When the steamer stopped at Cornwall I this time promptly stepped ashore. It was about sunset. There were not more than half a dozen buildings in sight, and not a soul at the dock, and I was the only passenger landing at that point. I went to one of the houses and inquired the location of the hotel, and I was informed that it was not open, as it was too early for summer visitors. I then asked what time the down boat was due, and was informed that it would be along soon, but that it would not stop. The West Shore Railroad was not built at that time, and as there was no stage line over the mountains nor ferry on the river, I began to fear that I could not get away by the tenth of June, the last day for me to report. This bothered me more than the hotel accommodations, but I soon found obliging people and arranged for my lodging and breakfast, and also to be rowed to my destination the next day. [Illustration] [Illustration: Topographical Sketch of WEST POINT] CHAPTER III. THE CANDIDATE. “As the twig is bent, the tree is inclined.” It was about ten o’clock in the morning of June 8, 1869, when I stepped from a rowboat on the dock near the Sea Coast Battery at West Point. The weather was perfect, and my heart was light and free. As there was neither any person nor conveyance at the dock, I followed the road winding up the hill to the plain. I stopped to admire the scenery. In front I beheld a level green plain of one hundred acres or more with massive buildings peeping through the large elm trees that fringe two sides of the plain; on either side were high hills; in my rear rolled the majestic Hudson between the Highlands, with Siege Battery at my feet. As I gazed around it was to me then, as it is to me now, the most beautiful of places.