mains of the redoubt across the river, the site of Fort Clinton, the chain, and Kosciuszko's monument, and, in the distance, Fort Hill, in the neighborhood of Ardenia and the Robinson House.
From Constitution Island we proceeded along under the high cliffs of West Point to Buttermilk Falls. There was a strong breeze from the south that tossed our little craft about like an egg-shell, and my cloak was well moistened with the spray before reaching the landing. There, in a little cottage, overhung by a huge cliff that seemed ready to tumble down, lived-a boatman, named Havens, seventy-nine years old. For more than fifty years himself and wife have lived there under the rocks and within the chorus of the cascades. He was too young to remember the stirring scenes of the Revolution, but immediate subsequent events were fresh in his recollection. He was engaged in removing powder from Fort Clinton, at West Point, when the Clermont, Fulton's experiment boat, with its bare paddles, went up the river, exciting the greatest wonder in its course.
After I had passed a half hour pleasantly with this good old couple, the veteran prepared his little boat and rowed me across to "Beverly Dock" (the place from whence Arnold escaped in his barge to the Vulture), where he agreed to await my return from a visit to the Robinson House, three quarters of a mile distant. The path lay along the border of a marsh and up a steep hill, the route which tradition avers Arnold took in his flight. Two of the old willow trees, called "Arnold's willows," were yet standing on the edge of the morass, riven and half decayed.
The Robinson House, formerly owned by Colonel Beverly Robinson, is situated upon a fertile plateau at the foot of Sugar Loaf