Marianna Hunt

     Marianna was born circa 1738 in Westchester, Westchester County, New York. Marianna married John Ferris, son of James Ferris and Anne Sands, on 15 December 1756 in Westchester.¹ Anna, because of the affection of her husband who called her "My Anna".became known as Myanna. This was a story told by her daughter, Anna to her daughter Eliza. Eliza relates this in her journals. She also tells that Myanna was a tiny woman but very brave. Many stories are told of her bravery especially during the Revolution. These stories can be read in Eliza Seaman Leggett's journals. Marianna died on Sunday, 9 July 1809 in Throgs Neck at the family home "Grove Farm" of colic that was supposed to come from eating cherries and drinking milk. She was sick only a short time. She was buried in the Ferris Family Burying Ground.² She was buried at Throgs Neck in the Ferris Burying Ground at Grove Farm.³

Additional Notes: Memories of her grand daughter Eliza as told to her by her mother Anna, daughter of Myanna - . . .if you read the times of the old war, you will know something of the Cowboys and Skinners scamps who stole from friend and foe alike, landless, reckless - who prowled about the farm homes seeking what they might not only devour but to carry off the cattle and sheep, chickens anything. So many homes were left unprotected with women and a few servants, perhaps slaves in those days. The home was a mile from the main road or from any neighbor. The farm itself was quite a territory. You know in those days farms were not bought by the acre but by the mile so Grove Farm extended for many miles. When I was a child and heard my uncles tell, I thought, it embraced all of the West Chester, well it was a grand place for those fellows to attack - Grandfather was often way with his sloop, perhaps taking a load of oysters or farm truck to the city, New York, for all farm produce brot large prices - Now our grandmother was making dough-nuts, most savory odor. Now too there came tramping a set of these outlaws and came into this middle kitchen; our little grandmother knew no fear - but she knew well enough what this sudden incoming meant, in a flash, she thought of the barns, horses, cows, sheep - everything. A big big fire blazing on the hearth with great inviting wooden arm chairs - how good it did look and feel to those fellows after their tramp in the snow. They waited no invitation to be seated and the wooden bowl full of foamy dough and the smell of the frying cakes - grandmother gave her pitcher of cider to a girl and sent her into the kitchen proper where some servants had come in to toast by the fire and said, “Sit down boys, and we will have some cider for you.” The boys felt sure of their game and the smell of the cakes, and the prospect of cheer beguiled them and good little grandmother knew how to make the best of a bad situation. It was not the first time that these gangs had been about. The cider was hot - set by the fire to heat - good strong cider, with a drop in it. Always there was a plan laid, if an attack threatened.
     Oh, the grand-mothers of the war time. She joked with the boys saying you’ve caught us this time, you are more lucky than those fellows who came around last, but be easy with us. I’ll treat you well, so don’t destroy what you don’t take, you know the Quakers are peaceable and make friends with everybody, even those who some call enemies - but in the providence of things all are one in the sight of the Father. The cider began to work, the hot good cakes did their share and being so softly ensconced and knowing the man of the house was away, they ate and drank and snoozed a little and the time went on. Finally, they went to the barns - to find that all the live stock had been driven to West Chester, and a small army of neighbors had come with guns to help their neighbor - they had been fairly beaten and no blood shed - then our little grandmother laid her hands on her hips and laughed for she was a merry woman, and old Sam, the master par excellence among the servants, said, “We did bettern then the massa could.” And for his ready wit was filled with cider and dough-nuts.

     Another story of Myannah. As I have said Grandfather was often from home, feeling so safe with leaving his better half at home to protect the house. It was as stone house with walls two feet if not more thick, heavy windows, shutters well ironed - “Sam, Misses ums coming” - “All right Sam, call the boys, get the girls, find all the guns, shovels, big boats they’ll think it is an army. Make all the noise you can, bolt the doors, call down stairs up stairs, tramp like horses, point the guns and fire, load fast, get at different windows. Some get to the top chambers - don’t be afraid - fire away - and raise away. Thus the little grandmother again - the Skinners, for it was just a party of them, thought the house was garrisoned and again the little woman put her hands on her hips and laughed and the castle was saved.
Another bit, being Quakers, they were non-combatants - but some had declared “the old fellow must have money hidden.” They would catch him. Perhaps it was intuition. Never mind, it was her business to take care of her husband, and seeing danger she meant to get him safe - there had been a talk among the negros that “they were after massa” This had been floating in the air. “Take your master Sam - open a hole in the stone wall of the orchard, build it up around him - take your gun - a good ways off from him - and do as tho you were saving the orchard, keep away from him - and if you have to fire among them the boys will be armed and ready to jump for them. All night grandfather laid in his stone chamber, all night Sam took care of the orchard. Nothing was hurt. They went off, swearing they would come another day for the d---d Quaker and grandmother had a nice boiled chicken for the beloved man she meant to take care of . . . . At one time, they had a well there with buckets - a child in playing fell in - grandmother saw it and in a moment caught the rope of the bucket and swung herself down and brot up her drenched child. Mother said she never waited to parley - fearless - quick to comprehend - first in the home. She died long before I was born. [Eliza Seaman Leggett, My Book of Life for my grandson Augustus Ives.]