Leaving his wife’s chamber, Arnold went to the office of Roderick
Barclugh.
He was smarting under the findings of the court-martial at Morristown,
and under the monetary demands of a gay and ambitious wife. He had
proposed to resign his commission in the army and settle upon an estate
in the wilds of Western New York, and let history right the wrongs
that had been heaped upon him, but the ambition of his wife intervened
again. Her love of social distinction would not allow her to consent to
a home in the wilderness. What a glorious record of heroism was thus
turned into the wormwood of infamy!
Desperation was written on his face when Arnold reached the office of
Roderick Barclugh, who shook the General’s hand, saying:
“I hope, General Arnold, that you do not think seriously of my heated
discourse toward you yesterday, for I was weary and suffering from my
wound. I was then ill-humored and out of patience. Anything that I can
do to relieve your financial difficulties, you may command of me.”
This unexpected liberality on the part of Barclugh now won the heart of
Arnold. The ointment for a wounded spirit was in these words.
Arnold sat down and smiled as he rubbed his hands and began to relate
confidingly to Barclugh:
“Mr. Barclugh, my life, thus far, has been full of hardship and
bitterness. My honors have been won with a heart true to my country; no
stigma yet rests upon my name; but my motives have been misjudged and
maligned; the designs and calumny of wicked rivals have filled my life
with despair.
“Then, my enemies have attacked the idol of my soul,--my wife and the
mother of my child. Enough to arouse the bitterness of my being were
the attacks upon my own actions, but when the opinions of my wife and
her friends have to be scored and laid up against me I am driven to
seek satisfaction.
“The one burden of my soul that bears me down to the depths of
desperation, however, is that of my debts. I have always been used to
having plenty for my simple needs, but the war has impoverished me, and
I can not get my just dues from Congress. I owe the butcher, the baker
and the footman. My wife’s social ambition I am not able to curtail. I
am in the depths of embarrassment over my debts.
“If it were not for what I owe I could not consent to treason to
extricate myself; but I am too deeply involved. Indeed, too deeply!”
concluded Arnold as his voice choked, and huge tears trickled down his
cheeks.
Not a word passed the lips of these men of iron for a period that
seemed oppressively long.
At length Barclugh broke the silence, remarking compassionately:
“My dear General Arnold, your life has been worried to distraction
by men of small and ungenerous natures. They have sought to elevate
themselves by your undoing; but what must you expect from a government
such as you have in these Colonies? There is no authority, no
responsible head. You, in your case, have no appeal from a backbiting
set of adventurers.
“But in government at home such services as you have rendered have the
reward of a peerage and a grant from Parliament for the benefit of your
family.
“There is no use talking further, you can serve your countrymen far
more, by trying to put an end to these injustices, perpetrated by an
irresponsible rabble upon personages of substance, than by trying to
win independence,--for what?--A worse government, perhaps, than the one
you have had as Colonists.”
“In any event, the Commissioners of His Majesty are willing to grant
all the demands that the Colonists have asked for.
“Now, General Arnold, you will pardon me, but if I were to put two
thousand pounds sterling to your credit, as a loan, and leave it here
for your convenience, would that be of any service to you?”
“My dear Mr. Barclugh,” replied Arnold most graciously, “you have
befriended me generously--I am in need of friends.
“I shall not forget your kindness, but may I ask you to let me have
five hundred pounds to-day?”
“Certainly, certainly,” returned Barclugh, and he counted him out the
amount in Bank of England notes.
“But there is only one matter I wish to impress upon you, General
Arnold, before you go,” continued Barclugh, as he arose and took Arnold
by the hand. “I hope that you will press the matter about West Point
with General Washington, and let me know at the very first moment what
news you get. I know that General Washington desires to befriend you.”
“Of course, Mr. Barclugh, I will keep you posted. I expect news any
day; still there is a feeling within me that Washington is under the
influence of my enemies. He does not show the cordiality to me now,
that he used to.
“But never mind, I shall be able to give them all a lesson in the
manner of treating a gentleman, when the war is over.”
“Good day, Mr. Barclugh, I am more than grateful.”
“Come down at any time, General. We shall arrange all details when you
hear from headquarters.
“Good day,” concluded Roderick Barclugh.
* * * * *
“Segwuna, where have you been, my dear? I have missed you so much,”
were the words of Mollie Greydon, when she saw Segwuna for the first
time in two weeks. Segwuna was in the winding path leading to the old
mill on the Wingohocking at Dorminghurst.
Segwuna turned around at the sound of Mollie’s voice, and walking
toward her, put an arm around the waist of her friend and replied:
“I have been to New York selling some moccasins and leggings,” for she
did not desire to let Mollie know the whole of her reasons for going to
New York.
Segwuna continued spiritedly:
“While there I saw General Clinton and Major Andre. They live in such
grand style,--a coach and postilion, just like General Arnold.
“Those grand people have no love for an Indian girl like me.”
“Oh, never mind, my sweetheart! I love you,” retorted Mollie sweetly,
as she embraced her friend and kissed her on the cheek.
“Oh, let’s go down to the mill, Segwuna,” continued Mollie. “We can sit
down and relieve our hearts to each other.”
Mollie had been much agitated ever since Mr. Barclugh’s visit to
Dorminghurst. She had been affected by the very peculiar and earnest
look in his eyes at the breakfast table. She had seen neither Barclugh
nor Segwuna since then, and her delicate nature had dwelt upon the
tender gaze in Barclugh’s eyes and thoughts of what it might mean had
haunted her by day and by night. If she could have told Segwuna, she
would have found relief, but Segwuna had left the same day that Mr.
Barclugh had gone to New York.
The two life-long friends, with arms around each other’s waists, now
sauntered down to a lonely spot around the old mill to tell of their
fears and their hearts’ desires. Mollie believed that Segwuna had
wisdom, so that the Indian maiden was the oracle that Mollie consulted
when she had burdens on her mind.
These two childlike natures had that implicit confidence in each other
that is born of God. They sat on the mill-race, under the shade of a
huge elm. As Mollie buried her head in Segwuna’s bosom, the fountains
of pent-up grief broke out and Mollie wept and wept until Segwuna
pacified her by stroking her brow and sweetly asking:
“What is the matter, my loved one? Has Segwuna offended you,
sweetheart? What makes my love so unhappy?”
“Oh, Segwuna, I thought that you had been lost or killed or that
something terrible had happened to you. You never stayed away so long
before. I have been looking for you every day, and you did not return.
“Now that you have returned and you have not changed,--you still love
me?--I cry for joy. But then, Segwuna, I have a secret to tell you, and
you must not laugh at me, for then I shall think that you do not love
me.
“Do you know,” continued Mollie, “that the day that Mr. Barclugh was
here, and we were talking at breakfast about the King’s courtiers, I
happened to repeat those lines of Shakespeare:
‘Had I but served my God with half the zeal
‘I serv’d my king, he would not in mine age
‘Have left me naked to mine enemies.’
“When I had finished these lines, the eyes of Mr. Barclugh gazed at me,
and such a light shone out of them, I have not been able to rid myself
of the look that he gave me.
“Segwuna, what does it mean? I am troubled by day in my thought and by
night in my dreams.
“I could not find you, my darling, to let you know what troubled me. I
have been unhappy every minute since then.”
“Well, my sweetheart,” replied Segwuna, “I shall pray to the
Great Spirit to protect you from harm; but there can be only one
interpretation of what you have told me,--it means that Mr. Barclugh is
in love with you.”
A thunderstorm had arisen from the southwest, while the two girls were
occupied in their heart to heart communion, and the two ran into the
old mill for protection. The terrific wind and downpour of rain shook
the old mill. When the sharp bolts of lightning and the heavy crash of
thunder seemed very near, Mollie clutched Segwuna by the arm, and hung
to her spasmodically, as fear seemed to multiply in her already much
agitated breast.
When Segwuna turned at last to leave for her mother’s lodge, she kissed
Mollie on the cheek, and whispered gently:
“Segwuna will pray to her Great Spirit to protect her sweetheart from
all harm. Good night, darling.”