Part 98

On the morning after the departure of Washington, Arnold sought out a man called _Joshua Smith_, well known to be devoted to the English, although he resided within the American posts. He made him the bearer of two passports to be carried on board the Vulture, one for Andre, under the fictitious name of _Anderson_; the other for Charles Beverley Robinson, who had not the same reason for practicing disguise. He charged him with a letter also, in which he urged them to repair to him on shore. Smith waited until nightfall, and then proceeded to the English sloop in a boat which Arnold had provided for him. Andre and Robinson expected that Arnold would himself visit them, and they were surprised when his emissary, Smith, appeared before them alone. Robinson declared that he would not go on shore, and used every effort to deter his companion; but the young man, full of impatience and ardor, saw only the chances of success, would listen to no remonstrance, and could not brook the idea, either of returning to New York without having executed his mission, or of exposing the main enterprise to miscarriage, by a caution which his rivals would infallibly stigmatise as cowardice. He put on a gray surtout, to hide his uniform, and accompanied Smith on shore. Arnold was waiting to receive him at the water’s edge. They discoursed there for some time; but, as they were liable to be surprised, Arnold led him towards the house of Smith, when he immediately laid before him plans of the forts, a memoir, composed (for a better use) by the chief engineer, Duportail, on the means of attacking and defending them, and minute instructions with respect to the measures to be taken by the British for the occupation of them, when he (Arnold) should have done his part in opening the way. They presumed that Washington had already reached Hartford, and they were right; for he was there, at the same hour, in consultation with the French commander.

Arnold and Andre, calculating anxiously the probable length of Washington’s absence, supposed he would return in three or four days, that is, on the 25th or 26th of September, and one or other of these days was fixed for the execution of the plot. It was settled that Andre should go back in all haste to New York; that the English troops, which were already embarked, under pretense of a distant expedition, should be held ready to ascend the river, and sail at the first signal; that to facilitate the reduction of West point, Arnold should march out of the forts all the troops destined for the defense, and entangle them in gorges and ravines, where he would pretend to await the English assailants, while these were to debark on another side, and enter by passes left unguarded; and, at all events, the garrison and troops were to be so distributed, that, if they did not surrender at the first summons, they must be immediately cut in pieces. He informed Andre that the chain which was stretched across the river from West point to Constitution island, forming, when perfect, an effectual bar to the passage of the river, was now no longer an impediment. He had detached a link, ostensibly to have it mended; the smiths would not return it for some days; and the two ends of the chain were held together by a fastening too weak to bear even a slight concussion. The English would know at what moment they were to advance, by the kindling of fires, in the night, under the directions of Arnold, on the adjacent eminences. A single cannon fired from their ships, to be followed by a similar discharge from the shore, would proclaim that they had perceived the signals. Other tokens agreed upon were to furnish, successively, information of the several distances of the British forces in their approach. When they had arrived within three miles of the fortress, two English officers, in American uniform, were to ride full gallop to Arnold’s quarters, to learn how matters stood and to hasten with the intelligence to the British naval commander. Then only was Arnold to put in motion that portion of the garrison which remained in the works, and station it at posts which would not be attacked. They agreed upon the countersign to be given on the 24th and 25th. Arnold delivered to the Englishman drafts of all the works, and of the passes leading to them, several memoirs, written with his own hand, and full returns of the garrison and the forces of each division of the army. He had never before allowed a single paper to go out of his hands, which might expose him to detection. But he now saw no danger in confiding these to Andre, who was to reëmbark directly on board the sloop, and make sail for New York. Andre returned alone to the beach, whence a boat was to convey him to the Vulture. But this arrangement was defeated by an obstacle wholly unexpected. At an early hour, Livingston, still disturbed at the proximity of the sloop, had, of his own authority, caused a four-pounder to be dragged from his redoubt to a point of land from which the shot could reach the vessel. She was aground, and had already sustained some damage from the piece of the American officer, when she began to float again at the rising of the tide. Robinson took advantage of this circumstance to weigh anchor, and remove some miles lower down, beyond the reach of similar attack. This change of station attracted the notice of the master and rowers of the boat in which Andre expected to regain the sloop. They were Americans. The movements which they had witnessed for the two last days were unusual; and although men of their description, accustomed to ferry all persons indifferently from one side of the river to the other, did not affect to be of any party, they were unwilling to commit themselves. When Andre proposed to them to convey him to the sloop, they told him that it was too far, and peremptorily refused to go. He went back immediately to Arnold, and urged him to exert his authority in so serious a predicament. But the latter, perplexed at his unlooked-for-appearance, and already harassed with various disappointments, durst not attempt to compel the men, and told him he must submit to return by land; to lay aside his uniform altogether, and assume another dress. Andre changed his coat for one which Smith provided. Arnold now wished to withdraw the papers which he had entrusted to him; he thought it hazardous to send them by land. But Andre was very desirous of showing to Clinton with what punctuality he had executed his mission. These papers were a trophy of which he would not, therefore, allow himself to be dispossessed. He observed to Arnold, that danger of any kind could now no longer be in question, except so far as to show that they both despised it; and added, that he would keep the papers, which brought him into greater peril than Arnold, and, to allay his fears, would secrete them in his boots. Arnold submitted, and, leaving Andre in Smith’s house, returned to his quarters, from which he had been absent since the day before. The Patrol, spread through the whole neighborhood, made it imprudent for Andre to begin his journey before twilight. He was accompanied by Smith: each had a passport from Arnold, ‘to go to the lines of White plains, or lower, if the bearer thought proper; he being on public business.’ They were accosted, at Compond, by an American officer of militia, who told them that it was too late for them to reach, that evening, any other quarters. In order not to awaken his suspicions, they resolved to pass the night there. The next day, 23d, they crossed the Hudson to King’s ferry, pushing forward when they were not observed, and slakening their pace to conceal their eagerness, wherever they were likely to be seen. By means of their passports, they traversed all the American posts without molestation. They arrived, uninterrupted, a little beyond Pine’s bridge, a village situated on the Croton: they had not, however, crossed the lines, although they could descry the ground occupied by the English videttes. Smith, looking all around, and perceiving no one, said to Andre, ‘You are safe――good bye,’ and retook, at full speed, the road by which they had come. Andre, on his part, believing himself out of danger, and all further precaution superfluous, put spurs to his horse. He had proceeded four leagues onward with the same good fortune; he could see the Hudson once more, and was about entering Tarrytown, the border village, when a man, armed with a gun, sprung suddenly from the thickets, and seizing the reins of his bridle, exclaimed, ‘Where are you bound?’ At the same moment, two others ran up, who were armed in like manner, and formed, with the first part of the patrol of volunteer militia that guarded the lines. They were not in uniform, and Andre, preöccupied by the idea that he was no longer on enemy’s ground, thought that they must be of his own party. It did not, therefore, occur to him to show him his passport, which was sufficient to deceive Americans, and could not alter his destination, if those who arested him were of the English side. Instead of answering their question, he asked them, in his turn, where they belonged to. They replied, ‘To below,’――words referring to the course of the river, and implying that they were of the English party. ‘And so do I,’ said Andre, confirmed in his mistake by this stratagem. ‘I am,’ continued he, in a tone of command, ‘an English officer on urgent business, and I do not wish to be longer detained.’ ‘You belong to our enemies,’ was the rejoinder, ‘and we arrest you.’ Andre, struck with astonishment at this unexpected language, presented his passport; but this paper, after the confession he had just made, only served to render his case more suspicious. He offered them gold, his horse, and promised them large rewards, and permanent provision from the English government, if they would let him escape. These young men, whom such offers did but animate the more in their duty, replied, that they wanted nothing. They drew off his boots, and detected the fatal papers. They no longer hesitated to carry him before colonel Jameson, who commanded the out-posts. When questioned by that officer he still called himself _Anderson_, the name mentioned in his passport, and evinced no discomposure; he had recovered all of his presence of mind, and, forgetful of his own danger, thought only of Arnold’s, and of the means of extricating him. To apprise him of it safely, he begged Jameson to inform the commanding officer of West Point that Anderson, the bearer of his passport, was detained. Jameson thought it more simple to order him to be conducted to Arnold. He was already on the way, and the thread of the conspiracy was about to be resumed in the interview of the accomplices, when the American colonel, recollecting that the papers found upon the prisoner were in the hand-writing of Arnold himself, and adverting to the several extraordinary features of the business, sent, in all haste, after the pretended Anderson, and had him conveyed, under guard, to Old Salem. He despatched, at the same time, an express to Washington, charged with a letter containing a circumstantial account of this affair, and with the drafts and other papers taken from the prisoner. But the commander-in-chief, who set out on the same day, the 23d of September, to return to his army, had pursued a different route from that by which he went to Hartford, and the messenger was compelled to retrace his steps without having seen him. This delay proved the salvation of Arnold.

Jameson was a gallant soldier, but a man of an irresolute temper, and no great sagacity; moreover, treachery on the part of Arnold appeared impossible to one of an ingenuous and honorable character. He began to view his first suspicions as an outrage to an officer distinguished, as Arnold was, by so many noble exploits, and, wishing to reconcile the deference due to him with the performance of his own duty, he wrote him, that Anderson, the bearer of his passport, had been arrested on the 23d. Arnold did not receive this intimation until the morning of the 25th. It was on a Monday; and the same day, or the one following, had been selected for the consummation of the plot. Until that moment, he had believed success infallible. The exhilaration which this belief produced was even remarked, and he ascribed it to his expectation of the speedy arrival of his general, ‘for whom he had pleasant news.’ He was busy with the appropriate arrangements for the reception of a body of more welcome visitors, when he received the letter of Jameson. Those who were present on the occasion recollected, afterwards, that he could not, at first, conceal his dismay and extreme agitation; but that, recovering himself quickly, he said, in a loud voice, that he would write an answer; and, dismissing all about him, withdrew, to reflect on the course which it was best to adopt. The entrance of two American officers, however, interrupted his musings. They were sent by the commander-in-chief, and informed Arnold, that he had arrived that morning at Fishkill, a few leagues from West Point; that he was to have set out a few hours after them, and could not be far distant. Thus did the most alarming circumstances rapidly succeed each other. The traitor had no resource but a precipitate flight. Suppressing his emotion, he told the two officers that he wished to go and meet the general alone, and begged them not to follow him. He then entered the apartment of his wife, exclaiming――‘All is discovered:――Andre is a prisoner:――The commander-in-chief will know every thing:――The discharge of cannon, which you hear, is a salute, and announces that he is not far off:――Burn all my papers:――I fly to New York.’ He embraced her, as well as their infant child, whom she carried in her arms, and, solely intent on his escape, left her, without waiting for her reply, mounted the horse of one of the two officers, and rushed towards the Hudson, which was not far from his house. He had taken the precaution to have always ready a barge well-manned: he threw himself headlong into it, and caused the boatmen to make for the English sloop, with all possible dispatch. The barge, bearing a flag of truce, was still visible from the heights when Washington arrived. The two officers related to him what they had witnessed. Arnold had absconded. His wife, in the agonies of despair, seemed to fear for her infant, and maintained an obstinate silence. No one knew how to explain these extraordinary incidents. The commander-in-chief repaired, without delay, to the fort of West Point, where, however, he could learn nothing of a decisive import. But some orders, issued by Arnold the day before, redoubled his suspicions: he returned to the quarters of the general, and at this instant Jameson’s messenger presented himself, and delivered the packet with which he was charged. Washington seemed, for a few minutes, as it were, overwhelmed by the discovery of a crime which ruined the fame of an American general, and wounded the honor of the American army. Those who were near him anxiously interrogated his looks in silence, which he broke by saying,――‘I thought that an officer of courage and ability, who had often shed his blood for his country, was entitled to confidence, and I gave him mine. I am convinced now, and for the rest of my life, that we should never trust those who are wanting in probity, whatever abilities they may possess. Arnold has betrayed us.’ Meanwhile, the precautions required by the occasion were every where taken. General Heath, a faithful and vigilant officer, was substituted for Arnold at West Point; the commanders of the other posts were admonished to be on their guard. Greene, who had been invested with the command of the army during the absence of Washington, recalled within the forts the garrisons which the traitor had dispersed, and marched a strong division near to the lines. Hamilton lost not an instant in repairing to King’s Ferry, the last American post on the side of New York. He had the mortification to learn, that a very short time before his arrival, Arnold’s barge had glided by with the swiftness of an arrow, and was then getting along side the Vulture, some miles lower down, opposite Teller’s Point,――an anchorage situated at the head of the great basin of the Hudson, which is called _Tappan bay_. Livingston had remarked the barge that carried the fugitive, and, his suspicions being roused by the strange movements of the two or three days previous, would have stopped it, had not the sailors of his spy-boats been ashore when it passed. Messengers were sent to all the states of the Union, and to the French general, to inform them of this event. The express which bore the news to congress traveled with such rapidity, that he reached Philadelphia on the same day that the discovery was made in the camp. The magistrates were immediately directed to enter the house of Arnold, and to seize and examine his papers. They found nothing there relating to the conspiracy; but he had left memoranda which furnished ample proof that he was guilty of the extortions and peculations of which he had been accused two years before.

Jameson caused his unknown prisoner to be strictly guarded. The latter at first suppressed his true name, from consideration for Arnold; but, the day after his capture, supposing that the American general had had time to make his escape, he said to Jameson,――‘My name is not Anderson; I am major Andre.’ The death of Andre, though ignominious, was happiness in comparison with the life of Arnold. Upon his establishment in the army of Great Britain, he found it necessary to make some exertions to secure the attachment of his new friends. With the hope of alluring many of the discontented to his standard, he published an address to the inhabitants of America, in which he endeavored to justify his conduct. He had encountered the dangers of the field, he said, from apprehension that the rights of his country were in danger. He had acquiesced in the declaration of independence, though he thought it precipitate. But the rejection of the overtures made by Great Britain, in 1778, and the French alliance, had opened his eyes to the ambitious views of those who would sacrifice the happiness of their country to their own aggrandizement, and had made him a confirmed loyalist. He artfully mingled assertions, that the principal members of congress held the people in sovereign contempt. This was followed, in about a fortnight, by a proclamation, addressed ‘to the officers and soldiers of the continental army,’ who have the real interest of their country at heart, and who are determined to be no longer the tools and dupes of congress and of France. To induce the American officers and soldiers to desert the cause which they had embraced, he represented that the corps of cavalry and infantry, which he was authorized to raise, would be upon the same footing with the other troops in the British service; that he should with pleasure advance those whose valor he had witnessed: and that the private men, who joined him, should receive a bounty of three guineas each, besides payment at the full value for horses, arms, and accoutrements. His object was the peace, liberty and safety of America. These proclamations did not produce the effect designed, and in all the hardships, sufferings and irritations of the war, Arnold remains the solitary instance of an American officer who abandoned the side first embraced in the contest, and turned his sword upon his former companions in arms. He was soon despatched, by Sir Henry Clinton, to make a diversion in Virginia. With about 1700 men, he arrived in the Chesapeake in January 1781, and, being supported by such a naval force as was suited to the nature of the service, he committed extensive ravages on the rivers, and along the unprotected coasts. It is said, that, while on this expedition, Arnold inquired of an American captain, whom he had taken prisoner, what the Americans would do with him, if he should fall into their hands. The officer replied, that they would cut off his lame leg, and bury it with the honors of war, and hang the remainder of his body in gibbets.

After his recall from Virginia, he conducted an expedition against New London in his native state of Connecticut. He took fort Trumbull, Sep. 6, with inconsiderable loss. On the other side of the harbor, lieutenant-colonel Earyre, who commanded another detachment, made an assault on fort Griswold, and, with the greatest difficulty, entered the works. An officer of the conquering troops asked who commanded. ‘I did,’ answered colonel Ledyard, ‘but you do now,’ and presented him his sword, which was immediately plunged into his own bosom. A merciless slaughter now commenced of the brave garrison, who had ceased to resist, and the greater part were either killed or wounded. After burning the town, and the stores which were in it, Arnold returned to New York in eight days. He survived the war but to drag on, in perpetual banishment from his native country, a dishonorable life amid a nation that imputed to him the loss of one of the brightest ornaments of its army――the lamented Andre. He transmitted to his children a name of hateful celebrity. He obtained only a part of the debasing stipend of an abortive treason. His complaints soon caused it to be known, that all the promises by which he had been inveigled were not fulfilled. But baffled treason appears always to be overpaid, and the felon is the only one who thinks he experiences injustice. He enjoyed, however, the rank of brigadier-general; but the officers of the British army manifested a strong repugnance to serve with him. He possessed their esteem while he fought against them; they loaded him with contempt when treason brought him over to their side. He resided principally in England after the conclusion of the war, was in Nova Scotia, and afterwards to the West Indies, where he was taken prisoner by the French, from whom he escaped, and, returning to England, died in Gloucester place, London, June 14, 1801.

HORATIO GATES.