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|A memoir of the long and eventful life of Mrs. Beekman, describing
scenes in which those connected with her were prominent actors,
would form a valuable contribution to American history. But it is not
possible, at this distant day, without the materials afforded by letters
or contemporaneous details, to give an adequate idea of the influence
she exercised. There are many who retain a deep impression of her
talents and noble qualities; but no record has preserved the memory
of what she did for America, and her character can be but imperfectly
illustrated by the anecdotes remembered by those who knew her most
intimately. The active part she sustained in the contest, her trials and
the spirit exhibited under them, her claims for substantial service to
the gratitude of her country, and a name in its annals, cannot now
be appreciated as they deserve. But it may be seen that hers was no
ordinary character, that she was a true patriot, and that her part must
have been a very important one in directing the judgment and movements
of others.
Her family was one of distinction, from which numerous branches have
proceeded. The ancestor, Oloff Stevenson Van Cortlandt, died in this
country about 1683, leaving seven children; and in 1685, his eldest
son obtained from Governor Dongan a patent for large tracts of land
purchased from the Indians, in Westchester, Putnam, and Dutchess
Counties. For many years preceding the Revolution, the family resided in
the Cortlandt manor house, an old-fashioned stone mansion situated upon
the banks of the Croton River. It was here that Cornelia, the second
daughter of Pierre Van Cortlandt and Joanna Livingston, was born, in
1752. Her father, who was Lieutenant Governor of the State of New York,
under George Clinton, from 1777 to 1795, was distinguished for his
zealous maintenance of American rights. From him she imbibed the
principles to which, in after life, she was so ardently devoted.
The childhood and youth of Cornelia passed in peace and happiness in her
pleasant home. On her marriage, about the age of seventeen, with Gerard
G. Beekman, she removed to the city of New York, where her residence was
in the street which bears her name. Her husband was in mind, education,
and character, worthy of her choice. Not many years of her married life
had passed, when the storm of war burst upon the land, and, taught to
share in aspirations for freedom, she entered into the feelings of the
people with all the warmth of her generous nature. She often spoke with
enthusiasm of an imposing ceremonial procession she witnessed, of the
mechanics of the city, who brought their tools and deposited them in
a large coffin made for the purpose--marched to the solemn music of a
funeral dirge, and buried the coffin in Potter's Field; returning to
present themselves, each with musket in hand, in readiness for military
service.
Finding a residence in New York not agreeable in the state of popular
excitement, she returned with her husband and family to the home of her
childhood at Croton, till the Peekskill Manor House could be completed.
This was a large brick building situated on a flat about two miles north
of Peek-skill, at the foot of Regular Hill, the place of encampment for
the American army. The top of Anthony's Nose can be seen from its rear.
Here she resided during the war, marked out as an object of aggression
and insult by the royalists, on account of the part taken by her
relatives and friends, and her own ardent attachment to the American
cause. At intervals of the struggle, when portions of the British army
were ranging through Westchester, she was particularly exposed to their
injuries. But her high spirit and strong will contributed to her safety,
and supported her through many scenes of trial. Only once was she
prevailed upon to leave her residence, being persuaded by her brother,
Colonel Philip Van Cortlandt, to retire with her family some miles
back in the country for safety from a scouting party on their way from
Verplanck's Point. She yielded to the counsel, contrary to her own
judgment and wishes; and after being absent a day and night, not hearing
of any depredations committed, returned to the manor house. She found
it a scene of desolation! Not an article of furniture was left, except
a bedstead; a single glass bottle was the only drinking utensil; and one
ham was all that remained of the provisions, having, by good fortune,
been hung in an obscure part of the cellar. This disaster, and the
inconveniences to which she was obliged to submit in consequence, were
borne with fortitude, and even formed subject of merriment. Soon
after, she was called upon by two of the American officers--Putnam and
Webb--who asked how she had fared, not supposing she had been visited
with annoyance, and were much surprised at her description of the
state of the house on her return. The General promised, if she would be
satisfied with army conveniences, to send her the next day a complete
outfit to recommence housekeeping. On the morrow a horseman arrived,
carrying a bag on either side, filled with all kinds of woodenware--a
welcome and useful present--for such things were not at that time easy
to be obtained. Some of these articles were still in the house at the
time of Mrs. Beekman's decease.
The leading officers of the American army were often received and
entertained at her hospitable mansion. General Patterson was at one time
quartered there; and the room is still called "Washington's," in which
that beloved Chief was accustomed to repose. He visited her frequently,
their acquaintance being of long standing, and while his troops were
stationed in the neighborhood, made her house his quarters. The chairs
used by his aids as beds are still in the possession of her descendants.
Her hospitality was not limited to persons of distinction; she was at
all times ready to aid the distressed, and administer to the necessities
of those who needed attention. Nor were her acts of humanity and
benevolence confined to such as were friendly to the cause in which her
warmest feelings were enlisted, many in the enemy's ranks experiencing
her kindness, and that in return for grievance and outrage. Of this she
had more than her share--and sometimes the most daring robberies were
committed before her eyes. On one occasion the favorite saddle-horse
which she always rode, was driven off with the others by marauders. The
next day Colonel Bayard, mounted upon the prize, stopping at the gate,
Mr. Beekman claimed the animal as belonging to his wife, and demanded
that it should be restored. The insolent reply was, that he must
hereafter look upon his property as British artillery horses; and the
officer added, as he rode away, "I am going now to burn down your rebel
father's paper mill!"
At another time, in broad day, and in sight of the family, a horse
was brought up with baskets fastened on either side, and a deliberate
ransacking of the poultry yard commenced. The baskets were presently
filled with the fowls, and the turkey-gobbler, a noisy patriarch, was
placed astride the horse, the bridle being thrown over his head. His
uneasiness when the whip was used, testified by clamorous complaints,
made the whole scene so amusing that the depredators were allowed to
depart without a word of remonstrance. One day when the British were
in the neighborhood, a soldier entered the house, and walked
unceremoniously towards the closet. Mrs. Beekman asked what he wanted;
"Some brandy;" was his reply. When she reproved him for the intrusion,
he presented his bayonet at her breast, and calling her a rebel, with
many harsh epithets, swore he would kill her on the spot. Though alone
in the house, except an old black servant, she felt no alarm at the
threats of the cowardly assailant; but told him she would call her
husband, and send information to his officer of his conduct. Her
resolution triumphed over his audacity; for seeing that she showed no
fear, he was not long in obeying her command to leave the house. Upon
another occasion she was writing a letter to her father, when, looking
out, she saw the enemy approaching. There was only time to secrete the
paper behind the frame-work of the mantel-piece; where it was discovered
when the house was repaired after the war.
The story of Mrs. Beekman's contemptuous repulse of the enemy under
Bayard and Fanning is related by herself, in a letter written in 1777. A
party of royalists, commanded by those two colonels, paid a visit to
her house, demeaning themselves with the arrogance and insolence she was
accustomed to witness. One of them insultingly said to her: "Are you not
the daughter of that old rebel, Pierre Van Cortlandt?" She replied with
dignity: "I am the daughter of Pierre Van Cortlandt--but it becomes not
such as you to call my father a rebel!" The tory raised his musket, when
she, with perfect calmness, reproved him for his insolence and bade him
begone. He finally turned away abashed.
The persecutors of Mrs. Beekman were sometimes disappointed in their
plundering expeditions. One day the miller came to her with the news
that the enemy had been taking a dozen barrels of flour from the mill.
"But when they arrive at the Point," he added, "they will find their
cakes not quite so good as they expect; as they have taken the lime
provided for finishing the walls, and left us the flour." Often,
however, the depredators left nothing for those who came after them.
One morning a captain serving in the British army rode up to the house,
and asked for Mrs. Beekman. When she appeared, he told her he was much
in want of something to eat. She left the room, and soon returning,
brought a loaf of bread and a knife. This, she assured him, was all she
had in the house, the soldiers of his army having taken away every thing
else. "But I will divide this," she said: "you shall have one-half, and
I will keep the other for my family." This magnanimity so struck the
officer, that he thanked her cordially, and requested her to let him
know if in future any of his men ventured to annoy her, promising that
the offence should not be repeated. It is not known that this promise
was of any avail.
In one instance the firmness and prudence displayed by Mrs. Beekman were
of essential service. John Webb, familiarly known as "Lieutenant
Jack," who occasionally served as an acting aid in the staff of
the Commander-in-chief, was much at her house, as well as the other
officers, during the operations of the army on the banks of the Hudson.
On one occasion, passing through Peekskill, he rode up and requested her
to oblige him by taking charge of his valise, which contained his new
suit of uniform and a quantity of gold. He added, "I will send for it
whenever I want it; but do not deliver it without a written order from
me or brother Sam." He threw in the valise at the door, from his horse,
and rode on to the tavern at Peekskill, where he stopped to dine.
A fortnight or so after his departure, Mrs. Beekman saw an
acquaintance--Smith--whose fidelity to the whig cause had been
suspected, ride rapidly up to the house. She heard him ask her husband
for "Lieutenant Jack's" valise, which he directed a servant to bring
and hand to Smith. Mrs. Beekman called out to ask if the messenger had a
written order from either of the brothers. Smith replied that he had
no written order, the officer having had no time to write one; but
added--"You know me very well, Mrs. Beekman; and when I assure you that
Lieutenant Jack sent me for the valise, you will not refuse to deliver
it to me, as he is greatly in want of his uniform." Mrs. Beekman often
said she had an instinctive antipathy to Smith, and, by an intuition for
which it is difficult to account, felt convinced that he had not been
authorized to call for the article she had in trust. She answered--"I do
know you very well--too well to give you up the valise without a written
order from the owner or the colonel." Smith was angry at her doubts, and
appealed to her husband, urging that the fact of his knowing the valise
was there, and that it contained Lieutenant Jack's uniform, should be
sufficient evidence that he came by authority; but his representations
had no effect upon her resolution. Although even her husband was
displeased at this treatment of the messenger, she remained firm in her
denial, and the disappointed horseman rode away as rapidly as he came.
The result proved that he had no authority to make the application; and
it was subsequently ascertained that at the very time of this attempt
Major André was in Smith's house. How he knew that the uniform had been
left at Mrs. Beek-man's was a matter of uncertainty; but another account
of the incident--given by the accomplished lady who furnished these
anecdotes of Mrs. Beek-man--states that Lieutenant Webb, dining at the
tavern the same day, had mentioned that she had taken charge of his
valise, and what were its contents. He thanked Mrs. Beekman, on his
return, for the prudence that had saved his property, and had also
prevented an occurrence which might have caused a train of disasters.
He and Major André were of the same stature and form; "and beyond all
doubt," says one who heard the particulars from the parties interested,
"had Smith obtained possession of the uniform, André would have made his
escape through the American lines." The experience that teaches in
every page of the world's history what vast results depend on things
apparently trivial, favors the supposition, in dwelling on this simple
incident, that under the Providence that disposes all human events, the
fate of a nation may here have been suspended upon a woman's judgment.
Many of Mrs. Beekman's letters written during the war breathe the most
ardent spirit of patriotism. The wrongs she was compelled to suffer in
person, and the aggressions she witnessed on every side, roused her
just indignation; and her feelings were expressed in severe reproaches
against the enemy, and in frequent prayers for the success of the
American arms. But although surrounded by peril and disaster, she would
not consent to leave her home; her zeal for the honor of her family
and her country inspiring her with a courage that never faltered, and
causing her to disregard the evils she had so continually to bear.
Years rolled on, and peace came at last to smile upon those who had shed
their blood, or sacrificed their possessions for the achievement of
national independence. The lands in the manor of Philipsburgh having
become vested in the State of New York by the attainder of Frederick
Philipse, were parcelled out and sold; and Mr. Beekman purchased the
tract in the vicinity of Tarrytown, on which the old manor-house is
situated. To this he removed with his family in 1785. Historical
recollections, and the classic creations of genius, combine to shed a
romance and a glory around this spot. The manor-house--Castle Philipse--
the ancient residence of the lords of Philipsburgh--was strongly
fortified in the early days of the colony, being built for defence
against the Indians. The embrasures or portholes now form the cellar
windows. Rodolphus Philipse made additions to this fort, to render it
suitable for a place of residence. It faces the east, and looks upon the
old Dutch church, which stands at a little distance, with its time-
honored walls and antique belfry--a fit memorial of the past. This
church was built about 1699 by Frederick Philipse and Catharina Van
Cortlandt his wife, who, according to tradition, was in the habit of
riding up from the city of New York on horseback--upon moonlight nights-
-mounted on a pillion behind her brother, Jacobus Van Cortlandt, for the
purpose of superintending its erection. *
* See History of Westchester County.
It was struck by lightning some years since, and was in part rebuilt,
with modern improvements. Many readers will remember the description of
this church in the "Legend of Sleepy Hollow," with the wide woody dell
beside it, and the bridge over the stream shaded by overhanging trees;
for it was there that the Yankee pedagogue Ichabod Crane met with the
adventure so renowned in story. The ravine on the other side of the hill
forms the dreamy region of "Sleepy Hollow." This locality bore a
reputation more than equivocal--less, however, on account of its
haunting goblins, than its human inhabitants; and often did our heroine
express her regret and indignation that Mr. Irving's description had
given the name to a spot so near her own residence. The Pocanteco--or
Mill river--wanders hereabouts in a region of romantic beauty; winding
through dark woodlands, or grassy meadows, or stealing along beneath
rugged heights, replenished by a thousand crystal rills that glide
murmuring down to mingle with the stream. The venerable manor-house is
seen to advantage from the bridge, the trees intercepting the view in
other directions. The stately trees that surrounded a silver sheet of
water before the door, have been felled; and the old mill with its
moss-covered roof, where in its palmy days so many bushels of grain were
ground free of toll for the neighboring poor, exhibits tokens of decay.
All is, however, in mellow keeping with the surrounding scenery. A
picturesque view is presented from the windows of the manor-house, of
the stream flowing in its serpentine windings to lose itself in the
bosom of the majestic Hudson.
It was here that Mrs. Beekman resided to the day of her death, enjoying
life among the friends she loved, and contributing to the improvement
and happiness of those who had the advantage of her society. She was
one of the company who welcomed the arrival of La Fayette, and conversed
with the veteran general of times gone by. Mr. Beekman died in 1822,
at the age of seventy-six; and on the 14th of March, 1847, in her
ninety-fifth year, did she too "like tired breezes fall asleep." The
day on which her remains were borne to the family burial-ground, is
described by one who was present as not soon to be forgotten. At an
early hour the inhabitants for miles around began to assemble, until
the crowd became so great, that as far as the view extended, the space
seemed alive with carriages, and persons on foot and on horseback. After
the funeral services, "the coffin was placed in the hall, and not a
dry eye beheld the loved relics. Domestics who had grown gray in
her service, sobbed to part with their kind mistress; and when the
hoary-headed pall-bearers had placed the coffin in the sable hearse,
before which were two milk white horses with black trappings, the solemn
silence was broken by the tolling of the old church bell," and one
sentiment of grief seemed to pervade the assemblage.
Mrs. Beekman is described as an accomplished lady of the old school.
She was remarkable for force of will, resolution, and a lofty sense of
honor. Steadfast in her principles, she had a mind of uncommon vigor,
and a heart alive to all kindly and noble feelings. In the prime of life
she possessed a great share of personal beauty, while her manners
were courteous, dignified and refined. Her conversation, brilliant and
interesting, was enlivened by stores of anecdote supplied by a memory
unusually retentive, and many were the thrilling tales of the olden
time heard from her lips. Her sight failed during the last three or
four years; but her mental faculties continued clear and unimpaired
in strength to the close of her almost century of existence. She
could dwell with minuteness of detail on the scenes her childhood had
witnessed, while the realities she described were fading traditions to
those who listened. Thus was she a faithful type of a past generation,
on few of which any can look again.
The energy of mind which had characterized her through life, was evinced
on her death-bed. With her usual disinterestedness, she refused to
summon those among her nearest relatives whose age and infirmities
rendered their separation inevitable, to behold the progress of disease
they could not alleviate. Calmly and quietly, bearing much suffering,
but disturbed by no apprehension, she awaited with her accustomed
fortitude, the coming of that last enemy, whose nearer and yet nearer
approach she announced unshrinkingly to those about her. When it was
necessary to affix her signature to an important paper, and being
supposed too weak to write, she was told that her mark would be
sufficient, she immediately asked to be raised, called for a pen, and
placing her left hand on the pulse of her right, wrote her name as
distinctly as ever. It was the last act of her life. Literally counting,
it is said, the failing beats of her pulse, she "looked death in the
face with the same high resolve and strong will with which she had been
wont, in her life-time, to encounter less powerful enemies." It was the
strength of Christian faith, which thus gave her victory over the king
of terrors.
Of her brothers and sisters, only Mrs. Van Rensselaer and General Pierre
Van Cortlandt survived her. The latter died recently at Peekskill. Her
daughter, Mrs. De Peyster, resides in New York; and her son, Dr. S. D.
Beekman, at Tarrytown on a part of the old place.