Legendary
Joe Mulliner
( known as "The Robin Hood of South Jersey"
(hanged in 1781)
Down along the Mullica where the scrub cedar grows,
sometimes on the darkest nights, an eerie light glows.
If you are a scaredy cat, you'd best keep clear of there,
where only the stouthearted would venture on a dare.
For that weird light casts an image of a phantom swinging free,
hanging from the low limb of a buttonwood tree.
This wraith, 'tis said, floats down to earth, to search among the
weeds,
for the gold that he once buried, which was gained by grisly
deeds.
Deer and rabbits scramble thru' the grasses as they wave;
then, failing to locate his gold, Joe sinks into his grave.
The Mulliners were of good breed; Joe was brought up the same
as his patriotic brothers, but disgraced the family name.
For, in his youth, his character developed with the flaw
that destined him to be South Jersey's infamous outlaw.
Down along the Mullica River and on its borderland,
this "Robin Hood" dealt terror with his forty man band.
At stroke of midnight they donned masks and went on ruthless
sprees;
many a Tuckerton stagecoach driver quaked upon his knees.
And, altho' no murder by them e'er was proven in their time,
by bold thiev'ry and abduction, they left a path of crime.
Their "Sherwood Forest," locally, was known as Hemlock
Square,
and Joe gave orders to his cohorts from headquarters there.
One Sunday, so one tale goes, Joe declared a day of rest,
but some of his rambunctious men rode off in search of jest.
Joe'd ordered them, "Lay low," but out of sight they
disobeyed,
and ransacked the Widow Bates' farm, as the target of a raid.
When Widow Bates returned from meeting, she found bundled there
her pigs and poultry, household goods, and her prized silverware.
The woman screamed, "Git outa here; let my belongin's
be."
But they seized her and her younguns, and roped her to a tree.And
then they set her house afire, while she was forced to look
at all she owned reduced to ash, except the things they took.
(When Joe learned neighbors raised a house replacing the burnt
one,
there appeared a sum of money to atone for what they'd done.)
This nimble-footed outlaw, with the flashing smile, they say,
was well known for crashing parties, sneaking in the back room
way.
He'd waltz with maids in rustling silks, and then he'd disappear;
their swains, persuaded by his shootin' irons, didn't interfere.
And, 'tis hinted, tho' they couldn't admit it, Joe held great
appeal,
for the ladies picked to dance with him a quadrille or a reel.
But, it was love of frolicking that fin'ly did Joe in;
an informer left the room one night, unnoticed by Joe's men.
The lawmen had been itchin' to meet Joe face to face,
this elusive scallywag, who'd led them on a merry race.
And, so, he was apprehended, and hanged twixt earth and sky
as fearlessly as Joe had lived, the same he was to die.
Joe's deviltry still lived in legends, native folks relate,
but his grave is marked by a plain board, with just his name and
date.
So, if you crave adventure, come along some pitch, black night;
follow Mullica's gnarled poplars, search out that eerie light.
Then, move along Joe's spector's path that wanders thru' the
pines,
and help him search for bandit's gold beneath the tangled vines.
-Lillian Arnold Lopez "Pineylore"
The
Indian Cabin Mill Inn, located on Pleasant Mills Road in Nesco.
The historic marker in front reads, "Joseph Mulliner, noted
Refugee, Tory, outlaw, captured here in 1781. Renamed the Union
Hotel, 1861." (Photo from NJ History's Mysteries Monthly
Magazine web site)