Of this class of freebooters Irving writes: "In a little while the debatable ground became infested by roving bands, claiming from either side, and all pretending to redress wrongs and punish political offenses; but all prone, in the exercise of their high functions, to sack hen roosts, drive off cattle and lay farm houses under contributions; such was the origin of two great orders of border chivalry, the Skinners and the Cowboys, famous in Revolutionary story. The former fought, or rather marauded, under the American, the latter under the British banner. In the zeal of service, both were apt to make blunders, and confound the property of friend and foe. Neither of them in the heat and hurry of a foray had time to ascertain the politics of a horse or cow which they were driving off into captivity; nor when they wrung the neck of a rooster did they trouble their heads whether he crowed for Congress or King George."
Some thirty-five years ago certain esthetic inhabitants of Dobbs Ferry, having long desired to change its name, finally succeeded in arousing enough interest to warrant the calling of a public meeting for the purpose of discussing the question. The general sentiment was that the new name should have a patriotic tinge. The names of Paulding and Van Wart were favorites, with a strong leaning toward the former. Finally one well-meaning but rather obtuse gentleman arose and said that he knew both of these men; that he did not approve of Paulding; that Van Wart was just as prominent in the André capture, and besides was a Christian gentleman, and he proposed that the Van be dropped, and the town christened Wart-on-the-Hudson. The proposal appears to have been made in all seriousness, but the ridiculousness of the situation killed the scheme, and that common piece of clay, Dobbs, still reigns supreme.
The fine roads and the rush of a vanishing automobile remind one by the very contrast of the days when the Post Road was a main artery of travel.
Here is a description of the delights of a stage coach journey:
"A stage journey from one part of the country to another was as comfortless as could well be imagined. The coach was without springs, and the seats were hard and often backless. The horses were jaded and worn, and the roads were rough with boulders and stumps of trees, or furrowed with ruts and quagmires. The journey was usually begun at 3 o'clock in the morning, and after eighteen hours of jogging over the rough roads the weary traveler was put down at a country inn whose bed and board were such as few horny-handed laborers of to-day would endure. Long before daybreak the next morning a blast from the driver's horn summoned him to the renewal of his journey. If the coach stuck fast in a mire, as it often did, the passengers must alight and help lift it out." No wonder a man made his will and had prayers offered in church for his safe return before he ventured forth. But even such a conveyance was a luxury. As a rule people traveled on foot, carrying their packs on their backs. The well-to-do rode on horseback, and in some places post chaises with relays of horses every ten or twenty miles could be obtained. What would the ghosts of such travelers say to-day, should they stumble on a Pullman car or a dust-compelling devil wagon? Our very expressions of speech are modeled on the common, every-day things of life. Fifty or a hundred years ago the man who was a "slow coach" to-day would be "geared low."
COL. JOHN ODELL.
At least two of the many interesting buildings hereabouts are worth noting. Standing back from the road a quarter of a mile or so, and within the compass of the Ardsley Club grounds, is a plain little cottage whose clapboards show no mark of the planing mill. Here once lived the redoubtable Col. John Odell, whose father, Jonathan, languished in a British prison in New York because his son was fighting under the flag of freedom. At the time of his capture Jonathan Odell was living on the Odell Estate, which was later sold to a son of Alexander Hamilton. It is told that the Hessians hanged a negro slave of Odell's three separate times in an effort to make him disclose the hiding place of certain hogs with which the said Hessians were anxious to fraternise.
CYRUS W. FIELD.
A step further on stands the former residence of Cyrus W. Field, whose place, known as Ardsley, at one time covered some five hundred or more acres extending from the Post Road over the ridge to the Sawmill River. The house was built in the day of the mansard roof, and is not a particularly picturesque creation, but every American is interested in the man who succeeded in linking his country with the outside world as did Cyrus W. Field.
SUNNYSIDE.