See Also: Case Files (GM Only)
See Also: Witches of Wissahickon
Johannes Kelp - Founder
They slept under the stars. They ate only what they could grow or find. Some say that they were members of America's first Doomsday Cult – a secret order formed in the 1600s called The Hermits of Wissahickon. The hermits – who also called themselves the Tabernacle of the Mystic Brotherhood, or The Society of the Woman in the Wilderness – fascinated local residents with their esoteric practices. Ritual magic, herbal medicine, numerology, alchemy, astrology, shamanism, and body modification – those are just a few of the alleged practices of the Brotherhood.
According to legend, the hermits actually succeeded in creating the Philosopher's Stone – an alchemical feat that turns ordinary matter into gold. When the last hermit of the order was dying, he asked his friend to return the stone to the “lady of the lake” – in other words, to throw it into the Schuylkill River. The friend decided to bury it instead. The hermit anticipated this, and again he asked his friend to throw the stone it into the Schuylkill. This time, the friend complied. There was a bright flash, and the stone was gone. Thousands of glittering small garnets lay scattered on the ground. In another version of this legend, it was a not a stone but a “casket” that exploded in “flashes of lightning” when thrown into the river.
Did the Mystic Brotherhood really exist? Certainly. Not only are Hermit Street and Monastery Avenue named after it, but an eight-foot granite monolith built by the Rosicrucians stands in Fairmount Park in honor of the order's founder, a German immigrant named Johannes Kelp – known to his followers as Kelpius the Mystic. Kelpius is also the subject of America's first oil painting. Kelpius' concrete-lined cave, where he and his followers spend their days, still stands in Wissahickon. Did the order really create a Philosopher's Stone? That, like many other secrets, is one that the hermits took to their graves.
The Free or “Fighting” Quakers were those disowned by their faith for supporting the American Revolution. Some fought or sold military supplies. Others were expelled for simply taking a loyalty oath to the new American government or holding some civil office.
In 1783, the Free Quakers opened their own meetinghouse, which still stands on the southwest corner of 5th and Arch streets.
Perhaps the most interesting aspect of the brick, two-story structure is seen from the outside. In the pediment near the roof-line is a dedication stone that can be read easily:
By General Subscription for the FREE QUAKERS Erected in the YEAR of OUR LORD 1783 of the EMPIRE 8.
Perhaps, these militant patriots believed that the United States of America would become a great empire. They may have seen the 13 states as an empire since we were not yet a united nation. The U.S. Constitution was still five years in the future.
The last two Fighting Quakers to worship in the meetinghouse were Betsy (Ross) Claypoole and John Price Wetherill. In 1834 (Betsy was 82) the pair decided to close the place down. The venerable structure was in use as a warehouse for plumbing supplies in the 1950s when it was restored as part of the Independence Mall project.
History in Philadelphia is the real stuff. Take this Germantown Avenue summerhouse built by German immigrant John Wistar in 1744 as a prime example of authenticity. When the British occupied Germantown in the fall of 1777, Gen. James Agnew pushed the Wister family out and moved into what was then called John Wister's Big House. Agnew led a British counterattack after Washington's surprise assault on Germantown on the morning of Oct. 4, 1777. Described as “a dignified and kindly man,” Agnew was fatally shot leading his troops up Germantown Avenue. He was taken back to Grumblethrope — either dead or close to death — where he bled profusely on the floor boards of the front parlor. Attempts to either scrub or bleach out the stains failed. The faded stains are clearly visible today.
There are a lot of other authentic and interesting things to see at Grumblethorope, including the oldest ginkgo tree in America, a rent receipt from John Wistar for a tenant (in a city property) named Benjamin Franklin; a great colonial kitchen, a forge and the writing desk used by author Owen Wister. The only thing phony about Grumblethrope is its name. An early 19th century Wister lifted it from an English novel he was reading and it stuck.
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