When the party was over, Dr. Greydon went up to Mollie and taking her
by the hands, said:
“Mollie, my child, you looked your best to-night. I felt very proud.
Now, you must take your rest. The excitement of this evening has been
very hard for you.”
“Very true, papa dear, but can you not let us talk over a few of the
events of the evening? That is the best part of an evening affair,--to
talk over what people said and what happened,” contended Mollie, when
she sat down to rehearse the evening’s events in girlish fashion.
“What a pity it was that the news arrived about General Arnold just in
the midst of the gayest part of the evening,” continued Mollie bubbling
over with the animation of youth. “What a fine minuet Mr. Barclugh can
dance! I was more than delighted! But did you see how pale he became
when he heard about General Arnold? And did you see how the Shippens
took the news? It was awful! Well, everybody will remember this party
from the tragic episodes caused by the Arnold treason!”
“Now, there, there, Mollie, you are too much worked up. You must give
yourself rest and repose for we can not tell what the morrow will bring
forth in these stirring times,” insisted Dr. Greydon, as he went up to
Mollie and took her by both hands and kissed her.
“Yes, Mollie, you must have rest,” reiterated her mother, as Mollie
went to her and kissed her good-night.
But no sooner had Mollie departed than very serious matters presented
themselves for discussion between Dr. Greydon and his wife about their
only daughter.
Dr. Greydon arose and taking his wife by the hand, said in his most
tender tones:
“Martha, my dear, we have astounding revelations to discuss, and I wish
that you would come into my office and there go over the matter with
me.”
“Very well, William,” assented Mrs. Greydon. “I hope that it is not
very bad news,” she continued as she took Dr. Greydon’s arm and
both went to the office in the south elevation of the quadrangle of
buildings.
Dr. Greydon led the way to the office and conducted his wife to a large
easy-chair, when he sat down at his desk and began to discuss the
important matters on his mind.
“My dear Martha, our Segwuna returned from New York to-night and
came to my office. She brought me the news about General Arnold and
Major Andre. She also informed me that our Mr. Barclugh has been the
secret agent of the British in Philadelphia, and has been in secret
communication with General Clinton for the purpose of carrying out
Arnold’s plot,--the surrender of West Point to the enemy.”
“What! Mr. Barclugh, the agent of the British!” exclaimed Mrs. Greydon.
“Yes, the _agent_ of the British! He had offered General Arnold twenty
thousand pounds sterling and a Brigadier-Generalship in the English
army.”
“Oh, what perfidy,” cried Mrs. Greydon. “How does Segwuna know these
things?”
“She followed Mr. Barclugh to New York and saw him with Major Andre and
General Clinton. She learned much while nursing him during his case of
the _peste_; and finally she went to New York and interviewed Major
Andre, who showed his concern at what Segwuna knew of the plot.
“Segwuna brought the news of the failure of the plot to me to-night. I
did not mention it because I wished to have the news confirmed and I
did not wish to spoil Mollie’s party.
“Now, dear Martha, what shall I do about the affair for Mollie’s sake?”
“I would first be sure that the story of Segwuna is true. If it is
true, I have no fears about what Mollie herself would say,” contended
Mrs. Greydon in her practical way. “Mollie has not yet consented to
marry Mr. Barclugh. She informed me so this morning. She promised
Segwuna not to do so until her return.”
“God bless Segwuna!” exclaimed Dr. Greydon. “Our daughter is safe from
the disgrace of this affair.”
“My advice, William,” argued Mrs. Greydon, “is to go to Mr. Barclugh
and ask him if these statements are true. If he loves our daughter he
will tell the truth. If he tells the truth and admits his guilt, on
account of our daughter’s love for him we will save him from exposure.”
“But how will our Mollie take this affair? I believe that she loves Mr.
Barclugh,” asked Dr. Greydon.
“There can be but one way for Mollie,” insisted her mother. “I will
explain all to Mollie in the morning. You can see Segwuna and question
her further and then we will have it decided in your office to-morrow
morning.”
“You are right, Martha,” concluded Dr. Greydon. “We must not continue
this discussion longer to-night,” as he offered his arm to Mrs.
Greydon, and conducted her to her apartments and fondly kissed her
good-night.
* * * * *
The next morning Segwuna met Dr. Greydon in his office at nine o’clock.
Dr. Greydon questioned the Indian maiden at length about the plot, and
she told the story precisely as before.
Mollie, with evidences of severe weeping and intense mental anguish
written upon every line of her face, entered her father’s office with
her mother. She at once ran to Segwuna and embraced her and said:
“My Segwuna, you did all of this for me. How shall I ever repay you?
How sorry I am for Mrs. Arnold. I might now have been placed in a
similar position.”
“My dearest Mollie,” began Dr. Greydon tenderly. “How do you feel about
Mr. Barclugh’s proposal for my daughter’s hand?”
“Father,” answered Mollie firmly, “I can never love the enemies of
my country, especially those who fight her institutions by means
of subterfuge and corruption. My love has been shocked. He knew my
patriotism and he encouraged it; but he hoped to win me and bind me by
the holy ties of marriage. My heart is broken. I can never consent, if
he is an enemy.
“But, father, do not expose him. It would cost him his life and I know
he loves me. Spare his life for my sake.”
These words settled the matter to the evident satisfaction of both Dr.
Greydon and Segwuna.
Mollie and her mother left the office for the other part of the house,
and the Doctor and Segwuna took the carriage for Philadelphia and
Roderick Barclugh’s office.
Dr. Greydon walked into the office of Roderick Barclugh and confronted
him when he was busy with his clerk in the outer room.
“Mr. Barclugh,” began Dr. Greydon. “May I see you privately?”
“Certainly,” replied Barclugh, as he led the way to his private office
and left Segwuna in the outer room.
“I understand, sir,” said Dr. Greydon, sternly, “that you have been
the secret agent of the British in our midst, you, who have asked my
daughter for marriage. Now, sir, is that statement true?”
“By what authority do you make those statements, Dr. Greydon?” parried
Barclugh.
“I ask you as a gentleman, Mr. Barclugh, who has extended the
courtesies of his home to you, to answer a direct question.”
“But you would not ask me to incriminate myself, Dr. Greydon?” replied
Barclugh hesitatingly.
“No, sir. If you are guilty, for the sake of my daughter’s former love
for you, you may leave our country. If you insist on not answering I
shall let you be apprehended,” insisted Dr. Greydon.
“But what proofs have you that I am concerned in this affair?” asked
Barclugh.
Dr. Greydon stepped to the door and called Segwuna to their presence,
as he asked her:
“Segwuna, what proof have you that Mr. Barclugh is concerned in this
treason?”
Segwuna took from the inner pocket of her waist and placed in Dr.
Greydon’s hands the envelope containing the letter brought to Roderick
Barclugh by the Swedish fisherman.
“That is sufficient,” exclaimed Barclugh, “I am the arch-conspirator,
Doctor Greydon. I am at your mercy. I have been unjust to ask your
daughter in marriage. If you allow me to escape with my life, I shall
return to England and teach my countrymen that Americans can not be
corrupted. I will do more for the cause of your country than armies or
alliances. I owe my life to you and I pledge myself to do a duty that I
owe to a true American gentleman. I will try to convince my government
of the justice of your cause.”
Turning to Segwuna, Barclugh said:
“You saved my life, Segwuna, and you also foiled my plot. The loss of
that letter during my illness made us too cautious in dealing with
Arnold. We knew that some one had the information and we were fearful
of entering the American lines since some one knew our scheme.”
“It was not I,” returned Segwuna, “Mr. Barclugh, that foiled your plot.
It was the Great Spirit that laid you low with the _peste_ and put the
correspondence into my hands. God hates a corruptionist.”
Barclugh fled at once upon the retirement of Segwuna and Dr. Greydon
from his office. He precipitately left on the sloop of the faithful
Swedes with all the ready money that he had.
He reached New York and went to General Clinton.
General Clinton withdrew from the Beekman House when the news of
the execution of Major Andre reached him. He now lived at Number 1
Broadway, where he could be in constant touch with the stirring affairs
of his command since the death of his beloved Andre.
Arnold came to New York and took up his quarters at the King’s Arms
Tavern, Number 9 Broadway. Here he lived and entertained the belief
that the British cause was invincible. He began plans to bring success
to the royal arms.
He prepared and issued an address, “To the Inhabitants of America,”
a long and labored article justifying his treachery. Then, a few
days thereafter, he issued a proclamation entitled, “To the officers
and soldiers of the Continental army who have the real interests of
their country at heart and who are determined to be no longer the
dupes of Congress or of France.” It was simply an offer of bribery
to the Americans to desert their cause; but there were no responses.
A few loyalists rallied around his standard,--those who were seeking
officers’ positions in the British army. His mercenary spirit was
expressed in this appeal.
In the midst of these circumstances, Roderick Barclugh arrived from
Philadelphia. His first sight when he walked into the King’s Arms
Tavern was that of General Arnold pacing up and down before the
fireplace in the tap-room.
Arnold looked up and beheld with astonishment the tall and athletic
form of Barclugh. Until now Arnold never had quaked before mortal
man; but when the piercing glance of Barclugh met his gaze, a culprit
shivering like a whipped dog was all that stood before Barclugh.
Had the spirit of Washington appeared in his path, Arnold could not
have been more abject. His tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. His
eyes lost all power of vision and rolled nervously, as though hunted,
in their sockets. Pitiable, indeed, in his moral transgression, stood
the man once the pride of the patriot army, before one whose only claim
to distinction was the gold that he could control.
Barclugh was amazed at Arnold’s collapse. He felt guilty and powerless,
himself. The love of Mollie Greydon had saved his life; he knew that
his gold could never have done so. Yet Barclugh felt that he must not
relinquish his power over the traitor, so he addressed him harshly:
“You have ruined us all, Arnold. I am thankful to be here alive. The
stain of Andre’s blood will always remain upon your escutcheon.”
The traitor, nervous and guilty, looked around the tap-room, and
whispered into Barclugh’s ear:
“We better discuss our matters more privately.”
Arnold now led the way to his chamber and there the two faced each
other.
Arnold began anxiously:
“Barclugh, have you heard of my wife and child?”
“No news, Arnold,” replied the financier.
“Well, what is to become of her? I am dying by inches from anxiety. I
would be willing to give up all for her safety,” wailed the traitor.
“Cheer up, don’t whine about losses from your unfulfilled contract,”
continued Barclugh.
“What! do I not even get my money?” exclaimed Arnold.
“Not a farthing more, if I can help it,” retorted the moneyed man.
“How do you make that out?” asked the General.
“Well, it’s business.”
“What’s business to do with an affair of honor?”
“An affair of honor?” queried Barclugh. “You left your honor behind
when you accepted money and agreed to perform your treachery and
receive the balance when the job was successfully done.”
“But you see, Barclugh, I have the agreement of Major Andre to cover
just such an emergency as this,” exclaimed Arnold as he struck with
exultation his breast pocket in which he had his writing signed by
Andre.
“Well, that may or may not be so, Mr. Arnold. You will now have to
settle your bargain made with Major Andre, with General Clinton. Major
Andre is dead. I represent the men of substance and I am not at liberty
to recklessly squander their money in a way that is not warranted,”
contended the envoy of the Bank Governor.
“Very well, sir,” concluded Arnold, who was now aware of the cold
blood of a financial agent when the deal fell through. “We shall go
to General Clinton and have this matter settled. I demand that you go
with me. If I am not given satisfaction for the sacrifices that I have
undergone, I will publish my agreement made with Andre. The world will
call you a pack of scoundrels, to deceive an honest man.”
“Scoundrels!” exclaimed Barclugh. “You better ask what your friends
will say as to that.”
Arnold and Barclugh walked to the headquarters of General Clinton,
Number 1 Broadway. A few steps took the two up the staircase to the
front entrance and then they were ushered into the presence of the
English Commander.
None of the three men was in a humor to talk very much, especially
Barclugh. After an exchange of formal greetings, General Arnold
commenced the discussion:
“General Clinton, I must know where I stand in my financial matters and
in my official position before Mr. Barclugh leaves.
“Of course, you know I promised to turn over West Point to your command
and my compensation was to have been twenty thousand pounds sterling
and a commission as Brigadier-General in the British army, but the
fortunes of war have turned against us. I am here under your protection
with nothing to insure my recompense except my compact with Major Andre.
“General Clinton, shall I receive the recompense due me or shall I be
treated with ingratitude such as I have received from the Colonial
Congress?”
“General Arnold,” replied Sir Henry Clinton, “His Majesty’s government
certainly shall not dishonor its obligations, but we cannot be asked
to pay the full amount that was promised when the transaction was
entered into. For those conditions depended upon the success of your
enterprise. We shall have to limit the payment to ten thousand pounds
sterling, less what has been advanced to you by Mr. Barclugh. Mr.
Barclugh has already advanced you about four thousand pounds, so that
your balance will be about six thousand pounds sterling.
“You will receive a commission of Brvt. Brig. General and its regular
pay.
“But, General Arnold, do you believe that we can win our cause now that
we have failed in our enterprise against West Point?”
“There can be no question in my mind,” returned Arnold, now that he had
been assured of his allowance and his commission. “We can raise a force
and take West Point by regular attacks. I shall prepare plans and
submit them to you for approval.
“Then,” continued Arnold, “the Colonies can not hold out against the
resources of Great Britain. We must fight until the tide of victory
turns our way. We cannot afford to lose. We must win.”
“What do you think about the situation, Mr. Barclugh?” asked General
Clinton, turning to the special agent of His Majesty’s government,
graciously.
Barclugh drew himself up to his full height and said bitterly, for he
felt that both of the men before him had made a mess of his plans:
“Gentlemen, if you want my candid opinion, I am forced to say that
you will not conquer the American Colonists if you fight from now
until doomsday. They are simple, fearless people, liberty-loving and
self-sacrificing. They have no need of money. They live next to nature
and fight and exist wholly within their own resources.
“My mission to the Colonies has been made utterly unsuccessful since
our plot failed. One cannot understand the temper of the people until
he has lived among them as I have. The mothers and maidens, as well as
the men, are fighting for their land. There may be a few malcontents
among them, like our new friend here (pointing over his shoulder with
his thumb toward Arnold), but they are only loud talkers and boasters,
and carry no weight.”
Arnold scowled at Barclugh, and General Clinton’s ire began to gather
force when the color mounted into his thick neck and his wine-flushed
face, as he exclaimed:
“What! do you mean to tell _me_, sir, that His Majesty’s armies can
never conquer the Colonies? Impossible! Sir, impossible!”
“That’s what I mean,” responded Barclugh coolly.
“Do you mean to imply, sir, that the forces under the command of
General and Sir Henry Clinton, K. B., are not able to carry out the
King’s commands?” demanded General Clinton.
“I mean,” replied Barclugh dryly, “that both General and Sir Henry
Clinton, K. B., are very much deluded personages as to the task before
them.”
General Clinton now turned and bowed to Roderick Barclugh and, with
lips firmly compressed, said:
“Mr. Barclugh, I have done with your information. I thank you.”
Then Sir Henry remarked as he took Arnold’s arm in his own:
“General Arnold, we better retire.”
The two generals, in oppressive silence, now turned their backs on
Barclugh and stalked out of the room.
Barclugh stood and watched their departure. He dropped his head in
silent reflection. Raising his eyes, the pent-up fire of an indignant
soul shone out of them. He said:
“Let them go! The hirelings of kingly power as I have been! They plan
to flatter the King and consider as a reward only the gold that they
receive.
“It is well that kings have gold for their use. For the bones that they
throw to their dogs would soon play out, unless the dry bones that are
rattled scare the whelps.
“My mission has failed! Why? The Americans are superior to the system
that makes hirelings of us all. No system of finance affects them.
They refused my gold. Mutual trust in each other, as men, made their
pieces of commissary paper as useful as my gold. Of all the men
that I met, Arnold was the only one that I could convince with an
Englishman’s argument, pounds sterling. American manhood is a product
of American soil. It has grown out of the forests and the streams. It
is incorruptible. If its ideals are lost in the greed for gold, the
debased have to flee America and seek an asylum, like Arnold, in the
bosom of the Englishman where pounds sterling can outweigh character
and manhood.
“I return to England. I give them back their accursed gold, and show
them that though Englishmen may think like Warren Hastings, that the
souls of men are expressed in pounds sterling according to their
stations, yet in one place in this world manhood stands above guineas,
and AMERICAN MANHOOD HAS NOT ITS PRICE!”