THIS fort—which commands the military position of West Point, and which was considered so important during the Revolutionary war—is now in ruins, but is visited by all travellers in this region for the superb view which it affords of the sublime pass of the Highlands. This was the great key which Arnold’s treachery intended to give into the hands of the English; and associated with the memory of the unfortunate AndrÉ, and with other painful events of the conspiracy, it possesses an interest which is wanting to other objects of the same description in our country. Washington’s visit of inspection to Fort Putnam and the other redoubts on this side the river was made only two or three hours before his discovery of the treason of Arnold, at that moment, as he supposed, in command at West Point. The commander-in-chief was expected to arrive the evening before; and had he done so, Arnold would probably never have escaped. Having accidentally met the French minister, M. de Lucerne, at Fishkill, however (eight miles above), he was induced to pass the night there for the purpose of some conference, and set off early in the morning on horseback, sending on a messenger to Mrs. Arnold that himself and suite would be with her to breakfast. Arriving opposite West Point, near a small redoubt called Fort Constitution, Washington turned his horse from the road. Lafayette, who was then in his suite, called out, “General, you are going in the wrong direction; you know Mrs. Arnold is waiting breakfast for us.” “Ah,” answered Washington, “I know you young men are all in love with Mrs. Arnold, and wish to get where she is as soon as possible. Go and take your breakfast with her, and tell her not to wait for me; I must ride down and examine the redoubts on this side the river.” Two of the aides rode on, found breakfast waiting, and sat down at once with General Arnold and his family. While they were at table a messenger came in with a letter for Arnold, which announced the capture of AndrÉ, and the failure and betrayal, of course, of the whole conspiracy. Showing little or no emotion, though his life hung upon a thread, he merely said to one of his aides that his presence was required at West Point; and leaving word for General Washington that he was called over the river, but would return immediately, he ordered a horse and sent for Mrs. Arnold to her chamber. He then informed her abruptly that they must part, possibly forever, and that his life depended on his reaching the enemy’s lines without delay. Struck with horror at this intelligence, she swooned and fell senseless. In that state he left her, hurried downstairs, mounted a horse belonging to one of his aides that stood saddled at the door, and rode with all speed to the bank of the river. A boat with six men was in waiting; and pretending that he was going with a flag of truce, he pulled down the stream, and arrived safe on board the “Vulture” sloop of war, lying some miles below. Meantime Washington, having finished his inspection of the redoubt, arrived at Arnold’s house, received his message, and concluded to cross immediately and meet Arnold at West Point. As the whole party were seated in the barge moving smoothly over the water, with the majestic scenery of the Highlands about them, Washington said, “Well, gentlemen, I am glad, on the whole, that General Arnold has gone before us, for we shall now have a salute; and the roaring of the cannon will have a fine effect among these mountains.” The boat drew near to the beach, but no cannon were heard, and there was no appearance of preparation to receive them. “What!” said Washington, “do they not intend to salute us?” At this moment an officer was seen making his way down the hill to meet them, who seemed confused at their arrival, and apologized for not being prepared to receive such distinguished visitors. “How is this, sir,” said Washington, “is not General Arnold here?” “No, sir,” replied the officer, “he has not been here these two days; nor have I heard from him within that time.” “This is extraordinary,” said Washington; “we were told that he had crossed the river, and that we should find him here. However, our visit must not be in vain. Since we have come, we must look round a little, and see in what state things are with you.” He then ascended the hill, examined Fort Putnam and the other fortifications, and returned to Arnold’s house, where the fact of the treason was at once revealed. This had occupied two or three hours, however, and Arnold was beyond pursuit. Washington retained his usual calmness, though Arnold was one of his favorite officers, and had been placed at West Point by his own personal influence with Congress. He called Lafayette and Knox, showed them the proofs, and only said to the former, “Whom can we trust now?” WYOMING. Thou com’st in beauty on my gaze at last, “On Susquehanna’s side, fair Wyoming!” Image of many a dream in hours long past, When life was in its bud and blossoming, And waters, gushing from the fountain spring Of pure enthusiast thought, dimmed my young eyes, As by the poet borne on unseen wing, I breathed in fancy ‘neath thy cloudless skies The summer’s air, and heard her echoed harmonies. I then but dreamed: thou art before me now In life, a vision of the brain no more. I’ve stood upon the wooded mountain’s brow That beetles high thy lovely valley o’er; And now, where winds thy river’s greenest shore, Within a bower of sycamores am laid; And winds as soft and sweet as ever bore The fragrance of wild-flowers through sun and shade Are singing in the trees, whose low boughs press my head. Nature hath made thee lovelier than the power Even of Campbell’s pen hath pictured: he Had woven, had he gazed one sunny hour Upon thy smiling vale, its scenery With more of truth, and made each rock and tree Known like old friends, and greeted from afar: And there are tales of sad reality In the dark legends of thy border war, With woes of deeper tint than his own Gertrude’s are. But where are they, the beings of the mind, The bard’s creations, moulded not of clay, Hearts to strange bliss and suffering assigned,— Young Gertrude, Albert, Waldegrave,—where are they? We need not ask. The people of to-day Appear good, honest, quiet men enough, And hospitable too,—for ready pay; With manners like their roads, a little rough, And hands whose grasp is warm and welcoming, though tough. ......... There is a woman, widowed, gray, and old, Who tells you where the foot of Battle stepped Upon their day of massacre. She told Its tale, and pointed to the spot, and wept, Whereon her father and five brothers slept Shroudless, the bright-dreamed slumbers of the brave, When all the land a funeral mourning kept. And there wild laurels, planted on the grave By Nature’s hand, in air their pale red blossoms wave. And on the margin of yon orchard hill Are marks where time-worn battlements have been, And in the tall grass traces linger still Of “arrowy frieze and wedged ravelin.” Five hundred of her brave that valley green Trod on the morn in soldier-spirit gay; But twenty lived to tell the noonday scene,— And where are now the twenty? Passed away. Has Death no triumph-hours, save on the battle-day? Fitz-Greene Halleck. |