None of those in authority knew certainly of a ferry, but
supposed it highly probable. The wharf at Poughkeepsie was suggested as
a proper place to obtain information; and, once there, our travellers
soon found themselves in the hands of an intelligent contraband, who
promised to place them safely on the desired ferry boat. As they neared
the dock, a great rock, with an upset wagon for foreground, furnished an
encouraging picture for two lone lady tourists. The boat proved neat and
comfortable, and here again inquiries were made. The very polite captain
had heard of a lake on the Shawangunk mountain, but knew neither its
name nor exact location. He advised them to have their baggage sent to
the little inn at the landing, where they might dine and await a stage
expected to pass in about an hour on its way to New Paltz, a village
nine miles west of the river. At the inn they fancied they must
certainly learn something definite regarding the final object of their
undertaking. A large map of Ulster county hung in the sitting room, and
gave promise of some decided information. Unfortunately, it was not of a
recent edition: a nameless lake on the Shawangunk mountain, about five
miles from New Paltz, seemed to be the object of their search; but the
landlord, who had heard of a lake in that direction, could not tell how
it was to be reached, or whether shelter could there be found in any
decent tenement; his impression was that there had been a public house
on top of the mountain, but that it had recently been destroyed by fire.
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