sentinel, who ordered them to stop. "Who commands here?" inquired
Smith, dismounting, and approaching the sentinel. The commander,
Captain Boyd, being himself within hearing distance, approached, and
demanded who the stranger was, and whither bound. Smith, ignorant of
the real character of Andre, answered as Arnold had dictated; and,
moreover, added that he had a pass from the general. Boyd required a
sight of the pass, on perusing which, his curiosity was still more
excited, and he now in private questioned Smith with still greater
particularity. Smith explained the matter as well as he was able; and,
by several adroit fabrications, finally induced Boyd to consent to
their continuing their journey; not, however, until morning, for fear,
as he pretended, they might be waylaid by the Cow-boys.[50] Andre
would have purchased a release from tarrying in the neighborhood that
night at any price, had he had the means; but such an overture would
have been fraught with danger, and therefore, bending to necessity,
they repaired to one Miller's, where they passed the night--a night of
dread and fearful anticipation.
At early dawn, in order to escape the further scrutiny of Boyd, they
were on their journey. At the distance of about a couple of miles from
Pine's bridge, they halted, took breakfast, and separated--Smith
setting out on his return, and Andre continuing his journey. Andre had
now nearly thirty miles to traverse ere he was on safe ground. He had
been recommended to proceed by the way of White Plains; but, on
crossing the above bridge, deeming the Tarrytown road more safe, he
took that, and for a time passed on without molestation.
Two plundering parties were abroad that morning from the "neutral
ground;" one of which, consisting of John Paulding, Daniel Williams,
and Isaac Van Wart, had concealed themselves in some bushes near the
road which Andre was passing, watching there for some valuable prey.
Andre approached the spot; upon which, Paulding rose, and presenting
his firelock to his breast, bid him stand. "Gentlemen," said Andre, "I
hope you belong to our party." "I asked him"--we follow the testimony
of Paulding on the trial of Smith--"what party? He said, 'The lower
party.' Upon that I told him I did. Then he said, 'I am a British
officer out of the country on particular business, and I hope you will
not detain me a minute;' and to show that he was a British officer, he
pulled out his watch. Upon which, I told him to dismount. He then
said, 'My God! I must do any thing to get along;' and seemed to make a
kind of laugh of it, and pulled out General Arnold's pass, which was
to John Anderson, to pass all guards to White Plains and below. Upon
that, he dismounted. Said he, 'Gentlemen, you had better let me go, or
you will bring yourselves into trouble, for your stopping me will
detain the general's business;' and said he was going to Dobb's ferry,
to meet a person there, and get intelligence for General Arnold. Upon
that, I told him I hoped he would not be offended, that we did not
mean to take any thing from him; and I told him there were many bad
people who were going along the road, and I did not know but perhaps
he might be one."
Williams testified as follows: "We took him into the bushes, and ordered
him to pull off his clothes, which he did; but on searching him
narrowly, we could not find any sort of writings. We told him to pull
off his boots, which he seemed to be indifferent about; but we got one
boot off, and searched in that boot, and could find nothing. But we
found there were some papers in the bottom of his stocking next to his
foot; on which we made him pull his stocking off, and found three papers
wrapped up. Mr. Paulding looked at the contents, and said he was a spy.
We then made him pull off his other boot, and there we found three more
papers at the bottom of his foot within his stocking."
After consultation, it was decided to take the prisoner to North
Castle, where Lieutenant-colonel Jameson commanded a detachment of
dragoons. Having surrendered him to Jameson, the latter for a time
hesitated what disposition to make of him. The papers found upon Andre
were important--in the hand-writing of Arnold, and endorsed by him.
Most men would have suspected treason--nor would Arnold himself have
escaped suspicion. Yet Jameson, at length, decided to forward the papers
to Washington by express, and the prisoner to Arnold. These measures had
been taken, when Major Talmadge, next in command to Jameson, returned
from an excursion to White Plains. On learning the incidents of the day,
he expressed his surprise, and begged Jameson to dispatch a
counter-order, if possible, to bring back the prisoner and the papers.
To the foregoing, Jameson finally consented, but the papers were left
to be conveyed to Washington. Andre was overtaken and brought back.
Talmadge, being a sagacious observer, marked Andre--his walk--his
military air--his dignified bearing--and decided that the prisoner was
no ordinary man. Shortly after, under escort of Talmadge, Andre was
removed to Lower Salem, to await the developments of time and the
orders of Washington.
The morning after their arrival at Salem, Andre requested paper and
ink, and soon presented to Talmadge an open letter addressed to
Washington, with a request that he would himself read and forward it.
This letter, couched in most respectful language, communicated to
Washington his name, and rank in the British army, and his object in
coming within the American lines.
It so happened--a wonderful interposition of Divine Providence, who
can doubt?--it so happened, that on the very day that Andre wrote his
letter, Washington, on his return from Hartford, arrived at Fishkill,
eighteen miles from Arnold's head-quarters. Contrary to his previous
intentions, he was induced to remain there during the night. In the
morning, an express was dispatched early to give notice to General
Arnold, that the party would reach his quarters to breakfast.
Washington and his suite followed soon after, and on coming to the
road which led off to Robinson's house--Arnold's residence--Washington
was proceeding towards the river. Being informed of his mistake, he
observed that as he must inspect the redoubts on this side the river,
he himself would forego Mrs. Arnold's breakfast, but his suite might
pass on, and enjoy it. They would not, however, leave their general;
and all, excepting his aids, who were sent forward to make his excuse,
proceeded towards the river.
On learning that General Washington would not be there to breakfast,
General Arnold and family, with the aids, proceeded to the
breakfast-table.
That was the last peaceful meal Arnold was to enjoy in this world--and
even the peace of that was invaded, before they were ready to leave
the table. A messenger entered with a letter from Jameson--the letter
which first announced the capture of Andre.
It fell as a thunderbolt upon the traitor. Yet he so far concealed his
agitation before the aids, as to prevent serious suspicion that any
thing uncommon had occurred. A sudden emergency called him to West
Point, he said, and he begged to be excused. Having ordered a horse, he
requested Mrs. Arnold's presence in her chamber, and here in few words
informed her of the necessity of his fleeing for his life. He left her
fainting on the floor; and, mounting, put spurs to his horse, directing
his course to the river, on reaching which, he entered a boat, and
fabricating a story to his purpose, ordered the men to proceed to the
Vulture. The promise of reward gave impulse to their energies, and
Arnold was soon safely on board of the royal sloop.
[Illustration: Interview of Arnold and his Wife.]
Washington having completed his inspection of the redoubts, reached
Arnold's soon after his departure. Understanding that he had gone to
West Point, after a hasty breakfast, Washington and suite followed. But
what was his surprise to learn that Arnold had not been there. After a
cursory view of the fortress, the party returned to Arnold's. Meanwhile,
the messenger from Colonel Jameson, with Andre's papers, had arrived.
Light was now shed upon the mystery. Arnold was a traitor, and had
fled to the enemy. Measures were immediately taken to secure the
fortress. An express was dispatched to Salem, with orders to have
Andre conveyed to Arnold's house.
Let us hasten to the conclusion. On the 29th of September, Washington
ordered a Board of Inquiry, consisting of six major and eight
brigadier generals. After a full hearing of the facts, the Board
reported that Major Andre ought to be considered as a spy, and,
according to the laws and usages of nations, to suffer death.
The decision, though just, was painful--painful to Washington--to the
Board--to the officers of the American army--but more painful, if
possible, to Sir Henry Clinton and the companions of Andre in arms.
Efforts, and such as did honor to Clinton, were made to reverse the
doom of Andre. _Intimations_ were given from Washington, that upon one
condition--the surrender of Arnold--Andre might be released; but to
this, Clinton thought he could not in honor yield--while in the scale
of affection, Andre would have outweighed a thousand traitors like
Arnold. A deputation from Clinton repaired to Robinson's house under a
flag, to urge the release of Andre, but no change could be effected in
the mind of Washington.
Sentence of execution issued, and five o'clock, of the 1st day of
October, was appointed for carrying it into effect. On the morning of
that day, Andre addressed a letter to Washington, requesting that he
might be allowed a soldier's death.
"_Tappan_, 1_st October_, 1780.
"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 misfortune marks me as the victim of
policy, and not of resentment--I shall experience the operations of
those feelings in your breast, by being informed that I am not to die
on a gibbet.
"I have the honor to be your excellency's most obedient and most
humble servant,
"JOHN ANDRE."
To this request, Washington could not consistently accede, but to
avoid needless pain, he omitted to make a reply.
The execution finally took place October 2d, at twelve o'clock--a
delay having been occasioned by pending negotiations, which could not
be terminated in season the previous day.
Dr. Thatcher, in his 'Military Journal,' has given the closing
particulars of this tragic scene. It follows:
"The principal guard-officer, who was constantly in the room with the
prisoner, relates, that when the hour of his execution was announced
to him in the morning, he received it without emotion; and while all
present were affected with silent gloom, he retained a firm
countenance, with calmness and composure of mind. Observing his
servant enter the room in tears, he exclaimed, 'Leave me till you can
show yourself more manly.' His breakfast being sent to him from the
table of General Washington, which had been done every day of his
confinement, he partook of it as usual; and having shaved and dressed
himself, he placed his hat on the table, and cheerfully said to the
guard-officers, 'I am ready at any moment, gentlemen, to wait on you.'
The fatal hour having arrived, a large detachment of troops was
paraded, and an immense concourse of people assembled; almost all our
general and field officers, excepting his excellency and his staff,
were present on horseback; melancholy and gloom pervaded all ranks;
the scene was affecting and awful.
"I was so near during the solemn march to the fatal spot, as to observe
every movement, and participate in every emotion which the melancholy
scene was calculated to produce. Major Andre walked from the stone
house, in which he had been confined, between two of our subaltern
officers, arm in arm; the eyes of the immense multitude were fixed on
him, who, rising superior to the fear of death, appeared as if conscious
of the dignified deportment which he displayed. He betrayed no want of
fortitude, but retained a complacent smile on his countenance, and
politely bowed to several gentlemen whom he knew, which was respectfully
returned. It was his earnest desire to be shot, as being the mode of
death most conformable to the feelings of a military man, and he had
indulged the hope that his request would be granted. At the moment,
therefore, when suddenly he came in view of the gallows, he
involuntarily started backward, and made a pause. 'Why this emotion,
sir?' said an officer by his side. Instantly recovering his composure,
he said, 'I am reconciled to my death, but I detest the mode.'
"While waiting, and standing near the gallows, I observed some degree
of trepidation; placing his foot on a stone, and rolling it over, and
choking in his throat, as if attempting to swallow. So soon, however,
as he perceived that things were in readiness, he stepped quickly into
the wagon, and at this moment he appeared to shrink; but instantly
elevating his head with firmness, he said, 'It will be but a momentary
pang;' and taking from his pocket two white handkerchiefs, the
provost-marshal with one loosely pinioned his arms, and with the
other, the victim, after taking off his hat and stock, bandaged his
own eyes with perfect firmness, which melted the hearts, and moistened
the cheeks, not only of his servant, but of the throng of spectators.
The rope being appended to the gallows, he slipped the noose over his
head, and adjusted it to his neck, without the assistance of the
executioner. Colonel Scammell now informed him that he had opportunity
to speak, if he desired it. He raised the handkerchief from his eyes,
and said: 'I pray you to bear me witness, that I meet my fate like a
brave man.' The wagon being now removed from under him, he was
suspended, and instantly expired."
Thus was cut off in the morning of life a man full of promise and
expectation--one to whose personal attractions were added
accomplishments, rich, varied, and brilliant--destined, but for an
untimely sacrifice of himself, under the impulse of a forbidden
ambition, to have reached the goal of his wishes--honor and renown. His
death at the hands of the Americans, according to the usage of war, was
just; but to Arnold, the pioneer in the base transaction, the news of
his execution must, it would seem, have been as the bitterness of death.
But no:--Arnold had no such feelings. Conscience was seared; the
generous sympathies of our nature were extinct; even the honor of a
soldier, dearer to him than life itself, had expired. The
long-cherished, deep-rooted, sordid passion of his
soul--_avarice_--alone lived; and now, while Andre, who might almost be
said to be the victim of that nether spirit, was mouldering in an
untimely and dishonored grave, he demanded his _pay_. What must
Clinton--the friend and patron of the high-souled and magnanimous
Andre--have felt when he told out to Arnold _six thousand three hundred
and fifteen pounds_, as the reward of his treachery!
In addition to this pecuniary reward, Arnold received the commission
of brigadier-general in the British army. But, after his infamous
attack on New London, and his inhuman conduct to the brave Ledyard and
his garrison in Fort Trumbull, finding himself neglected by the
British officers, he obtained permission to retire to England, for
which he sailed in 1781 with his family.
The life of Arnold was prolonged twenty years beyond this date. But
although the king and a few others in office felt compelled to notice
him for a time, yet they, at length, were willing to forget him, while
others despised and shunned him. Colonel Gardiner says, that when a
petition for a bill authorizing a negotiation of peace was presented
to the king, Arnold was standing near the throne. Lauderdale is
reported to have declared, on his return to the House of Commons,
that, however gracious the language he had heard from the throne, his
indignation could not but be highly excited at beholding, as he had
done, his majesty supported by a traitor. And on another occasion,
Lord Surrey, rising to speak in the House of Commons, and perceiving
Arnold in the gallery, immediately sat down, exclaiming: "I will not
speak while that man (pointing to him) is in the house."
Not long after the war, Arnold removed to St. John's, in New
Brunswick, where he engaged for a time in the West India trade.
Subsequently, he returned to England, where he resided to the time of
his death, which occurred in London, June 14th, 1804.
[Illustration]
FOOTNOTE:
[50] The term _Cow-boys_ was given to Americans attached to the
British cause, who resided within their lines, but who frequently
plundered the Americans on the other side of their cattle, which they
drove to New York. _Skinners_ were those who lived within the American
lines, and professed attachment to their cause; but they were even
more unprincipled than the former, often committing their depredations
on friends as well as foes.
XIII. CONCLUDING SCENES OF THE REVOLUTION.
THEATRE of War changed to the South--Siege of Savannah--Siege of
Charleston--Battle of Camden--Battle of
Cowpens--Retreat--Subsequent Movements--Battles of Guilford,
Kobkirk's hill, Ninety-Six, and Eutaw Springs--Battle of
Yorktown--Treaty of Peace--Cessation of Hostilities--Army
disbanded--Departure of the British Army--Final Interview
between Washington and his Officers--Resigns his
Commission--Retires to Mount Vernon.
We must hasten to the closing scenes of the long and sanguinary
contest between Great Britain and America.
The capture of Burgoyne, in 1777, was hailed, by a portion of the
American people, as indicative of a speedy termination of the war.
But, in these anticipations, they were destined to be disappointed.
For several years following, although the contest was still continued,
but little advance was made towards the termination. Battles were
indeed fought, naval engagements occurred, and predatory enterprises
were planned, and executed with various success; but neither power
could be said at any one period to be decidedly in the ascendant. In
1779, the theatre of war was changed from the northern to the southern
section of the confederacy. To this change, the British were invited
by the prospect of an easier victory. That portion of the country was
rendered weak by its scattered population, by the multitude of slaves,
and by the number of tories intermingled with the citizens.
Partial success to the British arms was the consequence. Savannah was
taken possession of, which gave the enemy, for a time, the power in
Georgia. In like manner, Charleston fell into their hands, and with
it, a considerable portion of the state of South Carolina. In the
progress of this southern warfare, battles occurred at Camden--at the
Cowpens--at Guilford Court-house--and at Eutaw Springs.
1. SIEGE OF SAVANNAH.
In the autumn of 1778, Savannah fell into the hands of the British. At
that time, Colonel Campbell, with a force of two thousand men, was
dispatched by Governor Clinton from New York against that city. The
American garrison, under General Howe, consisting of but six hundred
continental troops and a small body of militia, was inadequate to
resist so formidable a force; and at the expiration of a spirited
action, in which the Americans suffered severely, the latter
surrendered, and with that surrender, the British took military
occupation of the capital itself.
The succeeding year, D'Estaing, with a French fleet, destined to
cöoperate with the Americans for the recovery of Savannah, arrived on
the coast of Georgia. This intelligence having been communicated to
General Lincoln, who was in the vicinity of Charleston with a small
force, he immediately broke up his camp, and marched to assist in the
disembarkation of the French troops.
Before the arrival of Lincoln, D'Estaing had sent a "haughty summons"
to Prevost, the English commander, to surrender. The safety of the
former depended upon rëinforcements, which he was daily expecting;
and, in order to attain a delay, he required twenty-four hours to
consider the question of a capitulation. Unfortunately, D'Estaing
acceded to this demand. This proved fatal to the expedition; for,
meanwhile, Prevost was not idle. He succeeded in mounting nearly one
hundred cannon, and, moreover, the expected rëinforcement arrived,
swelling his force to three thousand men; upon which, he replied to
the French commander, that he was resolved to hold out to the last.
The original plan of attempting the place by storm was now prudently
abandoned, and the slow process of its reduction by siege was resolved
upon. The combined forces numbered between six and seven thousand men.
The siege was commenced. Trenches were opened, and, by the 4th of
September, a sap had been pushed to within three hundred yards of the
abbatis. In the course of a another month, batteries had been erected,
and other preparations were ready.
On the evening of October 4th, the tragical scene commenced, and a
heavy cannonade was kept up during the night. In the morning, that
scene became terrific. Thirty-seven cannon and nine mortars were
opened upon the city, while sixteen heavy guns from the fleet added
their uproar to the thunder of the former. The response to these was
still louder and more appalling. Nearly one hundred guns, which had
been mounted by Prevost, as we have said, gave back their tremendous
explosions. Carcasses, filled with all manner of combustibles, were
hurled into the town, setting on fire the houses, and spreading
consternation among the inhabitants. Shells came down from the sky,
bursting like meteors, and scattering their death-dealing fragments in
every street and in the neighborhood of every dwelling. All that day,
and, indeed, for four succeeding days and nights, this mutual
tremendous firing was maintained. Savannah and its neighborhood became
covered with a dense, dark cloud of smoke, through which the rays of
the sun could scarcely penetrate by day, and which, as that set,
served as a pall to increase the gloom and darkness of the night.
If the besiegers were steady to their purpose, the besieged were no
less resolute and successful in their resistance. Little or no
impression had hitherto been made upon the enemy's works, and how long
they would continue to hold out, the Americans had no means of
judging. They had reason, indeed, to believe that a reduction might at
no distant day be effected, as the supplies were cut off, and the
inhabitants must be suffering intensely. But D'Estaing began to fear
for the safety of his fleet, exposed, as it was, on an open coast. In
this posture, he proposed to Lincoln to attempt the place as
originally contemplated--by storm. This the latter deemed extremely
hazardous; but submitting to the higher authority of the count, an
assault was fixed for the 9th of October.
At one o'clock of the morning of that day, the Americans were up, and
ready for the fearful contest. The French unwisely delayed for some
two or three hours; but at length, led on by D'Estaing and Lincoln,
the combined forces--the French in three columns and the Americans in
one--proceeded to the attack.
Taking a position at the head of the first column, D'Estaing led them
forward to the very walls of the English works. It was a fatal
approach. Of a sudden, and when the French commander was
congratulating himself that he was taking the enemy by surprise, the
blaze of a hundred cannon filled him and his troops with amazement,
while the balls and grape-shot mowed down their ranks, as did the fire
of the Americans at Bunker's hill. Still, D'Estaing ordered the
remainder to advance, he himself heroically leading the way. But it
was only to death and defeat. Soon wounded, D'Estaing was borne from
the spot, while his brave troops remained to meet a still severer
destiny. They were mowed as grass by a new-ground scythe. The few who
survived, now made good their retreat to an adjoining wood, leaving
room for the second column, pressing forward, to supply their place.
[Illustration: Jasper on the Ramparts.]