The
following poem was originally printed
in the Ashleys of America newsletter, Volume 2, No. 3, in April of 1972.
In
the book Mattapoisett and Old Rochester, by Mary Hall Leonard, it states:
Joe’s
Rock, in a picturesque locality of North Rochester, near the pumping station
of the New Bedford Water-Works, contains Joe’s cave, said to be the hiding
place of a fugitive of the Revolutionary era.
According
to research provided by Ashley researchers:
Joe’s
Rocks is a large formation of glacially split and tumbled rock, about 1,000 feet
in the woods from the pumping station. Perhaps
100 feet or more in diameter and about one fourth as high, it indeed does have
any number of cave-like places that could be made into adequate shelters.
In the poem…the author describes in detail the legend that has been
handed down, that it was a Joe Ashley involved here.
According to
Ms. Lang and Mr. Ashley, their research could not substantiate the poem’s
story, though they came up with some interesting conclusions on who “Joe”
might have been. The only thing for certain is that he was one of the first
anti-war draft-dodgers in the family. Copies of the Ashleys of America
newsletters are in the collection of the Rochester Historical Society, now
housed at the Plumb Library.
Lucy, Nicholas,
Hannah and Susan recently visited Joe's Rocks. We were ably guided by
Arthur Calheta (pictured below), Watershed Patrol Man at the New Bedford Water
Department on Quitticas Pond. He has worked for Water Department for 31
years, and gave us a quick tour of some other sights of interest, including an
old ice house, soon to be torn down. He pointed out an impressive osprey
nest, and we were treated to the sight of the male osprey hunting for
fish.
Special thanks to
Nancy Leonard for bringing this poem, and these rocks, to my attention.
Little did she know what a crazy rock-lover I am!
As usual, if you
click on the photos you will get the full-sized view. ....And now, the
poem itself.
They’re
famous as the hiding place
Of
one whose name was Joe;
Who
vowed he wouldn’t go to war
To
fight for friend or foe.
And
then when he was called upon
The
enemy to beard,
To
go and fight the Britishers,
Joseph
disappeared.
When
officers came after him
He
climbed the chimney flue,
And
Abby Ann, his faithful spouse,
Didn’t
know what to do.
But
when a knock emphatic came
She
met them at the door;
And
when they asked where Joseph was
She
told them lies galore.
“Why
Joseph, he has gone away—
He’
gone to make a trade
With
somebody on Betty’s Neck
And
won’t be back I’m afraid
“Till
after dark. If you can wait
He
may be back right soon,
He
has been gone some little time—
Since
early afternoon.”
While
Abby held them talking there,
Joe
fled in headlong haste,
Far
in the woods, a mile or more,
In
fear and dread he raced.
And
there he lived among the rocks
In
a narrow cell-like cave,
Far
out of sight of all his friends
With
none to see him save
His
Abby Ann, who carried him
Some
food from day to day;
His
comforts, they were mean and scant,
His
bed was leaves and hay.
‘Twas
after dusk that Abby went
Suspicious
folk to blind;
And
often o’er her shoulder cast
A
furtive glance behind.
The
entrance to Joe’s hiding place
Was
screened by twin oak trees,
That
grew together near the ground,
Like
unto Siamese.
Sometimes
in darkness of the night
He
stealthily went home;
But
not until the war was o’er
Did
Joseph freely roam.
The
old frame house in which they lived
Was
torn down long ago,
And
on the site where once it stood
The
trees and bushes grow.
And
the old fashioned rose bushes,
That
grew around the door,
Are
sending forth their tender shoots
As
in the days of yore
When
Abby Ann dug round their roots,
With
anxious loving care.
They
gaily bloom each year in June
And
bravely flourish there.
