André’s Conduct as a Prisoner.—His Conversations with
Colonel Tallmadge.—Story of Nathan Hale.—André’s Prison at
Tappan.—Correspondence on his Behalf.—His Trial.—Execution.—Reward
of the Captors.—Reward of Arnold.—His Proclamation.—After Fortunes
of Mrs. Arnold.
On the 26th of September, the day after the treason of Arnold had been
revealed to Washington, André arrived at the Robinson House, having been
brought on in the night, under escort and in charge of Major Tallmadge.
Washington made many inquiries of the major, but declined to have the
prisoner brought into his presence, apparently entertaining a strong
idea of his moral obliquity, from the nature of the scheme in which he
had been engaged, and the circumstances under which he had been
arrested.
The same evening he transmitted him to West Point, and shortly
afterwards, Joshua H. Smith, who had likewise been arrested. Still, not
considering them secure even there, he determined on the following day
to send them on to the camp. In a letter to Greene he writes: “They will
be under an escort of horse, and I wish you to have separate houses in
camp ready for their reception, in which they may be kept perfectly
secure; and also strong, trusty guards, trebly officered, that a part
may be constantly in the room with them. They have not been permitted to
be together, and must be kept apart. I would wish the room for Mr. André
to be a decent one, and that he may be treated with civility; but that
he may be so guarded as to preclude a possibility of his escaping, which
he will certainly attempt to effect, if it shall seem practicable in the
most distant degree.”
Major Tallmadge continued to have charge of André. Not regarding him
from the same anxious point with the commander-in-chief, and having had
opportunities of acquiring a personal knowledge of him, he had become
fascinated by his engaging qualities. “The ease and affability of his
manners,” writes he, “polished by the refinement of good society and a
finished education, made him a most delightful companion. It often drew
tears from my eyes, to find him so agreeable in conversation on
different subjects, when I reflected on his future fate, and that too,
as I feared, so near at hand.”
Early on the morning of the 28th, the prisoners were embarked in a
barge, to be conveyed from West Point to King’s Ferry. Tallmadge placed
André by his side on the after seat of the barge. Both being young, of
equal rank, and prepossessing manners, a frank and cordial intercourse
had grown up between them. By a cartel, mutually agreed upon, each might
put to the other any question not involving a third person. They were
passing below the rocky heights of West Point, and in full view of the
fortress, when Tallmadge asked André whether he would have taken an
active part in the attack on it, should Arnold’s plan have succeeded.
André promptly answered in the affirmative; pointed out a table of land
on the west shore, where he would have landed at the head of a select
corps, described the route he would have taken up the mountain to a
height in the rear of Fort Putnam, overlooking the whole parade of West
Point—“and this he did,” writes Tallmadge, “with much greater exactness
than I could have done. This eminence he would have reached without
difficulty, as Arnold would have disposed of the garrison in such manner
as to be capable of little or no opposition—_and then the key of the
country would have been in his hands, and he would have had the glory of
the splendid achievement_.”
Tallmadge fairly kindled into admiration as André, with hereditary
French vivacity, acted the scene he was describing. “It seemed to him,”
he said, “as if André were entering the fort sword in hand.”
He ventured to ask what was to have been his reward had he succeeded.
“Military glory was all he sought. The thanks of his general and the
approbation of his king would have been a rich reward for such an
undertaking.”
Tallmadge was perfectly charmed, but adds quietly, “I think he further
remarked, that, if he had succeeded, _he was to have been promoted to
the rank of a brigadier-general_.”
While thus the prisoner, confident of the merit of what he had
attempted, kindled with the idea of an imaginary triumph, and the
youthful officer who had him in charge caught fire from his enthusiasm,
the barge glided through that solemn defile of mountains, through which,
but a few days previously, Arnold, the panic-stricken traitor of the
drama, had fled like a felon.
After disembarking at King’s Ferry near Stony Point, they set off for
Tappan under the escort of a body of horse. As they approached the
Clove, a deep defile in the rear of the Highlands, André, who rode
beside Tallmadge, became solicitous to know the opinion of the latter as
to what would be the result of his capture, and in what light he would
be regarded by General Washington and by a military tribunal, should one
be ordered. Tallmadge evaded the question as long as possible, but being
urged to a full and explicit reply, gave it, he says, in the following
words; “I had a much-loved classmate in Yale College, by the name of
Nathan Hale, who entered the army in 1775. Immediately after the battle
of Long Island, General Washington wanted information respecting the
strength, position, and probable movements of the enemy. Captain Hale
tendered his services, went over to Brooklyn, and was taken, just as he
was passing the outposts of the enemy on his return; said I with
emphasis—‘Do you remember the sequel of the story?’ ‘Yes,’ said André.
‘He was hanged as a spy! But you surely do not consider his case and
mine alike?’ ‘Yes, precisely similar; and similar will be your
fate.’”[36]
“He endeavored,” adds Tallmadge, “to answer my remarks, but it was
manifest he was more troubled in spirit than I had ever seen him
before.”
“We stopped at the Clove to dine and let the horse-guard refresh,”
continues Tallmadge. “While there, André kept reviewing his shabby
dress, and finally remarked to me, that he was positively ashamed to go
to the head-quarters of the American army in such a plight. I called my
servant and directed him to bring my dragoon cloak, which I presented to
Major André. This he refused for some time; but I insisted on it, and he
finally put it on and rode in it to Tappan.”
The place which had been prepared to receive Major André, is still
pointed out as the “76 Stone House.” The caution which Washington had
given as to his safe keeping, was strictly observed by Colonel Scammel,
the adjutant-general, as may be seen by his orders to the officer of the
guards.
“Major André, the prisoner under your guard, is not only an officer of
distinction in the British army, but a man of infinite art and address,
who will leave no means unattempted to make his escape and avoid the
ignominious death which awaits him. You are therefore, in addition to
your sentries, to keep two officers constantly in the room with him,
with their swords drawn, whilst the other officers who are out of the
room are constantly to keep walking the entry and around the sentries,
to see that they are alert. No person whatever to be permitted to enter
the room, or speak with him, unless by direction of the
commander-in-chief. You are by no means to suffer him to go out of the
room on any pretext whatever.”[37]
The capture of André caused a great sensation at New York. He was
universally popular with the army and an especial favorite of Sir Henry
Clinton. The latter addressed a letter to Washington on the 29th,
claiming the release of André on similar ground to that urged by Colonel
Robinson—his having visited Arnold at the particular request of that
general officer, and under the sanction of a flag of truce; and his
having been stopped while travelling under Arnold’s passports. The same
letter inclosed one addressed by Arnold to Sir Henry, and intended as a
kind of certificate of the innocence of André. “I commanded at the time
at West Point,” writes the renegade, “had an undoubted right to send my
flag of truce to Major André, who came to me under that protection, and,
having held conversation with him, I delivered him confidential papers
in my own handwriting to deliver to your Excellency. Thinking it much
properer he should return by land, I directed him to make use of the
feigned name of John Anderson, under which he had, by my direction, come
on shore, and gave him my passports to go to the White Plains, on his
way to New York.... All which I had then a right to do, being in the
actual service of America, under the orders of General Washington, and
commanding general at West Point and its dependencies.” He concludes,
therefore, that André cannot fail of being immediately sent to New York.
Neither the official demand of Sir Henry Clinton, nor the impudent
certificate of Arnold, had any effect on the steady mind of Washington.
He considered the circumstances under which André had been taken such as
would have justified the most summary proceedings, but he determined to
refer the case to the examination and decision of a board of general
officers, which he convened on the 29th of September, the day after his
arrival at Tappan. It was composed of six major-generals, Greene,
Stirling, St. Clair, Lafayette, R. Howe, and Steuben; and eight
brigadiers, Parsons, James Clinton, Knox, Glover, Paterson, Hand,
Huntingdon, and Stark. General Greene, who was well versed in military
law, and was a man of sound head and kind heart, was president, and
Colonel John Lawrence, judge advocate-general.
Colonel Alexander Hamilton, who, like Tallmadge, had drawn to André in
his misfortunes, as had most of the young American officers, gives, in
letters to his friends, many interesting particulars concerning the
conduct of the prisoner. “When brought before the board of officers,”
writes he, “he met with every mark of indulgence and was required to
answer no interrogatory which would even embarrass his feelings. On his
part, while he carefully concealed everything that might implicate
others, he frankly confessed all the facts relating to himself, and upon
his confession, without the trouble of examining a witness, the board
made up their report.”
It briefly stated the circumstances of the case, and concluded with the
opinion of the court, that Major André, adjutant-general of the British
army, ought to be considered a spy from the enemy, and, agreeably to the
law and usage of nations, ought to suffer death. In a conversation with
Hamilton, André acknowledged the candor, liberality, and indulgence with
which the board had conducted themselves in their painful inquiry. He
met the result with manly firmness. “I foresee my fate,” said he; “and
though I pretend not to play the hero, or to be indifferent about life,
yet I am reconciled to whatever may happen; conscious that misfortune,
not guilt, has brought it upon me.”
Even in this situation of gathering horrors, he thought of others more
than of himself. “There is only one thing that disturbs my
tranquillity,” said he to Hamilton. “Sir Henry Clinton has been too good
to me; he has been lavish of his kindness. I am bound to him by too many
obligations, and love him too well, to bear the thought that he should
reproach himself, or others should reproach him, on the supposition of
my having conceived myself obliged, by his instructions, to run the risk
I did. I would not for the world leave a sting in his mind that should
embitter his future days.” He could scarce finish the sentence; bursting
into tears, in spite of his efforts to suppress them, and with
difficulty collected himself enough afterwards to add, “I wish to be
permitted to assure him that I did not act under this impression, but
submitted to a necessity imposed upon me, as contrary to my own
inclination, as to his wishes.”
His request was complied with, and he wrote a letter to Sir Henry
Clinton to the above purport. He made mention also of his mother and
three sisters, to whom the value of his commission would be an object.
“It is needless,” said he, “to be more explicit on this subject; I am
persuaded of your Excellency’s goodness.”[38]
He concluded by saying, “I receive the greatest attention from his
Excellency, General Washington, and from every person under whose charge
I happen to be placed.”
This letter accompanied one from Washington to Sir Henry Clinton,
stating the report of the board of inquiry, omitting the sentence. “From
these proceedings,” observes he, “it is evident that Major 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 in the
most distant degree; and this gentleman confessed with the greatest
candor, in the course of his examination, that it was impossible for him
to suppose that he came on shore under the sanction of a flag.”
Captain Aaron Ogden, a worthy officer of the New Jersey line, was
selected by Washington to bear these dispatches to the enemy’s post at
Paulus Hook, thence to be conveyed across the Hudson to New York. Before
his departure, he called by Washington’s request on the Marquis
Lafayette, who gave him instructions to sound the officer commanding at
that post whether Sir Henry Clinton might not be willing to deliver up
Arnold in exchange for André. Ogden arrived at Paulus Hook in the
evening, and made the suggestion, as if incidentally, in the course of
conversation. The officer demanded if he had any authority from
Washington for such an intimation. “I have no such assurance from
General Washington,” replied he, “but I am prepared to say, that if such
a proposal were made, I believe it would be accepted, and Major André
set at liberty.”
The officer crossed the river before morning, and communicated the
matter to Sir Henry Clinton, but the latter instantly rejected the
expedient as incompatible with honor and military principle.
In the mean time, the character, appearance, deportment, and fortunes of
André, had interested the feelings of the oldest and sternest soldiers
around him, and completely captivated the sympathies of the younger
ones. He was treated with the greatest respect and kindness throughout
his confinement, and his table was supplied from that of the
commander-in-chief.
Hamilton, who was in daily intercourse with him, describes him as well
improved by education and travel, with an elegant turn of mind, and a
taste for the fine arts. He had attained some proficiency in poetry,
music, and painting. His sentiments were elevated, his elocution was
fluent, his address easy, polite, and engaging, with a softness that
conciliated affection. His talents and accomplishments were accompanied,
says Hamilton, by a diffidence that induced you to give him credit for
more than appeared.
No one felt stronger sympathy in his case than Colonel Tallmadge, no
doubt from the consideration that he had been the means of bringing him
into this awful predicament, by inducing Colonel Jameson to have him
conducted back when on the way to Arnold’s quarters. A letter lies
before us, written by Tallmadge to Colonel Samuel B. Webb, one of
Washington’s aides-de-camp. “Poor André, who has been under my charge
almost ever since he was taken, has yesterday had his trial, and though
his sentence is not known, a disgraceful death is undoubtedly allotted
him. By heavens, Colonel Webb, I never saw a man whose fate I foresaw
whom I so sincerely pitied. He is a young fellow of the greatest
accomplishments, and was the prime minister of Sir Harry on all
occasions. He has unbosomed his heart to me so fully, and indeed let me
know almost every motive of his actions since he came out on his late
mission, that he has endeared me to him exceedingly. Unfortunate man! He
will undoubtedly suffer death to-morrow; and though he knows his fate,
seems to be as cheerful as if he were going to an assembly. I am sure he
will go to the gallows less fearful for his fate, and with less concern
than I shall behold the tragedy. Had he been tried by a court of ladies,
he is so genteel, handsome, polite a young gentleman, that I am
confident they would have acquitted him. But enough of André, who,
though he dies lamented, falls justly.”
The execution was to have taken place on the 1st of October, at five
o’clock in the afternoon; but in the interim Washington received a
second letter from Sir Henry Clinton, dated September 30th, expressing
an opinion that the board of inquiry had not been rightly informed of
all the circumstances on which a judgment ought to be formed, and that,
in order that he might be perfectly apprised of the state of the matter
before he proceeded to put that judgment in execution, he should send a
commission on the following day, composed of Lieutenant-governor Elliot,
William Smith, chief justice of the province, and Lieutenant-general
Robertson, to wait near Dobbs’ Ferry for permission and safe conduct to
meet Washington, or such persons as he should appoint to converse with
them on the subject.
This letter caused a postponement of the execution, and General Greene
was sent to meet the commissioners at Dobbs’ Ferry. They came up in the
morning of the 1st of October, in a schooner, with a flag of truce, and
were accompanied by Colonel Beverley Robinson. General Robertson,
however, was the only commissioner permitted to land, the others not
being military officers. A long conference took place between him and
General Greene, without any agreement of opinion upon the question at
issue. Greene returned to camp promising to report faithfully to
Washington the arguments urged by Robertson, and to inform the latter of
the result.
A letter also was delivered to Greene for Washington, which Arnold had
sent by the commissioners, in which the traitor reasserted the right he
had possessed, as commanding officer of the department, to transact all
the matters with which André was inculpated, and insisted that the
latter ought not to suffer for them. “But,” added he, “if after this
just and candid representation of Major André’s case, the board of
general officers adhere to their former opinion, I shall suppose it
dictated by passion and resentment and if that gentleman should suffer
the severity of their sentence, I shall think myself bound, by every tie
of duty and honor, to retaliate on such unhappy persons of your army as
may fall within my power, that the respect due to flags, and to the laws
of nations, may be better understood and observed. I have further to
observe, that forty of the principal inhabitants of South Carolina have
justly forfeited their lives, which have hitherto been spared by the
clemency of his Excellency, Sir Henry Clinton, who cannot in justice
extend his mercy to them any longer, if Major André suffers; which, in
all probability, will open a scene of blood at which humanity shudders.
“Suffer me to entreat your Excellency, for your own sake and the honor
of humanity, and the love you have of justice, that you suffer not an
unjust sentence to touch the life of Major André. But if this warning
should be disregarded, and he suffer, I call Heaven and earth to
witness, that your Excellency will be justly answerable for the torrent
of blood that may be spilt in consequence.”
Beside this impudent and despicable letter, there was another from
Arnold, containing the farce of a resignation, and concluding with the
following sentence: “At the same time I beg leave to assure your
Excellency, that my attachment to the true interests of my country is
invariable, and that I am actuated by the same principle which has ever
been the governing rule of my conduct in this unhappy context.”
The letters of Arnold were regarded with merited contempt. Greene, in a
brief letter to General Robertson, informed him that he had made as full
a report of their conference to the commander-in-chief, as his memory
would serve, but that it had made no alteration in Washington’s opinion
and determination. Robertson was piqued at the brevity of the note, and
professed to doubt whether Greene’s memory had served him with
sufficient fullness and exactness; he addressed therefore to Washington
his own statement of reasoning on the subject; after dispatching which
he and the other commissioners returned in the schooner to New York.
During this day of respite André had conducted himself with his usual
tranquillity. A likeness of himself, seated at a table in his
guard-room, which he sketched with a pen and gave to the officer on
guard, is still extant. It being announced to him that one o’clock on
the following day was fixed on for his execution, he remarked that,
since it was his lot to die, there was still a choice in the mode; he
therefore addressed the following note to Washington:—
“SIR.—Buoyed above the terror of death by the consciousness of a life
devoted to honorable pursuits, and stained with no action that can
give me remorse, I trust that the request I make to your Excellency at
this serious period, and which is to soften my last moments, will not
be rejected. Sympathy towards a soldier will surely induce your
Excellency and a military tribunal to adapt the mode of my death to
the feelings of a man of honor.
“Let me hope, sir, that if aught in my character impresses you with
esteem towards me; if aught in my misfortunes marks me as the victim
of policy and not of resentment, I shall experience the operation of
these feelings in your breast by being informed that I am not to die
on a gibbet.”
Had Washington consulted his feelings merely, this affecting appeal
might not have been in vain, for though not impulsive, he was eminently
benevolent. André himself had testified to the kind treatment he had
experienced from the commander-in-chief since his capture, though no
personal interview had taken place. Washington had no popular censure to
apprehend should he exercise indulgence, for the popular feeling was
with the prisoner. But he had a high and tenacious sense of the duties
and responsibilities of his position, and never more than in this trying
moment, when he had to elevate himself above the contagious sympathies
of those around him, dismiss all personal considerations, and regard the
peculiar circumstances of the case. The long course of insidious
operations which had been pursued to undermine the loyalty of one of his
most trusted officers; the greatness of the evil which the treason would
have effected, if successful; the uncertainty how far the enemy had
carried, or might still be carrying, their scheme of corruption, for
anonymous intimations spoke of treachery in other quarters; all these
considerations pointed this out as a case in which a signal example was
required.
And what called for particular indulgence to the agent, if not
instigator of this enormous crime, who had thus been providentially
detected in disguise, and with the means of its consummation concealed
upon his person? His errand, as it has been eloquently urged, “viewed in
the light of morality, and even of that chivalry from which modern war
pretends to derive its maxims, was one of infamy. He had been
commissioned to buy with gold what steel could not conquer; to drive a
bargain with one ready for a price to become a traitor; to count out the
thirty pieces of silver by which British generals and British gentlemen
were not ashamed to purchase the betrayal of a cause, whose shining
virtue repelled their power, and dimmed the glory of their arms.”[39]
Even the language of traffic in which this negotiation had been carried
on between the pseudo-Gustavus and John Anderson, had, as has before
been observed, something ignoble and debasing to the chivalrous aspirant
who stooped to use it; especially when used as a crafty covering in
bargaining for a man’s soul.[40]
It has been alleged in André’s behalf, as a mitigating circumstance,
that he was involuntarily a spy. It is true, he did not come on shore in
borrowed garb, nor with a design to pass himself off for another, and
procure secret information; but he came, under cloak of midnight, in
supposed safety, to effect the betrayal of a holy trust; and it was his
undue eagerness to secure the objects of this clandestine interview,
that brought him into the condition of an undoubted spy. It certainly
should not soften our view of his mission, that he embarked in it
without intending to subject himself to danger. A spice of danger would
have given it a spice of heroism, however spurious. When the rendezvous
was first projected, he sought, through an indirect channel, to let
Arnold know that he would come out with a flag. (We allude to a letter
written by him from New York on the 7th of September, under his feigned
signature, to Colonel Sheldon; evidently intended to be seen by Arnold;
“I will endeavor to obtain permission to go out with a flag.”) If an
interview had taken place under that sacred protection, and a triumphant
treason had been the result, what a brand it would have affixed to
André’s name, that he had prostituted a flag of truce to such an end.
We dwell on these matters, not to check the sentiment of sympathy
awakened in André’s behalf by his personal qualities, but to vindicate
the fair name of Washington from that “blot” which some have attempted
to cast upon it, because, in exercising his stern duty as protector of
the public weal, during a time of secret treason, he listened to policy
and justice rather than mercy. In doing so, he took counsel with some of
his general officers. Their opinions coincided with his own—that under
present circumstances, it was important to give a signal warning to the
enemy, by a rigorous observance of the rules of war and the usages of
nations in like cases.[41]
But although André’s request as to the mode of his death was not to be
granted, it was thought best to let him remain in uncertainty on the
subject; no answer, therefore, was returned to his note. On the morning
of the 2d, he maintained a calm demeanor, though all around him were
gloomy and silent. He even rebuked his servant for shedding tears.
Having breakfasted, he dressed himself with care in the full uniform of
a British officer, which he had sent for to New York, placed his hat
upon the table, and accosting the officers on guard,—“I am ready,” said
he, “at any moment, gentlemen, to wait upon you.”
He walked to the place of execution between two subaltern officers, arm
in arm, with a serene countenance, bowing to several gentlemen whom he
knew. Colonel Tallmadge accompanied him, and we quote his words. “When
he came within sight of the gibbet, he appeared to be startled, and
inquired with some emotion whether he was not to be shot. Being informed
that the mode first appointed for his death could not consistently be
altered, he exclaimed, ‘How hard is my fate!’ but immediately added, ‘it
will soon be over.’ I then shook hand with him under the gallows, and
retired.”[42]
While waiting near the gallows until preparations were made, says
another authority, who was present, he evinced some nervousness, putting
his foot on a stone and rolling it; and making an effort to swallow, as
if checking an hysterical affection of the throat. All things being
ready, he stepped into the wagon; appeared to shrink for an instant,
recovering himself, exclaimed: “It will be but a momentary pang!”
Taking off his hat and stock, and opening his shirt collar, he
deliberately adjusted the noose to his neck, after which he took out a
handkerchief, and tied it over his eyes. Being told by the officer in
command that his arms must be bound, he drew out a second handkerchief,
with which they were pinioned. Colonel Scammel now told him that he had
an opportunity to speak, if he desired it. His only reply was, “I pray
you to bear witness that I meet my fate like a brave man.” The wagon
moved from under him, and left him suspended. He died almost without a
struggle.[43] He remained suspended for about half an hour, during which
time a death-like stillness prevailed over the surrounding multitude.
His remains were interred within a few yards of the place of his
execution; whence they were transferred to England in 1821, by the
British consul, then resident in New York, and were buried in
Westminster Abbey, near a mural monument which had been erected to his
memory.
Never has any man, suffering under like circumstances, awakened a more
universal sympathy even among those of the country against which he had
practiced. His story is one of the touching themes of the Revolution,
and his name is still spoken of with kindness in the local traditions of
the neighborhood where he was captured.
Washington, in a letter to the President of Congress, passed a high
eulogium on the captors of André, and recommended them for a handsome
gratuity; for having, in all probability, prevented one of the severest
strokes that could have been meditated by the enemy. Congress
accordingly expressed, in a formal vote, a high sense of their virtuous
and patriotic conduct; awarded to each of them a farm, a pension for
life of two hundred dollars, and a silver medal, bearing on one side an
escutcheon on which was engraved the word FIDELITY, and on the other
side the motto, _Vincit amor patriæ_. These medals were delivered to
them by General Washington at head-quarters, with impressive ceremony.
Isaac Van Wart, one of the captors, had been present at the execution of
André, and was deeply affected by it. He was not fond of recalling the
subject, and in after life could rarely speak of André without tears.
Joshua H. Smith, who aided in bringing André and Arnold together, was
tried by a court-martial, on a charge of participating in the treason,
but was acquitted, no proof appearing of his having had any knowledge of
Arnold’s plot, though it was thought he must have been conscious of
something wrong in an interview so mysteriously conducted.
Arnold was now made brigadier-general in the British service, and put on
an official level with honorable men who scorned to associate with the
traitor. What golden reward he was to have received had his treason been
successful, is not known; but six thousand three hundred and fifteen
pounds sterling were paid to him, as a compensation for losses which he
pretended to have suffered in going over to the enemies of his country.
The vilest culprit, however, shrinks from sustaining the obloquy of his
crimes. Shortly after his arrival in New York, Arnold published an
address to the inhabitants of America, in which he endeavored to
vindicate his conduct. He alleged that he had originally taken up arms
merely to aid in obtaining a redress of grievances. He had considered
the Declaration of Independence precipitate, and the reasons for it
obviated by the subsequent proffers of the British government; and he
inveighed against Congress for rejecting those offers, without
submitting them to the people.
Finally, the treaty with France, a proud, ancient and crafty foe, the
enemy of the Protestant faith and of real liberty, had completed, he
said, the measure of his indignation, and determined him to abandon a
cause sustained by iniquity and controlled by usurpers.
Besides this address, he issued a proclamation inviting the officers and
soldiers of the American army, who had the real interest of their
country at heart, and who were determined to be no longer the tools and
dupes of Congress, and of France, to rally under the royal standard, and
fight for true American liberty; holding out promises of large bounties
and liberal subsistence, with compensation for all the implements and
accoutrements of war they might bring with them.
Speaking of this address, “I am at a loss,” said Washington, “which to
admire most, the confidence of Arnold in publishing it, or the folly of
the enemy in supposing that a production signed by so infamous a
character will have any weight with the people of these States, or any
influence upon our officers abroad.” He was right. Both the address and
the proclamation were regarded by Americans with the contempt they
merited. None rallied to the standard of the renegade but a few
deserters and refugees, who were already within the British lines, and
prepared for any desperate or despicable service.[44]
Colonel John Laurens, former aide-de-camp to Washington, in speaking of
André’s fate, observed, “Arnold must undergo a punishment comparatively
more severe, in the permanent, increasing torment of a mental hell.”
Washington doubted it. “He wants feeling,” said he. “From some traits of
his character which have lately come to my knowledge, he seems to have
been so hackneyed in villainy, and so lost to all sense of honor and
shame, that, while his faculties will enable him to continue his sordid
pursuits there will be no time for remorse.” And in a letter to Governor
Reed, Washington writes, “Arnold’s conduct is so villainously
perfidious, that there are no terms that can describe the baseness of
his heart. That overruling Providence which has so often and so
remarkably interposed in our favor, never manifested itself more
conspicuously than in the timely discovery of his horrid intention to
surrender the post and garrison of West Point into the hands of the
enemy.... The confidence and folly which have marked the subsequent
conduct of this man, are of a piece with his villainy, and all three are
perfect in their kind.”
Mrs. Arnold, on arriving at her father’s house in Philadelphia, had
decided on a separation from her husband, to whom she could not endure
the thoughts of returning after his dishonor. This course, however, was
not allowed her. The executive council, wrongfully suspecting her of
having aided in the correspondence between her husband and André,
knowing its treasonable tendency, ordered her to leave the State within
fourteen days, and not to return during the continuance of the war. “We
tried every means,” writes one of her connections, “to prevail on the
council to permit her to stay among us, and not to compel her to go to
that infernal villain, her husband.[45] Mr. Shippen (her father) had
promised the council, and Mrs. Arnold had signed a writing to the same
purpose, engaging not to write to General Arnold any letters whatever,
and to receive no letters without showing them to the council, if she
was permitted to stay.” It was all in vain, and, strongly against her
will, she rejoined her husband in New York. His fear for her personal
safety from the fury of the people proved groundless. That scrupulous
respect for the female sex, so prevalent throughout the United States,
was her safeguard. While the whole country resounded with execrations of
her husband’s guilt; while his effigy was dragged through the streets of
town and village, burnt at the stake, or swung on the gibbet, she passed
on secure from injury or insult. The execrations of the populace were
silenced at her approach. Arriving at nightfall at a village where they
were preparing for one of these burnings in effigy, the pyre remained
unkindled, the people dispersed quietly to their homes, and the wife of
the traitor was suffered to sleep in peace.
She returned home but once, about five years after her exile, and was
treated with such coldness and neglect that she declared she never could
come again. In England her charms and virtues, it is said, procured her
sympathy and friendship, and helped to sustain the social position of
her husband, who, however, was “generally slighted, and sometimes
insulted.”[46] She died in London, in the winter of 1796. In recent
years it has been maintained that Mrs. Arnold was actually cognizant and
participant of her husband’s crime; but, after carefully examining all
the proofs adduced, we remain of opinion that she was innocent.
We have been induced to enter thus largely into the circumstances of
this story, from the undiminished interest taken in it by the readers of
American history. Indeed, a romance has been thrown around the memory of
the unfortunate André, which increases with the progress of years; while
the name of Arnold will stand sadly conspicuous to the end of time, as
the only American officer of note, throughout all the trials and
vicissitudes of the Revolution, who proved traitor to the glorious cause
of his country.
NOTE.
The following fragment of a letter from Arnold’s mother to him in
early life, was recently put into our hands. Well would it have been
for him had he adhered to its pious though humble counsels.
Norwich April 12, 1754.
“dear childe. I received yours of 1 instant and was glad to hear that
you was well: pray my dear let your first concern be to make your
pease with god as itt is of all conserns of y^e greatest importence.
Keep a stedy watch over your thoughts, words and actions. Be dutifull
to superiors, obliging to equalls and affibel to inferiors....”
from your affectionate
Hannah Arnold.
P. S. I have sent you fifty shillings youse itt prudently as you are
acountabell to God and your father. Your father and aunt joyns with me
in love and servis to Mr. Cogswell and ladey and yourself. Your sister
is from home.
To Mr.
benedict arnold
your father put at
twenty more canterbury
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