WALKS IN THE WOODS 



1067 



TULIPS AND SYCAMORES BESIDE THE AQUEDUCT 



generation. Just before we reach Dobbs Ferry where 

 Richard Harding Davis' hero "Captain MackHn" lived, 

 and where is the tree-em- 

 bowered home of the late 

 Robert Ingersoll, we come 

 upon one of the many 

 "Washington's Headquar- 

 ters" in this locality. This 

 beautiful old manse here in 

 the edge of Dobbs Ferry 

 attracts us at once because 

 of the fine spreading Eng- 

 lish walnuts, monarch 

 horsechestnuts and big elms 

 shading the lawn and flow- 

 er garden. Comfortably 

 dozing away the years it 

 sits beside Broadway 

 brooding over the Tappan 

 Zee glistening in the spring 

 sunshine to the west. Mr. 



Messmore Kendall in recent years purchased this one- 

 time home of Peter Van Brugh Livingstone, of a famous 

 colonial family, and restored it as a patriotic duty and 

 as a home for himself. Here Washington planned the 

 Yorktown campaign. Some of the walnut trees were 

 planted, it is said, by Washington while he used this 

 house as headquarters. One of the walnuts is directly 

 in front of the house, shading Broadway; one at the 

 south entrance to the grounds, and two back of the house 

 near the Aqueduct and the little buildings that were the 

 slave quarters. There are Norway spruces, black cherry, 

 oak, — and an ancient wisteria clambers over the porches 

 about the doors and windows, with their beautifully hand- 

 forged iron hinges and fixtures. One wonders at the 

 craftsmanship of the blacksmiths and locksmiths who 

 forged the doorlatches and locks of these old homes. 

 What has become of the craft? Rest assured that the 

 character hammered out on their anvils has come down 

 the centuries making safe the government they helped to 

 establish. Just beyond Dobbs Ferry where stood the 



Indian village of Weckquaskeck at the mouth of the 

 rivulet called Wyaquaqua, the Aqueduct embankment, 

 winding regardless of village topography, crosses a deep 

 ravine wherein is a happy little brook laughing down from 

 the ridge of hills to the east, tinkling its way through the 

 park of the country home of Edwin Gould. The big 

 house sits on the bank above the river to the west of the 

 Aqueduct, and its winding drive from Broadway fol- 

 lows the north edge of the dell. The ravine itself is a 

 bit of natural woodland in the heart of extensive park- 

 age. It is locally historic, for from the point where the 

 brook slips into the shining Hudson not far from where 

 the shell heaps of the aboriginal village of Weckquas- 

 keck, up through the heavily forested gully, used to 

 wind the trail of the Mohican Indians who passed this 

 way from their canoe landing on their return from the 

 summer hunting grounds up-State to their winter vil- 

 lage in the Nepperhan Valley. 



As we look down into the ravine through the tops of 

 giant old tulips and white, ivory sycamores, we can pic- 

 ture the dusky tribesmen 

 pausing beside a great 

 bowlder dropped from the 

 bottom of some grinding 

 glacier. We see the shad- 

 owy warriors lounging 

 about, smoking their long 

 pipes while the black-eyed, 

 red-bronze cheeked squaws 

 made a fire with sticks and 

 expose to the heat such 

 trout and salmon as these 

 enthralled brooks have not 

 known for nearly three 

 centuries. 



There is a picturesque 

 mystery about these bits of 

 forest hidden among mil- 

 lionaire estates on the Hud- 

 son, that reminds us of the legends of Sleepy Hollow, and 

 those older and more intimate tales told by imaginative 



"LOCUSTWOOD," AT HASTINGS-ON-HUDSON 



A BOULDER DROPPED FROM THE BOTTOM OF SOME GLACIER. 

 IN RAVINE ON EDWIN GOULDS ESTATE 



