were gone, more probably unlimbered and sold for scrap, since they had no military value for over a generation.
The castle roof was tarred and sagging. One side sloped a good four feet lower than the other, and I did not dare trust my weight to the middle. 1 edged around carefully, caught the view downstream where West Point's gray granite barracks clustered on the hillside, saw farther downstream where Cornwall was a sprinkling of white window frames and blue roofs. Then I started downstairs. The three top floors were empty of heavy gear, the top two stripped clean. Through the concrete floors I could see daylight as the sun shafted through some window on the floor below. Wire net and rods showed where the concrete had sloughed off, leaving nothing but reenforcing metal.
The third floor level had a southern exit to a castellated walkway that slanted down abruptly to ground level. Strewn about and tumbled into the rank garden below, were dozens of U.S. Army white cork helmets. "Rudy Vallee bought 600 of these a few years back," I was told. "His band wore them, and then they were auctioned off for charily." Today—anybody want a pith helmet? They're up there on the Island, rotting in the rain.
The second floor came in for another careful search. I shuddered to look at a carefully piled stack of Civil War army knapsacks, forming a huge cube possibly fifteen feet high and thirty feet on a side, which had begun to tip. A single rope passed in front of the pile, the topmost tiers of which had now sagged out as much as five feet over the base. The rope has frayed to a single strand or two. If that pile collapses, it might have force enough to bring down the whole tottering old bidding!
Though Bannerman built for the ages, his castle has hardly lasted a lifetime. A reason why is found in Bannerman's story of a potential customer. "A party came to us," recounted the late Frank Bannerman VI "and wanted to purchase a large lot of military cartiridges. The price was satisfactory
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