The Continental Dragoon Read online

  CHAPTER II.

  THE MANOR-HOUSE.

  The stone mansion before which the travellers stood, awaiting answerto Cuff's loud knock on the heavy mahogany door, had already acquiredantiquity and memories. It was then, as to all south of the porchwhich now sheltered the three visitors, ninety-six years old, and asto the rest of the eastern front thirty-three, so that its newest partwas twice the age of Elizabeth herself.

  Her grandfather's grandfather, the first lord of the manor, builtthe southern portion in 1682, a date not far from that of theerection of his upper house, called Philipse Castle, at what is nowTarrytown,--but whether earlier or later, let the local historiansdispute. This southern portion comprised the entire south front, itslength running east and west, its width going back northward to, butnot including, the large east entrance-hall, into which opened thesouthern door of the east front. The new part, attached to theoriginal house as the upright to the short, broad base of thereversed L, was added by Elizabeth's grandfather, the second lord, in1745. The addition, with the eastern section of the old part, wasthereafter the most used portion, and the south front yielded inimportance to the new east front. The two porched doors in the latterfront matched each other, though the southern one gave entrance to thefine guests in silk and lace, ruffles and furbelows, who came upfrom New York and the other great mansions of the county to gracethe frequent festivities of the Philipses; while the northern one ledto the spacious kitchen where means were used to make the aforesaidguests feel that they had not arrived in vain.

  The original house, rectangular as to its main part, had two gables,and, against its rear or northern length, a pent-roofed wing, andprobably a veranda, the last covering the space later taken by theeast entrance-hall. The main original building, on its first floor,had (and has) a wide entrance-hall in its middle, with one largeparlor on each side. The second floor, reached by staircase from thelower hall, duplicated the first, there being a middle hall and twogreat square chambers. Overhead, there was plentiful further roombeneath the gable roof. Under the western room of the first floorwas the earlier kitchen, which, before 1745, served in relation tothe guests who entered by the southern door exactly as thereafterthe new kitchen served in relation to those entering by the easterndoor,--making them glad they had come, by horse or coach, over thelong, bad, forest-bordered roads. Adjacent to the old kitchen wasabundant cellarage for the stowing of many and diverse covetablethings of the trading first lord's importation.

  The Neperan joined the Hudson in the midst of wilderness, whereIndians and deer abounded, when Vrederyck Flypse caused the old partof the stone mansion to grow out of the green hill slope in 1682. Heplanted a foundation two feet thick and thereupon raised walls whosethickness was twenty inches. He would have a residence wherein hemight defy alike the savage elements, men and beasts. For the frontend of his entrance-hall he imported a massive mahogany door made in1681 in Holland,--a door in two parts, so that the upper half could beopened, while the lower half remained shut. The rear door of that hallwas similarly made. Ponderous were the hinges and bolts, beingordinary blacksmith work. Solid were the panel mouldings. He broughtHolland brick wherewith to trim the openings of doorways and windows.He laid the floor of his aforesaid kitchen with blue stone. Thechimney breasts and hearthstones of his principal rooms were sevenfeet wide.

  Here, in feudal fashion, with many servants and slaves to do hisbidding, and tenants to render him dues, sometimes dwelt VrederyckFlypse, with his second wife, Catherine Van Cortlandt, and thechildren left by his first wife, Margaret Hardenbrock; but sometimessome of the family lived in New York, and sometimes at the upperstone house, "Castle Philipse," by the Pocantico, near Sleepy HollowChurch, of this Flypse's founding. He built mills near both hiscountry-houses, and from the saw-mill near the lower one did theNeperan receive the name of Saw Mill River. He died in 1702, in hisseventy-seventh year, and the bones of him lie in Sleepy HollowChurch.

  But even before the first lord went, did "associations" begin toattach to the old Dutch part of the mansion. Besides the leadingfamilies of the province, the traders,--Dutch and English,--and themen with whom he held counsel upon affairs temporal and spiritual,public and private, terrestrial and marine, he had for guests redIndians, and, there is every reason to believe, gentlemen who sailedthe seas under what particular flag best promoted their immediatepurposes, or under none at all. That old story never _would_ down, tothe effect that the adventurous Kidd levied not on the ships ofVrederyck Flypse. The little landing-place where Neperan joinedHudson, at which the Flypses stepped ashore when they came up from NewYork by sloop instead of by horse, was trodden surely by the feet ofmore than one eminent oceanic exponent of--

  "The good old rule, the simple plan, That they should take who have the power And they should keep who can."

  A great merchant may have more than one way of doing business, and Iwould not undertake to account for every barrel and box that wasunladen at that little landing. Nor would I be surprised to encountersometime, among the ghosts of Philipse Manor Hall, that of theimmortal Kidd himself, seated at dead of night, across the table fromthe first lord of the manor, before a blazing log in the seven-footfireplace, drinking liquor too good for the church-founding lord tohave questioned whence it came; and leaving the next day without anintroduction to the family.

  This 1682 part of the house, in facing south, had the Albany road atits left, the Hudson at its right, and at its front the lane that ranby the Neperan, from the road to the river. Thus was the house forsixty-three years. When the first lord's grandson, Elizabeth'sgrandfather, in 1745 made the addition at the north, what was the eastgable-end of the old house became part of the east front of thecompleted mansion. The east rooms of the old house were thus thesoutheast rooms of the completed mansion, and, being common to bothfronts, gained by the change of relation, becoming the principalparlor and the principal chamber. The east parlor, entered on thewest from the old hall, was entered on the north from the new hall;and the new hall was almost a duplicate of the old, but its ceilingdecorations and the mahogany balustrade of its stairway were the moreelaborate. This stairway, like its fellow in the old hall, ascended,with two turns, to a hall in the second story. Besides the new halls,the addition included, on the first floor, a large dining-room and thegreat kitchen; on the second floor, five sleeping-chambers, and, inthe space beneath the roof-tree, dormitories for servants and slaves.Elizabeth's grandfather gave the house the balustrade that crowns itsroof from its northern to its southern, and thence to its western end.He had the interior elaborately finished. The old part and itsdecorations were Dutch, but now things in the province were growingless Dutch and more English,--like the Philipse name and bloodthemselves,--and so the new embellishments were English. The secondlord imported marble mantels from England, had the walls beautifullywainscoted, adorned the ceilings richly with arabesque work in wood.He laid out, in the best English fashion, a lawn between the easternfront and the Albany post-road. He it was who married Joanna, daughterof Governor Anthony Brockholst, of a very ancient family ofLancashire, England; and who left provision for the founding of St.John's Church, across the Neperan from the manor-house, and for theendowment of the glebe thereof. And in his long time the manor-houseflourished and grew venerable and multiplied its associations. He hadfive children: Frederick (Elizabeth's father), Philip, Susannah, Mary(the beauty, wooed of Washington in 1756, 'tis said, and later wed byCaptain Roger Morris), and Margaret; and, at this manor-house alone,white servants thirty, and black servants twenty; and a numeroustenantry, happy because in many cases the yearly rent was but nominal,being three or four pounds or a pair of hens or a day's work,--for thePhilipses, thanks to trade and to office-holding under the Crown, andto the beneficent rule whereby money multiplies itself, did not haveto squeeze a living out of the tillers of their land. The lord of themanor held court leet and baron at the house of a tenant, andsometimes even inflicted capital punishment.

  In 1751, the second lord followed his grandfather t
o the family vaultin Sleepy Hollow Church. With the accession of Elizabeth's father,then thirty-one years old, began the splendid period of the mansion;then the panorama of which it was both witness and setting wore itsmost diverse colors. The old contest between English and French onthis continent was approaching its glorious climax. Whether they wereFrench emissaries coming down from Quebec, by the Hudson or by horse,or English and colonial officers going up from New York in command oftroops, they must needs stop and pay their respects to the lord of themanor of Philipsburgh, and drink his wine, and eat his venison, andflirt with his stunning sisters. Soldiers would go from New York bythe post-road to Philipsburgh, and then embark at the little landing,to proceed up the Hudson, on the way to be scalped by the red alliesof the French or mowed down by Montcalm's gunners before impregnableTiconderoga. Many were the comings and goings of the scarlet coat andgreen. The Indian, too, was still sufficiently plentiful to contributemuch to the environing picturesqueness. But, most of all, in thosedays, the mansion got its character from the festivities devised byits own inmates for the entertainment of the four hundred of thattime.

  For Elizabeth's mother, of the same given name, was "very fond ofdisplay," and in her day the family "lived showily." Her husband (whowas usually called Colonel Philipse, from his title in the militia,and rarely if ever called lord) had the house refurnished. It was hewho had the princely terraces made on the slope between the mansionand the Hudson, and who had new gardens laid out and adorned with tallavenues of box and rarest fruit-trees and shrubs. Doubtless his deer,in their picketed enclosure, were a sore temptation to the countrymarksmen who passed that way. Lady, or Madam, or Mrs. Philipse, thecolonel's wife, bedazzled the admiring inhabitants of West ChesterCounty in many ways, but there is a difference between authorities asto whether it was she that used to drive four superb black horses overthe bad roads of the county, or whether it was her mother-in-law, thesecond lord's wife. Certainly it was the latter that was killed by afall from a carriage, and certainly both had fine horses andmagnificent coaches, and drove over bad roads,--for all roads were badin those days, even in Europe, save those the Romans left.

  Of all the gay and hospitable occasions that brought, through themansion's wide doors, courtly gentlemen and high-and-mighty ladies,from their coaches, sleighs, horses, or Hudson sloops, perhaps nonesaw more feasting and richer display of ruffles and brocade than didthe wedding of Mary Philipse and Captain Morris, seven years after thedeath of her father, and two after the marriage of her brother. It wason the afternoon of Sunday, Jan. 15, 1758. In the famous east parlor,which has had much mention and will have more in course of thisnarrative, was raised a crimson canopy emblazoned with the Philipsecrest,--a crowned golden demi-lion rampant, upon a golden coronet.Though the weather was not severe, there was snow on the ground, andthe guests began to drive up in sleighs, under the white trees, at twoo'clock. At three arrived the Rev. Henry Barclay, rector of Trinity,New York, and his assistant, Mr. Auchmuty. At half-past three thebeauteous Mary (did so proud a heart-breaker blush, I wonder?) and theBritish captain stood under the crimson canopy and gold, and wereunited, "in the presence of a brilliant assembly," says the old countyhistorian.[1] Miss Barclay, Miss Van Cortlandt, and Miss De Lanceywere the bridesmaids, and the groomsmen were Mr. Heathcote (of thefamily of the lords of the manor of Scarsdale), Captain Kennedy (ofNumber One, Broadway), and Mr. Watts. No need to report here who were"among those present." The wedding did not occur yesterday, and theguests will not be offended at the omission of their names; but one ofthem was Acting Governor De Lancey. Colonel Philipse--wearing theancestral gold chain and jewelled badge of the keepers of the deerforests of Bohemia--gave the bride away, and with her went a goodportion of the earth's surface, and much money, jewelry, and plate.

  After the wedding came the feast, and the guests--or most ofthem--stayed so late they were not sorry for the brilliant moonlightof the night that set in upon their feasting. And now the legend! Inthe midst of the feast, there appeared at the door of the banquet-halla tall Indian, with a scarlet blanket close about him, and in solemntones quoth he, "Your possessions shall pass from you when the eagleshall despoil the lion of his mane." Thereupon he disappeared, ofcourse, as suddenly as he had come, and the way in which historianshave treated this legend shows how little do historians apply to theirwork the experiences of their daily lives,--such an experience, forinstance, as that of ignoring some begging Irishwoman's request for "afew pennies in the Lord's name," and thereupon receiving a volley ofhair-raising curses and baleful predictions. 'Tis easy to believe inthe Indian and the prophecy of a passing of possessions, even thoughit was fulfilled; but the time-clause involving the eagle and the lionwas doubtless added after the bird had despoiled the beast.

  It was years and years afterward, and when and because the eagle haddecided to attempt the said despoiling, that there was a change oftimes at Philipse Manor Hall. Meanwhile had young Frederick, andMaria, and Elizabeth, and their brothers and sisters arrived on thescene. What could one have expected of the ease-loving, beauty-loving,book-loving, luxury-loving, garden-loving, and wide-girthed lord ofthe manor--connected by descent, kinship, and marriage with royaloffice-holding--but Toryism? In fact, nobody did expect else of him,for though he tried in 1775 to conceal his sympathy with the cause ofthe King, the powers in revolt inferred it, and took measures todeter him from actively aiding the British forces. His removal toHartford, his return to the manor-house,--where he was for awhile, inthe fall of 1776, at the time of the battle of White Plains,--hismemorable business trip to New York, and his parole-breakingcontinuance there, heralded the end of the old regime in PhilipseManor Hall. The historians say that at that time of Colonel Philipse'slast stay at the hall, Washington quartered there for awhile, andoccupied the great southwestern chamber. Doubtless Washington didoccupy that chamber once upon a time, but his itinerary and othercircumstances are against its having been immediately before orimmediately after the battle of White Plains. Some of the Americanofficers were there about the time. As for the colonel's family, itdid not abandon the house until 1777. With the occasions when, duringthe first months of Revolutionary activity in the county, use wassought of the secret closets and the underground passage thoughtfullyprovided by the earlier Philipses in days of risk from Indians, fearof Frenchmen, and dealings with pirates, this history has naught todo.

  In 1777, then, the family took a farewell view of the old house, andsomewhat sadly, more resentfully, wended by familiar landmarks to NewYork,--to await there a joyous day of returning, when the King'sregiments should have scattered the rebels and hanged their leaders.John Williams, steward of the manor, was left to take care of thehouse against that day, with one white housemaid, who was of kin tohim, and one black slave, a man. The outside shutters of the firststory, the inside shutters above, were fastened tight; the bolts ofthe ponderous mahogany doors were strengthened, the stables and millsand outbuildings emptied and locked. Much that was precious in thehouse went with the family and horses and servants to New York. Yet besure that proper means of subsistence for Williams and his two helperswere duly stowed away, for the faithful steward had to himself thedischarge of that matter.

  So wholesale a departure went with much bustle, and it was not till hereturned from seeing the numerous party off, and found himself alonewith the maid and the slave in the great entrance-hall, which a fewminutes before had been noisy with voices, that Williams felt to theheart the sudden loneliness of the place. The face of Molly, the maid,was white and ready for weeping, and there was a gravity on thechocolate visage of black Sam that gave the steward a distinctlytremulous moment. Perhaps he recalled the prediction of the Indian,and had a flash of second sight, and perceived that the third lord ofthe manor was to be the last. Howbeit, he cleared his throat and setblack Sam to laying in fire-wood as for a siege, and Molly to rightingthe disorder caused by the exodus; betook himself cellarward, and froma hidden place drew forth a bottle of an old vintage, and comfortedhis solitude. He was a snug, hones
t, discreet man of forty, was thesteward, slim but powerful, looking his office, besides knowing andfulfilling it.

  But, as the months passed, he became used to the solitude, and theroutine of life in the closed-up, memory-haunted old house took on acertain charm. The living was snug enough in what parts of the mansionthe steward and his two servitors put to their own daily use. As forthe other parts, the great dark rooms and entrance-halls, we may besure that when the steward went the rounds, and especially after avisit to the wine-cellar, he found them not so empty, but peopled withthe vague and shifting images of the many beings, young and old, whohad filled the house with life in brighter days. Then, if ever, didnoise of creaking stair or sound as of human breath, or, perchance,momentary vision of flitting face against the dark, betray the presentghost of some old-time habitue of the mansion.

  When the raiding and foraging and marauding began in the county, themanor-house was not molested. The partisan warfare had not yet reachedits magnitude. After the battle of White Plains in 1776, the Britishhad retained New York City, while the main American army, leaving asmall force above, had gone to New Jersey. Late in 1777, the Britishmain army, leaving New York garrisoned, had departed to contest withthe Americans for Philadelphia. Not until July, 1778, after Monmouthbattle, did the British main army return to New York, and the Americanforces form the great arc, with their chief camp in upper West ChesterCounty. Then was great increase of foray and pillage. The manor-housewas of course exempt from harm at the hands of King's troops and Toryraiders, while it was protected from American regulars by Washington'spolicy against useless destruction, and from the marauding "Skinners"by its nearness to the British lines and by the solidity of its walls,doors, and shutters. Its gardens suffered, its picket fences and gatefastenings were tampered with, its orchards prematurely plucked. Butits trees were spared by the British foragers, and the house itselfwas no longer in demand as officers' quarters, being too near King'sBridge for safe American occupancy, but not sufficiently near forBritish. Hessians and Tories, though, patrolled the near-by roads, andsometimes Continental troops camped in the neighboring hills. In 1778,the American Colonel Gist, whose corps was then at the foot of BoarHill, north of the manor-house, was paying his court to the handsomewidow Babcock, in the parsonage, when he was surprised by a force ofyagers, rangers, and Loyalist light horse, and got away in the nick oftime.[2] The parsonage, unlike the manor-house, was often visited byofficers on their way hither and thither, but I will not say it wasfor this reason that Miss Sally Williams, the sister of ColonelPhilipse's wife, preferred living in the parsonage with the Babcocksrather than in the great deserted mansion.

  On a dark November afternoon, Williams had sent black Sam to theorchard for some winter apples, and the slave, after the fashion ofhis race, was taking his time over the errand. The shades of eveninggathered while the steward was making his usual rounds within themansion. Molly, whose housewifely instincts ever asserted themselves,had of her own accord made a dusting tour of the rooms and halls. Shewas on the first landing of the stairway in the east hall, just aboutto finish her task in the waning light admitted by the window over thelanding and by the fanlight over the front door, when, as she appliedher cloth to the mahogany balustrade, the door of the east parloropened, and Williams came out of that dark apartment.

  "Lord, Molly!" he said, a moment later, having started at suddenlybeholding her. "I thought you were a ghost! It's time to get supper, Ithink, from the look of the day outside. I'll have to make a light."

  From a closet in the side of the staircase he took a candle, flint,and tinder, talking the while to Molly, as she rubbed the balusters.Having produced a tiny candle-flame that did not light up half thehall, Williams started towards the dining-room, but stopped at adistant sound of galloping horses, which were evidently coming downthe Albany road. The steward and the maid exchanged conjectures as towhether this meant a British patrol or "Rebel" dragoons, "Skinners" orHessian yagers, Highlanders, or Loyalist light horse; and thenobserved from the sound that the horses had turned aside into the MileSquare road.

  But now came a new sound of horses, and though it was of only a few,and those walking, it gave Williams quite a start, for the footfallswere manifestly approaching the mansion. They as manifestly stoppedbefore that very hill. And then came a sharp knock on the mahoganydoor.

  "See who it is," whispered Molly.

  Williams hesitated. The knock was repeated.

  "Who's there?" called out Williams.

  There was an answer, but the words could not be made out.

  "Who?" repeated Williams.

  This time the answer was clear enough.

  "It's I, Williams! Don't keep me standing here in the wind allnight."

  "It's Miss Elizabeth!" cried Molly; and Williams, in a kind of daze ofastonishment, hastily unlocked, unbolted, and threw open the door.