Frostburg mining journal., 1895-11-16
YE BOWERIE GHOST.

More than two centuries agone, when
old Petrus Stuyvesant and his silver
banded wooden leg ruled the destinies
OF New Amsterdam, there was a we'll
known place of refreshment in that CO.
lonial town known by the worthy burgh-
ers as the Wursthaus 1t stood upon the
east side of the Old Post or Bowerie
road, not far from the present point of
junction with Division street
The then suburban location Of the
Wursthaus made it and its jovial host
Hans Won Schneist--well known and
patronized by the townsmen and their
families.
But a change came DER the smiling
features and jocund laugh of the host of
the Wursthaus when his only son was
proclaimed an outlaw. Some boyish in
discretion Of speech had been magnitied
by the hearers, and coming to the ears
of the suspicious old director general
had resulted in the decree. Young Hans
had received timely warning, however,
and was supposed to have reached the
Swedish colony i'll safety.
Several months passed away, and one
evening young Jacob Twiller related the
following weird adventure to the Won
dering crowd gathered around the cen
trail table i'll the Wursthaus garden:
81 was eel spearing in the Freshwater
pond last evening, and by the time the
moon was overhead had filled my creel.
I started to walk home. had but pass
ed the Wursthaus when just ahead of
mo I spied a tall figure wrapped in
long gray cloak. Thinking that no one
except the watch could be abroad at that
hour of the night, except with some
evil purpose i'll view, | suited my pace
to his, meaning to let him precede me
toward the city wall. But scarce had
we progressed in this manner for few
hundred yards or so when the figure
turned and holding its arms aloft made
menacing gestures as if forbidding me
to approach.
"Overburdened with my fishing traps
/ felt powerless, and SO knelt on the
ground so as to more easily remove the
strap of the crcel from off my shoulders.
But as l kneeled the ghost-for such it
surely was-had vanished from sight,
and though I hunted we'll about 1 could
find no trace except mayhap a smoke,
smelling strongly of sulphur, which 1
breathed in my nOStrils as | came near
to that part of the ground from which
he had vanished. y
Nothing could shake the valiant ia
cob's circumstantial details of the en-
counter, and though the town cynic
sneered, the group gathered closer to-
gether around the central table and
made haste home i'll good season.
Within a week Roelof Jams, the pop
ular butt and scapegrace, added still
more to the mysterious tale Of his pred
ecessor. While agreeing with Jacob in
the general appearance of the gray
cloaEed figure he furnished additional
details by which it would seem that
long barbed tail was feature in the
phantom and that it walked amid
belching clouds of smoke.
And then came the climax Adam
Roelandsen stated to the captain of the
watch that he had encountered the gray
cloaked phantom; that it came out from
the Wursthaus, but hastily turned and
re-entered the door ere he could summon
up courage to advance or retreat.
Here was Il pretty condition of affairs
The habitues of old Hans Won Schneist's
place quaked i'll their very shoes at the
bare supposition that they had been
drinking the brewings Of one who was
seemingly i'll league with the evil one.
And so it came to pass that the stout
old captain Of the watch, at the head of
his little squad, came to investigate the
WursthauS. For some reason old Hans
did not como to the door, and when the
captain Of the watch entered the big
taproom he found mine host tightening
the hoops of an enormous butt that stood
in the darkest corner. The crowd of
sightseers, at first fearful of forked
tongues Of flame and other chronicled
attributes Of the evil one, We're timorous
Of entering the house. But gathering
courage from the assembled military,
and particularly impressed by the gal
liant bearing Of the commandant, they
gradually iuched forward, until very
soon almost every available space was
occupied.
Good morning, Herr Won Schneist! !"
spoke the captain.
Good morning to you, herr cap
tain, and to you, soldiers and fellow
citizens!' answered the sturdy old tav-
ern keeper. "What means this array?
Am l accused of treason, or are you
merely come to test the malt in my
browing:"
sit is neither of false brewing nor of
treason you are accused, Herr Won
Schneist, nor yet of anything coming
within the civil or military law. Some
there be who say that you are in league
with the evil one. Step forward, Adam
Roelandsen, and tell your tale again, so
that this worthy man will know our
business.
Then came shambling forward the
pedaguSuc, who, with many pauses and
dpC ClDpIt Il MT tpT:lucnS Snpl lSe follows.