Treason of Arnold.—His Correspondence with the Enemy.—His Negotiations
with André.—Parting Scene with Washington.—Midnight Conference on
the Banks of the Hudson.—Return of André by Land.—Circumstances of
his Capture.
We have now to enter upon a sad episode of our revolutionary history—the
treason of Arnold. Of the military skill, daring enterprise, and
indomitable courage of this man, ample evidence has been given in the
foregoing pages. Of the implicit confidence reposed in his patriotism by
Washington, sufficient proof is manifested in the command with which he
was actually entrusted. But Arnold was false at heart, and, at the very
time of seeking that command, had been for many months in traitorous
correspondence with the enemy.
The first idea of proving recreant to the cause he had vindicated so
bravely, appears to have entered his mind when the charges preferred
against him by the council of Pennsylvania were referred by Congress to
a court-martial. Before that time he had been incensed against
Pennsylvania: but now his wrath was excited against his country, which
appeared so insensible to his services. Disappointment in regard to the
settlement of his accounts, added to his irritation, and mingled sordid
motives with his resentment; and he began to think how, while he wreaked
his vengeance on his country, he might do it with advantage to his
fortunes. With this view he commenced a correspondence with Sir Henry
Clinton in a disguised handwriting, and, under the signature of
_Gustavus_, representing himself as a person of importance in the
American service, who, being dissatisfied with the late proceedings of
Congress, particularly the alliance with France, was desirous of joining
the cause of Great Britain, could he be certain of personal security,
and indemnification for whatever loss of property he might sustain. His
letters occasionally communicated articles of intelligence of some
moment which proved to be true, and induced Sir Henry to keep up the
correspondence; which was conducted on his part by his aide-de-camp,
Major John André, likewise in a disguised hand, and under the signature
of John Anderson.
Months elapsed before Sir Henry discovered who was his secret
correspondent. Even after discovering it he did not see fit to hold out
any very strong inducements to Arnold for desertion. The latter was out
of command, and had nothing to offer but his services; which in his
actual situation were scarcely worth buying.
In the mean time the circumstances of Arnold were daily becoming more
desperate. Debts were accumulating, and creditors becoming more and more
importunate, as his means to satisfy them decreased. The public
reprimand he had received was rankling in his mind, and filling his
heart with bitterness. Still he hesitated on the brink of absolute
infamy, and attempted a half-way leap. Such was his proposition to M. de
Luzerne to make himself subservient to the policy of the French
government, on condition of receiving a loan equal to the amount of his
debts. This he might have reconciled to his conscience by the idea that
France was an ally, and its policy likely to be friendly. It was his
last card before resorting to utter treachery. Failing in it, his
desperate alternative was to get some important command, the betrayal of
which to the enemy might obtain for him a munificent reward.
He may possibly have had such an idea in his mind some time previously,
when he sought the command of a naval and military expedition, which
failed to be carried into effect; but such certainly was the secret of
his eagerness to obtain the command of West Point, the great object of
British and American solicitude, on the possession of which were
supposed by many to hinge the fortunes of the war.
He took command of the post and its dependencies about the beginning of
August, fixing his head-quarters at Beverley, a country seat a little
below West Point, on the opposite or eastern side of the river. It stood
in a lonely part of the Highlands, high up from the river, yet at the
foot of a mountain covered with woods. It was commonly called the
Robinson House, having formerly belonged to Washington’s early friend,
Colonel Beverley Robinson, who had obtained a large part of the
Phillipse estate in this neighborhood, by marrying one of the heiresses.
Colonel Robinson was a royalist; had entered into the British service,
and was now residing in New York, and Beverley with its surrounding
lands had been confiscated.
From this place Arnold carried on a secret correspondence with Major
André. Their letters, still in disguised hands, and under the names of
Gustavus and John Anderson, purported to treat merely of commercial
operations, but the real matter in negotiation was the betrayal of West
Point and the Highlands to Sir Henry Clinton. This stupendous piece of
treachery was to be consummated at the time when Washington, with the
main body of his army, would be drawn down towards King’s Bridge, and
the French troops landed on Long Island, in the projected coöperation
against New York. At such time, a flotilla under Rodney, having on board
a large land force, was to ascend the Hudson to the Highlands, which
would be surrendered by Arnold almost without opposition, under pretext
of insufficient force to make resistance. The immediate result of this
surrender, it was anticipated, would be the defeat of the combined
attempt upon New York; and its ultimate effect might be the
dismemberment of the Union and the dislocation of the whole American
scheme of warfare.
We have before had occasion to mention Major André, but the part which
he took in this dark transaction, and the degree of romantic interest
subsequently thrown around his memory, call for a more specific notice
of him. He was born in London, in 1751, but his parents were of Geneva
in Switzerland, where he was educated. Being intended for mercantile
life, he entered a London counting-house, but had scarce attained his
eighteenth year when he formed a romantic attachment to a beautiful
girl, Miss Honora Sneyd, by whom his passion was returned, and they
became engaged. This sadly unfitted him for the sober routine of the
counting-house. “All my mercantile calculations,” writes he in one of
his boyish letters, “go to the tune of dear Honora.”
The father of the young lady interfered, and the premature match was
broken off. André abandoned the counting-house and entered the army. His
first commission was dated March 4th, 1771; but he subsequently visited
Germany, and returned to England in 1773, still haunted by his early
passion. His lady love, in the mean time, had been wooed by other
admirers, and in the present year became the second wife of Richard
Lovell Edgeworth, a young widower of twenty-six.[28]
André came to America in 1774, as lieutenant of the Royal English
Fusileers; and was among the officers captured at Saint John’s, early in
the war, by Montgomery. He still bore about with him a memento of his
boyish passion, the “dear talisman,” as he called it, a miniature of
Miss Sneyd painted by himself in 1769. In a letter to a friend, soon
after his capture, he writes, “I have been taken prisoner by the
Americans, and stripped of everything except the picture of Honora,
which I concealed in my mouth. Preserving that, I yet think myself
fortunate.”
His temper, however, appears to have been naturally light and festive;
and if he still cherished this “tender remembrance,” it was but as one
of those documents of early poetry and romance, which serve to keep the
heart warm and tender among the gay and cold realities of life. What
served to favor the idea was a little song which he had composed when in
Philadelphia, commencing with the lines,—
“Return enraptured hours
When Delia’s heart was mine;”
and which was supposed to breathe the remembrance of his early and
ill-requited passion.[29]
His varied and graceful talents, and his engaging manners, rendered him
generally popular; while his devoted and somewhat subservient loyalty
recommended him to the favor of his commander, and obtained him, without
any distinguished military services, the appointment of adjutant-general
with the rank of major. He was a prime promoter of elegant amusement in
camp and garrison; manager, actor, and scene painter in those amateur
theatricals in which the British officers delighted. He was one of the
principal devisers of the Mischianza in Philadelphia, in which
semi-effeminate pageant he had figured as one of the knights champions
of beauty; Miss Shippen, afterwards Mrs. Arnold, being the lady whose
peerless charms he undertook to vindicate. He held, moreover, a facile,
and at times, satirical pen, and occasionally amused himself with
caricaturing in rhyme the appearance and exploits of the “rebel
officers.”
André had already employed that pen in a furtive manner after the
evacuation of Philadelphia by the British; having carried on a
correspondence with the leaders of a body of loyalists near the waters
of the Chesapeake, who were conspiring to restore the royal
government.[30] In the present instance he had engaged, nothing loth, in
a service of intrigue and maneuver, which, however sanctioned by
military usage, should hardly have invited the zeal of a high-minded
man. We say maneuver, because he appears to have availed himself of his
former intimacy with Mrs. Arnold, to make her an unconscious means of
facilitating a correspondence with her husband. Some have inculpated her
in the guilt of the transaction, but, we think, unjustly. It has been
alleged that a correspondence had been going on between her and André
previous to her marriage, and was kept up after it; but as far as we can
learn, only one letter passed between them, written by André in August
16th, 1779, in which he solicits her remembrance, assures her that
respect for her and the fair circle in which he had become acquainted
with her, remains unimpaired by distance or political broils, reminds
her that the Mischianza had made him a complete milliner, and offers his
services to furnish her with supplies in that department. “I shall be
glad,” adds he sportively, “to enter into the whole detail of cap-wire,
needles, gauze, etc., and to the best of my abilities render you, in
these trifles, services from which I hope you would infer a zeal to be
further employed.” The apparent object of this letter was to open a
convenient medium of communication, which Arnold might use without
exciting her suspicion.
Various circumstances connected with this nefarious negotiation, argue
lightness of mind and something of debasing alloy on the part of André.
The correspondence carried on for months in the jargon of traffic,
savored less of the camp than the counting-house; the protracted
tampering with a brave but necessitous man for the sacrifice of his fame
and the betrayal of his trust, strikes us as being beneath the range of
a truly chivalrous nature.
Correspondence had now done its part in the business; for the completion
of the plan and the adjustment of the traitor’s recompense, a personal
meeting was necessary between Arnold and André. The former proposed that
it should take place at his own quarters at the Robinson House, where
André should come in disguise, as a bearer of intelligence, and under
the feigned name of John Anderson. André positively objected to entering
the American lines; it was arranged, therefore, that the meeting should
take place on neutral ground, near the American outposts, at Dobbs’
Ferry, on the 11th of September, at twelve o’clock. André attended at
the appointed place and time, accompanied by Colonel Beverley Robinson,
who was acquainted with the plot. An application of the latter for the
restoration of his confiscated property in the Highlands, seemed to have
been used occasionally as a blind in these proceedings.
Arnold had passed the preceding night at what was called the White
House, the residence of Mr. Joshua Hett Smith, situated on the west side
of the Hudson, in Haverstraw Bay, about two miles below Stony Point. He
set off thence in his barge for the place of rendezvous; but, not being
protected by a flag, was fired upon and pursued by the British
guard-boats stationed near Dobbs’ Ferry. He took refuge at an American
post on the western shore, whence he returned in the night to his
quarters in the Robinson House. Lest his expedition should occasion some
surmise, he pretended, in a note to Washington, that he had been down
the Hudson to arrange signals in case of any movement of the enemy upon
the river.
New arrangements were made for an interview, but it was postponed until
after Washington should depart for Hartford, to hold the proposed
conference with Count Rochambeau and the other French officers. In the
mean time, the British sloop of war, _Vulture_, anchored a few miles
below Teller’s Point, to be at hand in aid of the negotiation. On board
was Colonel Robinson, who, pretending to believe that General Putnam
still commanded in the Highlands, addressed a note to him requesting an
interview on the subject of his confiscated property. This letter he
sent by a flag, inclosed in one addressed to Arnold; soliciting of him
the same boon should General Putnam be absent.
On the 18th September, Washington with his suite crossed the Hudson to
Verplanck’s Point, in Arnold’s barge, on his way to Hartford. Arnold
accompanied him as far as Peekskill, and on the way laid before him,
with affected frankness, the letter of Colonel Robinson, and asked his
advice. Washington disapproved of any such interview, observing, that
the civil authorities alone had cognizance of these questions of
confiscated property.
Arnold now openly sent a flag on board of the _Vulture_, as if bearing a
reply to the letter he had communicated to the commander-in-chief. By
this occasion he informed Colonel Robinson, that a person with a boat
and flag would be alongside the _Vulture_, on the night of the 20th; and
that any matter he might wish to communicate, would be laid before
General Washington on the following Saturday, when he might be expected
back from Newport.
On the faith of the information thus covertly conveyed, André proceeded
up the Hudson on the 20th, and went on board the _Vulture_, where he
found Colonel Robinson, and expected to meet Arnold. The latter,
however, had made other arrangements, probably with a view to his
personal security. About half-past eleven, of a still and starlight
night (the 21st), a boat was descried from on board, gliding silently
along, rowed by two men with muffled oars. She was hailed by an officer
on watch, and called to account. A man, seated in the stern, gave out
that they were from King’s Ferry, bound to Dobbs Ferry. He was ordered
alongside, and soon made his way on board. He proved to be Mr. Joshua
Hett Smith, already mentioned, whom Arnold had prevailed upon to go on
board of the _Vulture_, and bring a person on shore who was coming from
New York with important intelligence. He had given him passes to protect
him and those with him, in case he should be stopped either in going or
returning, by the American water guard, which patrolled the river in
whale-boats. He had made him the bearer of a letter addressed to Colonel
Beverley Robinson, which was to the following purport: “This will be
delivered to you by Mr. Smith, who will conduct you to a place of
safety. Neither Mr. Smith nor any other person shall be made acquainted
with your proposals; if they (which I doubt not) are of such a nature
that I can officially take notice of them, I shall do it with pleasure.
I take it for granted Colonel Robinson will not propose anything, that
is not for the interest of the United States as well as of himself.” All
this use of Colonel Robinson’s name was intended as a blind, should the
letter be intercepted.
Robinson introduced André to Smith by the name of John Anderson, who was
to go on shore in his place (he being unwell), to have an interview with
General Arnold. André wore a blue great coat which covered his uniform,
and Smith always declared that at the time he was totally ignorant of
his name and military character. Robinson considered this whole
nocturnal proceeding full of peril, and would have dissuaded André, but
the latter was zealous in executing his mission, and, embarking in the
boat with Smith, was silently rowed to the western side of the river,
about six miles below Stony Point. Here they landed a little after
midnight, at the foot of a shadowy mountain called the Long Clove; a
solitary place, the haunt of the owl and the whippoorwill, and well
fitted for a treasonable conference.
Arnold was in waiting, but standing aloof among thickets. He had come
hither on horseback from Smith’s house, about three or four miles
distant, attended by one of Smith’s servants, likewise mounted. The
midnight negotiation between André and Arnold was carried on in darkness
among the trees. Smith remained in the boat, and the servant drew off to
a distance with the horses. One hour after another passed away, when
Smith approached the place of conference, and gave warning that it was
near daybreak, and if they lingered much longer the boat would be
discovered.
The nefarious bargain was not yet completed, and Arnold feared the sight
of a boat going to the _Vulture_ might cause suspicion. He prevailed
therefore, upon André to remain on shore until the following night. The
boat was accordingly sent to a creek higher up the river, and André,
mounting the servant’s horse, set off with Arnold for Smith’s house. The
road passed through the village of Haverstraw. As they rode along in the
dark, the voice of a sentinel demanding the countersign startled André
with the fearful conviction that he was within the American lines but it
was too late to recede. It was daybreak when they arrived at Smith’s
house.
They had scarcely entered when the booming of cannon was heard from down
the river. It gave André uneasiness, and with reason. Colonel
Livingston, who commanded above at Verplanck’s Point, learning that the
_Vulture_ lay within shot of Teller’s Point, which divides Haverstraw
Bay from the Tappan Sea, had sent a party with cannon to that point in
the night, and they were now firing upon the sloop of war. André watched
the cannonade with an anxious eye from an upper window of Smith’s house.
At one time he thought the _Vulture_ was on fire. He was relieved from
painful solicitude when he saw the vessel weigh anchor, and drop down
the river out of reach of cannon-shot.
After breakfast, the plot for the betrayal of West Point and its
dependent posts was adjusted, and the sum agreed upon that Arnold was to
receive, should it be successful. André was furnished with plans of the
works, and explanatory papers, which, at Arnold’s request, he placed
between his stockings and his feet; promising, in case of accident, to
destroy them.
All matters being thus arranged, Arnold prepared to return in his own
barge to his head-quarters at the Robinson House. As the _Vulture_ had
shifted her ground, he suggested to André a return to New York by land,
as most safe and expeditious; the latter, however, insisted upon being
put on board of the sloop of war, on the ensuing night. Arnold
consented; but, before his departure, to provide against the possible
necessity of a return by land, he gave André the following pass, dated
from the Robinson House:—
“Permit Mr. John Anderson to pass the guards to the White Plains, or
below, if he chooses; he being on public business by my direction.
“B. ARNOLD, M. Genl.”
Smith also, who was to accompany him, was furnished with passports to
proceed either by water or by land.
Arnold departed about ten o’clock. André passed a lonely day, casting
many a wistful look toward the _Vulture_. Once on board of that ship he
would be safe; he would have fulfilled his mission; the capture of West
Point would be certain, and his triumph would be complete. As evening
approached he grew impatient, and spoke to Smith about departure. To his
surprise, he found the latter had made no preparation for it: he had
discharged his boatmen, who had gone home: in short, he refused to take
him on board of the _Vulture_. The cannonade of the morning had probably
made him fear for his personal safety, should he attempt to go on board,
the _Vulture_ having resumed her exposed position. He offered, however,
to cross the river with André at King’s Ferry, put him in the way of
returning to New York by land, and accompany him some distance on
horseback.
André was in an agony at finding himself, notwithstanding all his
stipulations, forced within the American lines; but there seemed to be
no alternative, and he prepared for the hazardous journey.
He wore, as we have noted, a military coat under a long blue surtout; he
was now persuaded to lay it aside, and put on a citizen’s coat of
Smith’s; thus adding disguise to the other humiliating and hazardous
circumstances of the case.
It was about sunset when André and Smith, attended by a negro servant of
the latter, crossed from King’s Ferry to Verplanck’s Point. After
proceeding about eight miles on the road toward White Plains, they were
stopped between eight and nine o’clock, near Crompond, by a patrolling
party. The captain of it was uncommonly inquisitive and suspicious. The
passports with Arnold’s signature satisfied him. He warned them,
however, against the danger of proceeding further in the night. Cow Boys
from the British lines were scouring the country, and had recently
marauded the neighborhood. Smith’s fears were again excited, and André
was obliged to yield to them. A bed was furnished them in a neighboring
house, where André passed an anxious and restless night, under the very
eye, as it were, of an American patrol.
At daybreak he awoke Smith, and hurried their departure, and his mind
was lightened of a load of care, when he found himself out of the reach
of the patrol and its inquisitive commander.
They were now approaching that noted part of the country, heretofore
mentioned as the Neutral Ground, extending north and south about thirty
miles, between the British and American lines. A beautiful region of
forest-clad hills, fertile valleys, and abundant streams, but now almost
desolated by the scourings of Skinners and Cow Boys: the former
professing allegiance to the American cause, the latter to the British,
but both arrant marauders.
One who had resided at the time in this region, gives a sad picture of
its state. Houses plundered and dismantled: inclosures broken down;
cattle carried away; fields lying waste; the roads grass-grown; the
country mournful, solitary, silent—reminding one of the desolation
presented in the song of Deborah. “In the days of Shamgar the son of
Anath, in the days of Jael, the highways were unoccupied, and the
travellers walked in bypaths. The inhabitants of the villages ceased;
they ceased in Israel.”[31]
About two and a half miles from Pine’s Bridge, on the Croton River,
André and his companion partook of a scanty meal at a farm-house which
had recently been harried by the Cow Boys. Here they parted, Smith to
return home, André to pursue his journey alone to New York. His spirits,
however, were cheerful; for, having got beyond the patrols, he
considered the most perilous part of his route accomplished.
About six miles beyond Pine’s Bridge he came to a place where the road
forked, the left branch leading toward White Plains in the interior of
the country, the right inclining toward the Hudson. He had originally
intended to take the left hand road, the other being said to be infested
by Cow Boys. These, however, were not to be apprehended by him, as they
belonged to the lower party or British; it led, too, more directly to
New York; so he turned down it, and took his course along the river
road.
He had not proceeded far, when coming to a place where a small stream
crossed the road and ran into a woody dell, a man stepped out from the
trees, leveled a musket, and brought him to a stand, while two other men
similarly armed, showed themselves prepared to second their comrade.
The man who had first stepped out wore a refugee uniform. At sight of
it, André’s heart leapt, and he felt himself secure. Losing all caution,
he exclaimed eagerly: “Gentlemen, I hope you belong to our party?”—“What
party?” was asked.—“The lower party,” said André.—“We do,” was the
reply. All reserve was now at an end. André declared himself to be a
British officer; that he had been up the country on particular business,
and must not be detained a single moment. He drew out his watch as he
spoke. It was a gold one, and served to prove to them that he was what
he represented himself, gold watches being seldom worn in those days,
excepting by persons of consequence.
To his consternation, the supposed refugee now avowed himself and his
companions to be Americans, and told André he was their prisoner!
It was even so. The sacking and burning of Young’s House, and the
carrying of its rustic defenders into captivity, had roused the spirit
of the Neutral Ground. The yeomanry of that harassed country had turned
out in parties to intercept freebooters from the British lines, who had
been recently on the maraud, and might be returning to the city with
their spoils. One of these parties, composed of seven men of the
neighborhood, had divided itself. Four took post on a hill above Sleepy
Hollow, to watch the road which crossed the country; the other three,
John Paulding, Isaac Van Wart, and David Williams by name, stationed
themselves on the road which runs parallel to the Hudson. Two of them
were seated on the grass playing at cards to pass away the time, while
one mounted guard.
The one in refugee garb who brought André to a stand, was John Paulding,
a stout-hearted youngster, who, like most of the young men of this
outraged neighborhood, had been repeatedly in arms to repel or resent
aggressions, and now belonged to the militia. He had twice been captured
and confined in the loathsome military prisons, where patriots suffered
in New York, first in the North Dutch Church, and last in the noted
Sugar House. Both times he had made his escape; the last time, only four
days previous to the event of which we are treating. The ragged refugee
coat, which had deceived André and been the cause of his betraying
himself, had been given to Paulding by one of his captors, in exchange
for a good yeoman garment of which they stripped him.[32] This slight
circumstance may have produced the whole discovery of the treason.
André was astounded at finding into what hands he had fallen; and how he
had betrayed himself by his heedless avowal. Promptly, however,
recovering his self-possession, he endeavoured to pass off his previous
account of himself as a subterfuge. “A man must do anything,” said he
laughingly, “to get along.” He now declared himself to be a continental
officer, going down to Dobbs’ Ferry to get information from below; so
saying, he drew forth and showed them the pass of General Arnold.
This, in the first instance, would have been sufficient, but his unwary
tongue had ruined him. The suspicions of his captors were completely
roused. Seizing the bridle of his horse, they ordered him to dismount.
He warned them that he was on urgent business for the general, and that
they would get themselves into trouble should they detain him. “We care
not for that,” was the reply, as they led him among the thickets, on the
border of the brook.
Paulding asked whether he had any letters about him. He answered no.
They proceeded to search him. A minute description is given of his
dress. He wore a round hat, a blue surtout, a crimson close-bodied coat,
somewhat faded; the button-holes worked with gold, and the buttons
covered with gold lace, a nankeen vest, and small-clothes and boots.
They obliged him to take off his coat and vest, and found on him eighty
dollars in Continental money, but nothing to warrant suspicion of
anything sinister, and were disposed to let him proceed, when Paulding
exclaimed: “Boys, I am not satisfied—his boots must come off.”
At this André changed color. His boots, he said, came off with
difficulty, and he begged he might not be subjected to the inconvenience
and delay. His remonstrances were in vain. He was obliged to sit down:
his boots were drawn off, and the concealed papers discovered. Hastily
scanning them, Paulding exclaimed, “My God! He is a spy!”
He demanded of André where he had gotten these papers.
“Of a man at Pine’s Bridge, a stranger to me,” was the reply.
While dressing himself, André endeavored to ransom himself from his
captors; rising from one offer to another. He would give any sum of
money if they would let him go. He would give his horse, saddle, bridle,
and one hundred guineas, and would send them to any place that might be
fixed upon.
Williams asked him if he would not give more.
He replied, that he would give any reward they might name either in
goods or money, and would remain with two of their party while one went
to New York to get it.
Here Paulding broke in and declared with an oath, that if he would give
ten thousand guineas, he should not stir one step.[33]
The unfortunate André now submitted to his fate, and the captors set off
with their prisoner for North Castle, the nearest American post, distant
ten or twelve miles. They proceeded across a hilly and woody region,
part of the way by the road, part across fields. One strode in front,
occasionally holding the horse by the bridle, the others walked on
either side. André rode on in silence, declining to answer further
questions until he should come before a military officer. About noon,
they halted at a farm-house where the inhabitants were taking their
mid-day repast. The worthy housewife, moved by André’s prepossessing
appearance and dejected air, kindly invited him to partake. He declined,
alleging that he had no appetite. Glancing at his gold-laced crimson
coat, the good dame apologized for her rustic fare. “O, madam,”
exclaimed poor André with a melancholy shake of the head, “it is all
very good—but, indeed, I cannot eat!”
This was related to us by a venerable matron, who was present on the
occasion, a young girl at the time, but who in her old days could not
recall the scene and the appearance of André without tears.
The captors with their prisoner being arrived at North Castle,
Lieutenant-colonel Jameson, who was in command there, recognized the
handwriting of Arnold in the papers found upon André, and, perceiving
that they were of a dangerous nature, sent them off by express to
General Washington, at Hartford.
André, still adhering to his assumed name, begged that the commander at
West Point might be informed that John Anderson, though bearing his
passport, was detained.
Jameson appears completely to have lost his head on the occasion. He
wrote to Arnold, stating the circumstances of the arrest, and that the
papers found upon the prisoner had been dispatched by express to the
commander-in-chief, and at the same time, he sent the prisoner himself,
under a strong guard, to accompany the letter.[34]
Shortly afterwards, Major Tallmadge, next in command to Jameson, but of
a much clearer head, arrived at North Castle, having been absent on duty
to White Plains. When the circumstances of the case were related to him,
he at once suspected treachery on the part of Arnold. At his earnest
entreaties, an express was sent after the officer who had André in
charge, ordering him to bring the latter back to North Castle; but by
singular perversity or obtuseness in judgment, Jameson neglected to
countermand the letter which he had written to Arnold.
When André was brought back, and was pacing up and down the room,
Tallmadge saw at once by his air and movements, and the mode of turning
on his heel, that he was a military man. By his advice, and under his
escort, the prisoner was conducted to Colonel Sheldon’s post at Lower
Salem, as more secure than North Castle.
Here André, being told that the papers found upon his person had been
forwarded to Washington, addressed to him immediately the following
lines:—
“I beg your Excellency will be persuaded that no alteration in the
temper of my mind or apprehensions for my safety, induces me to take the
step of addressing you; but that it is to secure myself from the
imputation of having assumed a mean character for treacherous purposes
or self-interest.... It is to vindicate my fame that I speak, and not to
solicit security.
“The person in your possession is Major John André, adjutant-general of
the British army.
“The influence of one commander in the army of his adversary is an
advantage taken in war. A correspondence for this purpose I held; as
confidential (in the present instance) with his Excellency, Sir Henry
Clinton. To favor it, I agreed to meet upon ground not within the posts
of either army, a person who was to give me intelligence. I came up in
the _Vulture_ man-of-war for this effect, and was fetched from the shore
to the beach. Being there, I was told that the approach of day would
prevent my return, and that I must be concealed until the next night. I
was in my regimentals, and had fairly risked my person.
“Against my stipulation, my intention, and without my knowledge
beforehand, I was conducted within one of your posts. Thus was I
betrayed into the vile condition of an enemy within your posts.
“Having avowed myself a British officer, I have nothing to reveal but
what relates to myself, which is true, on the honor of an officer and a
gentleman.
“The request I have made to your Excellency, and I am conscious that I
address myself well, is, that in any rigor policy may dictate, a decency
of conduct towards me may mark, that, though unfortunate, I am branded
with nothing dishonorable; as no motive could be mine, but the service
of my king, and as I was involuntarily an impostor.”
This letter he submitted to the perusal of Major Tallmadge, who was
surprised and agitated at finding the rank and importance of the
prisoner he had in charge. The letter being dispatched, and André’s
pride relieved on a sensitive point, he resumed his serenity, apparently
unconscious of the awful responsibility of his situation. Having a
talent for caricature, he even amused himself in the course of the day
by making a ludicrous sketch of himself and his rustic escort under
march, and presenting it to an officer in the room with him. “This,”
said he gayly, “will give you an idea of the style in which I have had
the honor to be conducted to my present abode.”
NOTE.
André’s propensity for caricature had recently been indulged in a mock
heroic poem in three cantos, celebrating an attack upon a British
picket by Wayne, with the driving into the American camp of a drove of
cattle by Lee’s dragoons. It is written with great humor, and is full
of grotesque imagery “Mad Anthony” especially is in broad caricature,
and represented to have lost his horse upon the great occasion.
“His horse that carried all his prog,
His military speeches,
His cornstalk whiskey for his grog—
Blue stockings and brown breeches.”
The cantos were published at different times in Rivington’s _Gazette_.
It so happened that the last canto appeared on the very day of André’s
capture and ended with the following stanza, which might be considered
ominous:—
“And now I’ve closed my epic strain,
I tremble as I show it,
Lest this same warrio-drover, Wayne,
Should ever catch the poet.”
[Illustration]
[Illustration]