“The old county historian.” Rev. Robert Bolton, born 1814, died 1877. His “History of the County of Westchester,” especially the revised edition published in 1881, is a rich mine of “material.” Among other works that have served the author of this narrative in a study of the period and place are Allison’s “History of Yonkers,” Cole’s “History of Yonkers,” Edsall’s “History of Kingsbridge,” Dawson’s “Westchester County during the Revolution,” Jones’s “New York during the Revolution,” Watson’s “Annals of New York in the Olden Time,” General Heath’s “Memoirs,” Thatcher’s “Memoirs,” Simcoe’s “Military Journal,” Dunlap’s “History of New York,” and Mrs. Ellet’s “Domestic History of the Revolution.” For an excellent description of the border warfare on the “neutral ground,” the reader should go to Irving’s delightful “Chronicle of Wolfert’s Roost.” Cooper’s novel, “The Spy,” deals accurately with that subject, which is touched upon also in that good old standby, Lossing’s “Pictorial Field-book of the Revolution.” Philipse 284 Manor-house has been carefully written of by Judge Atkins in a Yonkers newspaper, and less accurately by Mrs. Lamb in her “History of New York City,” and Marian Harland in “Some Colonial Homesteads and Their Stories.” Of general histories, Irving’s “Life of Washington” treats most fully of things around New York during the British occupation, and these things are interestingly dealt with in local histories, such as the “History of Queens County,” Stiles’s “History of Brooklyn,” Barber and Howe’s “New Jersey Historical Collections,” etc., as well as in such special works as Onderdonk’s “Revolutionary Incidents.”

Note 2. (Page 47.)

Of Colonel Gist’s escape, Bolton gives the following account: “The house was occupied by the handsome and accomplished widow of the Rev. Luke Babcock, and Miss Sarah Williams, a sister of Mrs. Frederick Philipse. To the former lady Colonel Gist was devotedly attached; consequently, when an opportunity afforded, he gladly moved his command into that vicinity. On the night preceding the attack, he had stationed his camp at the foot of Boar Hill, for the better purpose of paying a special visit to this lady. It is said that whilst engaged in urging his suit the enemy were quietly surrounding his quarters; he had barely received his final dismissal from Mrs. Babcock when he was startled by the firing of musketry.... It appears that all the roads and bridges had been well guarded by the enemy, except the one now 285 called Warner’s Bridge, and that Captain John Odell upon the first alarm led off his troops through the woods on the west side of the Saw Mill [River]. Here Colonel Gist joined them. In the meantime Mrs. Babcock, having stationed herself in one of the dormer windows of the parsonage, aided their escape whenever they appeared, by the waving of a white handkerchief.”

The British attack was under Lieutenant-Colonel Simcoe, whose journal shows that his force so far outnumbered Gist’s that the latter’s only sensible course was in flight. About the year 1840, trees cut down near the site of Gist’s camp were found to contain balls buried six inches in the wood.

Note 3. (Page 76.)

The three generals arrived on the Cerberus, May 25th. All the histories say that they arrived “with reinforcements.” It is true, troops were constantly arriving at Boston about that time, but none came immediately with the three generals. The Connecticut Gazette (published in New London) printed, early in June, this piece of news, brought by a gentleman who had been in Boston, May 28th: “Generals Burgoyne, Clinton, and Howe arrived at Boston last Friday in a man-of-war. No troops came with them. They brought over 25 horses.” It is a wonder that Frothingham, in his admirably complete history of the siege of Boston, missed even this little circumstance. Probably everybody has read the incident thus related by Irving: “As the ships entered the harbor and 286 the rebel camp was pointed out, Burgoyne could not restrain a burst of surprise and scorn. ‘What!’ cried he; ‘ten thousand peasants keep five thousand King’s troops shut up! Well, let us get in and we’ll soon find elbow room!’” I don’t think Irving relates anywhere the sequel, which is that when, after his surrender, Burgoyne marched with his conquered army into Cambridge, an old woman shouted from a window to the crowd of spectators, “Give him elbow room!” This story ought to be true, if it is not.

Note 4. (Page 89.)

It was in a letter under date of October 4, 1778, that Washington wrote: “What officer can bear the weight of prices that every necessary article is now got to? A rat in the shape of a horse is not to be bought for less than £200; a saddle under thirty or forty.”

Note 5. (Page 124.)

Captain Cunningham was the British provost marshal, as everybody knows, whose name became a synonym for wanton cruelty in the treatment of war prisoners. He had come to New York before the Revolution, and had kept a riding school there. As soon as the war broke out he took the royal side. It was he who had in charge the summary execution of Nathan Hale. He would often amuse himself by striking his prisoners with his keys and by kicking over the baskets of food or vessels of soup brought for them by charitable women, who, he said, were the worst rebels in New York. He died miserably 287 in England after the war. His career is briefly outlined in Sabine’s “Loyalists.” As to the manner in which Peyton, if caught, would have died, it must be remembered that in the American Revolution the rope served in many a case which, occurring in Europe or in one of our later wars, would have been disposed of with the bullet. Writing of General Charles Lee, John Fiske says: “There is no doubt that Sir William Howe looked upon him as a deserter, and was more than half inclined to hang him without ceremony.” Then, as now, a deserter in time of war was liable to death if caught at any subsequent time, his case being worse than that of a spy, who was liable to death only if caught before getting back to his own lines. There was, by the way, much unceremonious hanging on the “neutral ground.” Not far from the Van Cortlandt mansion there still stood, in Bolton’s time, “a celebrated white oak, in the midst of a pretty glade, called the Cowboy Oak,” from the fact that many of the Tory raiders had been suspended from its branches during the war of Revolution.

Note 6. (Page 127.)

I am not sure whether the saying, “The corpse of an enemy smells sweet,” attributed to Charles IX. of France, in allusion to Coligny, is historical or was the invention of a romancer. It occurs in Dumas’s “La Reine Margot.”

Note 7. (Page 136.)

Mr. Valentine’s unwillingness to lend aid was doubtless due to the frequency of such incidents as one that 288 had occurred to his neighbor, Peter Post, in 1776. Post’s estate occupied the site of the present town of Hastings. He gave information to Colonel Sheldon regarding the movements of some Hessians, and afterwards deceived the Hessians as to the whereabouts of Sheldon’s own cavalry. Thereby, Sheldon’s troop was enabled to surprise the Hessians, and defeat them in a short and bloody conflict. The Hessians’ comrades later caught Post, stripped him, beat him to insensibility, and left him for dead. He recovered of his injuries. His house, a small stone one, became a tavern after the Revolution, and was a celebrated resort of cock-fighters and hard-drinkers. Not far north of Hastings is Dobbs Ferry, which was occupied by both armies alternately, during the Revolution. Further north is Sunnyside, Irving’s house, elaborated from the original Wolfert’s Roost, and beyond that are Tarrytown, where AndrÉ was stopped and taken in charge, and Sleepy Hollow. Enchanted ground, all this, hallowed by history, legend, and romance.

Note 8. (Page 179.)

The secret passage or passages of Philipse Manor-house have not been neglected by writers of fiction, history, and magazine articles. The passage does not now exist, but there are numerous traces of it. The different writers do not agree in locating it. The author of an interesting story for children, “A Loyal Little Maid,” has it that the passage was reached through an opening in the panelling of the dining-room, this opening 289 concealed by a tall clock. I think Marian Harland says that a closet in one of the parlors or chambers connects with the secret passage. Both these assumptions are wrong. Mr. R. P. Getty has pointed out in the northwestern corner of the cellar what seems to have once been the entrance to the passage. One authority quotes a belief “that from the cellar there was a passage to a well now covered by Woodworth Avenue,” and that this was to afford access to what may have been a storage vault. A man who was born in 1821 says that, when a boy, he saw, near the house, a dry cistern, from the bottom of which was an arched passage towards the Hudson, large enough for a man six feet tall to pass through. Judge Atkins says that the well was opposite the kitchen door, and had, at its western side, about ten feet deep, a chamber in which butter was kept. One writer locates an ice-house where Judge Atkins places this well, and says a subterranean arched way led northward as far as the present Wells Avenue. “The ice-house was formerly, it is said, a powder-magazine.” Many years ago, the coachman of Judge Woodworth used to say he had “gone through an underground passage all the way from the manor-house to the Hudson River.” Judge Atkins has written interesting legends of the manor-house, involving the secret passage and other features.

Note 9. (Page 259.)

“That lonely highway now called Broadway.” A block of houses and another street now lie between that 290 highway and the east front of the manor-house. The building is closely hemmed in by the sordid signs of progress. Ugly houses, in crowded blocks, cover all the great surrounding space that once was thick forest, fair orchards, gardens, fields, and pastoral rivulet. The Neperan or Saw Mill River flows, sluggish and scummy, under streets and houses. A visit to the manor-house, now, would spoil rather than improve one’s impression of what the place looked like in the old days. Yet the house itself remains well preserved, for which all honor to the town of Yonkers. There is in our spacious America so much room for the present and the future, that a little ought to be kept for the past. It is well to be reminded, by a landmark here and there, of our brave youth as a people. A posterity, sure to value these landmarks more than this money-grabbing age does, will reproach us with the destruction we have already wrought. Worse still than the crime of obliterating all human-made relics of the past, is the vandalism of nature herself where nature is exceptionally beautiful. To rob millions of beauty-lovers, yet to live, of the Palisades of the Hudson, would bring upon us the amazement and execration of future centuries. This earth is an entailed estate, that each generation is in honor bound to hand down, undefaced, undiminished, to its successor. In order that a close-clutched wallet or two may wax a little fatter, shall we bring upon ourselves a cry of shame that would ring with increasing bitterness through the ages,—shall we invite the execration merited by such greed as could so outrage our fair earth, such stolid apathy as could 291 stand by and see it done? Shall an alien or two, as hard of soul as the stone in which he traffics, mar the Hudson that Washington patrolled, rob countless eyes, yet unopened, of a joy; countless minds, yet to waken, of an inspiration; countless hearts, yet to beat, of a thrill of pride in the soil of their inheriting? Shall some future reader wonder why Irving, deeming it “an invaluable advantage to be born and brought up in the neighborhood of some grand and noble object in nature,” should have thanked God he was born on the banks of the Hudson? I write this with the sound of the blowing up of Indian Head still echoing in my ears, and knowing nothing done by Government to protect the next fair Hudson headland from similar destruction.

Note 10. (Page 281.)

It is probable that Colden served with his brigade when it fought in the South in the last part of the war. He was afterwards lost at sea, leaving no heir. He was of a family prominent in New York affairs, both before the Revolution and afterwards, and which was intermarried with other New York families of equal prominence, as may be seen in the “New York Genealogical and Biographical Record,” the “New England Genealogical and Historical Register,” and similar publications. It is probable that Sabine means this Colden when he mentions a Captain Colden, of the First Battalion of New Jersey Volunteers. That he was a major, however, is certain, from the official British Army lists published in Hugh 292 Gaines’s “Universal Register” for the years of the Revolution.

People curious about Harry Peyton’s military record may consult Saffel’s “Lists of American Officers,” Heitman’s “Manual,” and a large work on “Virginia Genealogies,” by H. E. Hayden, published at Wilkes-barre. To the reader who demands a happy ending, it need be no shock to learn that Peyton, having risen to the rank of major, was killed at Charleston, S. C., May 12, 1780. For a love story, it is a happy ending that occurs at the moment when the conquest and the submission are mutual, complete, and demonstrated. A love to be perfect, to have its sweetness unembittered, ought not to be subjected to the wear and tear of prolonged fellowship. So subjected, it may deepen and gain ultimate strength, but it will lose its intoxicating novelty, and become associated with pain as well as with pleasure. We may be sure that the love of Peyton and Elizabeth was to Harry a sweetener of life on many a night encampment, many a hard ride, in the campaign of 1779, and in the spring of 1780, and exalted him the better to meet his death on that day when Charleston fell to the British; and that to Elizabeth, while it receded into further memory, it kept its full beauty during the half century she lived faithful to it. Her sisters were married into the English nobility, gentry, and military, but Elizabeth died in Bath, England, in March, 1828, unmarried. Colonel Philipse had moved with his family to England when the British quitted New York in 1783. Many other Tories did likewise. Some went to England, but more to Canada, 293 the greater part of which was then a wilderness. Many of the Tory officers got commissions in the English army.

No Tory family did more for the King’s cause in America, lost more, or got more in redress, than the De Lancey family, which had been foremost in the administration of royal government in the province of New York. It had great holdings of property in New York City, elsewhere on the island of Manhattan, and in various parts of Westchester County, notably in Westchester Township, where De Lancey’s mills and a fine country mansion were a famous landmark “where gentle Bronx clear winding flows.” The founder of the American family was a French Huguenot of noble descent. The family was represented in the British army and navy before the Revolution. One member of it, a young officer in the navy, at the breaking out of the war, resigned his commission rather than serve against the Colonies, but most of the other De Lancey men were differently minded. Oliver De Lancey, a member of the provincial council, was made a brigadier-general in the royal service, and raised three battalions of loyalists, known as “De Lancey’s Battalions.” Of these battalions, the Tory historian, Judge Jones, says: “Two served in Georgia and the Carolinas from the time the British army landed in Georgia until the final evacuation of Charleston.” One of these, during this period, was commanded by Lieutenant-Colonel Stephen De Lancey, the other by Colonel John Harris Cruger. The third battalion, during the whole war, was employed solely in protecting the wood-cutters upon Lloyd’s Neck, 294 Queens County, L. I. This General De Lancey’s son, Oliver De Lancey, Junior, was educated in Europe, took service with the 17th Light Dragoons, was a captain when the Revolution began, a major in 1778, a lieutenant-colonel in 1781, and, on the death of Major AndrÉ, adjutant-general of the British army in America. Returning to England, he became deputy adjutant-general of England; as a major-general, he was also colonel of the 17th Light Dragoons; was subsequently barrack-master general of the British Empire, lieutenant-general, and finally general. When he died he was nearly at the head of the English army list. This branch of the family became extinct when Sir William Heathcoate De Lancey, the quartermaster-general of Wellington’s army, was killed at Waterloo.

The James De Lancey who commanded the Westchester Light Horse was a nephew of the senior General Oliver De Lancey, and a cousin of the Major Colden of this narrative. His troop was not “a battalion in the brigade of his uncle,” Bolton’s statement that it was so being incorrect; its operations were limited to Westchester County. It raided and fought for the King untiringly, until it was almost entirely killed off, at the end of the war, by the persistent efforts of our troops to extirpate it.

The members of this corps were called “Cowboys” because, in their duty of procuring supplies for the British army, they made free with the farmers’ cattle. Like the other conspicuous Tories, this James De Lancey was attainted by the new State Government, and his property was confiscated. Local historians draw an effective 295 picture of him departing alone from his estate by the Bronx, turning for a last look, from the back of his horse, at the fair mansion and broad lands that were to be his no more, and riding away with a heavy heart. He went, with many shipfuls of Tory emigrants, to Nova Scotia, and became a member of the council of that colony. His uncle went to England and died at his country house, Beverly, Yorkshire, in 1785. I allude to the case of this family, because it was typical of that of a great many families. The Tories of the American Revolution constitute a subject that has yet to be made much of. They were the progenitors of English-speaking Canada.

The act of attainder that deprived the De Lanceys of their estates, deprived Colonel Philipse of his. It was passed by the New York legislature, October 22, 1779. The persons declared guilty of “adherence to the enemies of the State” were attainted, their estates real and personal confiscated, and themselves proscribed, the second section of the act declaring that “each and every one of them who shall at any time hereafter be found in any part of this State, shall be, and are hereby, adjudged and declared guilty of felony, and shall suffer death as in cases of felony, without benefit of clergy.” Acts of similar import were passed in other States. Under this act, Philipse Manor-house was forfeited to the State about a year after the time of our narrative. The commissioners whose duty it was to dispose of confiscated property sold the house and mills, in 1785, to Cornelius P. Lowe. It underwent several transfers, but little change, becoming at length the property of Lemuel Wells, who 296 held it a long time and, dying in 1842, left it to his nephew. The town of Yonkers grew up around it, and on May 1, 1868, purchased it for municipal use. The fewest possible alterations were made in it. These are mainly in the north wing, the part added by the second lord of the manor in 1745. On the first floor, the partition between dining-room and kitchen was removed, and the whole space made into a court-room. On the second floor, the space formerly divided into five bedrooms was transformed into a council-chamber, the garret floor overhead being removed. The new city hall of Yonkers leaves the old manor-house less necessary for public purposes. May the old parlors, where the besilked and bepowdered gentry of the province used to dance the minuet before the change of things, not be given over to baser uses than they have already served.

Allusion has been made, in different chapters of this narrative, to the Hessians who daily patrolled the roads in the vicinity of the manor-house. This duty often fell to Pruschank’s yagers, the troop to which belonged Captain Rowe, whose love story is thus told by Bolton: “Captain Rowe appears to have been in the habit of making a daily tour from Kingsbridge, round by Miles Square. He was on his last tour of military duty, having already resigned his commission for the purpose of marrying the accomplished Elizabeth Fowler, of Harlem, when, passing with a company of light dragoons, he was suddenly fired upon by three Americans of the water guard of Captain Pray’s company, who had ambuscaded themselves in the cedars. The captain fell from his 297 horse, mortally wounded. The yagers instantly made prisoners of the undisciplined water guards, and a messenger was immediately despatched to Mrs. Babcock, then living below, in the parsonage, for a vehicle to remove the wounded officer. The use of her gig and horse was soon obtained, and a neighbor, Anthony Archer, pressed to drive. In this they conveyed the dying man to Colonel Van Cortlandt’s. They appear to have taken the route of Tippett’s Valley, as the party stopped at Frederick Post’s to obtain a drink of water. In the meantime an express had been forwarded to Miss Fowler, his affianced bride, to hasten without delay to the side of her dying lover. On her arrival, accompanied by her mother, the expiring soldier had just strength enough left to articulate a few words, when he sank exhausted with the effort.” The room in which he died is in the well-known mansion in Van Cortlandt Park.

The incident of the horse, related in an early chapter, has a likeness to an adventure that befell one Thomas Leggett early in the Revolutionary war. He lived with his father on a farm near Morrisania, then in Westchester County, and was proud in the possession of a fine young mare. A party of British refugees took this animal, with other property. They had gone two miles with it, when, from behind a stone wall which they were passing, two Continental soldiers rose and fired at them. The man with the mare was shot dead. The animal immediately turned round and ran home, followed by the owner, who had dogged her captors at a distance in the hope of recovering her.