The American Revolution Part 37

The doc.u.ments which he took, being in Arnold's handwriting and unmistakable in their purport, were such as to put him in Clinton's power, and compel him, for the sake of his own safety, to perform his part of the contract. Andre intended, before getting into the boat, to tie up these papers in a bundle loaded with a stone, to be dropped into the water in case of a sudden challenge; but in the mean time he put them where they could not so easily be got rid of, between his stockings and the soles of his feet. Arnold furnished the requisite pa.s.ses for Smith and Andre to go either by boat or by land, and, having thus apparently provided for all contingencies, took leave before noon, and returned in his barge to his headquarters, ten miles up the stream. As evening approached, Smith, who seems to have been a man of unsteady nerves, refused to take Andre out to the Vulture. He had been alarmed by the firing in the morning, and feared there would be more risk in trying to reach the s.h.i.+p than in travelling down to the British lines by land, and he promised to ride all night with Andre if he would go that way.

The young officer reluctantly consented, and partially disguised himself in some of Smith's clothes. At sundown the two crossed the river at King's Ferry, and pursued their journey on horseback toward White Plains.

[Ill.u.s.tration: FACSIMILE OF ARNOLD'S Pa.s.s TO ANDRe]

[Sidenote: The roads infested by robbers]

The roads east of the Hudson, between the British and the American lines, were at this time infested by robbers, who committed their depredations under pretence of keeping up a partisan warfare. There were two sets of these scapegraces,--the "Cowboys," or cattle-thieves, and the "Skinners," who took everything they could find. These epithets, however, referred to the political complexion they chose to a.s.sume, rather than to any difference in their evil practices. The Skinners professed to be Whigs, and the Cowboys called themselves Tories; but in point of fact the two parties were alike political enemies to any farmer or wayfarer whose unprotected situation offered a prospect of booty; and though murder was not often committed, n.o.body's property was safe. It was a striking instance of the demoralization wrought in a highly civilized part of the country through its having so long continued to be the actual seat of war. Rumours that the Cowboys were out in force made Smith afraid to continue the journey by night, and the impatient Andre was thus obliged to stop at a farmhouse with his timid companion. Rising before dawn, they kept on until they reached the Croton river, which marked the upper boundary of the neutral ground between the British and the American lines. Smith's instructions had been, in case of adopting the land route, not to leave his charge before reaching White Plains; but he now became uneasy to return, and Andre, who was beginning to consider himself out of danger, was perhaps not unwilling to part with a comrade who annoyed him by his loquacious and inquisitive disposition.

So Smith made his way back to headquarters, and informed Arnold that he had escorted "Mr. Anderson" within a few miles of the British lines, which he must doubtless by this time have reached in safety.

[Portrait: John Paulding]

[Ill.u.s.tration: FACSIMILE OF ONE OF THE PAPERS FOUND IN ANDRe'S STOCKINGS]

[Sidenote: Arrest of Andre, Sept. 23]

[Sidenote: Colonel Jameson's perplexity]

Meanwhile, Andre, left to himself, struck into the road which led through Tarrytown, expecting to meet no worse enemies than Cowboys, who would either respect a British officer, or, if bent on plunder, might be satisfied by his money and watch. But it happened that morning that a party of seven young men had come out to intercept some Cowboys who were expected up the road; and about nine o'clock, as Andre was approaching the creek above Tarrytown, a short distance from the far-famed Sleepy Hollow, he was suddenly confronted by three of this party, who sprang from the bushes and, with levelled muskets, ordered him to halt. These men had let several persons, with whose faces they were familiar, pa.s.s unquestioned; and if Smith, who was known to almost every one in that neighbourhood, had been with Andre, they too would doubtless have been allowed to pa.s.s. Andre was stopped because he was a stranger. One of these men happened to have on the coat of a Hessian soldier. Held by the belief that they must be Cowboys, or members of what was sometimes euphemistically termed the "lower party," Andre expressed a hope that such was the case; and on being a.s.sured that it was so, his caution deserted him, and, with that sudden sense of relief which is apt to come after unwonted and prolonged constraint, he avowed himself a British officer, travelling on business of great importance. To his dismay, he now learned his mistake. John Paulding, the man in the Hessian coat, informed him that they were Americans, and ordered him to dismount.

When he now showed them Arnold's pa.s.s they disregarded it, and insisted upon searching him, until presently the six papers were discovered where he had hidden them. "By G.o.d, he is a spy!" exclaimed Paulding, as he looked over the papers. Threats and promises were of no avail. The young men, who were not to be bought or cajoled, took their prisoner twelve miles up the river, and delivered him into the hands of Colonel John Jameson, a Virginian officer, who commanded a cavalry outpost at North Castle. When Jameson looked over the papers, they seemed to him very extraordinary doc.u.ments to be travelling toward New York in the stockings of a stranger who could give no satisfactory account of himself. But so far from his suspecting Arnold of any complicity in the matter, he could think of nothing better than to send the prisoner straightway to Arnold himself, together with a brief letter in which he related what had happened. To the honest Jameson it seemed that this must be some foul ruse of the enemy, some device for stirring up suspicion in the camp,--something, at any rate, which could not too quickly be brought to his general's notice. But the doc.u.ments themselves he prudently sent by an express-rider to Was.h.i.+ngton, accompanying them with a similar letter of explanation. Andre, in charge of a military guard, had already proceeded some distance toward West Point when Jameson's second in command, Major Benjamin Tallmadge, came in from some errand on which he had been engaged. On hearing what had happened, Tallmadge suspected that all was not right with Arnold, and insisted that Andre and the letter should be recalled. After a hurried discussion, Jameson sent out a party which brought Andre back; but he still thought it his duty to inform Arnold, and so the letter which saved the traitor's life was allowed to proceed on its way.

[Portrait: Le duc de la Luzerne]

[Ill.u.s.tration: BEVERLY ROBINSON'S HOUSE]

[Sidenote: Was.h.i.+ngton returns from Hartford sooner than expected]

Now, if Was.h.i.+ngton had returned from Hartford by the route which it was supposed he would take, through Danbury and Peekskill, Arnold would not even thus have been saved. For some reason Was.h.i.+ngton returned two or three days sooner than had been expected; and, moreover, he chose a more northerly route, through Farmington and Litchfield, so that the messenger failed to meet him. It was on the evening of Sat.u.r.day, the 23d, that Jameson's two letters started. On Sunday afternoon Was.h.i.+ngton arrived at Fishkill, eighteen miles above West Point, and was just starting down the river road when he met Luzerne, the French minister, who was on his way to consult with Rochambeau. Wis.h.i.+ng to have a talk with this gentleman, Was.h.i.+ngton turned back to the nearest inn, where they sat down to supper and chatted, all unconsciously, with the very Joshua Smith from whom Andre had parted at the Croton river on the morning of the day before. Word was sent to Arnold to expect the commander-in-chief and his suite to breakfast the next morning, and before daybreak of Monday they were galloping down the wooded road. As they approached the confiscated country house of the loyalist Beverly Robinson, where Arnold had his headquarters, opposite West Point, Was.h.i.+ngton turned his horse down toward the river, whereat Lafayette reminded him that they were late already, and ought not to keep Mrs.

Arnold waiting. "Ah, marquis," said Was.h.i.+ngton, laughing, "I know you young men are all in love with Mrs. Arnold: go and get your breakfast, and tell her not to wait for me." Lafayette did not adopt the suggestion. He accompanied Was.h.i.+ngton and Knox while they rode down to examine some redoubts. Hamilton and the rest of the party kept on to the house, and sat down to breakfast in its cheerful wainscoted dining-room, with Arnold and his wife and several of his officers.

[Ill.u.s.tration: STAIRCASE IN ROBINSON'S HOUSE]

[Sidenote: Flight of Arnold, Sept. 25]

As they sat at table, a courier entered, and handed to Arnold the letter in which Colonel Jameson informed him that one John Anderson had been taken with compromising doc.u.ments in his possession, which had been forwarded to the commander-in-chief. With astonis.h.i.+ng presence of mind, Arnold folded the letter and put it in his pocket, finished the remark which had been on his lips when the courier entered, and then, rising, said that he was suddenly called across the river to West Point, but would return to meet Was.h.i.+ngton without delay; and he ordered his barge to be manned. None of the officers observed anything unusual in his manner, but the quick eye of his wife detected something wrong, and as he left the room she excused herself and hurried after him. Going up to their bedroom, he told her that he was a ruined man and must fly for his life; and as she screamed and fainted in his arms, he laid her upon the bed, called in the maid to attend her, stooped to kiss his baby boy who was sleeping in the cradle, rushed down to the yard, leaped on a horse that was standing there, and galloped down a by-path to his barge. It had promptly occurred to his quick mind that the Vulture would still be waiting for Andre some miles down stream, and he told the oarsmen to row him thither without delay, as he must get back soon to meet Was.h.i.+ngton.

A brisk row of eighteen miles brought them to the Vulture, whose commander was still wondering why Andre did not come back. From the cabin of the Vulture Arnold sent a letter to Was.h.i.+ngton, a.s.suring him of Mrs. Arnold's innocence, and begging that she might be allowed to return to her family in Philadelphia, or come to her husband, as she might choose. Then the ill-omened s.h.i.+p weighed anchor, and reached New York next morning.

[Portrait: MRS. BENEDICT ARNOLD AND CHILD]

[Sidenote: Discovery of the treasonable plot]

Meanwhile, about noonday Was.h.i.+ngton came in for his breakfast, and, hearing that Arnold had crossed the river to West Point, soon hurried off to meet him there, followed by all his suite except Hamilton. As they were ferried across, no salute of cannon greeted them, and on landing they learned with astonishment that Arnold had not been there that morning; but no one as yet had a glimmer of suspicion. When they returned to Robinson's house, about two o'clock, they found Hamilton walking up and down before the door in great excitement. Jameson's courier had arrived, with the letters for Was.h.i.+ngton, which Hamilton had just opened and read. The commander and his aide went into the house, and together examined the papers, which, taken in connection with the traitor's flight, but too plainly told the story. From Mrs. Arnold, who was in hysterics, Was.h.i.+ngton could learn nothing. He privately sent Hamilton and another aide in pursuit of the fugitive; and coming out to meet Lafayette and Knox, his voice choking and tears rolling down his cheeks, he exclaimed, "Arnold is a traitor, and has fled to the Britis.h.!.+

Whom can we trust now?" In a moment, however, he had regained his wonted composure. It was no time for giving way to emotion. It was as yet impossible to tell how far the scheme might have extended. Even now the enemy's fleet might be ascending the river (as but for Andre's capture it doubtless would have been doing that day), and an attack might be made before the morrow. Riding anxiously about the works, Was.h.i.+ngton soon detected the treacherous arrangements that had been made, and by seven in the evening he had done much to correct them and to make ready for an attack. As he was taking supper in the room which Arnold had so hastily quitted in the morning, the traitor's letter from the Vulture was handed him. "Go to Mrs. Arnold," said he quietly to one of his officers, "and tell her that though my duty required no means should be neglected to arrest General Arnold, I have great pleasure in acquainting _her_ that he is now safe on board a British vessel."

[Sidenote: Andre taken to Tappan, Sept. 28]

But while the princ.i.p.al criminal was safe it was far otherwise with the agent who had been employed in this perilous business. On Sunday, from his room in Jameson's quarters, Andre had written a letter to Was.h.i.+ngton, pathetic in its frank simplicity, declaring his position in the British army, and telling his story without any attempt at evasion.

From the first there could be no doubt as to the nature of his case, yet Andre for the moment did not fully comprehend it. On Thursday, the 28th, he was taken across the river to Tappan, where the main army was encamped. His escort, Major Tallmadge, was a graduate of Yale College and a cla.s.smate of Nathan Hale, whom General Howe had hanged as a spy four years before. Tallmadge had begun to feel a warm interest in Andre, and as they rode their horses side by side into Tappan, when his prisoner asked how his case would probably be regarded, Tallmadge's countenance fell, and it was not until the question had been twice repeated that he replied by a gentle allusion to the fate of his lamented cla.s.smate. "But surely," said poor Andre, "you do not consider his case and mine alike!" "They are precisely similar," answered Tallmadge gravely, "and similar will be your fate."

[Portrait: Benj'^{n}. Tallmadge]

[Sidenote: Andre's trial and sentence, Sept. 29]

Next day a military commission of fourteen generals was a.s.sembled, with Greene presiding, to sit in judgment on the unfortunate young officer.

"It is impossible to save him," said the kindly Steuben, who was one of the judges. "Would to G.o.d the wretch who has drawn him to his death might be made to suffer in his stead!" The opinion of the court was unanimous that Andre had acted as a spy, and incurred the penalty of death. Was.h.i.+ngton allowed a brief respite, that Sir Henry Clinton's views might be considered. The British commander, in his sore distress over the danger of his young friend, could find no better grounds to allege in his defence than that he had, presumably, gone ash.o.r.e under a flag of truce, and that when taken he certainly was travelling under the protection of a pa.s.s which Arnold, in the ordinary exercise of his authority, had a right to grant. But clearly these safeguards were vitiated by the treasonable purpose of the commander who granted them, and in availing himself of them Andre, who was privy to this treasonable purpose, took his life in his hands as completely as any ordinary spy would do. Andre himself had already candidly admitted before the court "that it was impossible for him to suppose that he came ash.o.r.e under the sanction of a flag;" and Was.h.i.+ngton struck to the root of the matter, as he invariably did, in his letter to Clinton, where he said that Andre "was employed in the execution of measures very foreign to the objects of flags of truce, and such as they were never meant to authorize or countenance in the most distant degree." The argument was conclusive, but it was not strange that the British general should have been slow to admit its force. He begged that the question might be submitted to an impartial committee, consisting of Knyphausen from the one army and Rochambeau from the other; but as no question had arisen which the military commission was not thoroughly competent to decide, Was.h.i.+ngton very properly refused to permit such an unusual proceeding. Lastly, Clinton asked that Andre might be exchanged for Christopher Gadsden, who had been taken in the capture of Charleston, and was then imprisoned at St. Augustine. At the same time, a letter from Arnold to Was.h.i.+ngton, with characteristic want of tact, hinting at retaliation upon the persons of sundry South Carolinian prisoners, was received with silent contempt.

[Sidenote: Captain Ogden's message, Sept. 30]

[Sidenote: Execution of Andre, Oct. 2]

There was a general feeling in the American army that if Arnold himself could be surrendered to justice, it might perhaps be well to set free the less guilty victim by an act of executive clemency; and Greene gave expression to this feeling in an interview with Lieutenant-General Robertson, whom Clinton sent up on Sunday, the 1st of October, to plead for Andre's life. No such suggestion could be made in the form of an official proposal. Under no circ.u.mstances could Clinton be expected to betray the man from whose crime he had sought to profit, and who had now thrown himself upon him for protection. Nevertheless, in a roundabout way the suggestion was made. On Sat.u.r.day, Captain Ogden, with an escort of twenty-five men and a flag of truce, was sent down to Paulus Hook with letters for Clinton, and he contrived to whisper to the commandant there that if in any way Arnold might be suffered to slip into the hands of the Americans Andre would be set free. It was Lafayette who had authorized Ogden to offer the suggestion, and so, apparently Was.h.i.+ngton must have connived at it; but Clinton of course refused to entertain the idea for a moment.[35] The conference between Greene and Robertson led to nothing. A pet.i.tion from Andre, in which he begged to be shot rather than hanged, was duly considered and rejected; and, accordingly, on Monday, the 2d of October, the ninth day after his capture by the yeomen at Tarrytown, the adjutant-general of the British army was led to the gallows. His remains were buried near the spot where he suffered, but in 1821 they were disinterred and removed to Westminster Abbey.

[Ill.u.s.tration: FACSIMILE OF SKETCH OF ANDRe BY HIMSELF]

The fate of this gallant young officer has always called forth tender commiseration, due partly to his high position and his engaging personal qualities, but chiefly, no doubt, to the fact that, while he suffered the penalty of the law, the chief conspirator escaped. One does not easily get rid of a vague sense of injustice in this, but the injustice was not of man's contriving. But for the remarkable series of accidents--if it be philosophical to call them so--resulting in Andre's capture, the treason would very likely have been successful, and the cause of American independence might have been for the moment ruined.

But for an equally remarkable series of accidents Arnold would not have received warning in time to escape. If both had been captured, both would probably have been hanged. Certainly both alike had incurred the penalty of death. It was not the fault of Was.h.i.+ngton or of the military commission that the chief offender went unpunished, and in no wise was Andre made a scapegoat for Arnold.

[Sidenote: Lord Stanhope's unconscious impudence]

It is right that we should feel pity for the fate of Andre; but it is unfortunate that pity should be permitted to cloud the judgment of the historian, as in the case of Lord Stanhope, who stands almost alone among competent writers in impugning the justice of Andre's sentence.

One remark of Lord Stanhope's I am tempted to quote, as an amusing instance of that certain air of "condescension" which James Russell Lowell once observed in our British cousins. He seeks to throw discredit upon the military commission by gravely a.s.suming that the American generals must, of course, have been ignorant men, "who had probably never so much as heard the names of Vattel or Puffendorf," and, accordingly, "could be no fit judges on any nice or doubtful point" of military law. Now, of the twelve American generals who sat in judgment on Andre, at least seven were men of excellent education. Two of them had taken degrees at Harvard, and two at English universities. Greene, the president, a self-educated man, who used, in leisure moments, to read Latin poets by the light of his camp-fire, had paid especial attention to military law, and had carefully read and copiously annotated his copy of Vattel. The judgment of these twelve men agreed with that of the two educated Europeans, Steuben and Lafayette, who sat with them on the commission; and, moreover, no nice or intricate questions were raised.

[Sidenote: There is no reason in the world why Andre should have been spared]

It was natural enough that Andre's friends should make the most of the fact that when captured he was travelling under a pa.s.s granted by the commander of West Point; but to ask the court to accept such a plea was not introducing any nice or doubtful question; it was simply contending that "the wilful abuse of a privilege is ent.i.tled to the same respect as its legitimate exercise." Accordingly, historians on both sides of the Atlantic have generally admitted the justice of Andre's sentence, though sometimes its rigorous execution has been censured as an act of unnecessary severity. Yet if we withdraw our attention for a moment from the irrelevant fact that the British adjutant-general was an amiable and interesting young man, and concentrate it upon the essential fact that he had come within our lines to aid a treacherous commander in betraying his post, we cannot fail to see that there is no principle of military policy upon which ordinary spies are rigorously put to death which does not apply with redoubled force to the case of Andre. Moreover, while it is an undoubted fact that military morality permits, and sometimes applauds, such enterprises as that in which Andre lost his life, I cannot but feel that the flavour of treachery which clings about it must somewhat weaken the sympathy we should otherwise freely accord; and I find myself agreeing with the British historian, Mr. Ma.s.sey, when he doubts "whether services of this character ent.i.tle his memory to the honours of Westminster Abbey."

[Sidenote: Captain Battersby's story]

[Sidenote: Arnold's terrible downfall]

As for Arnold, his fall had been as terrible as that of Milton's rebellious archangel, and we may well believe his state of mind to have been desperate. It was said that on hearing of Captain Ogden's suggestion as to the only possible means of saving Andre, Arnold went to Clinton and offered to surrender himself as a ransom for his fellow-conspirator. This story was published in the London "Morning Herald" in February, 1782, by Captain Battersby, of the 29th regiment,--one of the "Sam Adams" regiments. Battersby was in New York in September, 1780, and was on terms of intimacy with members of Clinton's staff. In the absence of further evidence, one must beware of attaching too much weight to such a story. Yet it is not inconsistent with what we know of Arnold's impulsive nature. In the agony of his sudden overthrow it may well have seemed that there was nothing left to live for, and a death thus savouring of romantic self-sacrifice might serve to lighten the burden of his shame as nothing else could. Like many men of weak integrity, Arnold was over-sensitive to public opinion, and his treason, as he had planned it, though equally indefensible in point of morality, was something very different from what it seemed now that it was frustrated. It was not for this that he had bartered his soul to Satan. He had aimed at an end so vast that, when once attained, it might be hoped that the nefarious means employed would be overlooked, and that in Arnold, the brilliant general who had restored America to her old allegiance, posterity would see the counterpart of that other general who, for bringing back Charles Stuart to his father's throne, was rewarded with the dukedom of Albemarle. Now he had lost everything, and got nothing in exchange but 6,000 sterling and a brigadiers.h.i.+p in the British army.[36] He had sold himself cheap, after all, and incurred such hatred and contempt that for a long time, by a righteous retribution, even his past services were forgotten. Even such weak creatures as Gates could now point the finger of scorn at him, while Was.h.i.+ngton, his steadfast friend, could never speak of him again without a shudder. From men less reticent than Was.h.i.+ngton strong words were heard. "What do you think of the d.a.m.nable doings of that diabolical dog?" wrote Colonel Otho Williams with st.u.r.dy alliteration to Arnold's old friend and fellow in the victory of Saratoga, Daniel Morgan. "Curse on his folly and perfidy," said Greene, "how mortifying to think that he is a New Englander!" These were the men who could best appreciate the hard treatment Arnold had received from Congress. But in the frightful abyss of his crime all such considerations were instantly swallowed up and lost. No amount of personal wrong could for a moment excuse or even palliate such a false step as he had taken.

[Portrait: O. H. Williams]

[Ill.u.s.tration: ANDRe'S POCKETBOOK]

[Ill.u.s.tration: ARNOLD'S WATCH]

Within three months from the time when his treason was discovered, Arnold was sent by Sir Henry Clinton on a marauding expedition into Virginia, and in the course of one of his raids an American captain was taken prisoner. "What do you suppose my fate would be," Arnold is said to have inquired, "if my misguided countrymen were to take me prisoner?"

The captain's reply was prompt and frank: "They would cut off the leg that was wounded at Quebec and Saratoga and bury it with the honours of war, and the rest of you they would hang on a gibbet." After the close of the war, when Arnold, accompanied by his wife, made England his home, it is said that he sometimes had to encounter similar expressions of contempt. The Earl of Surrey once, seeing him in the gallery of the House of Commons, asked the Speaker to have him put out, that the House might not be contaminated by the presence of such a traitor. The story is not well authenticated; but it is certain that in 1792 the Earl of Lauderdale used such language about him in the House of Lords as to lead to a bloodless duel between Arnold and the n.o.ble earl. It does not appear, however, that Arnold was universally despised in England.

Influenced by the political pa.s.sions of the day, many persons were ready to judge him leniently; and his generous and affectionate nature won him many friends. It is said that so high-minded a man as Lord Cornwallis became attached to him, and always treated him with respect.

[Sidenote: Arnold's family]

[Sidenote: His remorse and death, June 14, 1801]

Mrs. Arnold proved herself a devoted wife and mother;[37] and the record of her four sons, during long years of service in the British army, was highly honourable. The second son, Lieutenant-General Sir James Robertson Arnold, served with distinction in the wars against Napoleon.

A grandson who was killed in the Crimean war was especially mentioned by Lord Raglan for valour and skill. Another grandson, the Rev. Edward Arnold, who died in 1887, was rector of Great Ma.s.singham, in Norfolk.

The family has intermarried with the peerage, and has secured for itself an honourable place among the landed gentry of England. But the disgrace of their ancestor has always been keenly felt by them. At Surinam, in 1804, James Robertson Arnold, then a lieutenant, begged the privilege of leading a desperate forlorn hope, that he might redeem the family name from the odium which attached to it; and he acquitted himself in a way that was worthy of his father in the days of Quebec and Saratoga. All the family tradition goes to show that the last years of Benedict Arnold in London were years of bitter remorse and self-reproach. The great name which he had so gallantly won and so wretchedly lost left him no repose by night or day. The iron frame, which had withstood the fatigue of so many trying battlefields and still more trying marches through the wilderness, broke down at last under the slow torture of lost friends.h.i.+ps and merited disgrace. In the last sad days in London, in June, 1801, the family tradition says that Arnold's mind kept reverting to his old friends.h.i.+p with Was.h.i.+ngton. He had always carefully preserved the American uniform which he wore on the day when he made his escape to the Vulture; and now as, broken in spirit and weary of life, he felt the last moments coming, he called for this uniform and put it on, and decorated himself with the epaulettes and sword-knot which Was.h.i.+ngton had given him after the victory of Saratoga. "Let me die," said he, "in this old uniform in which I fought my battles. May G.o.d forgive me for ever putting on any other!"