Zachariah Gentry (A Novel Built around America’s Historical Events): Part One

By Clarence Robert Tower

Imagine if a man could travel back in time and stand on a high bluff in the Rocky Mountains and watch a Pony Express rider on his charge to deliver the mail. Or sit within a hostile Indian encampment, directly facing the legendary Sioux, Chief Crazy Horse, while at the same time being asked to hear the plight of his people, Or be close enough to the Wounded Knee Massacre to hear the sounds of the firing? Or could stand on the brink of the Kingsbury Grade overlooking the Carson Valley, while conversing with the legendary Kit Carson, the very man that brought the valley its name.

If you can imagine such a man fitting this scenario, the author’s main character, Zack Gentry, could have been that person. Not the traditional Western manuscript, More correctly – historical fiction.

Full of romance. A great read for women.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clarence Robert Tower
• Release date: Dec 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005549602

Clarence Robert Tower

Principal author Clarence Robert Tower has been a resident of Santa Clara since childhood. As a result, he possesses a wealth of information about the community and its activities. He is a published author of a valley history and the novel The Adventures of Zack Gentry. Coauthor Ken Lichtenstein is a local businessman and community supporter and has been a resident of the city for more than 50 years. Ken was drawn to the writing of this book as a substitute for his late wife, Bea, who was the author of two previous Arcadia Publishing books about Santa Clara.

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Zachariah Gentry

(A Novel built around America’s Historical Events)

Clarence Robert Tower

Copyright 2021 Clarence Robert Tower

Published at Smashwords

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

HOBOKEN TO NEW HAVEN

As I begin this story, the year is 1855.

My name is Zachariah Gentry but my friends and family know me simply as Zack. As this story begins, I am 19 years old. I was born in Hoboken New Jersey, a seafaring town across from New York City. My great-grandmother and great-grandfather were early New Jersey residents, having settled in the Weehawken Township during the late 1700’s. My great-grandfather made his living by shuttling a barge across the Hudson River between New York City and the New Jersey shore.

For some reason the Gentry family found ways through history to cross paths with famous people and events. Most of great-grandfather’s barge charters were routine and without event. However, one left him with a haunting memory he never forgot - one that was not of his choosing. Early in the morning of July 11, 1804, he set off from Manhattan Island with a distinguished gentleman, not knowing at the time that the gentleman was the iconic statesman Alexander Hamilton, - a founding father of our nation and first Secretary of the Treasury (See ten dollar bill).

Great-grandfather would soon learn that Hamilton’s destiny was a duel to the death with a staunch political adversary, Aaron Burr, a former Vice President to Thomas Jefferson. (They became staunch adversaries when Hamilton opposed Burr for a second term re-nomination.) Since duels were illegal, they elected to cross the river to an unpopulated site.

Their chosen destination was Weehawken on the New Jersey shore. The entourage included Hamilton’s Second, who would meet up with Burr’s already waiting Second, to preside over the duel. Great grandfather pulled the barge up to a level area below the New Jersey Palisades. The Seconds exchanged pleasantries, measured up a ten pace course, cast lots for choice of firing position and reluctantly distributed the pistols. Before anyone could change their mind, or halt the proceedings, shots were fired, leaving a fading cloud of gun smoke and a sickening silence. The duel was over. As history reports, Alexander Hamilton was fatally wounded. Aaron Burr escaped unharmed. It was then great-grandfather’s responsibility to return the dying Hamilton, and his entourage, to Manhattan Island.

(Duels were a senseless custom, now buried in history. Even though illegal, the subject participants held to duels as a badge of honor.)

Great grandfather was so seriously shaken by this experience he cast his barge to the river and moved his family a mile south to Hoboken, where my family lives to this day. Drawing on inexperienced carpentry skills, he built a sizable home on an easterly edge of the New Jersey Palisades, directly across the Hudson River from New York’s Manhattan Island.

Prior to ultimate development, Hoboken was a densely wooded island, populated with open meadows. It was separated from the New Jersey mainland by small ponds and marshy wetlands.

In the late 1700’s, the entire island was purchased by Colonel John Stevens, from whom my great-grandparents previously acquired the five acres upon which they built the house. Colonel Stevens went on to develop the remainder as a resort for the rich and famous. By the late 1800’s, mostly due to its functional location at the entrance to the New York harbor, it began to serve duel purpose as a shipping and transportation center, with a developed harbor.

Colonel Stevens held a special place in history - in particular with respect to his contributions to sea and land travel. In 1791, he was granted the first patent ever issued, for a working steam engine. Later, in 1808, his steam-driven ferryboat was successfully carrying passengers across the Hudson River from Hoboken to Manhattan.

The house my great grandfather built became the foundation for our future. My father found himself following in his father and grandfather’s footsteps as carpenters, which led to building our family home nearby. I eventually followed the same path.

Mother Gentry was raised by a family of Tough-minded pioneers in the Sleepy Hollow region of New York State. It was a family with no formal occupation to fall on, so mother found herself determined to change this heritage

Even though things were tough it was all made good by living in one of the most beautiful regions in New Jersey. Regardless, mother was never happy. She was constantly hearing stories of big-city life filled with social activity. She did not let this rest.

There was a troubling problem with those remaining in the Hollow. Local

Fear mongers make reference to a headless horseman galloping through the woods in the middle of the night. If this was thought to be legend, Mother Gentry knew otherwise.

She and her family were frightened to paralysis by his image on two separate occasions. She described the image as a headless man riding a dark horse. He wore a long brown cape that flowed dramatically from the breeze of his motion. All that could be heard was a soft, eerie sound. Even though it did not carry a pumpkin, as was the case with the historical legend, it scared her family to death. It was real. There was no way she could continue to live there.

The year is 1834.

Deciding on a profession was never my father’s problem. As were his forefathers, he relished the life of a cabinetmaker. Cabinetwork alone could not be successful without a place to merchandise it, so, in 1834, he built himself a combination carpentry and sales shop on the Hoboken waterfront. Such provided the needed access to inbound and outbound shipping and a supply of building materials.

The year is 1846.

In the early spring of that year, a distinguished gentleman named Alexander Cartwright came in to my father’s shop, to look at furniture. Both he and my father were avid sportsmen. Being that was the case, their conversation was totally immersed in the discussion of sports. A major subject was a brand new game called baseball. Several years earlier, Cartwright himself had assumed the task of standardizing the official rules of the game. Prior to his involvement, it was played by rules that suited the local bully.

The Colonel felt the game had great promise as a major pastime, so he put together the first-ever organized team, which he named The New York Knickerbockers. He then arranged with some friends to match his effort, with similar teams. The purpose was head-to-head competition. Most of his players were from Manhattan. However, since my father was recognized throughout the area as a splendid athlete, Cartwright asked him if he would mind trying out for the team.

Absolutely, My father replied. With that reply, Cartwright welcomed him in. When time came for the tryouts, father was a true baseball natural.

The very first game was held on June, 19, 1846 at Elysian Field in Hoboken. I was asked if I would mind picking up the bats and putting them in racks. I said Of course, I would love to.

I was 10 years old at the time.

The newspaper headlines on June 20. 1846, the following day, read;

NEW YORK CLUB DEFEATS THE KNICKERBOCKERS 23 to 1 IN FIRST-EVER ORGANIZED BASEBALL GAME.

Neither my father nor I were aware at the time, but we were participants in one of the major events in sports history. As unlikely as it might have seemed, he was an actual player and I was the first authentic bat-boy to ever take on that position.

I was two years old when father opened the Hoboken shop for business. Like many of the buildings of the time, it had a small room in at the rear of the main quarters to serve as combined storage and living quarters. Later, as I got older, it provided me a place to escape from being constantly watched by my family.

By the time I was 20, I was seriously swayed by stories of the great lands lying west of the Mississippi - a subject constantly re-lived by adventurers returning from California. It was becoming apparent then; the time would come when I would have little choice but to leave New Jersey and take on an adventure to the great western unknown.

I was no longer my parent’s quiet mannered school boy. I began to sport a fancy black beard, was over six feet tall and weighed over 220 pounds. I was still a home body, but secretly admired the country’s legendary mountain men - so much so, I would eventually follow their path.

Thoughts of school never left my mind, but I felt it would serve my life better if I spread my formal education over an extended time period. When the time was not there for college-level classes, I read everything I could get my hands on, from the Bible to the Memoirs of Casanova. This gave me a definite advantage over the average drifter.

For the record, my cabinetwork never lost its importance. Since that was the case, my livelihood never suffered. On the amusement side, I managed to find time to chase a few ladies or spend an occasional long night at the poker table. Whenever the stress of a poker game led to brawling, my reputation was sufficiently formidable that I was seldom challenged by my opponents. Those that did challenge me paid the price. My adventuresome life was on the way.

I was often told I was handsome but, personally, I had no idea what that meant. Yes, if one should ask, I was occasionally approached by the ladies of the night and offered their favors? Fortunately, or unfortunately, as you may see it, it was seldom my choosing.

My solution fell in the arms of a local lady-bartender. She thought I was special and very-much enjoyed having me in her company. Although her face somewhat resembled a cute bull terrier, she did keep me happy. It was all I needed at the time to keep me satisfied.

The year is 1876. I am now 20 years old.

During one of my father’s trips to New England,