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.