--where he was for awhile, in
the fall of 1776, at the time of the battle of White Plains,--his
memorable business trip to New York, and his parole-breaking
continuance there, heralded the end of the old regime in Philipse
Manor Hall. The historians say that at that time of Colonel Philipse's
last stay at the hall, Washington quartered there for awhile, and
occupied the great southwestern chamber. Doubtless Washington did
occupy that chamber once upon a time, but his itinerary and other
circumstances are against its having been immediately before or
immediately after the battle of White Plains. Some of the American
officers were there about the time. As for the colonel's family, it
did not abandon the house until 1777. With the occasions when, during
the first months of Revolutionary activity in the county, use was
sought of the secret closets and the underground passage thoughtfully
provided by the earlier Philipses in days of risk from Indians, fear
of Frenchmen, and dealings with pirates, this history has naught to
do.

In 1777, then, the family took a farewell view of the old house, and
somewhat sadly, more resentfully, wended by familiar landmarks to New
York,--to await there a joyous day of returning, when the King's
regiments should have scattered the rebels and hanged their leaders.
John Williams, steward of the manor, was left to take care of the
house against that day, with one white housemaid, who was of kin to
him, and one black slave, a man. The outside shutters of the first
story, the inside shutters above, were fastened tight; the bolts of
the ponderous mahogany doors were strengthened, the stables and mills
and outbuildings emptied and locked. Much that was precious in the
house went with the family and horses and servants to New York. Yet be
sure that proper means of subsistence for Williams and his two helpers
were duly stowed away, for the faithful steward had to himself the
discharge of that matter.

So wholesale a departure went with much bustle, and it was not till he
returned from seeing the numerous party off, and found himself alone
with the maid and the slave in the great entrance-hall, which a few
minutes before had been noisy with voices, that Williams felt to the
heart the sudden loneliness of the place. The face of Molly, the maid,
was white and ready for weeping, and there was a gravity on the
chocolate visage of black Sam that gave the steward a distinctly
tremulous moment. Perhaps he