Part 32

Thus matters were arranged; and on the night of the 21st, Smith, with two oarsmen, bribed to secresy by the promise of fifty pounds each, left the American shore, and proceeded, as related in the commencement of this account, to the Vulture.

Andre was expecting Arnold himself. Not finding him on board, but receiving a letter putting him on his guard, and inviting him to return in the boat, for a time he hesitated. Robinson was still firmer in the opinion that he should not go. But, at length, the adventurous spirit of Andre decided the point; and having cautiously concealed his uniform in a great-coat, he stepped on board the boat, which immediately proceeded towards the American shore. They landed at the foot of a mountain, called Long Clove, about six miles below Stony Point.

Arnold was in the bushes, ready to receive the stranger. Smith had expected to be present at the interview, and was not only disappointed, but exasperated, in being refused. What a spot! what a conference! what a deep and traitorous planning in midnight darkness!

The interview was long, and the patience of Smith was exhausted, but more his fears were roused. The night was far spent, and the dawning of the day was at hand. He now made known his apprehensions to the midnight traitors; but as they had not perfected their business, Smith and his oarsmen were allowed to retire.

No sooner were they gone, than Arnold proposed that Andre should proceed with him to Smith's house, and leave the manner of his return to future deliberation. This plan was replete with hazard; but no alternative presenting itself, Andre reluctantly followed. Judge his surprise, when, on approaching the American lines, a sentinel hailed them, and demanded the countersign. Andre shuddered. Arnold gave the sign, and they passed on. Andre was now, contrary to all his determinations, within the American lines, on dangerous ground, where his life and fortunes hung, as it were, upon the cast of a die.

Arnold and Andre reached Smith's about the dawn of day. Soon after, the latter made his appearance. An incident now occurred, which added to the anxiety of Andre. The sound of cannon broke upon them, which, on proceeding to a window overlooking the river, was ascertained to be from the American shore; and from the movements of the Vulture soon after down the stream, it was inferred that the fire was against her. So it proved. Believing her to lie in the river for no good purpose, Colonel Livingston had directed a fire to be opened upon her, which caused the movement observed. Andre now felt the delicacy of his situation still more, and the difficulty of his return to the sloop to be still greater.

But the duties of his mission required attention, and to its completion the plotters betook themselves. It was finally settled. The British, on a given day, were to dispatch a fleet up the river with the requisite troops: and Arnold, in order to render the seizure of the fortress easy, was previously to withdraw the garrison, and station them at different points in the neighborhood, in small detachments. In consideration of the surrender, the traitor was to receive a large amount of "British gold."

Having completed these nefarious negotiations, the manner in which Andre should return, next engrossed their deliberations. This was a question of difficult solution. Andre insisted on being put on board the Vulture; Smith was unwilling to run the hazard. Before the question was decided, Arnold left for West Point, giving to Andre passports accommodated to the manner in which it might finally be decided that he should return.

Andre spent the day in an upper room at Smith's--a long and anxious day. Towards its close, he urged Smith to take him on board the Vulture; but to his surprise and distress, the former peremptorily refused, but offered to accompany him on horseback to some point of safety. No other alternative presenting itself, Andre consented; and, having changed his military coat for a citizen's dress, over which throwing his great-coat, they departed.

Between eight and nine o'clock, they were startled by the hail of a 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.

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.

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.