Caudebec Inn was no towering edifice—just a comfy place three stories high, with one bathroom, a tiny parlor, rag-rugged, and a generously sized dining-room whose cheerful windows looked upon apple orchards. It was neat and spotlessly clean. On two sides were broad piazzas. The inn faced the basin at the head of the old D. L. and W. Canal, and the canal took its pretty way alongside for a mile or more until it spilled itself over a busted dam (Mr. Kennedy’s I opined—it was the only one about), making lovely rapids which later we used in many a thriller.
It was extremely fortunate that we were the only guests. We filled the place. Such a thing as an actor having a room to himself, let alone a bed, was as yet unheard of in those vagrant days. Mr. Powell doubled and sometimes tripled them. Some actors got awfully Ritzy, resenting especially the tripling, and at night would sneak downstairs hoping to find a nice vacant hammock on the porch. But that had all been looked into. The hammock would be occupied by some lucky devil whose snores were being gently wafted on the soft summer breezes. Three in a bed, two in a cot, or two in a hammock—the stringy old-fashioned kind of hammock—which would offer the better comfort?
Immediately after lunch, the boss and Billy Bitzer, with Mr. Predmore at the wheel, would depart in “The Red Devil” on a location hunt. The carpenters must get right to work on their stockade. The actors were soon busy digging out costumes and grease paint boxes, and getting made up and costumed; for as soon as the chief returned, he would want to grab a couple of scenes if the light still held. The making up was not a quiet process. As the actors acquired brown grease paint and leather trappings, animal skins and tomahawks—what a pow-wow!
When the Cuddeback farmer first met the Biograph Indian, “Gad,” thought he, “what was the world coming to anyhow? Moving picture people? Smart folks to have found their Cuddebackville. Who’d have believed it? New York City actors riding up and down their roads, and stopping off to do wicked stage acting right in front of their best apple tree.”
“Hey there, Hiram, how’ll five bucks suit you?”
Hiram was a bit deaf.
“No? Ten? All right, here she is.”
Hiram we won completely. He hoped we’d come often. And the Big Farmer’s “help” were with us heart and soul. We sometimes used them for “extras” and paid them five dollars. Back to the farm at five per week after that? No, they’d wait and loaf until the “picture people” came again. The picture people nearly demoralized the farming business in Cuddebackville and environs—got the labor situation in a terrible mess.
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There was need for a stone house in “1776” or “The Hessian Renegades,” and for “Leather Stocking”—a genuine pre-revolutionary stone house. Three saddle horses were also needed. For the moment we were stumped.