THE WEST POINT CHAIN.

Peter Townsend's Letter on the Iron Chain made during the War of the Revolution for the Defence of the Hudson at West Point.

NEW YORK, March 10, 1845.

Early in the autumn of 1777, October 6th, Fort Montgomery, about five miles below West Point, was taken by the British. At this point a chain had been thrown across the river by the Americans to obstruct the passage of the Enemies vessels. It had been made at the Ringwood Furnace, New Jersey, was of small diameter, and composed of cold short iron of an inferior quality; and upon the surrender of the Fort, fell into the hands of the British.

In the first part of the Winter of 1778 it was resolved in Council that West Point was the only site on the Hudson River which was capable of being so fortified as to prevent the passage of the enemies fleet, and measures were forthwith adopted to put the Point in such state.

To effect this object it was determined, among other things, that a chain should be thrown across the River, the links of which were to be double the diameter of those in the chain used at Fort Montgomery, and that it should be constructed of the very best iron the country afforded, and be capable of resisting any force that might be brought against it.

The Honorable Timothy Pickering, one of the most efficient and persevering men of the Revolution, was charged with the duty of procuring the chain in question.

My father, Mr. Peter Townsend, of Chester, Orange County, was at this time the owner af the Stirling Iron Works, situate at Stirling, in said county, in the moun

tains at the distance of some 25 miles back from West Point. These Works had been in extensive operation for at least thirty years before the Revolution. The iron made there had already acquired a deserved celebrity, both in this country and in England, which it has retained to the present day, the Works being still carried on by some of Mr. Townsend's lineal descendants.

To Mr. Townsend, who was an ardent whig and a warm friend of this country, application was made by Colonel Pickering to make the chain in question. I distinctly remember the arrival of Colonel Pickering at my father's house in Chester late on a Saturday evening, in the fore part of March, 1778.

His plans were at once warmly entered into by Mr. Townsend, and such was the ardor of the Whigs of those days that both Gentlemen left Chester at midnight in the midst of a violent snow-storm and rode over to the Stirling Works, a distance of fourteen miles, to take measures for commencing the work. At daylight on Sunday morning Mr. Townsend had all his forges in operation, and his patriotic workmen engaged upon the chain. The work was prosecuted day and night without interruption until its completion, and was finished in six weeks.

It weighed 140 to 150 tons, was of unsurpassed quality of Stirling Iron, and of superior workmanship. It was carted to the River by New England teamsters in sections as the same were from time to time completed.

THE NEWBURGH LETTERS.

To the Officers of the Army.

SATURDAY, 8th March, 1783. GENTLEMEN :-A fellow-soldier, whose interest and affection bind him strongly to you-whose past sufferings have been as great, and whose future fortunes may be as desperate as yours-would beg leave to address you. Age has its claims,—and rank is not without its pretensions to advise; but, though unsupported by both, he flatters himself, that the plain language of sincerity and experience, will neither be unheeded nor unregarded. Like many of you, he loved private life, and left it with regret. He left it, determined to retire from the field, with the necessity that called him to it, and not till then,-not till the enemies of his country, the slaves of power, and the hirelings of injustice, were compelled to abandon their schemes and acknowledge America as terrible in arms as she had been humble in remonstrance. With this object in view, he has felt the cold hand of poverty without a murmur, and has seen the insolence of wealth without a sigh. But too much under the direction of his wishes, and sometimes weak enough to mistake desire for opinion, he had till lately, very lately, believed in the justice of his country. He hoped that as the clouds of adversity scattered, and the sunshine of peace and better fortune broke in upon us—that gratitude would blaze forth upon those hands which had upheld her in the darkest stages of her passage from impending servitude to acknowledged independence.

But faith has its limits, as well as temper-and there are points beyond which neither can be stretched, without sinking into cowardice, or plunging into credulity. This, my friends, I conceive to be your situation-hurried to the very verge of both, another step would ruin you forever. To be tame and unprovoked while injuries press upon you is more than weakness. But to look up for kinder usage without one manly effort of your own-would fix your character and show the world how richly you deserve the chains you broke.

To guard against this evil, let us take a view of the ground on which we now stand; and from thence carry our thoughts forward for a moment, into the unexplored field of expedient. After a pursuit of seven long years, the object for which we set out is at length brought within our reach. Yes, my friends, that suffering courage of yours was active once. It has conducted the United States of America through a doubtful and bloody war— it has placed her in the chair of independence, and peace returns again-to bless-whom? A country willing to redress your wrongs-cherish your worth-and reward your service? A country-courting your return to private life, with tears of gratitude and smiles of admiration, longing to divide with you that independency which your gallantry has given, and those riches which your wounds have preserved? Is this the case-or is it rather a country that tramples upon your rights, disdains your cries and insults your distress? Have you not more than once suggested your wishes and made known your wants to Congress (wants and wishes which policy and justice should have anticipated rather than evaded) and have you not lately, in the meek language of an entreating memorial, begged from justice what you could no longer expect from their favor? How have you been answered? Let the letter which you are called to consider to-morrow, make the reply.

If this, then, be your treatment while the swords you wear are necessary for the defence of America, what have you to expect from peace, when your voice shall sink and your strength dissipate by division? When those very swords, the instruments and companions of your glory, shall be taken from your sides, and no remaining mark of military distinction left but your wants, infirmities and scars! Can you) then, consent to be the only sufferers by this resolution, and, retiring from the field, grow old in poverty, wretchedness and contempt? Can you consent to wade through the vile mire of dependency, and owe the miserable remnant of that life to charity which has hitherto been spent in honor? If you can, go, and carry with you the jest of tories, and the scorn of whigs—the ridicule, and what is worse, the pity of the world; go, starve, and be forgotten. But, if your spirit should recoil at this-if you have sense enough to discover, and spirit sufficient to oppose tyranny, under whatever garb it may assume, whether it be the plain coat of republicanism or the splendid robes of royalty; if you have not yet learned to discriminate between a people and a cause-between men and principles-awake -attend to your situation, and redress yourselves. If

the present moment be lost, every future effort is in vain. Your threats then will be as empty as your entreaties now. I would advise you, therefore, to come to some final opinion of what you can bear and what you will suffer. If your determination be in any proportion to your wrongs, carry your appeal from the justice to the fears of government; change the milk and water style of your last memorial; assume a bolder tone, decent but lively, spirited and determined, and suspect the man who will advise to more moderation and longer forbear

ance.

Let two or three men, who can feel as well as write, be appointed to draw up your last remonstrance (for I would no longer give it the sueing, soft, unsuccessful epithet of memorial). Let it represent, in language that will neither dishonor you by its rudeness nor betray you by its fears, what has been promised by Congress and what has been performed; how long and how patiently you have suffered; how little you have asked, and how much of that little has been denied. Tell them that though you were the first and would wish to be the last to encounter danger-that though despair itself can never drive you into dishonor, it may drive you from the field -that the wound, often irritated and never healed, may at length become incurable; and that the slightest indignity from Congress now may operate like the grave, and part you forever; that in any political event the army has its alternative. If peace, that nothing shall separate you from your arms but death; if war, that, courting the auspices and inviting the direction of your illustrious leader, you will retire to some yet unsettled country; smile in your turn, and "mock when their fear cometh on. But let it represent also that, should they comply with the request of your late memorial, it would make you more happy and them more respectable; that while the war should continue you would follow their standard in the field; and that when it came to end you would withdraw into the shade of private life, and give the world another subject of wonder and applause-an army victorious over its enemies, victorious over itself. I am, &c.,

A meeting of the Gen. and Field Officers is requested to attend at the Public Building, at 10 o'clock, on Tuesday next. An officer from each company is also expected, and one or more representatives from the medical and other staff. The object of this meeting is to consider the late report from our Commissioners in Philadelphia, and what further measures should be taken to