WATSON'S CROSSING. 75 



ably every road, two centuries ago, was tlie route of an 

 Indian trail, and the sites of every community, whether 

 of Dutch, Swedes, or English, were those of Indian vil- 

 lages. It was the case here, at Watson's wharf. The 

 Indian path crossed the creek, a few rods down the 

 stream, and where the wharf was, stood, long years be- 

 fore, a group of wigwams. Here is a positive statement, 

 yet never a white man saw them, nor did Indian ever 

 point out the spot as the former home of some of his 

 people. Since that distant day, when the red men aban- 

 doned it, until now, it has never been known. It is my 

 own good-fortune to bring it into the light of the pres- 

 ent. By a mere chance, I became a discoverer. It is 

 a pleasant experience, and as trace after trace of the 

 former occupants were brought to view, I pictured to 

 myself every phase of their quiet lives while dwelling 

 here. 



The last rain had gullied the terrace and uprooted a 

 small tree, and on the newly exposed soil I found many 

 fragments of pottery. It was this that led me to ex- 

 plore the spot more completely, and bring to light what- 

 ever else it might contain. The earth itself was deeply 

 discolored by minute fragments of charcoal and the di- 

 rect action of fire, while the circle of large white stones 

 that defined a hearth were still in place. Within the 

 enclosure there was one of those curious slabs of slaty 

 rock, with a number of circular pits on one side, that 

 are reasonably supposed to have been used as lapstones, 

 and that when the Indian cracked nuts, he placed them 

 in the pits to prevent their slipping from under the 

 hammer. It is a curious fact that these pitted stones 



