Fort Constitution has been not inaptly termed the Gibraltar of America. Situated in an almost inaccessible fastness, about thirty miles above New York, and commanding the Hudson river, as well as the passes of the mountains on its western shore, its possession was considered a matter of the utmost moment to both parties. At this period it was most earnestly coveted by General Howe, for a reason unknown as yet to Washington. The northern expedition of Burgoyne, although not yet undertaken, had been fully planned, and was to be set on foot in the ensuing spring. General Howe was, of course, cognizant of these intended operations, to the full and complete success of which, nothing seemed wanting but the ability on his part to form a timely junction with Burgoyne on the banks of the Hudson—the one army descending from Quebec—the other ascending from New York. Fort Constitution, the key of the county of Albany, as it was termed, would be the principal impediment to this movement on the part of General Howe. Thus, it will be seen, circumstances combined to render its possession, at this period, the very point on which the issue of the whole war might depend. Its fall would have struck terror into the whole country.

Count De Zeng, who, with the commandant, had immediately repaired to the fort, did not hesitate to express the liveliest gratification at the condition of the works. The garrison also was complete, and the count, with the spirit of a true soldier, saw only one thing to regret, which was the entire improbability of an attack. There was but little duty to perform, beyond an occasional sally in defence of the neighboring settlements against the incursions of tories and savages; and even those calls were rare, the Indian operations being chiefly confined to a more northerly region. During this repose of arms, there was, therefore, abundant leisure for other and more pleasing pursuits. A village of no inconsiderable size, which lay sheltered beneath the guns of the fortress, afforded the means of an agreeable social intercourse to the officers, and festivities were in reality more frequent, and probably better enjoyed, than in the “piping times of peace.” Of its inhabitants, although the most were republicans, some of course were loyalists. These, however, remaining entirely inactive, claimed to have their rights, if not their opinions, respected. The society was too small to allow of any political line of demarcation, and the friends of King George and the supporters of Congress were seen mingling harmoniously together in the evening parties, or at the midnight ball. It is true, there were some whose naturally sour dispositions, rendered more rancorous by the events of the war, kept them entirely aloof from their opponents, and some, more despicable still, who concealed the bitterest animosity under a pleasing exterior.

Not belonging to either of the classes last named, although a loyalist, was Captain Wilton, a friend and former companion in arms of Colonel Gansevoort, but a gentleman of more liberal views, and of the most perfect integrity. He had two daughters, whose characters may be briefly described. Both were exceedingly pretty. The elder was graceful and gifted, but vain, conceited, and imperious. The preponderance in her character of that one quality, which is so often the bane of beauty, subverted what would otherwise have been a sound and discriminating judgment. The younger, with more than her sister’s charms, possessed almost none of her faults. She had been taught, by the daily and hourly deportment of the other, to believe in her own comparative inferiority, and was consequently but little conscious of her attractions. Thus had she grown up, as it were, in the shade, but fortunately under circumstances favorable to the development of all those pure and winning graces of the heart, which so immeasurably transcend the flitting charms of beauty. Cheerful, modest, confiding and affectionate, Alice Wilton was “a gem of purest ray serene.”

Gansevoort was a frequent and welcome visiter at the house of Captain Wilton. Although attracted unconsciously by the charms of Alice, the ingenuity of her sister, Arabella, contrived to make him, ostensibly at least, a suitor of her own. She did not hesitate to appropriate his attentions exclusively to herself although she could not fail to see that they were otherwise designed. Indeed Arabella was possessed of an art, which it is to be hoped is lost to her sex of the present generation, of compelling the addresses of the gentlemen. Gansevoort was far from considering himself a suitor of either of the sisters. His mind was chiefly engrossed by the duties of his station, and his hours of relaxation were controlled mainly by accident. Thus, therefore, without giving sufficient thought to the subject to enable him to fathom the designs of Miss Wilton, he allowed himself to appear to the public in the character of her professed admirer.

It has been said that the winter was rigorous and severe; but it had not yet been sufficiently cold to entirely close the lower part of the river, which was still navigable from the fort to the city of New York. Occasionally a ship of war, from the latter place, penetrated up to the neighborhood of the fortress, (avoiding, of course, an imprudent proximity,) for the purpose probably of facilitating intercourse with some parts of the interior. From one of these, a messenger, under the protection of a flag, was sent to the fort, to request permission for Ensign Wiley to visit some friends at the adjoining village. Gansevoort readily gave the desired permit. At an interview which he soon after had with Wiley, the latter seemed disposed to claim the full benefit of their early acquaintance and intimacy. The commandant did not repel his advances, chiefly, perhaps, lest any coldness which he might manifest should be attributed to the pride of superior station. They met frequently, and at all times with apparent frankness and cordiality. Wiley did not even hesitate to introduce and discuss the subject of the war, and its probable results. New and formidable forces of the enemy were hinted at. Defection in the highest quarters in our own ranks was boldly asserted. Negotiations were now pending at New York, he said, by which several distinguished leaders of the republicans would return to their allegiance, and receive the clemency of the king. Gansevoort, of a cool and phlegmatic temperament, often listened without reply; and the other, mistaking his silence for conviction, or at least for doubt, grew still more bold. Those, he said, who were the first to claim the royal favor, would doubtless receive it the most abundantly. But little merit would attach to the submission of those who submitted only when there were no longer any hopes of effectual resistance. These remarks, however, were kept carefully free from every thing of a personal character. They were made, too, with an air of the utmost nonchalance, as if they were on a subject in which neither speaker or hearer had the slightest interest. Gansevoort was, fortunately, a man of quick perceptions. Not slow to discover when himself was insulted, or his cause dishonored, he yet had that fortunate command of temper, which, in all controversies, is of such immeasurable importance to its possessor. Like the true Italian diplomatist, as painted by McCauley, his eye was large, dark, and dreamy, expressing nothing, but discerning every thing. The interviews alluded to usually took place at the house of Captain Wilton, where Wiley also was a frequent visiter. He was, of course, not admitted within the fort.

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