Dick,
Dinah, Fanny, Flora and Jimmie, and
soon afterward died.
AS the reporter left the cabin, the
dogs stayed, and could not be driven
out. So the door was locked.-N. Y