The Cursed Creek of Eden

The now-demolished Roseville Inn, which stood near the source of the cursed creek.

 

In Manheim Township, just north of the city of Lancaster, there flows a tiny stream which has its source near Roseville. This little brook, an unnamed tributary of Landis Run, is little more than a trickle; in times of drought, it disappears completely, and, for some sections, it runs under the ground. And although this stream flows for a distance of less than two miles from Roseville to Eden, there is a long and astonishing list of curious deaths associated with it-- a list that, to my knowledge, has no parallel in the Keystone State.

The source of this supposedly cursed stream is unclear, as it seems to flow from two different springs near Roseville. One of the springs is located on what used to be the 74-acre farm of Enos Hess (1869-1943), near the place where the Roseville Hotel was located. Though this historic tavern stood until just a few years ago, it was erected on the north bank of the stream, not far from present-day Lancaster Municipal Park. 

The Curse of the Roseville Hotel

Built in 1826, some sixty years after the last of the indigenous Susquehannock were slaughtered by the vigilante mob known as the Paxton Boys, the Roseville Hotel was a popular stop for travelers along Dunkerstown Road (later known as the Oregon Pike). Towards the end of the 19th century, the inn was owned by a young man named Milton Cormeny, a Lancaster native who had learned the hostelry trade in Baltimore and Philadelphia. In late July of 1899, friends in Lancaster reported seeing Milton in the city, in good spirits and fine health, so they were certainly taken aback when, on July 29, news reached the city that Milton had passed away suddenly at the age of 36, after an illness of just a few hours.

Milton's death was attributed to acute "liver, kidney and bowel trouble" and, though no inquest was held, many suspected that he may have been the victim of foul play, as his symptoms were consistent with strychnine poisoning. Interestingly, after Milton's death, he was laid to rest at Woodward Hill Cemetery in Lancaster. His wife, who moved back to Philadelphia shortly after Milton's funeral (and who had undoubtedly heard the rumors about the nature of her husband's sudden and premature demise) had his remains disinterred and shipped to Philadelphia for reburial at Ivy Hill Cemetery, which seems a strange thing to do, as Milton's family hailed from Lancaster County. 

It's unclear when the widow Cormeny passed away, but it's also interesting to note that she was not buried in the same plot as Milton. Could it be that she had Milton's body moved to a different county to prevent an autopsy from being performed? This is just one of the many unanswered questions surrounding the mysterious, nameless brook which bubbles forth from a tiny spring just a few yards from Roseville Hotel. 

 

From 1908 to 1959, the Roseville Hotel was owned and operated by the Warfel family. In 1943, the hotel kitchen was the scene of a gruesome tragedy, when Margaret, the 60-year-old wife of proprietor William Warfel, committed suicide by shooting herself in the chest with a shotgun. On November 30, William returned home and found his wife on the kitchen floor with a shotgun beside her, along with the stick she had used to push the trigger after pressing the barrel to her body. Poor health was determined to be the reason behind her act.

After William Warfel's death in 1959, the Roseville Hotel was sold to another young entrepreneur, T.J. Mawhinney, who operated the establishment for just four years before his sudden death at the age of 49. Just like Milton Cormeny, Mawhinney had fallen ill less just one day earlier after a lifetime of perfect health. After Mawhinney's unexpected death, the hotel changed hands several times, but never regained its former prominence. 

Mr. Duing's Mysterious Farewell

In hot summers, when the spring near the old hotel dried up, the cursed stream flowed from another spring located on the old Bassler homestead, just west of where Stoner Park now stands. On this spot once stood a large stone springhouse which was built in 1819 by John Bassler, and, in the old days, this springhouse was used as a cooling spot for fresh milk-- a purpose it continued to serve until the Depression Era.

Less than a hundred feet from this spring once lived a man named Arnold Duing, who was a tenant farmer on the Bassler farm for sixteen years until his death in 1900 at the age of 67. There is a strange story connected with Arnold Duing's death. He was last seen alive by his family on the morning of March 14. Arnold was a rugged and vigorous man who had always enjoyed good health, and he worked a full day while his family was visiting friends out of town. When they returned later that evening they found that Arnold had already retired to his bed. His wife, who had been ill for some time, slept in a bed on the first floor of the farmhouse.

In the morning, Arnold was found dead by his son, Jacob, and after an examination by a physician, Dr. E.H. Witmer of Neffsville, it was determined that Arnold had died from "paralysis of the heart"-- a common diagnosis for death by poisoning. An inquest was held after it was recalled that Arnold Duing had spoken ominous words to his granddaughter, Gertie, before the family left home on the morning of March 14: "Goodbye. Perhaps this is the last time you will see me." Although it was ruled that Arnold Duing had died of natural causes, many residents of Roseville, claiming that Duing had fallen on hard financial times, insisted that he had committed suicide.

The Strange Death of Sarah Kamm

Downstream from the Bassler farm the creek runs underground through the old Groff farm, where it is fed by a number of springs. It then flows onto the property once owned by Gottleib Kamm, where a few more dark mysteries once pervaded the air. 

In November of 1888, a 14-year-old boy from named Jacob Hartman accidentally shot himself in the leg while hunting on the Kamm farm, after trying to crawl under a fence with his shotgun. He lay for over two hours on the ground, bleeding profusely, as Kamm's workers ignored his calls for help. A few laborers eventually took pity on the boy and attempted to carry him into the farmhouse, only to be ordered out the house by Mr. Kamm.  

The farmer was devoid of all feeling of humanity and did not even offer a bandage or extend a glass of water to the lad who was fast bleeding to death, wrote the Lancaster Examiner. Gottleib Kamm did eventually have a change of heart and drove the wounded boy to Lancaster in his wagon, but by this time it was too late. Hartman died from loss of blood shortly after reaching home. 

Perhaps, then, it was karma when the Kamm family suffered a strange tragedy almost three decades later. Gottlieb's son, Benjamin, was married to a woman named Sarah, who was known to suffer from fits of melancholia. On the morning of March 27, 1917, Sarah woke up early and disappeared from the Kamm farm. A widespread search was conducted, and several hours later the 51-year-old woman's body was discovered floating in the cistern behind the farmhouse. It was determined that Sarah had raised the trap door over the cistern, jumped in, and then closed the door after her.

Tragedy would continue to haunt Gottlieb Kamm til the end of his days; his daughter, Carrie Kamm Minnich, would die near Binkley's Bridge (within sight of the cursed creek) in 1903, two days after giving birth to a son named John, and John would die in 1905. Lloyd Kamm, another one of Gottlieb's grandchildren, would die on the Kamm farm in 1913 at the age of 5. As for Gottlieb, he would pass away in 1919.

A Haunted Farmhouse

The cursed stream then flows from the old Kamm farm to another farm near Eden, which, at one time, was owned by Arnold Duing before he relocated to the Bassler farm. Decades earlier, in the 1870s, the farmhouse on this property was said to be haunted by a suicide victim, whose name has been lost to history. For years, travelers and visitors to the farm  reported seeing the apparition of a young girl, which frequently appeared in the east bedroom of the farmhouse at regular intervals. Phantom footsteps were heard in the house, often accompanied by strange lights.  

According to an article in the October 2, 1927 edition of the Lancaster Sunday News, there was also another house situated on this property rumored to be haunted. This house, which was torn down in 1901, was said to be inhabited by the restless spirit of a miser who buried his money on the property-- money that was later found when workmen tore down the building. For years afterward, strange lights were seen along the stream, as if the former owner were searching for his buried silver and gold.

The Suicide of Lizzie Esbenshade

From here, the cursed creek passes through the site of the former Milton Houck and Jeremiah Kilheffer properties (incidentally, it was Kilheffer who discovered the body of Sarah Kamm floating in the cistern), before winding through the farm formerly owned by Henry Heller. From there it flows through the spot where the Kreider farm was located more than a century ago, and here the cursed stream empties into Landis Run before continuing a short distance to the Conestoga River.

It was near this spot, where the cursed creek and Landis Run meet, where Elizabeth Esbenshade took her life in a most remarkable manner on April 25, 1917. Elizabeth was the 30-year-old wife of farmer Henry Esbenshade. Like her unfortunate neighbor, Sarah Kamm, whose body was fished out the cistern less than a month earlier, Elizabeth was also afflicted with frequent bouts of melancholia, and her behavior was so concerning that her husband, as a precaution, kept his revolver hidden inside the barn.

 

On the morning of April 25, Elizabeth took possession of the weapon while Henry was out in the fields. Later that afternoon, while tending his horses in the barn, Henry heard what sounded like four muffled gunshots, but thought nothing of it at at the time. But then, a moment later, he saw his wife running past the barn toward the orchard, screaming and leaving behind a trail of blood.

Henry ran to the orchard and carried Elizabeth back into the kitchen of the house, placing her onto a chair. He then ran into the living room for a pillow, unaware that Elizabeth still had the .32-caliber revolver concealed in the folds of her dress. He heard two more gunshots. Elizabeth, who had already fired four gunshots into her head before running into the orchard, fired the two remaining bullets. One struck the stove, the other pierced her right eyes and entered the brain. She died about thirty minutes later. 

Death From Stream's Source to Mouth

At the Esbenshade farm in Eden the cursed stream, now joined with Landis Run, reaches the end of its short course and spills into the Conestoga River, and at this spot geography and history conspire to produce one of the most bizarre coincidences conceivable: Just as the cursed stream begins at the scene of a suicide, the stream ends at the scene of a suicide as well. Perhaps no other waterway on the planet can make this ignominious claim.

In November of 1908, an unidentified one-legged man with crutches stood in two feet of water at the point where Landis Run enters the Conestoga River and fired a revolver into his heart. The body was discovered on Sunday, November 8, by Harry and John Heckel, who found the victim's body in the water along the bank on the Esbenshade farm. Police, along with Dr. F.G. Hartman, went to the scene to conduct an investigation and concluded the man had been dead between 24 and 48 hours. The crippled man, who was between 30 and 35 years of age, was never identified. His body was taken to the morgue at the county almshouse and buried in an unmarked grave.

An 1864 map shows the course of the cursed stream, a tributary of Landis Run. Red circles indicate the stream's source and mouth, where suicides have occurred.

 
Coincidence?

Sarah Kamm, Elizabeth Esbenshade, Margaret Warfel and the unknown cripple took their own lives; we know this as fact. Several members of the Kamm family died prematurely along the banks of the cursed creek after the unfortunate young hunter, Jacob Hartman, was left for dead on the Kamm farm. The deaths of Arnold Duing and Milton Cormeny might've been natural-- but, then again, they might not have been.

At any rate, this is an inordinate number of unusual deaths associated with such a small geographical area, and the story makes one wonder just how many more suicides or murder victims drew their last, tortured breath on the banks of this nameless bitter brook before newspapers and written records. And if the stream really is cursed, what might've been the root cause? Perhaps payback courtesy of some long-forgotten Susquehannock chief or Seneca warrior who was cruelly dealt with by an early European settler? Or what about a hex placed on the stream by some angry Pennsylvania Dutch pow-wow doctor to settle a score from centuries ago? 

 


 

Lancaster Examiner, Nov. 7, 1888.
Lancaster Examiner, Nov. 14, 1888.
Lancaster New Era, July 29, 1899.
Lancaster Examiner, March 17, 1900.
Lancaster Intelligencer, March 17, 1900.
Lancaster News-Journal, Nov. 9, 1908.
Lancaster New Era, March 28, 1917.
Lancaster Examiner, March 28, 1917.
Lancaster News-Journal, April 26, 1917
Lancaster New Era, April 26, 1917.
Lancaster Intelligencer Journal, Dec. 1, 1943.
Lancaster Intelligencer Journal, March 12, 1965.