he Past Lies Sleeping: Seeking the Mason House
The house, of a simple and neat form, is situated near that side of the island which commands a view of the Potomac, the President’s House, Capitol, and other buildings. The garden, the sides of which are washed by the waters of the river, is ornamented with a variety of trees and shrubs, and, in the midst, there is a lawn covered with a beautiful verdure.
–David Baillie Warden, 1811.
Nearly five years ago, I had the dubious pleasure of working as an intern on the nineteenth floor of an office building whose windows overlooked the Potomac River, facing the District of Columbia. Far below, in the middle of the river, was a small and solitary island, thickly forested, with only a pedestrian bridge providing a means of access. As the leaves gradually succumbed to the seasons, I noticed a defined circular area, definitely man-made, revealed by the missing vegetation. I soon learned this was Theodore Roosevelt Island, which was owned by the National Park Service, and the area in the middle was the memorial to the former president.
Intrigued by the idea of placing a memorial to a wilderness loving man in such a tourist unfriendly area, I walked over there one lunch hour, crossing the bridge and following a small dirt path which opened up into the memorial’s plaza, which housed the typical tropes of a larger than life statue of Mr. Roosevelt, who was enthusiastically jabbing the air with an upraised fist, and several steles with inspirational quotes, as well as reflecting pools and granite bridges. There was something a bit City on the Edge of Forever about the place, as it had the eerie quality of simply existing there, completely out-of-place, since the beginning of time. There were few, if any, other visitors and the surrounding forest was closing in, watery sunshine filtering through the trees.
However, the charms of nature were easily swallowed up by the din of noise coming from the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge, a multi-lane highway between Virginia and Washington, DC, which crossed over the southern end of the island, and its unfortunate location right under the flight path to Ronald Reagan International Airport. As the island was on the small side (about 88 acres), I walked on some of the perimeter trails, decided it was a nice enough forest, and went back to work.
It had never occurred to me that the little island, so easily overlooked, was hiding a number of historical secrets.
It had never occurred to me that the little island, so easily overlooked, was hiding a number of historical secrets.
The island was originally home to Algonquin-speaking Native Americans, from which it took one of its prior names, Analostan. It was known by Europeans since the 1600s and even included on several contemporary maps, and was passed around from land grant to land grant, all the while remaining undeveloped. In 1717, the island was sold to George Mason III (1690-1735), who left it to his son, the future Founding Father and wealthy planter, George Mason IV (1725-1792). Neither man did anything more to the island than establish a ferry service to it which was a major transportation connection between Virginia and Georgetown. When Mason IV died, he left the island to his eighth child, John Mason (1766-1849), who decided to build a Neoclassical mansion and accompanying outbuildings there sometime before 1798. He transformed the island into a society showpiece, a completely landscaped self-sufficient plantation, known for its long avenue of trees lining the driveway, its extensive orchards and its unusual exotic plants. The traces of these genteel pleasures of another time had long since vanished by the twenty-first century…or had they?
Map of Analostan (now called Mason’s) Island by Robert King, 1818, showing the Mason plantation,Library of Congress
When a friend and fellow museum graduate student asked me if I wanted to go with her one afternoon to try to find traces of the ruins, I could not possibly resist.
The island is small, but the task was a bit daunting.
When Mason’s bank collapsed in 1833, he was forced to give up the property to cover his debts (although society people politely said the family was driven out by mosquitoes). The mansion was abandoned as a family home, and over the years the island was used as a Civil War encampment, a boating club, a jousting ring, a dancing saloon, a pavilion to watch balloon launches from and a picnic spot. In 1869, a fire devastated the interior of the Mason house and the island was slowly left to nature. One reporter for the Washington Times commented in 1902 that “the interior aspect of Analostan is desolate in the extreme,” with the ruins of the Mason house “hidden in the dense growth of trees which has overrun the island”.
Sometime around 1905-6, another fire felled the roof and left the house in an even more ruinous state, its once lovely facade only a memory. In 1913, the Washington Gas Light Company purchased the island, but plans to build a plant there did not come to fruition. The island was eventually purchased in 1931 by the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial Association, who planned to donate the site to the United States government. Despite the considerable historical significance of the ruins, plans were made to remove what was left of the walls, along with all of the non-native plants, some introduced by Mason, in order to keep in a natural, wild state. The remains of the Mason House and any artifacts were hastily and perfunctorily excavated and documented by the Civilian Conservation Corps and the Historic Area Building Survey, before they were destroyed and buried in 1936, in an attempt to return the island to a more natural appearance, suitable for a forested memorial island.
Seventy years had passed since that last act of deliberate destruction, what could even be left? A 1972 Historical Society of Washington, DC piece by Mary E. Curry notes, “The ordinary visitor has no idea of where to look for Mason’s home” and furthermore, two attempts by history students to locate the exact site in 1970 and 1972 failed.
Nevertheless, the prospect of adventure kept me undaunted. The 1818 map above, while a bit stylized, shows the house sitting on the southern portion of the island, and further contemporary descriptions of the house place it on the highest ridge in that portion. With that information, and the 1936 survey map of the basic foundation and surrounding outbuildings, my friend and I set off for the island. It is easy enough to walk to the highest ground, so upon arriving at the trailhead, we basically plunged into the undergrowth, heading uphill, making fairly good progress. Along the way we disturbed a box turtle, who we dubbed General John Mason, and also the blue-plastic tarp home of some transient who clearly wished to be left alone.
Nevertheless, the prospect of adventure kept me undaunted. The 1818 map above, while a bit stylized, shows the house sitting on the southern portion of the island, and further contemporary descriptions of the house place it on the highest ridge in that portion. With that information, and the 1936 survey map of the basic foundation and surrounding outbuildings, my friend and I set off for the island. It is easy enough to walk to the highest ground, so upon arriving at the trailhead, we basically plunged into the undergrowth, heading uphill, making fairly good progress. Along the way we disturbed a box turtle, who we dubbed General John Mason, and also the blue-plastic tarp home of some transient who clearly wished to be left alone.
We eventually found ourselves on a plateau and I noticed some unusual large stones strewn about–naturally placed stones generally don’t have corners and signs of human manipulation. Some nearby trees revealed a hidden cache of bricks tangled and gripped among their roots. This then, was the former site of the house. There was nothing left of it above the surface except the occasional bit of stone or brick and the strange feeling of intruding on some other time and place. Examining our survey map, we paced off to where the outbuildings lay, and were excited when we nearly tumbled into an open cellar-hole for the Ice House, exactly where it was supposed to be. Although partially obscured by tangled vines and shrubs, it was clearly a square and lined with fieldstones to a depth of about six feet. From here, it was easy to see the ever so faint traces of the retaining wall.
Current appearance of the cellar-hole for Mason’s Ice House, National Park Service
Heavy rains over the years must have washed debris right up against it, for close examination of the stones of the base of it soon revealed a tiny ceramic sherd, clearly from the historical period, as it had a white glaze with blue edging. This could have been some of the Mason family’s china, broken and washed away from some garbage pit, or a disturbed bit of leftover from the hasty archaeological survey, although the artifacts were supposed to have been buried in a concrete vault near the house foundation. Additionally, there were more bits of glass and other potential artifacts in the same area.
Ceramic sherd from the base of the retaining wall on the Mason site
We were beyond thrilled–we had managed to stumble across a forgotten site, supposedly difficult to locate and even find artifacts. Looking around at the thickly forested area, it was hard to believe that something as refined as a Neo-classical plantation with fruit trees and terraced gardens ever existed in the same space. The last two hundred years were merely the briefest blip in history, all traces nearly gone. It did serve as a warning to the curious: the dusts of the past are never far from being motes in the eye of the present, if you know where to look.
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