Sister Rain’s Note:
This is the twelfth story in a series about my search for an ancestor who was a Patriot in the American Revolutionary War. To read the previous posts, click on the following:
“Historical Society Of Pennsylvania“
“The Search Heard Round The World”
“The Son-In-Law Of Liberty”
“This Colonel IsMy Truth“
“Family Rarelooms”
“Coat Tales”
”Proving My DNA To The DAR”
“Becoming A Daughter In My Fifties”
“My 5x Great-Grandfather Is An Exhibitionist”
“Certifiably Framed”
“Valley Forging Our Bond“
As a lover of US history, especially the American Revolution, I find it simply remarkable EVERY TIME I visit a site where a piece of that story took place. I am fortunate to live on the east coast, the center of many of those chapters. It is always an incredible experience for me to stand where battles and declarations, life and death happened.
Now knowing that Colonel Augustine Willett of the Continental Army is my 5x great-grandfather, after applying and being accepted into the Daughters of the American Revolution, spending private time with his coat, ledger and pistol, then seeing those items on display in the Doan Gang exhibit at Mercer Museum, I find myself at perhaps the end of the book. Attempts to find Augustine’s grave have been unsuccessful. The epilogue to this tale, for now, was to visit the Langhorne Hotel, a bar / restaurant that Augustine once owned. I phoned about a week before going, asking for the manager. The gentleman who came on the phone, Ben, was one of the owners. We had a nice conversation, but he was unaware of Grandpa Auggie. I filled him in a bit on my favorite Colonel (sorry, Sanders) and we agreed that I would reach out in the next few weeks to set up a time to go to the hotel for dinner. When I did call him a second time, we were unable to find a date that worked for both of us, but we went anyway.
Arriving at the Langhorne Hotel, we found the parking lot behind it. I tried to envision the busy intersection back in Augustine’s time, when horses instead of cars would be passing by, when no other buildings were near and nothing was paved. In the 250+ years since, additions to the building have been constructed.
Entering through the dining room’s door, we made our way to the front entrance where a cash register sat unattended. I followed Mister Rain through to the bar area, trying to look around as best as I could with my limited sight and dark atmosphere. After a server told us to sit anywhere, my husband chose a table in the bar area. I ran my hand along the bar as we passed it, just in case it was original. Once seated, I asked Mister Rain what parts of the former tavern he thought were here when Augustine was. The fireplace? I bet. The windows with their deep sills? Maybe. The floor? No. The beams? Probably. All accounts are that Augustine was a tall man, I could tell that the ceiling was low and wondered did he have to duck. What did he wear? Any time I imagine him, it is in the coat I was able to touch and study at Mercer Museum. I could hear the sound of boots on the wood floor in my head, now replaced with concrete. What discussions were had here about liberty, freedom, America?
I ordered one of their fall cocktails, a Spiked Apple Cider, my husband a Guinness. When the beverages arrived, we raised our glasses. “To Augustine,” I said. “To Augustine,” Mister Rain replied.
Even not knowing what still remained from the 1700s, this structure once belonged to my 5x great-grandfather. He also lived here for a year, acting as bartender and hostler (a man employed to look after the horses of people staying at an inn). I had previously paged through his ledger for this specific establishment, it had no doubt once been here to record transactions. It was somewhat of a full circle moment.
The food, by the way, was very good. I will go back, absolutely. After all, how many people get to go to their 5x great-grandfather’s for dinner?
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