intentions, and was not disturbed in his home. Washington knew him personally, and had confidence in his integrity; and he made this house his head-quarters in the stirring days after the battle of Long Island, while preparing to withdraw his feeble army from New York. It was under this roof that the secret expedition of Nathan Hale into the enemy's camp, for trustworthy information, was cautiously planned late on Saturday night, the 14th of that memorable September. During the afternoon news had come that large numbers of the British soldiery were quartered on the islands near the mouth of the Harlem River, and Washington, already in his saddle, galloped in hot haste to Harlem Heights to inspect the situation, for that was the contemplated halting-ground of his retiring forces. He well knew how simple and easy a thing it would be for the enemy to cut off this avenue of escape—and there was no other. Four British men-of-war had anchored in the East River, nearly opposite Apthorpe's, the day before. With what keen anxiety the Hudson was watched for a similar occupation we can well imagine. The fate of America hung by so slender a thread at that crisis that it might have been snapped at a score of points. The British commanders were slow and unspeakably obtuse not to have discovered their opportunity. Had they possessed but a fraction of the force and far-sightedness of Washington, they would have captured the whole American army with one stroke, and there would have been no Union to have raised up in the nineteenth century another great military giant in General Grant.

A few brief passages in connection with the retreat of the American. army on this occasion will illustrate the foregoing statement. It was obvious that the city was untenable. The British thus far had abstained from firing upon it, because they wished to seize, not destroy, the richest town in America. Then came the inevitable diversity of opinion among the American officers and the men who represented the new government. "There is no object to be gained by holding New York," said one; "burn it and its suburbs and go to the mountains," said another; while Generals Heath, Spencer, and George Clinton, with unflinching nerve, voted every time to hold the point it had cost so much to fortify at all hazards. At a final council of war, on the 12th of September, after Congress had signified its willingness to leave the vexed question to the discretion of Washington, ten generals voted to evacuate, and the three above-named to defend. Then came the hurried preparations of the following two days. Both soldiers and citizens worked day and night as men can only work in the presence of a rapidly approaching calamity. The British were changing position on Long Island, and their guns could be heard. Carts were laden

with military stores and driven on a run to the small boats, which, with the important freight, crept along the shore to Kingsbridge; or the carts were dragged, when horses could be procured, by land over the winding thirteenmile-long road to the same point. Forts were dismantled, bells removed from the churches and secreted, brass knockers stored away in safe places, and families who were to leave with the troops packed their effects as far as practicable, and buried their silver and valuables deep in the earth. The Beekmans, whose handsome home on the East River subsequently became the head-quarters of the British commander, buried a large quantity of choice silver and some very rare porcelain in their grounds, which were exhumed in good order after peace was restored eight years later, and are still in possession of their descendants. The removal of the sick and wounded soldiers, numbering several thousand, consumed much time, and in every direction the most exasperating delays occurred from the scarcity of proper conveyances. Yet the varied work was conducted with consummate method, and men unschooled in war exhibited the self-control of veterans. In the early dawn of Sunday morning, the 15th, three British men-of-war spread their wings triumphantly in the waters of the Hudson. Of course there was no more transportation of stores and equipments by water. An hour or two later five men-of-war were seen passing up the East River. They anchored in Kip's Bay, near Thirty-fourth Street, and commenced an incessant cannonading to "scour the ground" for the landing of their troops. The principal division of the American army under Putnam was ordered to retreat at once from the lower town, while several detachments were employed to delay the landing of the enemy until this was accomplished. That Washington should have been in a frenzy of excitement when he found the red-coated foe driving in his handful of troops before it at Kip's Bay is a matter of little wonder. But he did not throw his hat on the ground or lose his head, as some of our early writers would have us believe. He ordered the retreat to be continued, and spurred away to provide for the safety of Harlem Heights, as the enemy might land in that vicinity also. The day was excessively hot, the roads were darkened by clouds of dust, the soldiers were all on footonly officers were mounted-and the overcrowded wagons were insufficient in numbers for the families and their baggage. Much of the provision and all the heavy guns were left behind, and the smaller cannon were dragged chiefly by hand. The column was two miles long, and comprised about three thousand five hundred persons, none of whom had breakfasted, or had any sleep for twenty-four hours. About thirty minutes after it passed out of sight on the Broadway road, above what is now the Astor House,

Silliman and Knox, who had been left to guard the city until the other troops could be withdrawn, were ordered to follow with their commands, and at Bayard's Hill, just above Canal street, saw the British land at Kip's Bay. The effort to escape without a collision seemed absolutely hopeless. The column worked its weary way to the westward, through cross-roads and in the woods, until it reached the old Bloomingdale highway, thence onward, and toward sunset passed the Hoagland house, and down the lane

to the Kingsbridge road. At this point it was attacked by a detachment of British soldiers, who were beaten off by Silliman with his three hundred guards. It soon began to rain, and a cold wind came up. At a late hour of the night the tired marchers made their beds upon the wet ground of Harlem Heights, drenched, and chilled to the bone. Washington had remained at the Apthorpe mansion until the column safely passed it, and then rode to the Roger Morris house, now known as the Jumel mansion, three miles above. The British generals, in the gayest humor, about an hour later rode leisurely up to the Apthorpe mansion, and were courteously received

by the affable and genial host, and consigned to the same apartments which Washington and his staff had just vacated. Their well-disciplined warriors encamped that night in the fields to the north, even to the very brow of the heights overlooking the hollow at Manhattanville. The next morning the rattle of musketry and the roar and smoke of guns in this vicinity told the story of an open-field conflict, in which the flower of the British soldiery "broke and ran," chased by the Americans "for nearly two miles." It was the first victory of the patriots, and it exerted a wider influence over subsequent events than any other one battle of the Revolution. At evening of that same day, September 16, the two belligerent armies occupied the same relative positions as before the battle, the British on Bloomingdale Heights and the Americans on Harlem Heights, their pickets almost within speaking distance of each other across the Manhattanville Valley. And thus they remained for upwards of three weeks.

Both the General and Lord Howe, and their brilliant corps of noblemen officers, among whom was Lord Cornwallis, also Lord Percy, afterwards Duke of Northumberland, took many an observation of the site of the American encampment on the other heights, from the beautiful bluff where General Grant has been so tenderly buried. General Howe wrote to the ministry of England, "the enemy is too strongly posted to be attacked in front, and innumerable difficulties are in the way of turning him upon either side." Meantime the Americans converted Fort Washington into. a fortress of considerable strength; and two hundred men were vigorously employed at night in loading vessels with stone, in pursuance of General Putnam's ingenious design, and sinking them in the channel opposite One Hundred and Eighty-third Street, to obstruct the passage of British ships up the Hudson, but all in vain. Both armies looked covetously for two consecutive weeks down upon Harlem Flats, where hay and grain in large quantities lay unmolested. Finally, Washington sent several hundred men with wagons to garner it in; a covering party approached the British, who manned their lines in anticipation of an attack. The two hostile forces stood and blinked at each other, but neither fired a shot. The expert Americans meanwhile accomplished their harvesting, and both parties retired laughing within their lines.

Thirteen years later, when the seat of the national government was in New York, and Washington the first President of the young Republic, one of his most favorite drives, of which frequent mention is made in his notebook, was "the fourteen miles round," the route being over the old Bloomingdale road to this high bluff, thence across to the Kingsbridge and Old Boston roads in returning. Nearly every pleasant day the President's

chariot and six horses (attended by two secretaries on horseback) were on this drive, as also many other imposing equipages, it being the fashionable drive of the New Yorkers for many decades. During the controversy in Congress over the site of the permanent seat of government, Washington was incessantly active and observant. These heights on the Hudson, Westchester, and portions of Long Island, were from time to time suggested as suitable localities for the proposed district. On one occasion, while that question was still pending, a pleasure party was inaugurated to drive to Bloomingdale and Harlem Heights ostensibly to visit the battlefields, but chiefly to discuss the fine views from the picturesque elevations. The party consisted of President Washington and the gentlemen of his family, Mrs. Washington, Mrs. Lear, the children, Vice-President and Mrs. John Adams, Secretary of State Thomas Jefferson, Secretary of the Treasury and Mrs. Alexander Hamilton, and Secretary of War and Mrs. Knox.

Doctor Hugh Williamson, member of Congress from North Carolina, and one of the Framers of the Constitution, who married in the winter of 1789 a daughter of Mr. Apthorpe, now resided with his wife's family in the Apthorpe mansion, and drove into town to attend Congress every morning. The distinguished Judge Iredell often returned with him in the afternoon to discuss politics and the climate of America, the learned doctor being then engaged in the preparation of his celebrated octavo volume on the subject. *

The property embracing the plateau where the tomb is located was purchased by Doctor Post in the beginning of this century, who built for a private summer residence the historic edifice now used as a restaurant, and named it "Claremont." From the mansion the whole promontory came to be known as "Claremont Hill." A drive-way on the line of Washington's old bridle-path, with trees on each side, connected it with the Bloomingdale road, a few rods distant. This house has been an object of romantic interest for nearly fourscore years. Viscount Courtenay, afterwards Earl of Devon, lived in it for some time soon after the beginning of the century. He is supposed to have left England on account of political troubles. He was a handsome bachelor, with fortune, title, and reputation, and created a sensation in the social circles of New York whenever he made his appearance. He was greatly disturbed with the events preceding

*One of Mr. Apthorpe's daughters married Mr. Vandenheuvel, who at that time lived in a beautiful country seat on the bank of the Hudson at Seventy-ninth Street. Their daughter married John C. Hamilton, the son of Alexander Hamilton. Many of the lots at Bloomingdale which belonged to the Apthorpe estate are now owned by the Hamilton family.