Ann Eliza Smith came from a Dutch family of the Hudson Valley. She is sometimes described as an orphan, although cemetery records show that her parents, Ludowick and Nelly, lived into her early adulthood. In her early twenties, she met and married Henry Backus, a musician and the son of a major who fought and died in the War of 1812. After marrying, they lived in Ulster (now Saugerties, NY) at a time when it was just beginning to buzz with industry in the 1820s. We know much more about Henry than we do about Ann Eliza. He became the famous (or infamous) “Bard of Saugerties,” an eccentric folk poet who hawked his original broadside ballads from town to town in the mid-19th century. Henry was known to be a heavy drinker, and he spent time at the Hudson Asylum due to mental illness, perhaps in the wake of an infant daughter’s death.

According to local memories, gathered and retold by Pauline Hommell in the “Teacup Tales,” Ann Eliza became somewhat of a recluse after developing a serious illness. Neighbors would see her pale face watching the street from an upstairs window. According to Hommell, Henry tended tirelessly to his wife and their children. After Ann Eliza’s death, legends say her ghost continued to occupy her post at the window while Henry traversed the Hudson Valley, selling broadside ballads for a penny a piece.

Historical records disagree on both Ann Eliza’s name and her year of death. She appears as “Ann Elizabeth Legg” and “Alida Legg-Smith” depending on the source. One census from New York City shows Henry working as a teacher there, living with several of his children, and his wife, “Ann Eliza” in the 1850s. This is after her supposed death date of 1845. This document became a jumping off point for me to imagine different possibilities for Ann Eliza’s story. I began to imagine Ann Eliza as the rock, holding up the family, taking care of Henry and moving the children to the city to seek the support of her brother-in-law. I saw her living, breathing and thriving, while back in Saugerties, they made her “a ghost before she died.” This song—imagined, invented, imprecise—attempts to tell a story that historical records cannot offer us... to give shape, body and strength to someone who was otherwise depicted as transparent and ephemeral.

Thirty miles to the north of New York City, the British lost a pivotal battle of the Revolutionary War at Stony Point in 1779. The evocative name, “Wild Horses at Stony Point,” attached itself to a popular dance reel, one with staying power well beyond the 18th century. As I arranged this tune, I imagined Ann Eliza and Anna Dorothea’s stories (see below) commingling.

I heard the horses that pulled Ann Eliza’s carriage to the Hudson Asylum to find help for Henry. I also heard the bright noise of Henry’s cart, covered with bells, as he traveled up and down the river years later. I heard him singing his broadside ballads, freshly printed in New York City, spreading rhyming verses of murder, scandal, love and war. And finally, I heard the frenzied gallop of the horse of William Salisbury, who took the life of the young Anna Dorothea Swarts.

To recast a very old dance tune for chamber ensemble, I draw on the heterophony of old-time fiddle and banjo: multiple, overlapping versions of the same melody that create a gorgeous, fuzzy filigree. The piano pulsates like banjo strings, the bass adds the energy of the bow sawing back-and-forth. Flute and clarinet weave in and out of synchrony with the banjo line, while the guitar shifts between rhythmic drive and poignant, soaring melodies.

There was once a place called Spook’s Rock in Greene County. On a road between Cairo and Leeds, it was the site of Anna Dorothea’s Swarts’ death. She was “in service” to William Salisbury and family in the mid-18th century: maybe indentured, maybe enslaved. We know much more about William than we do about Anna Dorothea. We know his date and place of birth; we know his pedigree; we know his network of wealthy friends and his impressive net worth. We can trace the patents and purchases that gave him and his kin ownership of expansive estates.

From court records in Albany, NY, we also know that in the spring of 1755, he tied the young Anna Dorothea Swarts to a horse that, upon being frightened, dragged her to her death. The court document tells us that Salisbury was found guilty, yet the verdict was “ignored” by foreman Abraham Douw, who like Salisbury was a wealthy man of the region. Notably, Salisbury’s brother-in-law was also a local justice, and he counted on the support of a prominent defense lawyer. Salisbury lived a long and prosperous life. Anna Dorothea lived on as the famous ghost of Spook Rock.

Anna Dorothea may have been a redemptioner: a woman from Europe who sold seven to twelve years of her life in exchange for passage to America. She may have become an indentured servant when her family did not have the means to keep and maintain another child. She may have been an enslaved woman who was traveling to a Pinkster celebration in Albany or New York City to reunite with family. The court record is the only written mention of her. Whatever her identity, local legend tells us that she defied the rules of her bondage. This was perceived as a “violation of the public order,” at a time when there was much rumbling in the social order, and conflict between landowners and laborers was at a boiling point (Richardson 2003). Salisbury was angered by her departure, pursued her and killed her.

In this song, I rearrange passages from the court document as a counterpoint to lyrics set as Anna Dorothea’s telling her own story. They point to the brutality against a young woman and the disintegration (or non-existence) of autonomy over her own body. At the same time, I try to evoke the depth of her existence as retained in local memory: the sense that there was power, beauty and complexity where official history has given us horrific tragedy and empty space.