The landing-place on the Stony Point side, in former times, was in the cove at the opening of the marsh, on the north of the promontory; now the western terminus of the ferry is a little above, at the cottage of Mr Tenyck, the jolly old ferryman, who has plied the oar there, almost without intermission, ever since 1784. He was sitting upon his door-stone when his son moored the boat at its rock-fastening; and, as we ascended the bank, the old man held up a bottle of whisky, and proffered a draught as a pledge of welcome to the "millionth man" that had crossed his ferry. Preferring milk to whisky, I sat down under the rich-leaved branches of a maple, and regaled myself with that healthful beverage. While the veteran and two of his neighbors were enjoying the aqua vitæ.
I sketched the old King's Ferry sign-board, with its device, which was nailed to a sapling near, and then, accompanied by the old man and his companions, started for a ramble over the rough site of the fort on Stony Point. Upon its ancient mounds I sat and listened for an hour to the adventurous tales of the octogenarian, until the long shadows of the mountains warned me that the day was fast waning, when I hastened to make the drawings upon pages 744 and 746. At sunset, accompanied by one of the men as bearer of my light baggage, I started on foot for the neighborhood of Haverstraw. The road passes through a truly romantic region, made so by nature, history, and tradition. I stopped often to view the beautiful river prospect on the southeast, while the outlines of the distant shores were imperceptibly fading as the twilight came on. At dusk we passed an acre of ground, lying by the roadside on the right, which was given
"God's Acre."—Benson's Tavern.—Interview with a Builder of Stony Point Fort.—View from Smith's House
many years ago for a neighborhood burial-place. Its numerous white slabs proclaimed an already populous city of the dead, and ere long another generous hand should donate an acre near for the same purpose.