Benedict Arnold was one of the most distinguished generals in the
American army during the earlier part of the contest of the colonies
with Great Britain, and subsequently infamous as a traitor to his
country, was born in Connecticut, of obscure parentage, and received
an education suitable to an humble condition. The occupations of his
youth were not fitted to prepare him for the functions which he was
called upon to exercise in the sequel. At first a dealer in horses, he
sustained losses in his trade. Eager for renown, greedy of money, the
troubles of his country inspired him with the hope of acquiring fame
and fortune by the profession of arms: accordingly, on the breaking
out of the revolutionary war, he embraced the cause of his countrymen
with enthusiasm, and took the command of a company of volunteers at
New Haven. He soon won a high military reputation. Washington,
encouraged by secret advices that the Canadians were inclined to make
part of the Union, projected the surprise of Quebec. This hazardous
undertaking required leaders at once active, vigilant, bold, and
inflexibly patient. He committed it to Montgomery and colonel Arnold,
as the most capable. He exhorted them, with extreme earnestness, to
treat the Canadians as friends, as fellow-citizens, and to punish
severely the least irregularities of the soldiery. Arnold began his
march in the month of September. He conducted his small force through
deserts which man had never before penetrated. The river of Kennebeck
had overflowed its banks; he crossed it by swimming, or on rafts.
Unknown streams presented a new obstacle: he diverted their course.
The snow fell in abundance; a few hours of sun during the day were
insufficient to thaw the ice formed in the long and severe nights of
the northern autumn; but nothing could arrest his progress. He was
always in the van with the pioneers, who cut a passage through this
wild country, and, at the end of each march, had arrived before the
enemy knew of his approach. He thus put in practice a maxim which he
was fond of repeating: ‘In war, expedition is equivalent to strength.’
The last division, conducted by a man less resolute and persevering,
returned; while he, at the head of the two first, sustained the
courage of the soldiers, who were exhausted by fatigue, hunger and
every species of suffering. After two months of toil, all impediments
were overcome, and he encamped before the fortress, but with a band so
much enfeebled, that he was obliged to await the arrival of
Montgomery, who approached by another route. Montgomery died
gloriously in an assault, December 31, 1775. Arnold was severely
wounded in the leg, and forced to convert the siege into a blockade.
He was not, however, to be daunted by any reverse. From the bed to
which his wound confined him, he infused into the little army, the
command of which had now devolved upon him, his own spirit of
determination and confidence. The enterprise failed: the courage and
intelligence which he exhibited throughout, placed him, nevertheless,
in the first class of American officers. He served with better
fortune, and still greater distinction, in the subsequent campaigns,
and bore a considerable part in that in which Burgoyne and his army
were made prisoners. He fought with his usual intrepidity in the
engagement which immediately preceded the capitulation. The first to
throw himself into the intrenchments of the enemy, he was animating
his men by his example, when a ball shattered the leg already wounded
at the siege of Quebec. As he was borne from the ranks to his tent, he
still issued orders for the continuance of the assault. The boldness
of Arnold was so great, that he was accused of a disposition to
entangle himself rashly in perilous situations; but it could not be
denied, that his rapid discernment supplied him, in the midst of
danger, with the surest expedients, and that success always justified
his daring. The admiration of his fellow-citizens kept pace with his
services. His love of glory was accompanied with an equally strong
love of pleasure and dissipation, and he was very unscrupulous about
the mode of obtaining the means of gratifying it. His ill-gotten
wealth he squandered in frivolous expenses, or mere ostentation.
Montreal, the second city of Canada, was, under his command, a scene
of injustice and rapacity, and the Canadians soon abandoned the design
of joining the confederation. The attempt on Canada was abandoned,
and, the wounds of Arnold being not yet healed, he could be invested
only with some stationary command. Washington, though he detested his
vices, did not wish to leave his talents idle. The English having
evacuated Philadelphia, he directed Arnold to take possession of that
city with some troops of the Pennsylvania line,――a delicate charge for
a man so prone to extend his powers, and define them according to his
interests. It was not long before he displayed in this city a
magnificence as foreign to the habits of the country, as it was
unseasonable in the midst of the calamities of war. He even lodged in
his house the French envoy and all his suite on their arrival. From
this time, too, he began to profess an extraordinary attachment to the
French, and great zeal for an alliance with them. To relieve himself
from the difficulties into which his extravagance had plunged him, he
resorted to the same oppression and extortion which had rendered his
authority odious to the Canadians. Under pretense of the wants of the
army, he forbade the shopkeepers to sell or buy; he then put their
goods at the disposal of his agents, and caused them afterwards to be
resold with a profit. He prostituted his authority to enrich his
accomplices, and squabbled with them about the division of the prey.
The citizens applied for redress to the courts of justice. But, with
his military authority as his shield, he set at defiance both justice
and the laws. At length, however, a representation of the grievances
which the state was suffering, was made to congress by the president
of the executive council of Pennsylvania, a man of firm and upright
character, who had endeavored in vain to repress the overweening and
predatory spirit of Arnold, and a committee was appointed to inquire
into the subject. Arnold replied to the charges with arrogance. Some
members of congress were of opinion that he should be suspended from
his military functions until the investigation of his public conduct
was brought to an issue; but the accusation had become an affair of
party, and he had influence enough to cause this proposition to be set
aside. Congress at length resolved to lay the complaints against him
before the commander-in-chief.
As soon as Arnold saw that the resolutions of congress would be of
this tenor, he resigned the command which he held in Philadelphia. He
was tried before a court martial, and condemned, January 20, 1779, to
be reprimanded by the commander-in-chief. Congress ratified the
sentence, and Washington, having caused the culprit to appear before
him, performed the task with the considerate delicacy which he thought
due to so distinguished an officer. Arnold, however, quitted the army,
and, thenceforth, nourished an implacable hatred towards the cause
which he had so brilliantly defended. The embarrassment of his affairs
was at this time such, that private aid would not suffice to extricate
him. He had, some time before, formed a partnership with some owners
of privateers, who paid his share of the expenses of equipment, and
expected to be compensated for their advances by his countenance and
protection; but the chances were adverse, and, instead of profits to
be divided, there were losses to be borne. Arnold, now without credit
or authority, was no longer regarded by the owners as any thing more
than an ordinary partner. They exacted his proportion of the loss, and
their knowledge of his difficulties only served to render them more
urgent in their suit. In this extremity he tried a last resort.
Congress, at the commencement of the revolution, committed an error
which proved of great detriment to the finances. It entrusted some
officers with agencies which had no immediate connection with the
business of command or military service. Arnold, the least proper for
such trusts, was charged with considerable ones, and had large claims
for moneys and stores furnished in the expedition to Canada. The
commissioners to whom they were referred for settlement, reduced them
very considerably. He appealed from their decision to congress, who
pronounced that the commissioners had shown more lenity than rigor in
the liquidation of his accounts. Disappointed in all his expectations,
Arnold at last determined to betray his country, and to make his
treason in a high degree useful to England, that it might procure him
a full pardon for his share in the revolt of the colonies. He wished
to be regarded as a subject returned to his allegiance, and worthy of
the honorable rewards due to faithful and virtuous citizens. As a
first step, the British commanders were to be made acquainted with his
discontent, but in so guarded a manner as to leave a retreat open in
case the offers which might be made to him should not prove
satisfactory. Particular circumstances facilitated the communications
between them.
As soon as the English commander was apprized of the disposition of
Arnold, he despatched emissaries charged with such offers as were most
likely to determine a man whose hesitation was only about the means
and conditions. Some of Arnold’s proceedings, about this period,
warrant the supposition, that he at first meant to tamper with his
brother officers, but relinquished this design on more mature
reflection. He took good care that nothing of his real intentions
should be divined by the subaltern English agents; but there was, at
New York, a man whom he thought he could trust without risk. This was
Charles Beverley Robinson, an American by birth, and a colonel in the
British army, whose property all lay within the United States. His
mansion, situated on the Hudson, was included in the American lines,
and three miles lower than the forts upon the opposite bank. The
commanding officers of West Point, having found it deserted, had made
it their quarters. Arnold wrote to this officer, that the ingratitude
of his country, and other considerations to be afterwards disclosed,
had produced a change in his political sentiments; that he aspired to
merit, thenceforward, the favor of the king; that he could render
signal services; and wished to enter into a correspondence on the
subject with Sir Henry Clinton. This overture was well received, and,
a direct communication with the English general being established, it
was agreed that Arnold should dissemble, with the utmost care, his
discontent; that he should make every effort to obtain a command from
general Washington; that, as soon as he succeeded, he should consult
with Sir Henry Clinton as to his future movements, and be guided by
the instructions which would be given by him. From this time, he
entirely altered his manner and language. He affected to have
forgotten the affront of the reprimand, and pretended to feel a more
lively attachment than ever to the cause of independence.
The country through which the Hudson flows was the principal theatre
of the war. A station in this quarter would, he thought, best answer
his purpose. He was well acquainted with the localities. He examined,
with minute attention, in what spot, by what operations, he could most
beneficially second the enterprises of the British, and which was the
most important position to betray into their hands. New York was, at
this time, in the hands of the British, who had assembled there the
greatest part of their troops. The fortress of West Point, a military
station of very great importance, is distant twenty leagues from this
city. Arnold aimed at the chief command of this post, with a view of
betraying it into the hands of the British, with the garrisons, and
the arms and immense stores which were deposited there; for Fort
Clinton contained, besides the ammunition necessary for its own
defense, the stock of powder of the whole army. The command of the
fort had been entrusted to general Howe, an officer of tried courage,
but of limited capacity, who could be employed elsewhere without
inconvenience to the service. The wounds of Arnold did not as yet
allow him to mount on horseback; they did not disqualify him, however,
for conducting the defense of a citadel. He had early secured the
patronage of some of the leading men of the State of New York, and
Washington was prevailed upon to consign West Point to him. Being a
traitor to his own country, he was apprehensive lest those to whom he
was about to sell himself, might prove treacherous to him. He felt
anxious to receive the price of his ignominious bargain at the moment
of its ratification; but he could extort nothing more than a promise
of 30,000 pounds sterling, and the assurance that he should be
maintained in the British army in the rank of brigadier-general, which
he already held. About a month previous (July 10, 1780,) the first
division of the French army arrived at Newport, in the State of Rhode
Island. The situation of the English became every day more and more
critical. Sir Henry Clinton had relinquished his projected expedition.
He urged Arnold to fulfill his engagements, and supposed the thing
easy for a general who was master of the forts and the river; but
there were, in fact, numerous obstacles in the way, and of these the
presence of the commander-in-chief was the most serious. Arnold knew
his vigilance and activity. He insisted, therefore, with Clinton on
the necessity of deliberation, adding, however, that all should be in
readiness to improve the first favorable opportunity. A young officer
of foreign extraction served in the British Army. He was endowed with
all the qualities which render a man useful to his country, and dear
to society. This was JOHN ANDRE, adjutant-general of the British army.
General Sir Henry Clinton had taken him as his aid-de-camp, and did
not disdain him as a counselor. To him Clinton committed the business
of negotiating with Arnold. A correspondence ensued between Arnold and
Andre, under the names of _Gustavus_ and _Anderson_. Mercantile
relations were feigned, to disguise the real object, and an American,
whose dwelling stood between the lines that separated the two armies,
served as a common messenger. At this period the rumor began to spread
of a second division of the French army having sailed, and that
Washington only awaited its arrival to begin the siege of New York.
The marshal de Castries, who then administered the department of the
marine with so much reputation, had, in fact, advised the French envoy
of the approaching departure of a second expedition. Clinton caused
Arnold to be told that it was time to act; that a day must be fixed
for the surrender of the forts; and that, if time were given to the
allies to effect a junction, it might no longer be in the power of
Arnold himself to fulfill his engagements. He asked, also, plans of
the forts, and the instructions necessary for the safe guidance of the
British troops when they were sent to take possession of West Point.
Arnold replied to these new importunities in the language concerted
with Andre: ‘Our master goes away the 17th of this month. He will be
absent five or six days. Let us avail ourselves of this interval to
arrange our business. Come immediately and meet me at the lines, and
we will settle definitively the risks and profits of the
copartnership. All will be ready; but this inteview is indispensable,
and must precede the sailing of our ship.’ It was thus that Arnold
apprized Clinton of the approaching departure of the commander-in-chief.
Washington had, in fact, given a rendezvous to count de Rochambeau,
general of the French land forces, and to the chevalier de Ternay,
commander of the squadron. They were to meet at Hartford, in
Connecticut, to confer about the operations of this and the ensuing
campaigns. But Arnold was not correctly advised as to the period of
Washington’s departure, and the mistake led to important consequences.
He had, in other letters, solicited an interview with Andre, and he
now exacted it as a condition indispensable for the prosecution of the
enterprise. Hitherto, everything had succeded beyond his hopes. There
had been a total absence of those mysterious rumors, and vague
surmises, which accompany, and seem to portend, a great conspiracy.
Never had so momentous a plot been more felicitously brought so near
to its execution. This profound secrecy was owing to the precaution of
Arnold, in not having unbosomed himself to any of his own countrymen,
and in admitting only Andre and Robinson as correspondents. He took
credit for this policy, and his urgency for an interview with Andre
arose chiefly from his resolution to confide to the hands of this
officer alone the maps and particular information which Clinton
demanded.
The 17th of September, the day specified for the departure of
Washington, passed, and he was still at West Point. Arnold advertised
Clinton of the delay, and explained his mistake by mentioning a
circumstance which had not been before noted. The 17th fell on a
Sunday,――a day which the Americans consecrated entirely to the duties
of religion, and on which most of them abstained even from journeys,
which, elsewhere, would be thought indispensable. Clinton admitted
this explanation the more readily as he knew that Washington respected
the scruples of others, and was himself very religious. To obviate
untoward accidents, it was agreed that Andre should leave New York
only on the 19th of September, and reach the American forts about the
20th. He accordingly embarked in the night on board the Vulture
sloop-of-war. Clinton sent with him Beverly Robinson, the colonel
through whom Arnold had made his first overture. He expected that the
prudence of this officer would moderate the ardor of Andre. Moreover,
Arnold occupied Robinson’s house, and the private affairs, which he,
as a refugee, had to adjust with congress, furnished a plausible
pretense for his approaching the American lines and posts. September
20, they arrived almost opposite to fort Montgomery, situated on the
same side as West Point, five miles lower down. They cast anchor in
sight of the nearest American redoubts, but beyond the reach of some
small cannon, the only artillery of those redoubts. The Vulture got
aground at low water. The movement on board, and some signals which
she made, alarmed the vigilance of colonel Livingston, who commanded
at Verplanck’s Point. He ascertained, on reconnoitering, that the
sloop might be sunk by one or two pieces of heavy cannon; and as those
of the forts which he commanded were of too small a calibre, he
requested larger from Arnold. The general refused them, to the great
surprise of Livingston. But tacit obedience is the life of discipline,
and he acquiesced in some idle excuse. Two days elapsed after the
Sunday, and still Washington had, apparently, made no preparations for
departure. Arnold was himself uneasy at this disappointment; but the
apprehension of exciting suspicion by too frequent communications
prevented him from making it known to Clinton. The English general was
informed of it through another channel. He knew the unprincipled
character of Arnold, and could comprehend the probability of a snare
masked by a counterfeit scheme of treason. He was the more disquieted
as Andre and Robinson were already far on their way; and there was
equal inconvenience in leaving them ignorant, or advising them of
their danger. If Arnold were sincere in his defection, his return to
New York would disconcert all Arnold’s measures, and expose him to
serious risks. If he deceived the British, all the risks were for
Andre and Robinson. They had not, as yet, been able to communicate
with the shore, but, persuaded that Washington must have set out for
Hartford, they put in execution a stratagem, arranged beforehand with
Arnold, to facilitate the rendezvous. Robinson wrote to the American
general, Putnam, as if to transact with him business relating to his
property, and proposed an interview. In this letter was enclosed
another to general Arnold, wherein Robinson solicited a conference
with him, in case Putnam should be absent. The packet, being directed
to Arnold, would be opened only by him; but if, perchance, it fell
into other hands, the whole could be read without exciting suspicion
of a plot. This letter was despatched to the shore by a flag of truce
as soon as the sloop had cast anchor. It happened to be on the very
day fixed by Washington for his departure. He had never meant to set
out earlier, and had neither sanctioned nor contradicted the various
rumors current on the subject. He left his quarters in the morning,
and, on reaching the bank, found Arnold there with his barge, ready to
transport him to the other side. In crossing, Washington remarked the
sloop with the English flag, and took a spy-glass to observe her more
narrowly. Some moments after, he gave to an officer near him, in a low
voice, according to his usual mariner, an order probably of no
consequence, which Arnold was unable to overhear. Arnold was guilty,
and whatever he could not immediately penetrate, alarmed his fears. He
supposed that the general could not remain ignorant of the
circumstance of the flag of truce, and, doubtful even whether he might
not be already acquainted with it, he thought it well to show him the
two letters which he had received, asking him, at the same time, what
course he ought to pursue. Washington, in the presence of several
persons, dissuaded him from seeing Robinson, and directed him to give
for answer to this officer, that his private business appertained
exclusively to the jurisdiction of the civil authority. They touched
the shore just as this conversation ceased. The commander-in-chief,
whose presence kept Arnold in the greatest perplexity, landed, and
pursued his journey to Hartford. Thus was the main obstacle removed,
and the plot could proceed. The opinion uttered by Washington, in such
positive terms, concerning the conference with Robinson,――the order
heard by several persons present,――became, however, a law for Arnold,
with respect to his ostensible conduct. It was, in this way, the first
obstacle that thwarted the measures concerted between him and Andre.
They could not meet publicly under the auspices of a flag of truce,
and, though Andre had used this means to reach the lines, they were
obliged to arrange a secret interview.
On the morning after the departure of Washington, Arnold sought out a
man called _Joshua Smith_, well known to be devoted to the English,
although he resided within the American posts. He made him the bearer
of two passports to be carried on board the Vulture, one for Andre,
under the fictitious name of _Anderson_; the other for Charles
Beverley Robinson, who had not the same reason for practicing
disguise. He charged him with a letter also, in which he urged them to
repair to him on shore. Smith waited until nightfall, and then
proceeded to the English sloop in a boat which Arnold had provided for
him. Andre and Robinson expected that Arnold would himself visit them,
and they were surprised when his emissary, Smith, appeared before them
alone. Robinson declared that he would not go on shore, and used every
effort to deter his companion; but the young man, full of impatience
and ardor, saw only the chances of success, would listen to no
remonstrance, and could not brook the idea, either of returning to New
York without having executed his mission, or of exposing the main
enterprise to miscarriage, by a caution which his rivals would
infallibly stigmatise as cowardice. He put on a gray surtout, to hide
his uniform, and accompanied Smith on shore. Arnold was waiting to
receive him at the water’s edge. They discoursed there for some time;
but, as they were liable to be surprised, Arnold led him towards the
house of Smith, when he immediately laid before him plans of the
forts, a memoir, composed (for a better use) by the chief engineer,
Duportail, on the means of attacking and defending them, and minute
instructions with respect to the measures to be taken by the British
for the occupation of them, when he (Arnold) should have done his part
in opening the way. They presumed that Washington had already reached
Hartford, and they were right; for he was there, at the same hour, in
consultation with the French commander.
Arnold and Andre, calculating anxiously the probable length of
Washington’s absence, supposed he would return in three or four days,
that is, on the 25th or 26th of September, and one or other of these
days was fixed for the execution of the plot. It was settled that
Andre should go back in all haste to New York; that the English
troops, which were already embarked, under pretense of a distant
expedition, should be held ready to ascend the river, and sail at the
first signal; that to facilitate the reduction of West point, Arnold
should march out of the forts all the troops destined for the defense,
and entangle them in gorges and ravines, where he would pretend to
await the English assailants, while these were to debark on another
side, and enter by passes left unguarded; and, at all events, the
garrison and troops were to be so distributed, that, if they did not
surrender at the first summons, they must be immediately cut in
pieces. He informed Andre that the chain which was stretched across
the river from West point to Constitution island, forming, when
perfect, an effectual bar to the passage of the river, was now no
longer an impediment. He had detached a link, ostensibly to have it
mended; the smiths would not return it for some days; and the two ends
of the chain were held together by a fastening too weak to bear even a
slight concussion. The English would know at what moment they were to
advance, by the kindling of fires, in the night, under the directions
of Arnold, on the adjacent eminences. A single cannon fired from their
ships, to be followed by a similar discharge from the shore, would
proclaim that they had perceived the signals. Other tokens agreed upon
were to furnish, successively, information of the several distances of
the British forces in their approach. When they had arrived within
three miles of the fortress, two English officers, in American
uniform, were to ride full gallop to Arnold’s quarters, to learn how
matters stood and to hasten with the intelligence to the British naval
commander. Then only was Arnold to put in motion that portion of the
garrison which remained in the works, and station it at posts which
would not be attacked. They agreed upon the countersign to be given on
the 24th and 25th. Arnold delivered to the Englishman drafts of all
the works, and of the passes leading to them, several memoirs, written
with his own hand, and full returns of the garrison and the forces of
each division of the army. He had never before allowed a single paper
to go out of his hands, which might expose him to detection. But he
now saw no danger in confiding these to Andre, who was to reëmbark
directly on board the sloop, and make sail for New York. Andre
returned alone to the beach, whence a boat was to convey him to the
Vulture. But this arrangement was defeated by an obstacle wholly
unexpected. At an early hour, Livingston, still disturbed at the
proximity of the sloop, had, of his own authority, caused a
four-pounder to be dragged from his redoubt to a point of land from
which the shot could reach the vessel. She was aground, and had
already sustained some damage from the piece of the American officer,
when she began to float again at the rising of the tide. Robinson took
advantage of this circumstance to weigh anchor, and remove some miles
lower down, beyond the reach of similar attack. This change of station
attracted the notice of the master and rowers of the boat in which
Andre expected to regain the sloop. They were Americans. The movements
which they had witnessed for the two last days were unusual; and
although men of their description, accustomed to ferry all persons
indifferently from one side of the river to the other, did not affect
to be of any party, they were unwilling to commit themselves. When
Andre proposed to them to convey him to the sloop, they told him that
it was too far, and peremptorily refused to go. He went back
immediately to Arnold, and urged him to exert his authority in
so serious a predicament. But the latter, perplexed at his
unlooked-for-appearance, and already harassed with various
disappointments, durst not attempt to compel the men, and told him he
must submit to return by land; to lay aside his uniform altogether,
and assume another dress. Andre changed his coat for one which Smith
provided. Arnold now wished to withdraw the papers which he had
entrusted to him; he thought it hazardous to send them by land. But
Andre was very desirous of showing to Clinton with what punctuality he
had executed his mission. These papers were a trophy of which he would
not, therefore, allow himself to be dispossessed. He observed to
Arnold, that danger of any kind could now no longer be in question,
except so far as to show that they both despised it; and added, that
he would keep the papers, which brought him into greater peril than
Arnold, and, to allay his fears, would secrete them in his boots.
Arnold submitted, and, leaving Andre in Smith’s house, returned to his
quarters, from which he had been absent since the day before. The
Patrol, spread through the whole neighborhood, made it imprudent for
Andre to begin his journey before twilight. He was accompanied by
Smith: each had a passport from Arnold, ‘to go to the lines of White
plains, or lower, if the bearer thought proper; he being on public
business.’ They were accosted, at Compond, by an American officer of
militia, who told them that it was too late for them to reach, that
evening, any other quarters. In order not to awaken his suspicions,
they resolved to pass the night there. The next day, 23d, they crossed
the Hudson to King’s ferry, pushing forward when they were not
observed, and slakening their pace to conceal their eagerness,
wherever they were likely to be seen. By means of their passports,
they traversed all the American posts without molestation. They
arrived, uninterrupted, a little beyond Pine’s bridge, a village
situated on the Croton: they had not, however, crossed the lines,
although they could descry the ground occupied by the English
videttes. Smith, looking all around, and perceiving no one, said to
Andre, ‘You are safe――good bye,’ and retook, at full speed, the road
by which they had come. Andre, on his part, believing himself out of
danger, and all further precaution superfluous, put spurs to his
horse. He had proceeded four leagues onward with the same good
fortune; he could see the Hudson once more, and was about entering
Tarrytown, the border village, when a man, armed with a gun, sprung
suddenly from the thickets, and seizing the reins of his bridle,
exclaimed, ‘Where are you bound?’ At the same moment, two others ran
up, who were armed in like manner, and formed, with the first part of
the patrol of volunteer militia that guarded the lines. They were not
in uniform, and Andre, preöccupied by the idea that he was no longer
on enemy’s ground, thought that they must be of his own party. It did
not, therefore, occur to him to show him his passport, which was
sufficient to deceive Americans, and could not alter his destination,
if those who arested him were of the English side. Instead of
answering their question, he asked them, in his turn, where they
belonged to. They replied, ‘To below,’――words referring to the course
of the river, and implying that they were of the English party. ‘And
so do I,’ said Andre, confirmed in his mistake by this stratagem. ‘I
am,’ continued he, in a tone of command, ‘an English officer on urgent
business, and I do not wish to be longer detained.’ ‘You belong to our
enemies,’ was the rejoinder, ‘and we arrest you.’ Andre, struck with
astonishment at this unexpected language, presented his passport; but
this paper, after the confession he had just made, only served to
render his case more suspicious. He offered them gold, his horse, and
promised them large rewards, and permanent provision from the English
government, if they would let him escape. These young men, whom such
offers did but animate the more in their duty, replied, that they
wanted nothing. They drew off his boots, and detected the fatal
papers. They no longer hesitated to carry him before colonel Jameson,
who commanded the out-posts. When questioned by that officer he still
called himself _Anderson_, the name mentioned in his passport, and
evinced no discomposure; he had recovered all of his presence of mind,
and, forgetful of his own danger, thought only of Arnold’s, and of the
means of extricating him. To apprise him of it safely, he begged
Jameson to inform the commanding officer of West Point that Anderson,
the bearer of his passport, was detained. Jameson thought it more
simple to order him to be conducted to Arnold. He was already on the
way, and the thread of the conspiracy was about to be resumed in the
interview of the accomplices, when the American colonel, recollecting
that the papers found upon the prisoner were in the hand-writing of
Arnold himself, and adverting to the several extraordinary features of
the business, sent, in all haste, after the pretended Anderson, and
had him conveyed, under guard, to Old Salem. He despatched, at the
same time, an express to Washington, charged with a letter containing
a circumstantial account of this affair, and with the drafts and other
papers taken from the prisoner. But the commander-in-chief, who set
out on the same day, the 23d of September, to return to his army, had
pursued a different route from that by which he went to Hartford, and
the messenger was compelled to retrace his steps without having seen
him. This delay proved the salvation of Arnold.
Jameson was a gallant soldier, but a man of an irresolute temper, and
no great sagacity; moreover, treachery on the part of Arnold appeared
impossible to one of an ingenuous and honorable character. He began to
view his first suspicions as an outrage to an officer distinguished,
as Arnold was, by so many noble exploits, and, wishing to reconcile
the deference due to him with the performance of his own duty, he
wrote him, that Anderson, the bearer of his passport, had been
arrested on the 23d. Arnold did not receive this intimation until the
morning of the 25th. It was on a Monday; and the same day, or the one
following, had been selected for the consummation of the plot. Until
that moment, he had believed success infallible. The exhilaration
which this belief produced was even remarked, and he ascribed it to
his expectation of the speedy arrival of his general, ‘for whom he had
pleasant news.’ He was busy with the appropriate arrangements for the
reception of a body of more welcome visitors, when he received the
letter of Jameson. Those who were present on the occasion recollected,
afterwards, that he could not, at first, conceal his dismay and
extreme agitation; but that, recovering himself quickly, he said, in a
loud voice, that he would write an answer; and, dismissing all about
him, withdrew, to reflect on the course which it was best to adopt.
The entrance of two American officers, however, interrupted his
musings. They were sent by the commander-in-chief, and informed
Arnold, that he had arrived that morning at Fishkill, a few leagues
from West Point; that he was to have set out a few hours after them,
and could not be far distant. Thus did the most alarming circumstances
rapidly succeed each other. The traitor had no resource but a
precipitate flight. Suppressing his emotion, he told the two officers
that he wished to go and meet the general alone, and begged them not
to follow him. He then entered the apartment of his wife,
exclaiming――‘All is discovered:――Andre is a prisoner:――The
commander-in-chief will know every thing:――The discharge of cannon,
which you hear, is a salute, and announces that he is not far
off:――Burn all my papers:――I fly to New York.’ He embraced her, as
well as their infant child, whom she carried in her arms, and, solely
intent on his escape, left her, without waiting for her reply, mounted
the horse of one of the two officers, and rushed towards the Hudson,
which was not far from his house. He had taken the precaution to have
always ready a barge well-manned: he threw himself headlong into it,
and caused the boatmen to make for the English sloop, with all
possible dispatch. The barge, bearing a flag of truce, was still
visible from the heights when Washington arrived. The two officers
related to him what they had witnessed. Arnold had absconded. His
wife, in the agonies of despair, seemed to fear for her infant, and
maintained an obstinate silence. No one knew how to explain these
extraordinary incidents. The commander-in-chief repaired, without
delay, to the fort of West Point, where, however, he could learn
nothing of a decisive import. But some orders, issued by Arnold the
day before, redoubled his suspicions: he returned to the quarters of
the general, and at this instant Jameson’s messenger presented
himself, and delivered the packet with which he was charged.
Washington seemed, for a few minutes, as it were, overwhelmed by the
discovery of a crime which ruined the fame of an American general, and
wounded the honor of the American army. Those who were near him
anxiously interrogated his looks in silence, which he broke by
saying,――‘I thought that an officer of courage and ability, who had
often shed his blood for his country, was entitled to confidence, and
I gave him mine. I am convinced now, and for the rest of my life, that
we should never trust those who are wanting in probity, whatever
abilities they may possess. Arnold has betrayed us.’ Meanwhile, the
precautions required by the occasion were every where taken. General
Heath, a faithful and vigilant officer, was substituted for Arnold at
West Point; the commanders of the other posts were admonished to be on
their guard. Greene, who had been invested with the command of the
army during the absence of Washington, recalled within the forts the
garrisons which the traitor had dispersed, and marched a strong
division near to the lines. Hamilton lost not an instant in repairing
to King’s Ferry, the last American post on the side of New York. He
had the mortification to learn, that a very short time before his
arrival, Arnold’s barge had glided by with the swiftness of an arrow,
and was then getting along side the Vulture, some miles lower down,
opposite Teller’s Point,――an anchorage situated at the head of the
great basin of the Hudson, which is called _Tappan bay_. Livingston
had remarked the barge that carried the fugitive, and, his suspicions
being roused by the strange movements of the two or three days
previous, would have stopped it, had not the sailors of his spy-boats
been ashore when it passed. Messengers were sent to all the states of
the Union, and to the French general, to inform them of this event.
The express which bore the news to congress traveled with such
rapidity, that he reached Philadelphia on the same day that the
discovery was made in the camp. The magistrates were immediately
directed to enter the house of Arnold, and to seize and examine his
papers. They found nothing there relating to the conspiracy; but he
had left memoranda which furnished ample proof that he was guilty of
the extortions and peculations of which he had been accused two years
before.
Jameson caused his unknown prisoner to be strictly guarded. The latter
at first suppressed his true name, from consideration for Arnold; but,
the day after his capture, supposing that the American general had had
time to make his escape, he said to Jameson,――‘My name is not
Anderson; I am major Andre.’ The death of Andre, though ignominious,
was happiness in comparison with the life of Arnold. Upon his
establishment in the army of Great Britain, he found it necessary to
make some exertions to secure the attachment of his new friends. With
the hope of alluring many of the discontented to his standard, he
published an address to the inhabitants of America, in which he
endeavored to justify his conduct. He had encountered the dangers of
the field, he said, from apprehension that the rights of his country
were in danger. He had acquiesced in the declaration of independence,
though he thought it precipitate. But the rejection of the overtures
made by Great Britain, in 1778, and the French alliance, had opened
his eyes to the ambitious views of those who would sacrifice the
happiness of their country to their own aggrandizement, and had made
him a confirmed loyalist. He artfully mingled assertions, that the
principal members of congress held the people in sovereign contempt.
This was followed, in about a fortnight, by a proclamation, addressed
‘to the officers and soldiers of the continental army,’ who have the
real interest of their country at heart, and who are determined to be
no longer the tools and dupes of congress and of France. To induce the
American officers and soldiers to desert the cause which they had
embraced, he represented that the corps of cavalry and infantry, which
he was authorized to raise, would be upon the same footing with the
other troops in the British service; that he should with pleasure
advance those whose valor he had witnessed: and that the private men,
who joined him, should receive a bounty of three guineas each, besides
payment at the full value for horses, arms, and accoutrements. His
object was the peace, liberty and safety of America. These
proclamations did not produce the effect designed, and in all the
hardships, sufferings and irritations of the war, Arnold remains the
solitary instance of an American officer who abandoned the side first
embraced in the contest, and turned his sword upon his former
companions in arms. He was soon despatched, by Sir Henry Clinton, to
make a diversion in Virginia. With about 1700 men, he arrived in the
Chesapeake in January 1781, and, being supported by such a naval force
as was suited to the nature of the service, he committed extensive
ravages on the rivers, and along the unprotected coasts. It is said,
that, while on this expedition, Arnold inquired of an American
captain, whom he had taken prisoner, what the Americans would do with
him, if he should fall into their hands. The officer replied, that
they would cut off his lame leg, and bury it with the honors of war,
and hang the remainder of his body in gibbets.
After his recall from Virginia, he conducted an expedition against New
London in his native state of Connecticut. He took fort Trumbull, Sep.
6, with inconsiderable loss. On the other side of the harbor,
lieutenant-colonel Earyre, who commanded another detachment, made an
assault on fort Griswold, and, with the greatest difficulty, entered
the works. An officer of the conquering troops asked who commanded. ‘I
did,’ answered colonel Ledyard, ‘but you do now,’ and presented him
his sword, which was immediately plunged into his own bosom. A
merciless slaughter now commenced of the brave garrison, who had
ceased to resist, and the greater part were either killed or wounded.
After burning the town, and the stores which were in it, Arnold
returned to New York in eight days. He survived the war but to drag
on, in perpetual banishment from his native country, a dishonorable
life amid a nation that imputed to him the loss of one of the
brightest ornaments of its army――the lamented Andre. He transmitted to
his children a name of hateful celebrity. He obtained only a part of
the debasing stipend of an abortive treason. His complaints soon
caused it to be known, that all the promises by which he had been
inveigled were not fulfilled. But baffled treason appears always to be
overpaid, and the felon is the only one who thinks he experiences
injustice. He enjoyed, however, the rank of brigadier-general; but the
officers of the British army manifested a strong repugnance to serve
with him. He possessed their esteem while he fought against them; they
loaded him with contempt when treason brought him over to their side.
He resided principally in England after the conclusion of the war, was
in Nova Scotia, and afterwards to the West Indies, where he was taken
prisoner by the French, from whom he escaped, and, returning to
England, died in Gloucester place, London, June 14, 1801.