“But mercy is above this sceptered sway,
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute of God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God’s,
When mercy seasons justice.”
—Shakespeare.
The route now took the little party through a most romantic country, but after leaving Clifford their distress of mind was such that at first they did not remark it particularly. Nowhere in the world can there be found more beautiful scenery than that along the Hudson River. The views vary from what is pleasing and picturesque to that which is in the highest degree magnificent. And so, as gentle wooded slopes were succeeded by bold promontories, deep vales by extensive valleys, hills by lofty precipices, Harriet and Peggy found themselves roused from their apathy, and their attention, in spite of grief, was caught by the majesty of the noble river.
War with its attendant evils receded into the background for the time being, recalled only by the fortifications of New York Island, and the batteries of Stony Point and its sister garrison of Verplanck’s Point on the eastern shore. Sometimes the journey led them through fine woods; at others, through well cultivated lands and villages inhabited by Dutch families. Sometimes there were long stretches of dark forests, wild and untamed as yet by civilization; at other times, the road wound along the top of the Palisades, those rocky heights that extend like everlasting walls along the Jersey bank of the river. Again, the road descended these rocky walls skirting their base, and they found themselves marveling at the broad expanse of the water which in places seemed like a vast lake.
As they ascended into the Highlands, cliffs seemed piled on cliffs rising precipitously from the water’s edge, forming a surprisingly beautiful and sublime spectacle. The majestic river hemmed in by towering heights densely covered with forests made a picture of impressiveness and grandeur.
Again and again the maidens drew rein, sometimes uttering cries of delight as some new prospect unfolded its beauty; at others, sitting in silence awed by the magnificence of the panorama expanding before them. In such mood as this they approached West Point on the afternoon of the fourth day after leaving Chatham.
The river here ran in a deep channel formed by the mountains whose lofty summits, on every side, were thick set with redoubts and batteries. From the fort of West Point proper, which lay on the edge of the river, to the very top of the mountain at the foot of which it stood were six different forts, all in the form of an amphitheater so arranged as to protect each other.
“And this,” spoke Harriet with quickened interest, “is the fortress that General Arnold was to deliver into our hands?”
“Yes,” answered David Owen briefly. Americans could not even yet bear mention of the treason of the brilliant Arnold.