A CHRISTMAS WITH "OLD PORT." 369 



I reach Ike Fryer's tafern. Dey can all chop around dot 

 hell-hole, but I know when I got a blenty." 



JIM LANSING'S STORY. 



"Gentlemen," said Jim, "I think that if Billy's bottle 

 had not been so near empty he would not have seen so 

 many stumps all dancing in one set. Just what might 

 have happened if Billy had finished the bottle, and had 

 none to leave for the spooks, will never be known; but 

 that remarkable hole has a great many stories clustered 

 about it. Men who call themselves geologists say it is 

 only a 'sink/ but there is a foundation for the dread which 

 some people have of it. 



"During the Revolutionary War a portion of the 

 American army were in barracks on what is now the 

 McCulloch farm, just opposite my place on Clinton 

 Heights. Almost every night the sentinel on the post 

 at the southeast corner of the encampment, just in the 

 edge of the woods, deserted. It was singular that all the 

 desertions were from that one post, and 'most all the men 

 were soldiers with good records. The officers were puz- 

 zled, and the men had all kinds of theories about it. My 

 grandfather was a private in one of the regiments sta- 

 tioned there, and he, like the others, was perplexed by 

 the singular state of affairs. This is what he told us boys 

 in later years. 



I "It came grandfather's turn to be detailed for guard 

 duty. A sentinel had deserted from that post the night 

 before, and grandfather went to his captain and asked to 

 be put on the same post. Said he, 'Captain, I don't be- 

 lieve all these men deserted. Some of 'em were as good 

 men as can be found in the army, and wouldn't desert 

 any more than you or I would. If you'll get me as- 

 signed to that post I'd like it.' 



