Over 150 years ago an anonymous author, identified only by the initials J.C.A., penned the tale of John and Isabella, two young lovers who lived near what is now the border between Warren and Watchung, in a village that may then have been known as Mount Bethel. Published in two parts in the Plainfield Gazette on May 31 and June 7, 1848, J. C. A.’s story may have been wholly fanciful or based on local legend – we shall probably never know. What we do know is that the old grave yard about which he or she wrote is the Allen Family Cemetery, the location of which is known only generally.

Herewith, Part One of the story of John and Isabella:

About five miles from Plainfield, at the foot of the second mountain, a short distance east from the road crossing to Mount Bethel is an old grave yard of a very ancient date.

During the revolutionary war there was quite a thickly settled neighborhood near this spot. The earliest settlers in the valley uniformly built their dwellings at the foot of the mountains. The oldest citizens in that part of the country can yet point out to you the spot where their fathers lived, and where themselves were born.

At the time the war began there was perhaps about thirty families living here; and, if they did not have many of the so-called luxuries of life, they had everything to make themselves comfortable. The fathers and their sons tilled the earth; and at that period the land, which is now covered with bushes and in some spots with large trees, produced abundant crops of the finest wheat. (There are many persons living in Warren township who remember the time when wheat was sown in many places on the south side of this mountain, almost to its summit.) There was not one of the settlers but owned cattle and sheep, which in summer roamed over extensive mountain pastures and in winter were sheltered and fed in comfortable folds. The mothers and their daughters (unlike the women of our times,) employed their hours in the pleasant and healthful labors of the dairy; and in spinning and weaving linen and woolen cloth. There was no attempts among people thus situated to outshine each other in dress and equipage. They could all speak to each other kindly and minister to each other’s wants. They were all equals, and therefore there was no arrogance on one hand, and servility on the other. They lived happily together, and worshipped God as they thought proper, with none to molest or make them afraid.

At the commencement of the war a man by the name of John Gray was living here with his family. The eldest of his five children, all of whom were robust and active, was Isabella, now eighteen years of age. If any of my fair readers imagine that Isabella was brought up in ignorance, they are mistaken. If they suppose she was a wild country girl, without refinement or maidenly modesty, they err greatly. From her earliest years she was passionately fond of learning; and although at that period there were no “societies for the diffusion of useful knowledge,” yet there were many books in the settlement, and as she was beloved by all, every book was at her disposal. It was not necessary in those primitive times for a young woman to work from fifteen to twenty hours per day, to earn food and clothing, and Isabella, although there was not a more industrious maiden in the settlement, found plenty of time to improve her mind by reading and conversation. Her mother had received a good education in her native country (England), and she was too well aware of the advantages of learning to bring up her children in ignorance.

I am but a poor hand at description, or I would speak of the personal appearance of Isabella. She was not one of your pale beauties, whose freshness has been destroyed by incessant labor with the needle; but the roses bloomed on her cheeks, and her eye sparkled with happiness. Her labors at the churn and the wheel, instead of injuring her health and destroying her beauty, caused her constitution to become robust, and planted fresh blossoms on her cheeks. Although one of the most beautiful girls of her time, her simple unaffected manners and goodness of heart won for her the love and gratitude of all.

Isabella was loved by the son of a worthy neighbor, named Johnson. And John Johnson was every way worthy of a maiden so lovely and good. They had been playmates from infancy, and were therefore intimately acquainted with each other. Their parents had always been very friendly, and the children were accustomed to share their labors and pastimes together. But as I only designed to state a few facts, I must leave the reader to fill up the outlines of the picture, while I narrate the melancholy end of three human beings, two of whom were at this time happy as any of our race; they loved one another devotedly and were looking forward to the period when their nuptials should be solemnized.

No part of the country suffered more from the effects of the war than our own state; and none made greater sacrifices to achieve our independence. Bounded by New-York and Philadelphia, which were both a long time in possession of the enemy, our state was constantly overrun, and every evil that a savage for could inflict, our people, who were much exposed, were at times obliged to suffer.

At the first appeal to arms, almost every male inhabitant of this peaceful settlement took an active part in the defense of their country. Young Johnson had taken farewell of his mistress, and having equipped himself in the best manner he was able, started with his comrades on their way to the camp. They had not proceeded far, however, before an event occurred which was attended with the most fatal consequence. In crossing the first mountain, they were met by three men, one of whom was known to be a Tory. This was the youngest of the party, and he, it was believed at the time, had some secret grudge against young Johnson. As he commenced abusing Johnson, he was told in return that Tories should not be too free with their tongues, as they might soon find the country an unpleasant residence. On this, the Tory whose name was Morse, drew a knife and inflicted a mortal wound on Johnson, by stabbing him in the side. The act was so sudden that no effort on the part of the volunteers could prevent it.

Morse was arrested, and confined to abide his trial. Johnson was borne by his companions to the home which he had so recently left in the enjoyment of health, and in the anticipation of happiness on the close of the war, in being united to the lovely Isabella.

Isabella, although she had shed no tears on parting with her lover, as she did not wish by any act of hers to unnerve him when about starting for the defense of his country, immediately retired to her chamber; and having commended him to the protecting care of her heavenly Father, she could not, in view of the dangers he would have to encounter, help giving vent to her tears. She had, however, become quite composed, and was about engaging in some domestic duty, when she was startled by a cry of distress. On opening the door her mother saw a number of men approaching the house, bearing something on their shoulders. A few moments sufficed to learn that somebody had been injured, and hurrying to the spot where the party had halted for a moment, they speedily learned that Johnson had met some serious accident. It was not, however, until the party reached the home of the young man that they were apprised of his dangerous condition. Though there were heart-rending cries from the parents, and although even stern-hearted men were not ashamed to weep, Isabella suffered no external mark to betray the grief that was breaking her heart. She took her station at the side of her lover, and while the sands of life were running out, employed herself in wiping the cold sweats from his brow. Once only when the dying man whispered, “We shall meet again,” did she speak. “We shall soon meet again, John,” was the reply.

Ah, there are bitter tears falling over the couch of the wounded man. He had been loved by all his companions, and respected by all who knew him. It was sad to see the young and good die thus. Had he fallen on the field of battle, although his friends would have wept much, yet they would have enjoyed the consolation of knowing that he died in the service of his country.

It is needless to say that the parents of the young man were almost beside themselves with grief. They wrung their hands and refused to be comforted. There lay their eldest-born, whom they loved passionately, in the agonies of death. They well knew that in a few moments more, that son, from whose veins the blood was rapidly oozing, would be alike insensible to the joys or pains of earth. Death was entering their dwelling in his most fearful form; we need not wonder that joy and gladness had departed from the place, and that lamentation and sorrow had taken up their abode instead.

Johnson gradually became weaker, and having told his friends to cease their weeping as he was free from pain, closed his eyes and died without a struggle. Isabella fell from her seat, and in raising her from the floor, a stream of blood flowed from her mouth. O death, could not one victim suffice? Alas, there is loud lamentation in that dwelling, for Isabella has also ceased to live. A blood vessel had burst, and a very short period after Johnson had expired, Isabella’s companions were called on to prepare her for the grave. The day following which was the Sabbath, John Johnson and Isabella Gray were buried in one grave, and until within a few years [ago] a large free-stone pointed out the place where they reposed.

It has been many years since there has been a single dwelling left standing in this once peaceful and flourishing settlement. Even the places where many of them stood have become overgrown with bushes; and the grave-yard is now almost covered with forest trees. Many headstones, however, yet mark the spot where repose the tender infant, the lovely maiden, the robust youth, as well as persons of mature age. I have often thought in passing this spot, that after “life’s fitful fever” was over, I should like to be buried here. It is a singular custom of ours to bury those we love in the crowded burial places of our towns and cities. But I digress. And as I have already extended this sketch far beyond any expectation, I will with your permission, give an account of the murderer’s end in another article. J.C.A.