Do you believe love can transcend time?  Do you believe lament taunts anguish as the seasons welcome the years—centuries? Soon we will be celebrating our nation's independence: fireworks, cookouts, parades and perhaps a ponderation of history will be a part of the festivities. The call to the Lexington Alarm [April 19, 1775] will once again inspire as one reads Ralph Waldo Emerson’s,  Concord Hymn:

By the rude bridge that arched the flood,

Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled,

Here once the embattled farmers stood,

And fired the shot heard round the world.

The foe long since in silence slept;

Alike the conqueror silent sleeps;

And Time the ruined bridge has swept

Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.

On this green bank, by this soft stream,

We set to-day a votive stone;

That memory may their deed redeem,

When, like our sires, our sons are gone.

Spirit, that made those heroes dare,

To die, and leave their children free,

Bid Time and Nature gently spare

The shaft we raise to them and thee 

Indeed eloquent, but Emerson never expanded on the loss of life that fateful day, or the genesis of loss’ creation, such as the sad love story of Jemima Barrows and Elisha Benton. For them, why no pen to paper,  or ink scribbled into stanza and verse? Sadly, history sometimes ignores soul mates forgotten.

My nephew and I decided to visit what is proclaimed to be one of the most haunted houses in Connecticut, The Daniel Benton Homestead—built in 1720 by Daniel Benton; the same year Tolland, incorporated in 1715, became a town. The Benton’s were just one of 28 families living in Tolland during its inception and today the Benton Homestead is the town’s oldest standing structure; but, fertile ground for ghosts? Paranormal activity? Curiosity?  Such questions didn’t haunt my 12-year-old nephew: he just wanted to channel his inner Ansel Adams. But just in case post-visit nightmares lurked within his subconscious, I prepared him with a story—a ghost story? a love story?

Did my nephew catch an orb? 

Elisha Benton is a big part of The Benton Homestead’s paranormal lore. He left home two hundred and thirty four years ago to answer the Lexington Alarm. He joined the freedom fighters—the American Revolution. In 1776, Elisha was captured by the British during the Battle of Long Island and was moved to New York Harbor where he was held in a prison ship. Within the confines of the crowed, unsanitary ship, he contracted smallpox—an 18^th century death sentence.  Elisha became part of a prisoner exchange, returning home probably knowing he was to die. He made it as far as Hartford; his family arranged for his final return to Tolland.

Prior to [Elisha’s] enlistment in the Continental Army, he had fallen deeply in love with a young Tolland girl named Jemima Barrows. Jemima aged 16, was twelve years his junior. History says the Benton family vowed that Jemima and Elisha would never marry. This rift in an otherwise close-knit family, according to local lore, probable inspired Elisha Benton to transcript himself to the Continental Army, in hopes that time and distance would intercede where love and marriage was denied. It wasn’t to be; Elisha returned from war dying, his disease’s contagion threatened Tolland’s populace, causing family members to be evacuated—the Benton Homestead quarantined. Only those who had survived smallpox could safely care for him. The family faced a harsh reality: his mother stayed at his side, her likely exposure to cow pox gave her immunity’s inoculation, but that’s conjecture. And it doesn’t take away from what Jemima Barrows did—sacrificed.

 Jemima Barrows either was granted access or snuck into the Benton Homestead to care for Elisha. No one knows for sure, as speculation also signifies a probable relief that Jemima, the girl who had been faithful to Elisha through all the months of his absence, offered to nurse the man she loved.  God granted them a few more weeks. Mercifully, on January 21, 1777, Daniel joined his two other brothers in death, all deaths attributed to this country’s war of independence. On February 28, 1777, only five weeks after her Elisha’s death, smallpox claimed the life of Jemima Barrows—she was one month short of her eighteenth birthday. The Benton family agreed to bury Jemima near her sweetheart, in the west yard of the Homestead, but since they had not been married, the bodies could not lie side by side, according to contemporary burial custom. Jemima Barrows was buried a few yards away from her Elisha—the property’s carriage road (now no longer) separated her grave from his. Colonial correctness ignored a love’s final desire—eternal happiness. To this day, true earthly togetherness is still denied.

Jemima Barrow's Final Resting Place 

Does this transgression cause Jemima and Elisha to haunt the Benton grounds, eternally searching for each other—their final resting places? Are the screams that claim to be heard from the darkness of Metcalf Road, that of two lovers crying out to each other? Does Jemima’s specter wear an eternal wedding gown? Does Elisha look over the grounds from a window inside the Homestead searching for his intended bride? Or is it Elisha’s two brothers, who also died fighting for our country’s independence? perhaps a mother crying as she searches eternity for her dead sons? Does a love’s frustration turn on the lights in the desolate darkness? So may questions.

Elisha Benton's Final Resting Place

But there is more to the Benton Homestead ghostly rumors. Daniel Benton was a commissioned officer [captain] in Washington’s army. He agreed in 1777, because of his Homestead’s close proximity to the old Boston Post Road, to house twenty-four Hessian officers, part of the large contingent of mercenaries who had surrendered to the Americans after the British defeat at Saratoga. The Hessian prisoners are said to have enjoyed their stay in the smooth, stone-floored basement rooms at the Benton Homestead. They became part of the Tolland community, working neighboring farms for nearly eighteen months. Mrs. Benton accepted their wages for lodging, meals and laundry. Upon release [3?] loved the Tolland community and never shipped out from Boston back to Germany. Have their comrades returned in death? Are the German voices caught on digital voice recorders, real or imagined? I can’t say. I will answer that standing inside the Benton Homestead, history envelopes you, disarming preconceived paranormal suspicions with a warmness that doesn’t abate. Wide planked floors acknowledge your footsteps with a charming unevenness. 18^th century décor invites the forgotten odors: baked bread, cooked salted beef and burning oaken logs to once again saturate the Homestead.  There is no fear or uneasiness, just history’s beauty.

Another orb by the bowl? 

This blackness is interesting considering ...? 

So, do you believe love can transcend time? Or do you believe that lament taunts anguish as the seasons welcome the years—centuries? I believe Jemima and Elisha are together: their love doesn’t haunt, but blesses all those who visit the Daniel Benton Homestead. My nephew thinks it’s just a real cool old place—nothing more. After all, he was busy channeling his inner Ansel Adams. Ansel would be proud—I am.

Yes... a love story! 

References:

Legendary Connecticut by David E. Philips

Tolland Historical Society

Creepy Connecticut

pictures © 2009 Ryan Stetson 

essay © 2009 Chuck Stetson