The Lost Grave of Benjamin Remaley

 

Knob Mountain as seen from Stone Church Road, near the Remaley burial site.

Somewhere just over the Columbia-Luzerne county line, on a hill overlooking the beautiful, scenic valley north of Beach Haven, lies the mortal remains of one of the most eccentric citizens to ever call Salem Township home. Benjamin Remaley passed away in 1885 and the age of 75, but not before making out a detailed will with several bizarre stipulations-- like his demand that two holes be drilled into his coffin so that he could escape-- if necessary-- from evil spirits. 

But that's just one of the many strange final requests made by the ornery farmer. And had Benjamin Remaley not been such a quirky fellow, his moldering bones would be slumbering in a graveyard instead of hidden somewhere on the foothills of Knob Mountain.

The eccentricities of Benjamin Remaley were well known throughout Salem Township, and for most of his life he did the best he could to minimize contact with his neighbors. Like many rural folks of the era, he had a strong distrust of government and banks, preferring to keep his money buried in various places around his farm. As he grew older he grew even more peculiar, letting his hair grow long his whiskers grow into a wild, shaggy beard that covered the better part of his face. Though his farm was of a considerable size and may have been profitable had it been well-managed, Benjamin tilled and tended his land as he saw fit-- which was hardly ever. The buildings and fences became dilapidated while nature reclaimed his neglected fields, much to the the dismay of his long-suffering wife and the farmers whose land adjoined his property. 

As for those neighbors, Jeremiah Bombay and Hendrick Seybert, the ornery recluse held them in low esteem, convinced that it was their life's mission to drive Benjamin and his wife from their land. While both men were regarded as upstanding citizens, old Benjamin Remaley was certain that they snuck onto his property in the dead of night to steal his corn and potatoes. As the years went by, this feeling of paranoia only deepened, and when Benjamin felt that his time on earth was drawing near, he drew up a will that he believed would safeguard his property from Bombay and Seybert and other locals he believed would plunder his possessions.

The eccentric farmer, however, had been preparing for his departure from the mortal realm ever since middle age; twelve years before he died, Benjamin purchased the lumber for his coffin and prepared it to his precise specifications. The boards were of chestnut, two inches in thickness. He also obtained a large slab of red sandstone from a nearby quarry, upon which he carefully engraved his name and three chain-links signifying his membership in the Independent Order of Odd Fellows. He left a blank space for the date of his death. There is no record of what his wife must've thought about having her name omitted from the monument, but after Benjamin passed away his will made it quite clear that he wanted to be buried as far away from her as possible, though he did bequeath to her the tidy little fortune he had accrued from his many years as a miser. It has been said that death is a private matter, and it appeared that old Ben Remaley wanted all the privacy he could get.

 

The three-link chain, a common grave symbol for Odd Fellow members. The initials stand for friendship, love and truth.

 

In his will, Benjamin gave detailed directions as to the manner in which he wanted his send-off conducted. He wanted two holes bored into the bottom of his coffin, one at the head and the other at the foot, so that if the devil came for him he could make his escape. He desired to be buried beneath the sandstone slab in one of his overgrown fields, under the lone pine tree at the top of a high hill overlooking the farm of his neighbor so that he could "keep an eye on the valley and see who has been stealing berries, corn and potatoes." The miser's will had made it clear that he believed the culprit to be "Jerry" Bombay, and Benjamin was hellbent on catching his neighbor in the act, if not alive then posthumously.

There wasn't a single detail that Benjamin omitted. He picked out his pallbearers-- Isaac Gibbons, George Thomas, Joseph Kester and Ezra Hill-- and requested that these four men also dig his grave. When Remaley finally passed away in March of 1885 they carried out this request, along with his request to be buried with his favorite hunting rifle, an axe, a pint of whiskey and five dollars from his savings. Perhaps the eccentric old farmer thought that if he couldn't get away from the devil, he could bribe him-- or at least get drunk while attempting to fight him off.

According to an article written about Remaley's funeral which appeared in the Wilkes-Barre Dollar Weekly News, the strange funeral was the social event of the year: 

Such an attendance had never before been seen at any one funeral. The entire neighborhood, men, women and children, turned out to witness the ceremonies. The services at the house were brief, and then the body was viewed. The widow could not be coaxed to look at the body, and the only excuse she gave was that "her limbs pained her too much"... The funeral did not seem like a funeral, but more like a "frolic", as some of the neighbors termed it.

History also records the difficulty the pallbearers had in digging the grave. The spot Benjamin had selected as his final resting place had very little soil, and after a day and a half of hard labor the men had to resort to dynamite to break up the rock.

Within a few years the gravesite had reverted back to woodland, and the eccentric miser was forgotten until 1923, when the farmer who owned the property found the lost grave while clearing the land. At the time, the inscription on the crude sandstone monument was still legible. However, it is unclear what became of the Benjamin Remaley's grave. In all likelihood it is still in the same spot, although it might have been relocated like so many other graves that once dotted the farms of Salem Township. One newspaper article from 1887, written by a visitor to the gravesite, states:

In passing over the Remaley farm numerous graves were noticed scattered about promiscuously in the fields that are tilled; there are even several graves in front of the Remaley homestead. Some of the tombstones in the fields have been moved to some extent on account of the plowing that has been in order from time to time, and it is, therefore, hard to tell whether the tombstones are or are not over the graves.

Probably a typo; it should be Briar Creek, not Bear Creek

 

Of course, it's possible that whomever owns the land currently knows about Benjamin Remaley's grave. But if this is the case, the landmark hasn't been publicized, thereby making it one of Luzerne County's strangest best-kept secrets. But if the owner does happen to know where this gravesite is located, I know one blogger who would love to visit!