The British army now held Charleston engirdled with a cordon of works on

every side, and were ready to begin an assault which, with the disparity

of forces in the case, could have but one possible issue. On the 12th of

May, to avoid a wanton waste of life, the city was surrendered, and

Lincoln and his whole army became prisoners of war. The Continental

troops, some 3,000 in number, were to be held as prisoners till

regularly exchanged. The militia were allowed to return home on parole,

and all the male citizens were reckoned as militia, and paroled

likewise. The victorious Clinton at once sent expeditions to take

possession of Camden and other strategic points in the interior of the

state. One regiment of the Virginia line, under Colonel Buford, had not

reached Charleston, and on hearing of the great catastrophe it retreated

northward with all possible speed. But Tarleton gave chase as far as

Waxhaws, near the North Carolina border, and there, overtaking Buford,

cut his force to pieces, slaying 113 and capturing the rest. Not a

vestige of an American army was left in all South Carolina.

[Illustration: A VIEW OF CHARLESTON BEFORE THE REVOLUTION]

[Sidenote: South Carolina overrun by the British]

[Sidenote: Clinton returns to New York]

"We look on America as at our feet," said Horace Walpole; and doubtless,

after the capture of Fort Washington, this capture of Lincoln's army at

Charleston was the most considerable disaster which befell the American

arms during the whole course of the war. It was of less critical

importance than the affair of Fort Washington, as it occurred at what

every one must admit to have been a less critical moment. The loss of

Fort Washington, taken in connection with the misconduct of Charles Lee,

came within a hair's-breadth of wrecking the cause of American

independence at the outset; and it put matters into so bad a shape that

nothing short of Washington's genius could have wrought victory out of

them. The loss of South Carolina, in May, 1780, serious as it was, did

not so obviously imperil the whole American cause. The blow did not come

at quite so critical a time, or in quite so critical a place. The loss

of South Carolina would not have dismembered the confederacy of states,

and in course of time, with the American cause elsewhere successful, she

might have been recovered. The blow was nevertheless very serious

indeed, and, if all the consequences which Clinton contemplated had been

achieved, it might have proved fatal. To crush a limb may sometimes be

as dangerous as to stab the heart. For its temporary completeness, the

overthrow may well have seemed greater than that of Fort Washington. The

detachments which Clinton sent into the interior met with no resistance.

Many of the inhabitants took the oath of allegiance to the Crown; others

gave their parole not to serve against the British during the remainder

of the war. Clinton issued a circular, inviting all well-disposed people

to assemble and organize a loyal militia for the purpose of suppressing

any future attempts at rebellion. All who should again venture to take

up arms against the king were to be dealt with as traitors, and their

estates were to be confiscated; but to all who should now return to

their allegiance a free pardon was offered for past offences, except in

the case of such people as had taken part in the hanging of Tories.

Having struck this great blow, Sir Henry Clinton returned, in June, to

New York, taking back with him the larger part of his force, but leaving

Cornwallis with 5,000 men to maintain and extend the conquests already

made.

[Illustration: MILES BREWTON HOUSE IN CHARLESTON]

[Sidenote: An injudicious proclamation]

[Sidenote: Disorders in South Carolina]

Just before starting, however, Sir Henry, in a too hopeful moment,

issued another proclamation, which went far toward destroying the effect

of his previous measures. This new proclamation required all the people

of South Carolina to take an active part in reëstablishing the royal

government, under penalty of being dealt with as rebels and traitors. At

the same time, all paroles were discharged except in the case of

prisoners captured in ordinary warfare, and thus everybody was compelled

to declare himself as favourable or hostile to the cause of the

invaders. The British commander could hardly have taken a more

injudicious step. Under the first proclamation, many of the people were

led to comply with the British demands because they wished to avoid

fighting altogether; under the second, a neutral attitude became

impossible, and these lovers of peace and quiet, when they found

themselves constrained to take an active part on one side or the other,

naturally preferred to help their friends rather than their enemies.

Thus the country soon showed itself restless under British rule, and

this feeling was strengthened by the cruelties which, after Clinton's

departure, Cornwallis found himself quite unable to prevent. Officers

endowed with civil and military powers combined were sent about the

country in all directions, to make full lists of the inhabitants for the

purpose of enrolling a loyalist militia. In the course of these

unwelcome circuits many affrays occurred, and instances were not rare in

which people were murdered in cold blood. Debtors took occasion to

accuse their creditors of want of loyalty, and the creditor was obliged

to take the oath of allegiance before he could collect his dues. Many

estates were confiscated, and the houses of such patriots as had sought

refuge in the mountains were burned. Bands of armed men, whose aim was

revenge or plunder, volunteered their services in preserving order, and,

getting commissions, went about making disorder more hideous, and

wreaking their evil will without let or hindrance. The loyalists,

indeed, asserted that they behaved no worse than the Whigs when the

latter got the upper hand, and in this there was much truth. Cornwallis,

who was the most conscientious of men and very careful in his statements

of fact, speaks, somewhat later, of "the shocking tortures and inhuman

murders which are every day committed by the enemy, not only on those

who have taken part with us, but on many who refuse to join them." There

can be no doubt that Whigs and Tories were alike guilty of cruelty and

injustice. But on the present occasion all this disorder served to throw

discredit on the British, as the party which controlled the country, and

must be held responsible accordingly.

[Sidenote: The strategic points]

[Sidenote: Partisan commanders]

Organized resistance was impossible. The chief strategic points on the

coast were Charleston, Beaufort, and Savannah; in the interior, Augusta

was the gateway of Georgia, and the communications between this point

and the wild mountains of North Carolina were dominated by a village

known as "Ninety-Six," because it was just that number of miles distant

from Keowee, the principal town of the Cherokees. Eighty miles to the

northeast of Ninety-Six lay the still more important post of Camden, in

which centred all the principal inland roads by which South Carolina

could be reached from the north. All these strategic points were held in

force by the British, and save by help from without there seemed to be

no hope of releasing the state from their iron grasp. Among the

patriotic Whigs, however, there were still some stout hearts that did

not despair. Retiring to the dense woods, the tangled swamps, or the

steep mountain defiles, these sagacious and resolute men kept up a

romantic partisan warfare, full of midnight marches, sudden surprises,

and desperate hand-to-hand combats. Foremost among these partisan

commanders, for enterprise and skill, were James Williams, Andrew

Pickens, Thomas Sumter, and Francis Marion.

[Portrait: FRANCIS MARION]

[Signature: Francis Marion]

[Sidenote: Francis Marion]

Of all the picturesque characters of our Revolutionary period, there is

perhaps no one who, in the memory of the people, is so closely

associated with romantic adventure as Francis Marion. He belonged to

that gallant race of men of whose services France had been forever

deprived when Louis XIV. revoked the edict of Nantes. His father had

been a planter near Georgetown, on the coast, and the son, while

following the same occupation, had been called off to the western

frontier by the Cherokee war of 1759, in the course of which he had made

himself an adept in woodland strategy. He was now forty-seven years

old, a man of few words and modest demeanour, small in stature and

slight in frame, delicately organized, but endowed with wonderful

nervous energy and sleepless intelligence. Like a woman in quickness of

sympathy, he was a knight in courtesy, truthfulness, and courage. The

brightness of his fame was never sullied by an act of cruelty. "Never

shall a house be burned by one of my people," said he; "to distress poor

women and children is what I detest." To distress the enemy in

legitimate warfare was, on the other hand, a business in which few

partisan commanders have excelled him. For swiftness and secrecy he was

unequalled, and the boldness of his exploits seemed almost incredible,

when compared with the meagreness of his resources. His force sometimes

consisted of less than twenty men, and seldom exceeded seventy. To arm

them, he was obliged to take the saws from sawmills and have them

wrought into rude swords at the country forge, while pewter mugs and

spoons were cast into bullets. With such equipment he would attack and

overwhelm parties of more than two hundred Tories; or he would even

swoop upon a column of British regulars on their march, throw them into

disorder, set free their prisoners, slay and disarm a score or two, and

plunge out of sight in the darkling forest as swiftly and mysteriously

as he had come.

[Portrait: Tho. Sumter]

[Sidenote: Thomas Sumter]

[Sidenote: First appearance of Andrew Jackson]

Second to Marion alone in this wild warfare was Thomas Sumter, a tall

and powerful man, stern in countenance and haughty in demeanour. Born in

Virginia in 1734, he was present at Braddock's defeat in 1755, and after

prolonged military service on the frontier found his way to South

Carolina before the beginning of the Revolutionary War. He lived nearly

a hundred years; sat in the Senate of the United States during the War

of 1812, served as minister to Brazil, and witnessed the nullification

acts of his adopted state under the stormy presidency of Jackson. During

the summer of 1780, he kept up so brisk a guerrilla warfare in the

upland regions north of Ninety-Six that Cornwallis called him "the

greatest plague in the country." "But for Sumter and Marion," said the

British commander, "South Carolina would be at peace." The first

advantage of any sort gained over the enemy since Clinton's landing was

the destruction of a company of dragoons by Sumter, on the 12th of July.

Three weeks later, he made a desperate attack on the British at Rocky

Mount, but was repulsed. On the 6th of August, he surprised the enemy's

post at Hanging Rock, and destroyed a whole regiment. It was on this

occasion that Andrew Jackson made his first appearance in history, an

orphan boy of thirteen, staunch in the fight as any of his comrades.

[Sidenote: Advance of Kalb]

[Sidenote: Gates appointed to the chief command in the South]

But South Carolina was too important to be left dependent upon the skill

and bravery of its partisan commanders alone. Already, before the fall

of Charleston, it had been felt that further reinforcements were needed

there, and Washington had sent down some 2,000 Maryland and Delaware

troops under Baron Kalb, an excellent officer. It was a long march, and

the 20th of June had arrived when Kalb halted at Hillsborough, in North

Carolina, to rest his men and seek the coöperation of General Caswell,

who commanded the militia of that state. By this time the news of the

capture of Lincoln's army had reached the north, and the emergency was

felt to be a desperate one. Fresh calls for militia were made upon all

the states south of Pennsylvania. That resources obtained with such

difficulty should not be wasted, it was above all desirable that a

competent general should be chosen to succeed the unfortunate Lincoln.

The opinions of the commander-in-chief with reference to this matter

were well known. Washington wished to have Greene appointed, as the

ablest general in the army. But the glamour which enveloped the

circumstances of the great victory at Saratoga was not yet dispelled.

Since the downfall of the Conway cabal, Gates had never recovered the

extraordinary place which he had held in public esteem at the beginning

of 1778, but there were few as yet who seriously questioned the

reputation he had so lightly won for generalship. Many people now called

for Gates, who had for the moment retired from active service and was

living on his plantation in Virginia, and the suggestion found favour

with Congress. On the 13th of June Gates was appointed to the chief

command of the southern department, and eagerly accepted the position.

The good wishes of the people went with him. Richard Peters, secretary

of the Board of War, wrote him a very cordial letter, saying, "Our

affairs to the southward look blue: so they did when you took command

before the _Burgoynade_. I can only now say, _Go and do likewise_--God

bless you." Charles Lee, who was then living in disgrace on his

Virginia estate, sent a very different sort of greeting. Lee and Gates

had always been friends,--linked together, perhaps, by pettiness of

spirit and a common hatred for the commander-in-chief, whose virtues

were a perpetual rebuke to them. But the cynical Lee knew his friend too

well to share in the prevailing delusion as to his military capacity,

and he bade him good-by with the ominous warning, "Take care that your

northern laurels do not change to southern willows!"

[Portrait: Le B^{ar} de Kalb]

[Sidenote: Choice of roads to Camden]

With this word of ill omen, which doubtless he little heeded, the "hero

of Saratoga" made his way to Hillsborough, where he arrived on the 19th

of July, and relieved Kalb of the burden of anxiety that had been thrust

upon him. Gates found things in a most deplorable state: lack of arms,

lack of tents, lack of food, lack of medicines, and, above all, lack of

money. The all-pervading neediness which in those days beset the

American people, through their want of an efficient government, was

never more thoroughly exemplified. It required a very different man from

Gates to mend matters. Want of judgment and want of decision were faults

which he had not outgrown, and all his movements were marked by weakness

and rashness. He was adventurous where caution was needed, and timid

when he should have been bold. The objective point of his campaign was

the town of Camden. Once in possession of this important point, he could

force the British from their other inland positions and throw them upon

the defensive at Charleston. It was not likely that so great an object

would be attained without a battle, but there was a choice of ways by

which the strategic point might be approached. Two roads led from

Hillsborough to Camden. The westerly route passed through Salisbury and

Charlotte, in a long arc of a circle, coming down upon Camden from the

northwest. The country through which it passed was fertile, and the

inhabitants were mostly Scotch-Irish Whigs. By following this road, the

danger of a sudden attack by the enemy would be slight, wholesome food

would be obtained in abundance, and in case of defeat it afforded a safe

line of retreat. The easterly route formed the chord of this long arc,

passing from Hillsborough to Camden almost in a straight line 160 miles

in length. It was 50 miles shorter than the other route, but it lay

through a desolate region of pine barrens, where farmhouses and

cultivated fields were very few and far between, and owned by Tories.

This line of march was subject to flank attacks, it would yield no food

for the army, and a retreat through it, on the morrow of an unsuccessful

battle, would simply mean destruction. The only advantage of this route

was its directness. The British forces were more or less scattered about

the country. Lord Rawdon held Camden with a comparatively small force,

and Gates was anxious to attack and overwhelm him before Cornwallis

could come up from Charleston.

[Sidenote: Gates chooses the wrong road]

[Sidenote: Distress of the troops]

Gates accordingly chose the shorter route, with all its disadvantages,

in spite of the warnings of Kalb and other officers, and on the 27th of

July he put his army in motion. On the 3d of August, having entered

South Carolina and crossed the Pedee river, he was joined by Colonel

Porterfield with a small force of Virginia regulars, which had been

hovering on the border since the fall of Charleston. On the 7th he

effected a junction with General Caswell and his North Carolina militia,

and on the 10th his army, thus reinforced, reached Little Lynch's Creek,

about fifteen miles northeast of Camden, and confronted the greatly

inferior force of Lord Rawdon. The two weeks' march had been

accomplished at the rate of about eleven miles a day, with no end of

fatigue and suffering. The few lean kine slaughtered by the roadside had

proved quite insufficient to feed the army, and for want of any better

diet the half-starved men had eaten voraciously of unripe corn, green

apples, and peaches. All were enfeebled, and many were dying of

dysentery and cholera morbus, so that the American camp presented a

truly distressing scene.

[Sidenote: Gates loses the moment for striking]

Rawdon's force stood across the road, blocking the way to Camden, and

the chance was offered for Gates to strike the sudden blow for the sake

of which he had chosen to come by this bad road. There was still,

however, a choice of methods. The two roads, converging toward their

point of intersection at Camden, were now very near together. Gates

might either cross the creek in front, and trust to his superior numbers

to overwhelm the enemy, or, by a forced march of ten miles to the right,

he might turn Rawdon's flank and gain Camden before him. A good general

would have done either the one of these things or the other, and Kalb

recommended the immediate attack. But now at the supreme moment Gates

was as irresolute as he had been impatient when 160 miles away. He let

the opportunity slip, waited two days where he was, and on the 13th

marched slowly to the right and took up his position at Clermont, on the

westerly road; thus abandoning the whole purpose for the sake of which

he had refused to advance by that road in the first place. On the 14th

he was joined by General Stevens with 700 Virginia militia; but on the

same day Lord Cornwallis reached Camden with his regulars, and the

golden moment for crushing the British in detachments was gone forever.

[Illustration: Statue of Kalb at Annapolis]

[Sidenote: and weakens his army on the eve of battle]

[Sidenote: and is surprised by Cornwallis]

The American army now numbered 3,052 men, of whom 1,400 were regulars,

chiefly of the Maryland line. The rest were mostly raw militia. The

united force under Cornwallis amounted to only 2,000 men, but they were

all thoroughly trained soldiers. It was rash for the Americans to hazard

an attack under such circumstances, especially in their forlorn

condition, faint as they were with hunger and illness, and many of them

hardly fit to march or take the field. But, strange as it may seem, a

day and a night passed by, and Gates had not yet learned that Cornwallis

had arrived, but still supposed he had only Rawdon to deal with. It was

no time for him to detach troops on distant expeditions, but on the 14th

he sent 400 of his best Maryland regulars on a long march southward, to

coöperate with Sumter in cutting off the enemy's supplies on the road

between Charleston and Camden. At ten o'clock on the night of the 15th,

Gates moved his army down the road from Clermont to Camden, intending to

surprise Lord Rawdon before daybreak. The distance was ten miles through

the woods, by a rough road, hemmed in on either side, now by hills, and

now by impassable swamps. At the very same hour, Cornwallis started up

the road, with the similar purpose of surprising General Gates. A little

before three in the morning, the British and American advance guards of

light infantry encountered each other on the road, five miles north of

Camden, and a brisk skirmish ensued, in which the Americans were routed

and the gallant Colonel Porterfield was slain. Both armies, however,

having failed in their scheme of surprising each other, lay on their

arms and waited for daylight. Some prisoners who fell into the hands of

the Americans now brought the news that the army opposed to them was

commanded by Cornwallis himself, and they overstated its numbers at

3,000 men. The astonished Gates called together his officers, and asked

what was to be done. No one spoke for a few moments, until General

Stevens exclaimed, "Well, gentlemen, is it not too late _now_ to do

anything but fight?" Kalb's opinion was in favour of retreating to

Clermont and taking a strong position there; but his advice had so often

passed unheeded that he no longer urged it, and it was decided to open

the battle by an attack on the British right.

[Illustration: KALB'S SWORD WORN AT CAMDEN]

[Sidenote: Battle of Camden, Aug. 16, 1780]

[Sidenote: Total and ignominious defeat of Gates]

The rising sun presently showed the two armies close together. Huge

swamps, at a short distance from the road, on either side, covered both

flanks of both armies. On the west side of the road the British left was

commanded by Lord Rawdon, on the east side their right was led by

Colonel James Webster, while Tarleton and his cavalry hovered a little

in the rear. The American right wing, opposed to Rawdon, was commanded

by Kalb, and consisted of the Delaware regiment and the second Maryland

brigade in front, supported by the first Maryland brigade at some

distance in the rear. The American left wing, opposed to Webster,

consisted of the militia from Virginia and North Carolina, under

Generals Stevens and Caswell. Such an arrangement of troops invited

disaster. The battle was to begin with an attack on the British right,

an attack upon disciplined soldiers; and the lead in this attack was

entrusted to raw militia who had hardly ever been under fire, and did

not even understand the use of the bayonet! This work should have been

given to those splendid Maryland troops that had gone to help Sumter.

The militia, skilled in woodcraft, should have been sent on that

expedition, and the regulars should have been retained for the battle.

The militia did not even know how to advance properly, but became

tangled up; and while they were straightening their lines, Colonel

Webster came down upon them in a furious charge. The shock of the

British column was resistless. The Virginia militia threw down their

guns and fled without firing a shot. The North Carolina militia did

likewise, and within fifteen minutes the whole American left became a

mob of struggling men, smitten with mortal panic, and huddling like

sheep in their wild flight, while Tarleton's cavalry gave chase and cut

them down by scores. Leaving Tarleton to deal with them, Webster turned

upon the first Maryland brigade, and slowly pushed it off the field,

after an obstinate resistance. The second Maryland brigade, on the other

hand, after twice repelling the assault of Lord Rawdon, broke through

his left with a spirited bayonet charge, and remained victorious upon

that part of the field, until the rest of the fight was ended; when

being attacked in flank by Webster, these stalwart troops retreated

westerly by a narrow road between swamp and hillside, and made their

escape in good order. Long after the battle was lost in every other

quarter, the gigantic form of Kalb, unhorsed and fighting on foot, was

seen directing the movements of his brave Maryland and Delaware troops,

till he fell dying from eleven wounds, Gates, caught in the throng of

fugitives at the beginning of the action, was borne in headlong flight

as far as Clermont, where, taking a fresh horse, he made the distance of

nearly two hundred miles to Hillsborough in less than four days. The

laurels of Saratoga had indeed changed into willows. It was the most

disastrous defeat ever inflicted upon an American army, and ignominious

withal, since it was incurred through a series of the grossest blunders.

The Maryland troops lost half their number, the Delaware regiment was

almost entirely destroyed, and all the rest of the army was dispersed.

The number of killed and wounded has never been fully ascertained, but

it can hardly have been less than 1,000, while more than 1,000 prisoners

were taken, with seven pieces of artillery and 2,000 muskets. The

British loss in killed and wounded was 324.

[Sidenote: His campaign was a series of blunders]

The reputation of General Gates never recovered from this sudden

overthrow, and his swift flight to Hillsborough was made the theme of

unsparing ridicule. Yet, if duly considered, that was the one part of

his conduct for which he cannot fairly be blamed. The best of generals

may be caught in a rush of panic-stricken fugitives and hurried off the

battlefield: the flight of Frederick the Great at Mollwitz was even more

ignominious than that of Gates at Camden. When once, moreover, the full

extent of the disaster had become apparent, it was certainly desirable

that Gates should reach Hillsborough as soon as possible, since it was

the point from which the state organization of North Carolina was

controlled, and accordingly the point at which a new army might soonest

be collected. Gates's flight was a singularly dramatic and appropriate

end to his silly career, but our censure should be directed to the

wretched generalship by which the catastrophe was prepared: to the wrong

choice of roads, the fatal hesitation at the critical moment, the

weakening of the army on the eve of battle; and, above all, to the

rashness in fighting at all after the true state of affairs had become

known. The campaign was an epitome of the kind of errors which

Washington always avoided; and it admirably illustrated the inanity of

John Adams's toast, "A short and violent war," against an enemy of

superior strength.

[Sidenote: Partisan operations]

If the 400 Maryland regulars who had been sent to help General Sumter

had remained with the main army and been entrusted with the assault on

the British right, the result of this battle would doubtless have been

very different. It might not have been a victory, but it surely would

not have been a rout. On the day before the battle, Sumter had attacked

the British supply train on its way from Charleston, and captured all

the stores, with more than 100 prisoners. But the defeat at Camden

deprived this exploit of its value. Sumter retreated up the Wateree

river to Fishing creek, but on the 18th Tarleton for once caught him

napping, and routed him; taking 300 prisoners, setting free the captured

British, and recovering all the booty. The same day witnessed an

American success in another quarter. At Musgrove's Mills, in the western

part of the state, Colonel James Williams defeated a force of 500

British and Tories, killing and wounding nearly one third of their

number. Two days later, Marion performed one of his characteristic

exploits. A detachment of the British army was approaching Nelson's

Ferry, where the Santee river crosses the road from Camden to

Charleston, when Marion, with a handful of men, suddenly darting upon

these troops, captured 26 of their number, set free 150 Maryland

prisoners whom they were taking down to the coast, and got away without

losing a man.

Such deeds showed that the life of South Carolina was not quite extinct,

but they could not go far toward relieving the gloom which overspread

the country after the defeat of Camden. For a second time within three

months the American army in the south had been swept out of existence.

Gates could barely get together 1,000 men at Hillsborough, and

Washington could not well spare any more from his already depleted

force. To muster and train a fresh army of regulars would be slow and

difficult work, and it was as certain as anything could be that

Cornwallis would immediately proceed to attempt the conquest of North

Carolina.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: Weariness and depression of the people]

Never was the adage that the darkest time comes just before day more

aptly illustrated than in the general aspect of American affairs during

the summer and fall of 1780. The popular feeling had not so much the

character of panic as in those "times which tried men's souls," when the

broad Delaware river screened Washington's fast dwindling army from

destruction. It was not now a feeling of quick alarm so much as of utter

weariness and depression. More than four years had passed since the

Declaration of Independence, and although the enemy had as yet gained no

firm foothold in the northern states except in the city of New York, it

still seemed impossible to dislodge them from that point, while

Cornwallis, flushed with victory, boasted that he would soon conquer all

the country south of the Susquehanna. For the moment it began to look as

if Lord George Germain's policy of tiring the Americans out might prove

successful, after all. The country was still without anything fit to be

called a general government. After three years' discussion, the Articles

of Confederation, establishing a "league of friendship" between the

thirteen states, had not yet been adopted. The Continental Congress had

continued to decline in reputation and capacity. From this state of

things, rather than from any real poverty of the country, there had

ensued a general administrative paralysis, which went on increasing even

after the war was ended, until it was brought to a close by the adoption

of the Federal Constitution. It was not because the thirteen states were

lacking in material resources or in patriotism that the conduct of the

war languished as it did. The resources were sufficient, had there been

any means of concentrating and utilizing them. The relations of the

states to each other were not defined; and while there were thirteen

powers which could plan and criticise, there was no single power which

could act efficiently. Hence the energies of the people were frittered

away.

[Illustration: Continental Currency LXD]

[Illustration: VIRGINIA COLONIAL CURRENCY]

[Sidenote: Evils wrought by the paper currency]

[Sidenote: "Not worth a Continental"]

The disease was most plainly visible in those money matters which form

the basis of all human activity. The condition of American finance in

1780 was simply horrible. The "greenback" delusion possessed people's

minds even more strongly then than in the days following our Civil War.

Pelatiah Webster, the ablest political economist in America at that

time, a thinker far in advance of his age, was almost alone in insisting

upon taxation. The popular feeling was expressed by a delegate in

Congress who asked, with unspeakable scorn, why he should vote to tax

the people, when a Philadelphia printing-press could turn out money by

the bushel.[31] But indeed, without an amendment, Congress had no power

to lay any tax, save through requisitions upon the state governments.

There seemed to be no alternative but to go on issuing this money, which

many people glorified as the "safest possible currency," because "nobody

could take it out of the country." As Webster truly said, the country

had suffered more from this cause than from the arms of the enemy. "The

people of the states at that time," said he, "had been worried and

fretted, disappointed and put out of humour, by so many tender acts,

limitations of prices, and other compulsory methods to force value into

paper money, and compel the circulation of it, and by so many vain

funding schemes and declarations and promises, all which issued from

Congress, but died under the most zealous efforts to put them into

operation, that their patience was exhausted. These irritations and

disappointments had so destroyed the courage and confidence of the

people that they appeared heartless and almost stupid when their

attention was called to any new proposal." During the summer of 1780

this wretched "Continental" currency fell into contempt. As Washington

said, it took a wagon-load of money to buy a wagon-load of provisions.

At the end of the year 1778, the paper dollar was worth sixteen cents in

the northern states and twelve cents in the south. Early in 1780 its

value had fallen to two cents, and before the end of the year it took

ten paper dollars to make a cent. In October, Indian corn sold wholesale

in Boston for $150 a bushel, butter was $12 a pound, tea $90, sugar $10,

beef $8, coffee $12, and a barrel of flour cost $1,575. Samuel Adams

paid $2,000 for a hat and suit of clothes. The money soon ceased to

circulate, debts could not be collected, and there was a general

prostration of credit. To say that a thing was "not worth a Continental"

became the strongest possible expression of contempt. A barber in

Philadelphia papered his shop with bills, and a dog was led up and down

the streets, smeared with tar, with this unhappy "money" sticking all

over him,--a sorry substitute for the golden-fleeced sheep of the old

Norse legend. Save for the scanty pittance of gold which came in from

the French alliance, from the little foreign commerce that was left, and

from trade with the British army itself, the country was without any

circulating medium. In making its requisitions upon the states, Congress

resorted to a measure which reminds one of the barbaric ages of barter.

Instead of asking for money, it requested the states to send in their

"specific supplies" of beef and pork, flour and rice, salt and hay,

tobacco and rum. The finances of what was so soon to become one of the

richest of nations were thus managed on the principle whereby the meagre

salaries of country clergymen in New England used to be eked out. It

might have been called a continental system of "donation parties."

[Sidenote: Taxes paid in the form of specific supplies]

[Sidenote: Difficulty of keeping the army together]

Under these circumstances, it became almost impossible to feed and

clothe the army. The commissaries, without either money or credit, could

do but little; and Washington, sorely against his will, was obliged to

levy contributions on the country surrounding his camp. It was done as

gently as possible. The county magistrates were called on for a

specified quantity of flour and meat; the supplies brought in were duly

appraised, and certificates were given in exchange for them by the

commissaries. Such certificates were received at their nominal value in

payment of taxes. But this measure, which simply introduced a new kind

of paper money, served only to add to the general confusion. These

difficulties, enhanced by the feeling that the war was dragged out to an

interminable length, made it impossible to keep the army properly

recruited. When four months' pay of a private soldier would not buy a

single bushel of wheat for his family, and when he could not collect

even this pittance, while most of the time he went barefoot and

half-famished, it was not strange that he should sometimes feel

mutinous. The desertions to the British lines at this time averaged more

than a hundred a month. Ternay, the French admiral, wrote to Vergennes

that the fate of North America was as yet very uncertain, and the

Revolution by no means so far advanced as people in Europe supposed. The

accumulated evils of the time had greatly increased the number of

persons who, to save the remnant of their fortunes, were ready to see

peace purchased at any price. In August, before he had heard of the

disaster at Camden, Washington wrote to President Huntington, reminding

him that the term of service of half the army would expire at the end of

the year. "The shadow of an army that will remain," said Washington,

"will have every motive except mere patriotism to abandon the service,

without the hope, which has hitherto supported them, of a change for the

better. This is almost extinguished now, and certainly will not outlive

the campaign unless it finds something more substantial to rest upon. To

me it will appear miraculous if our affairs can maintain themselves much

longer in their present train. If either the temper or the resources of

the country will not admit of an alteration, we may expect soon to be

reduced to the humiliating condition of seeing the cause of America in

America upheld by foreign arms."

[Portrait: Sam^{el} Huntington]

[Sidenote: The French alliance]

To appreciate the full force of this, we must remember that, except in

South Carolina, there had been no fighting worthy of mention during the

year. The southern campaign absorbed the energies of the British to such

an extent that they did nothing whatever in the north but make an

unsuccessful attempt at invading New Jersey in June. While this fact

shows how severely the strength of England was taxed by the coalition

that had been formed against her, it shows even more forcibly how the

vitality of America had been sapped by causes that lay deeper down than

the mere presence of war. It was, indeed, becoming painfully apparent

that little was to be hoped save through the aid of France. The alliance

had thus far achieved but little that was immediately obvious to the

American people, but it had really been of enormous indirect benefit to

us. Both in itself and in the European complications to which it had

led, the action of France had very seriously crippled the efficient

military power of England. It locked up and neutralized much British

energy that would otherwise have been directed against the Americans.

The French government had also furnished Congress with large sums of

money. But as for any direct share in military enterprises on American

soil or in American waters, France had as yet done almost nothing. An

evil star had presided over both the joint expeditions for the recovery

of Newport and Savannah, and no French army had yet been landed on our

shores to cast in its lot with Washington's brave Continentals in a

great and decisive campaign.

[Illustration: FRANKLIN BEFORE LOUIS XVI.]

[Portrait: Louis]

[Portrait: Marie Antoinette]

[Sidenote: Lafayette's visit to France]

It had long been clear that France could in no way more effectively

further the interests which she shared with the United States than by

sending a strong force of trained soldiers to act under Washington's

command. Nothing could be more obvious than the inference that such a

general, once provided with an adequate force, might drive the British

from New York, and thus deal a blow which would go far toward ending the

war. This had long been Washington's most cherished scheme. In February,

1779, Lafayette had returned to France to visit his family, and to urge

that aid of this sort might be granted. To chide him for his naughtiness

in running away to America in defiance of the royal mandate, the king

ordered him to be confined for a week at his father-in-law's house in

Paris. Then he received him quite graciously at court, while the queen

begged him to "tell us good news of our dearly beloved Americans." The

good Lafayette, to whom, in the dreadful years that were to come, this

dull king and his bright, unhappy queen were to look for compassionate

protection, now ventured to give them some sensible words of advice.

"The money that you spend on one of your old court balls," he said,

"would go far toward sending a serviceable army to America, and dealing

England a blow where she would most feel it." For several months he

persisted in urging Vergennes to send over at least 12,000 men, with a

good general, and to put them distinctly under Washington's command, so

that there might be no disastrous wrangling about precedence, and no

repetition of such misunderstandings as had ruined the Newport campaign.

When Estaing arrived at Paris, early in 1780, after his defeat at

Savannah, he gave similar advice. The idea commended itself to

Vergennes, and when, in April, 1780, Lafayette returned to the United

States, he was authorized to inform Washington that France would soon

send the desired reinforcement.

[Sidenote: Arrival of part of the French auxiliary force under

Rochambeau]

On the 10th of July, Admiral Ternay, with seven ships-of-the-line and

three frigates, arrived at Newport, bringing with him a force of 6,000

men, commanded by a good general, Count Rochambeau. This was the first

instalment of an army of which the remainder was to be sent as soon as

adequate means of transport could be furnished. On the important

question of military etiquette, Lafayette's advice had been strictly

heeded. Rochambeau was told to put himself under Washington's command,

and to consider his troops as part of the American army, while American

officers were to take precedence of French officers of equal rank. This

French army was excellent in discipline and equipment, and among its

officers were some, such as the Duke de Lauzun-Biron and the Marquis de

Chastellux, who had won high distinction. Rochambeau wrote to Vergennes

that on his arrival he found the people of Rhode Island sad and

discouraged. Everybody thought the country was going to the dogs. But

when it was understood that this was but the advance guard of a

considerable army and that France was this time in deadly earnest, their

spirits rose, and the streets of Newport were noisy with hurrahs and

brilliant with fireworks.

[Illustration: LANDING OF FRENCH TROOPS]

The hearts of the people, however, were still further to be sickened

with hope deferred. Several British ships-of-the-line, arriving at New

York, gave the enemy such a preponderance upon the water that Clinton

resolved to take the offensive, and started down the Sound with 6,000

men to attack the French at Newport. Washington foiled this scheme by a

sudden movement against New York, which obliged the British commander to

fall back hastily for its defence; but the French fleet was nevertheless

blockaded in Narragansett Bay by a powerful British squadron, and

Rochambeau felt it necessary to keep his troops in Rhode Island to aid

the admiral in case of such contingencies as might arise. The second

instalment of the French army, on which their hopes had been built,

never came, for a British fleet of thirty-two sail held it blockaded in

the harbour of Brest.

[Sidenote: General despondency]

The maritime supremacy of England thus continued to stand in the way of

any great enterprise; and for a whole year the gallant army of

Rochambeau was kept idle in Rhode Island, impatient and chafing under

the restraint. The splendid work it was destined to perform under

Washington's leadership lay hidden in the darkness of the future, and

for the moment the gloom which had overspread the country was only

deepened. Three years had passed since the victory of Saratoga, but the

vast consequences which were already flowing from that event had not yet

disclosed their meaning. Looking only at the surface of things, it might

well be asked--and many did ask--whether that great victory had really

done anything more than to prolong a struggle which was essentially vain

and hopeless. Such themes formed the burden of discourse at gentlemen's

dinner-tables and in the back parlours of country inns, where stout

yeomen reviewed the situation of affairs through clouds of tobacco

smoke; and never, perhaps, were the Tories more jubilant or the Whigs

more crestfallen than at the close of this doleful summer.

It was just at this moment that the country was startled by the sudden

disclosure of a scheme of blackest treason. For the proper explanation

of this affair, a whole chapter will be required.

FOOTNOTES:

[31] Agricultural communities lack the right kind of experience for

understanding the real nature of money, and farmers are

peculiarly subject to financial delusions. This has been

illustrated again and again in American history, with

lamentable consequences, from the Massachusetts issue of

"paper money" in 1690 down to the drivelling schemes of the

silver lunatics at the present time.

CHAPTER XIV

BENEDICT ARNOLD

[Sidenote: Arnold put in command of Philadelphia June 18, 1778]

To understand the proximate causes of Arnold's treason, we must start

from the summer of 1778, when Philadelphia was evacuated by the British.

On that occasion, as General Arnold was incapacitated for active service

by the wound he had received at Saratoga, Washington placed him in

command of Philadelphia. This step brought Arnold into direct contact

with Congress, toward which he bore a fierce grudge for the slights it

had put upon him; and, moreover, the command was in itself a difficult

one. The authority vested in the commandant was not clearly demarcated

from that which belonged to the state government, so that occasions for

dispute were sure to be forthcoming. While the British had held the city

many of the inhabitants had given them active aid and encouragement, and

there was now more or less property to be confiscated. By a resolve of

Congress, all public stores belonging to the enemy were to be

appropriated for the use of the army, and the commander-in-chief was

directed to suspend the sale or transfer of goods until the general

question of ownership should have been determined by a joint committee

of Congress and of the Executive Council of Pennsylvania. It became

Arnold's duty to carry out this order, which not only wrought serious

disturbance to business, but made the city a hornet's nest of bickerings

and complaints. The qualities needed for dealing successfully with such

an affair as this were very different from the qualities which had

distinguished Arnold in the field. The utmost delicacy of tact was

required, and Arnold was blunt and self-willed, and deficient in tact.

He was accordingly soon at loggerheads with the state government, and

lost, besides, much of the personal popularity with which he started.

Stories were whispered about to his discredit. It was charged against

Arnold that the extravagance of his style of living was an offence

against republican simplicity, and a scandal in view of the distressed

condition of the country; that in order to obtain the means of meeting

his heavy expenses he resorted to peculation and extortion; and that he

showed too much favour to the Tories. These charges were doubtless not

without some foundation. This era of paper money and failing credit was

an era of ostentatious expenditure, not altogether unlike that which, in

later days, preceded the financial break-down of 1873. People in the

towns lived extravagantly, and in no other town was this more

conspicuous than in Philadelphia; while perhaps no one in Philadelphia

kept a finer stable of horses or gave more costly dinners than General

Arnold. He ran in debt, and engaged in commercial speculations to remedy

the evil; and, in view of the light afterward thrown upon his character,

it is not unlikely that he may have sometimes availed himself of his

high position to aid these speculations.

[Portrait: B Arnold]

[Sidenote: Miss Margaret Shippen]

[Sidenote: Views of the moderate Tories]

The charge of favouring the Tories may find its explanation in a

circumstance which possibly throws a side-light upon his lavish use of

money. Miss Margaret Shippen, daughter of a gentleman of moderate Tory

sympathies, who some years afterward became chief justice of

Pennsylvania, was at that time the reigning belle of Philadelphia; and

no sooner had the new commandant arrived at his post than he was taken

captive by her piquant face and charming manner. The lady was scarcely

twenty years old, while Arnold was a widower of thirty-five, with three

sons; but his handsome face, his gallant bearing, and his splendid

career outweighed these disadvantages, and in the autumn of 1778 he was

betrothed to Miss Shippen, and thus entered into close relations with a

prominent Tory family. In the moderate section of the Tory party, to

which the Shippens belonged, there were many people who, while strongly

opposed to the Declaration of Independence, would nevertheless have

deemed it dishonourable to lend active aid to the enemy. In 1778, such

people thought that Congress did wrong in making an alliance with France

instead of accepting the liberal proposals of Lord North. The

Declaration of Independence, they argued, would never have been made had

it been supposed that the constitutional liberties of the American

people could any otherwise be securely protected. Even Samuel Adams

admitted this. In the war which had been undertaken in defence of these

liberties, the affair of Saratoga had driven the British government to

pledge itself to concede them once and forever. Then why not be

magnanimous in the hour of triumph? Why not consider the victory of

Saratoga as final, instead of subjecting the resources of the country to

a terrible strain in the doubtful attempt to secure a result which, only

three years before, even Washington himself had regarded as undesirable?

Was it not unwise and unpatriotic to reject the overtures of our

kinsmen, and cast in our lot with that Catholic and despotic power which

had ever been our deadliest foe?

[Illustration: OLD LONDON COFFEE HOUSE, PHILADELPHIA]

[Sidenote: Arnold's drift toward Toryism]

[Sidenote: He makes up his mind to leave the army]

Such were the arguments to which Arnold must have listened again and

again, during the summer and autumn of 1778. How far he may have been

predisposed toward such views it would be impossible to say. He always

declared himself disgusted with the French alliance,[32] and in this

there is nothing improbable. But that, under the circumstances, he

should gradually have drifted into the Tory position was, in a man of

his temperament, almost inevitable. His nature was warm, impulsive, and

easily impressible, while he was deficient in breadth of intelligence in

rigorous moral conviction; and his opinions on public matters took their

hue largely from his personal feelings. It was not surprising that such

a man, in giving splendid entertainments, should invite to them the Tory

friends of the lady whose favour he was courting. His course excited the

wrath of the Whigs. General Reed wrote indignantly to General Greene

that Arnold had actually given a party at which "not only common Tory

ladies, but the wives and daughters of persons proscribed by the state,

and now with the enemy at New York," were present in considerable

numbers. When twitted with such things, Arnold used to reply that it was

the part of a true soldier to fight his enemies in the open field, but

not to proscribe or persecute their wives and daughters in private life.

But such an explanation naturally satisfied no one. His quarrels with

the Executive Council, sharpened by such incidents as these, grew more

and more violent, until when, in December, his most active enemy, Joseph

Reed, became president of the Council, he suddenly made up his mind to

resign his post and leave the army altogether. He would quit the turmoil

of public affairs, obtain a grant of land in western New York, settle it

with his old soldiers, with whom he had always been a favourite, and

lead henceforth a life of Arcadian simplicity. In this mood he wrote to

Schuyler, in words which to-day seem strange and sad, that his ambition

was not so much to "shine in history" as to be "a good citizen;" and

about the 1st of January, 1779, he set out for Albany to consult with

the New York legislature about the desired land.

[Portrait: John Jay]

[Sidenote: Charges are brought against him Jan., 1779]

[Sidenote: He is acquitted by a committee of Congress in March]

[Sidenote: The case is referred to a court-martial, April 3, 1779]

Arnold's scheme was approved by John Jay, who was then president of the

Continental Congress, as well as by several other men of influence, and

in all likelihood it would have succeeded; but as he stopped for a day

at Morristown, to visit Washington, a letter overtook him, with the

information that as soon as his back had been turned upon Philadelphia

he had been publicly attacked by President Reed and the Council. Formal

charges were brought against him: 1, of having improperly granted a pass

for a ship to come into port; 2, of having once used some public wagons

for the transportation of private property; 3, of having usurped the

privilege of the Council in allowing people to enter the enemy's lines;

4, of having illegally bought up a lawsuit over a prize vessel; 5, of

having "imposed menial offices upon the sons of freemen" serving in the

militia; and 6, of having made purchases for his private benefit at the

time when, by his own order, all shops were shut. These charges were

promulgated in a most extraordinary fashion. Not only were they laid

before Congress, but copies of them were sent to the governors of all

the states, accompanied by a circular letter from President Reed

requesting the governors to communicate them to their respective

legislatures. Arnold was naturally enraged at such an elaborate attempt

to prepossess the public mind against him, but his first concern was for

the possible effect it might have upon Miss Shippen. He instantly

returned to Philadelphia, and demanded an investigation. He had obtained

Washington's permission to resign his command, but deferred acting upon

it till the inquiry should have ended. The charges were investigated by

a committee of Congress, and about the middle of March this committee

brought in a report stating that all the accusations were groundless,

save the two which related to the use of the wagons and the irregular

granting of a pass; and since in these instances there was no evidence

of wrong intent, the committee recommended an unqualified verdict of

acquittal. Arnold thereupon, considering himself vindicated, resigned

his command. But Reed now represented to Congress that further testimony

was forthcoming, and urged that the case should be reconsidered.

Accordingly, instead of acting upon the report of its committee,

Congress referred the matter anew to a joint committee of Congress and

the Assembly and Council of Pennsylvania. This joint committee shirked

the matter by recommending that the case be referred to a court-martial,

and this recommendation was adopted by Congress on the 3d of April. The

vials of Arnold's wrath were now full to overflowing; but he had no

cause to complain of Miss Shippen, for their marriage took place in less

than a week after this action of Congress. Washington, who sympathized

with Arnold's impatience, appointed the court-martial for the 1st of

May, but the Council of Pennsylvania begged for more time to collect

evidence. And thus, in one way and another, the summer and autumn were

frittered away, so that the trial did not begin until the 19th of

December. All this time Arnold kept clamouring for a speedy trial, and

Washington did his best to soothe him while paying due heed to the

representations of the Council.

[Sidenote: First correspondence with Clinton]

In the excitement of this fierce controversy the Arcadian project seems

to have been forgotten. Up to this point Arnold's anger had been chiefly

directed toward the authorities of Pennsylvania; but when Congress

refused to act upon the report of its committee exonerating him from

blame, he became incensed against the whole party which, as he said, had

so ill requited his services. It is supposed to have been about that

time, in April, 1779, that he wrote a letter to Sir Henry Clinton, in

disguised handwriting and under the signature of "Gustavus," describing

himself as an American officer of high rank, who, through disgust at the

French alliance and _other recent proceedings of Congress_, might

perhaps be persuaded to go over to the British, provided he could be

indemnified for any losses he might incur by so doing. The beginning of

this correspondence--if this was really the time--coincided curiously

with the date of Arnold's marriage, but it is in the highest degree

probable that down to the final catastrophe Mrs. Arnold knew nothing

whatever of what was going on.[33] The correspondence was kept up at

intervals, Sir Henry's replies being written by Major John André, his

adjutant-general, over the signature of "John Anderson." Nothing seems

to have been thought of at first beyond the personal desertion of Arnold

to the enemy; the betrayal of a fortress was a later development of

infamy. For the present, too, we may suppose that Arnold was merely

playing with fire, while he awaited the result of the court-martial.

[Portrait: John André]

[Sidenote: The court-martial acquits Arnold of all serious charges, but

directs Washington to reprimand him for two very trivial ones, Jan. 26,

1780]

The summer was not a happy one. His debts went on increasing, while his

accounts with Congress remained unsettled, and he found it impossible to

collect large sums that were due him. At last the court-martial met, and

sat for five weeks. On the 26th of January, 1780, the verdict was

rendered, and in substance it agreed exactly with that of the committee

of Congress ten months before. Arnold was fully acquitted of all the

charges which alleged dishonourable dealings. The pass which he had

granted was irregular, and public wagons, which were standing idle, had

once been used to remove private property that was in imminent danger

from the enemy. The court exonerated Arnold of all intentional wrong,

even in these venial matters, which it characterized as "imprudent;"

but, as a sort of lame concession to the Council of Pennsylvania, it

directed that he should receive a public reprimand from the

commander-in-chief for his imprudence in the use of wagons, and for

hurriedly giving a pass in which all due forms were not attended to. The

decision of the court-martial was promptly confirmed by Congress, and

Washington had no alternative but to issue the reprimand, which he

couched in words as delicate and gracious as possible.[34]

[Sidenote: Arnold thirsts for revenge upon Congress]

It was too late, however. The damage was done. Arnold had long felt

persecuted and insulted. He had already dallied with temptation, and the

poison was now working in his veins. His sense of public duty was

utterly distorted by the keener sense of his private injuries. We may

imagine him brooding over some memorable incidents in the careers of

Monk, of the great Montrose and the greater Marlborough, until he

persuaded himself that to change sides in a civil war was not so heinous

a crime after all. Especially the example of Monk, which had already led

Charles Lee to disgrace, seems to have riveted the attention of Arnold,

although only the most shallow scrutiny could discover any resemblance

between what the great English general had done and what Arnold purposed

to do. There was not a more scrupulously honourable soldier in his day

than George Monk. Arnold's thoughts may have run somewhat as follows. He

would not become an ordinary deserter, a villain on a small scale. He

would not sell himself cheaply to the devil; but he would play as signal

a part in his new career as he had played in the old one. He would

overwhelm this blundering Congress, and triumphantly carry the country

back to its old allegiance. To play such a part, however, would require

the blackest treachery. Fancy George Monk, "honest old George," asking

for the command of a fortress in order to betray it to the enemy!

[Illustration: BENEDICT ARNOLD'S HOUSE AT PHILADELPHIA]

When once Arnold had committed himself to this evil course, his story

becomes a sickening one, lacking no element of horror, whether in its

foul beginnings or in its wretched end. To play his new part properly,

he must obtain an important command, and the place which obviously

suggested itself was West Point.

[Sidenote: Significance of West Point]

Since Burgoyne's overthrow, Washington had built a chain of strong

fortresses there, for he did not intend that the possession of the

Hudson river should ever again be put in question, so far as

fortifications could go. Could this cardinal position be delivered up to

Clinton, the prize would be worth tenfold the recent triumphs at

Charleston and Camden. It would be giving the British what Burgoyne had

tried in vain to get; and now it was the hero of Saratoga who plotted to

undo his own good work at the dictates of perverted ambition and

unhallowed revenge.

[Sidenote: Arnold put in command of West Point, July, 1780]

To get possession of this stronghold, it was necessary to take advantage

of the confidence with which his great commander had always honoured

him. From Washington, in July, 1780, Arnold sought the command of West

Point, alleging that his wounded leg still kept him unfit for service in

the field; and Washington immediately put him in charge of this

all-important post, thus giving him the strongest proof of unabated

confidence and esteem which it was in his power to give; and among all

the dark shades in Arnold's treason, perhaps none seems darker than this

personal treachery toward the man who had always trusted and defended

him. What must the traitor's feelings have been when he read the

affectionate letters which Schuyler wrote him at this very time? In

better days he had shown much generosity of nature. Can it be that this

is the same man who on the field of Saratoga saved the life of the poor

soldier who in honest fight had shot him and broken his leg? Such are

the strange contrasts that we sometimes see in characters that are

governed by impulse, and not by principle. Their virtue may be real

enough while it lasts, but it does not weather the storm; and when once

wrecked, the very same emotional nature by which alone it was supported

often prompts to deeds of incredible wickedness.

[Illustration: JOSHUA SMITH'S HOUSE, ON TREASON HILL]

[Sidenote: Secret interview between Arnold and André, Sept. 22]

After taking command of West Point, the correspondence with André,

carefully couched in such terms as to make it seem to refer to some

commercial enterprise, was briskly kept up; and hints were let drop

which convinced Sir Henry Clinton that the writer was Arnold, and the

betrayal of the highland stronghold his purpose. Troops were accordingly

embarked on the Hudson, and the flotilla was put in command of Admiral

Rodney, who had looked in at New York on his way to the West Indies. To

disguise the purpose of the embarkation, a rumour was industriously

circulated that a force was to be sent southward to the Chesapeake. To

arrange some important details of the affair it seemed desirable that

the two correspondents "Gustavus" and "John Anderson," should meet, and

talk over matters which could not safely be committed to paper. On the

18th of September, Washington, accompanied by Lafayette and Hamilton,

set out for Hartford, for an interview with Rochambeau; and advantage

was taken of his absence to arrange a meeting between the plotters. On

the 20th André was taken up the river on the Vulture, sloop-of-war, and

on the night of the 21st Arnold sent out a boat which brought him ashore

about four miles below Stony Point. There in a thicket of fir-trees,

under the veil of blackest midnight, the scheme was matured; but as gray

dawn came on before all the details had been arranged, the boatmen

became alarmed, and refused to take André back to the ship, and he was

accordingly persuaded, though against his will, to accompany Arnold

within the American lines. The two conspirators walked up the bank a

couple of miles to the house of one Joshua Smith, a man of doubtful

allegiance, who does not seem to have understood the nature and extent

of the plot, or to have known who Arnold's visitor was. It was thought

that they might spend the day discussing the enterprise, and when it

should have grown dark André could be rowed back to the Vulture.

[Illustration: LINKS OF WEST POINT CHAIN]

[Illustration: SCENE OF ARNOLD'S TREASON, 1780]

[Sidenote: The plot for surrendering West Point]

But now a quite unforeseen accident occurred. Colonel Livingston,

commanding the works on the opposite side of the river, was provoked by

the sight of a British ship standing so near; and he opened such a

lively fire upon the Vulture that she was obliged to withdraw from the

scene. As the conspirators were waiting in Smith's house for breakfast

to be served, they heard the booming of the guns, and André, rushing to

the window, beheld with dismay the ship on whose presence so much

depended dropping out of sight down the stream. On second thoughts,

however, it was clear that she would not go far, as her commander had

orders not to return to New York without André, and it was still thought

that he might regain her. After breakfast he went to an upper chamber

with Arnold, and several hours were spent in perfecting their plans.

Immediately upon André's return to New York, the force under Clinton and

Rodney was to ascend the river. To obstruct the approach of a hostile

flotilla, a massive chain lay stretched across the river, guarded by

water batteries. Under pretence of repairs, one link was to be taken out

for a few days, and supplied by a rope which a slight blow would tear

away. The approach of the British was to be announced by a concerted

system of signals, and the American forces were to be so distributed

that they could be surrounded and captured in detail, until at the

proper moment Arnold, taking advantage of the apparent defeat, was to

surrender the works, with all the troops--3,000 in number--under his

command. It was not unreasonably supposed that such a catastrophe,

coming on the heels of Charleston and Camden and general bankruptcy,

would put a stop to the war and lead to negotiations, in which Arnold,

in view of such decisive service, might hope to play a leading part.

[Sidenote: André takes compromising documents]

[Sidenote: and is reluctantly persuaded to return to New York by land,

Sept. 22]

When André set out on this perilous undertaking, Sir Henry Clinton

specially warned him not to adopt any disguise or to carry any papers

which might compromise his safety. But André disregarded the advice, and

took from Arnold six papers, all but one of them in the traitor's own

handwriting, containing descriptions of the fortresses and information

as to the disposition of the troops. Much risk might have been avoided

by putting this information into cipher, or into a memorandum which

would have been meaningless save to the parties concerned. But André may

perhaps have doubted Arnold's fidelity, and feared lest under a false

pretence of treason he might be drawing the British away into a snare.

The documents 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. André 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 passes for

Smith and André 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 André 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 ship than in travelling down to the British lines by land,

and he promised to ride all night with André 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.

[Illustration: FACSIMILE OF ARNOLD'S PASS TO ANDRÉ]

[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 assume,

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, nobody'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 André

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 André, 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]

[Illustration: FACSIMILE OF ONE OF THE PAPERS FOUND IN ANDRÉ'S

STOCKINGS]

[Sidenote: Arrest of André, Sept. 23]

[Sidenote: Colonel Jameson's perplexity]

Meanwhile, André, 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 André 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, pass

unquestioned; and if Smith, who was known to almost every one in that

neighbourhood, had been with André, they too would doubtless have been

allowed to pass. André 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," André expressed a hope that

such was the case; and on being assured 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 pass they disregarded it, and insisted

upon searching him, until presently the six papers were discovered where

he had hidden them. "By God, 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 documents 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 documents themselves

he prudently sent by an express-rider to Washington, accompanying them

with a similar letter of explanation. André, 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 André and the letter should be recalled. After a hurried

discussion, Jameson sent out a party which brought André 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]

[Illustration: BEVERLY ROBINSON'S HOUSE]

[Sidenote: Washington returns from Hartford sooner than expected]

Now, if Washington 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 Washington 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 Saturday, the

23d, that Jameson's two letters started. On Sunday afternoon Washington

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. Wishing to have a talk

with this gentleman, Washington turned back to the nearest inn, where

they sat down to supper and chatted, all unconsciously, with the very

Joshua Smith from whom André 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,

Washington 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 Washington, 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 Washington 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.

[Illustration: 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 documents in his possession, which had been

forwarded to the commander-in-chief. With astonishing 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 Washington 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 André some miles down stream, and he told the oarsmen to row

him thither without delay, as he must get back soon to meet Washington.

A brisk row of eighteen miles brought them to the Vulture, whose

commander was still wondering why André did not come back. From the

cabin of the Vulture Arnold sent a letter to Washington, assuring 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 ship weighed anchor, and reached New York

next morning.

[Portrait: MRS. BENEDICT ARNOLD AND CHILD]

[Sidenote: Discovery of the treasonable plot]

Meanwhile, about noonday Washington 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 Washington, 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, Washington 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 British!

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 André's capture

it doubtless would have been doing that day), and an attack might be

made before the morrow. Riding anxiously about the works, Washington

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: André taken to Tappan, Sept. 28]

But while the principal 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, André had written a letter to

Washington, 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

André 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 classmate of Nathan Hale, whom General Howe had hanged as a spy

four years before. Tallmadge had begun to feel a warm interest in André,

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 classmate. "But surely," said poor André, "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: André's trial and sentence, Sept. 29]

Next day a military commission of fourteen generals was assembled, 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 God 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 André had acted as a spy, and incurred the penalty of

death. Washington 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 ashore under a

flag of truce, and that when taken he certainly was travelling under

the protection of a pass 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 André, who was privy to this treasonable

purpose, took his life in his hands as completely as any ordinary spy

would do. André himself had already candidly admitted before the court

"that it was impossible for him to suppose that he came ashore under the

sanction of a flag;" and Washington struck to the root of the matter, as

he invariably did, in his letter to Clinton, where he said that André

"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, Washington

very properly refused to permit such an unusual proceeding. Lastly,

Clinton asked that André 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 Washington,

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 André, 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 André's life. No such suggestion could be made in the form of an

official proposal. Under no circumstances 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 Saturday, 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 André would be set free. It was Lafayette who had

authorized Ogden to offer the suggestion, and so, apparently Washington

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 petition from André, 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.

[Illustration: FACSIMILE OF SKETCH OF ANDRÉ 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 André'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 Washington or of the military

commission that the chief offender went unpunished, and in no wise was

André made a scapegoat for Arnold.

[Sidenote: Lord Stanhope's unconscious impudence]

It is right that we should feel pity for the fate of André; 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 André'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 assuming 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 André, 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 André should have been

spared]

It was natural enough that André's friends should make the most of the

fact that when captured he was travelling under a pass 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 entitled 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 André. Moreover, while it

is an undoubted fact that military morality permits, and sometimes

applauds, such enterprises as that in which André 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. Massey, when he

doubts "whether services of this character entitle 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 André, 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 brigadiership 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

Washington, his steadfast friend, could never speak of him again

without a shudder. From men less reticent than Washington strong words

were heard. "What do you think of the damnable doings of that diabolical

dog?" wrote Colonel Otho Williams with sturdy 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]

[Illustration: ANDRÉ'S POCKETBOOK]

[Illustration: 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 noble earl. It does not

appear, however, that Arnold was universally despised in England.

Influenced by the political passions 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 Massingham, 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

friendships 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 friendship with Washington. 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 Washington

had given him after the victory of Saratoga. "Let me die," said he, "in

this old uniform in which I fought my battles. May God forgive me for

ever putting on any other!"

* * * * *

As we thus reach the end of one of the saddest episodes in American

history, our sympathy cannot fail for the moment to go out toward the

sufferer, nor can we help contrasting these passionate dying words with

the last cynical scoff of that other traitor, Charles Lee, when he

begged that he might not be buried within a mile of any church, as he

did not wish to keep bad company after death. From beginning to end the

story of Lee is little more than a vulgar melodrama; but into the story

of Arnold there enters that element of awe and pity which, as Aristotle

pointed out, is an essential part of real tragedy. That Arnold had been

very shabbily treated, long before any thought of treason entered his

mind, is not to be denied. That he may honestly have come to consider

the American cause hopeless, that he may really have lost his interest

in it because of the French alliance,--all this is quite possible. Such

considerations might have justified him in resigning his commission; or

even, had he openly and frankly gone over to the enemy, much as we

should have deplored such a step, some persons would always have been

found to judge him charitably, and accord him the credit of acting upon

principle. But the dark and crooked course which he did choose left open

no alternative but that of unqualified condemnation. If we feel less of

contempt and more of sorrow in the case of Arnold than in the case of

such a weakling as Charles Lee, our verdict is not the less

unmitigated.[38] Arnold's fall was by far the more terrible, as he fell

from a greater height, and into a depth than which none could be lower.

It is only fair that we should recall his services to the cause of

American independence, which were unquestionably greater than those of

any other man in the Continental army except Washington and Greene. But

it is part of the natural penalty that attaches to backsliding such as

his, that when we hear the name of Benedict Arnold these are not the

things which it suggests to our minds, but the name stands, and will

always stand, as a symbol of unfaithfulness to trust.

* * * * *

The enormity of Arnold's conduct stands out in all the stronger relief

when we contrast with it the behaviour of the common soldiers whose

mutiny furnished the next serious obstacle with which Washington had to

contend at this period of the war.

[Sidenote: Mutiny of Pennsylvania troops, Jan. 1, 1781]