233. A Gloomy Outlook for the Patriot Cause in 1780. During the long war of the Revolution from Lexington in 1775 to Yorktown in 1781, there were many times when it seemed as if it were really of no use for the Americans to fight for independence. Of these years probably 1780 was the darkest.

We have just read of the sad disasters in the south during this year. If “hope long deferred maketh the heart sick,” surely our forefathers had at this time ample cause for discouragement. It seemed to many, no doubt, that the policy of the British Parliament of “tiring the Americans out” might succeed after all.

Financial matters were in a deplorable condition. Congress had no authority to raise money by taxation to carry on the war. Sometimes the colonies responded to the call for money from Congress; oftener they did not. There were paper promises enough issued by Congress and known as continental currency, but they had sadly fallen in value. Washington, it is said, once remarked that it took a wagon-load of it to buy a wagon-load of provisions. Samuel Adams tells us that he paid two thousand dollars for a hat and a suit of clothes.

A tradesman, to show his contempt for it, papered his shop with continental currency. The current phrase, “not worth a continental,” has survived all these years as a reminder of the deplorable condition of our finances at this time. No wonder the famishing and half-frozen soldiers in Washington’s army, when paid off in the flimsy stuff, were mutinous at times, and that the desertions averaged more than a hundred a month.

234. Arnold the Traitor. In the midst of all the trials of this “year of disasters,” the country was startled by the disclosure of a plot of the blackest treason. The recklessly brave but unscrupulous Arnold proved himself a traitor of the deepest dye.

Born in Connecticut, he was early known as “a bad boy.” From earliest childhood he was disobedient, cruel, reckless, and profane, caring little or nothing for the good will of others. While he was apprentice to an apothecary he enlisted in the colonial army, but soon deserted. Afterwards he set up as druggist in New Haven, but wasted the money he earned and ended the business by becoming bankrupt.

235. His Brilliant Military Career. When the startling news from Lexington thrilled all the country, Arnold raised a company of soldiers and was appointed captain. Soon he became colonel and aided Ethan Allen in the attack on Forts Ticonderoga and Crown Point. Next he was sent to assist General Montgomery in the assault on Quebec, where he proved himself a valiant soldier. He received a severe wound in the leg while gallantly leading his men. For these useful services, Congress made him a brigadier-general.

Soon after this, Congress bestowed upon five prominent brigadiers the distinguished rank of major-general, but Arnold was not one of them. He felt slighted and became very jealous. Washington wrote him a kindly letter, which partly appeased his wounded vanity.

During the Burgoyne campaign, as we have read, Arnold won special renown for his splendid bravery at the battle of Saratoga, where he was again wounded. For his signal valor in this battle he was now made a major-general. But even this probably failed to satisfy him; for there were still five others superior to him in rank.

236. The Beginning of his Wicked Career. As his wounded leg needed rest, Arnold obtained from Washington, in the summer of 1778, the command of Philadelphia, lately evacuated by the British. During his nine months there his conduct was bad. His manners were haughty and insolent. He lived with costly extravagance far beyond his means, drove a fine coach and four, and gave splendid parties. His associates were largely among the Tories, and he married a Miss Shippen, a bitterly disloyal young woman. His intimate friends were now for the most part the enemies of his country.

Arnold’s expensive habits of living soon brought him deeply in debt, and when the storekeepers urged payment of their bills, he contrived dishonest methods of obtaining money belonging to the government. Formal charges of misconduct were made; he was tried, found guilty, and sentenced to the very mild punishment of a public reproof by the Commander-in-Chief. This reprimand Washington performed as gently as possible, sparing his feelings by combining high praise for his past heroism with censure for his late misdeeds.

Arnold was angry. He had hoped to escape all censure. You may know how black a villain he was from the fact that, in his speech in court, defending himself, he spoke of his past services in battle and promised even more faithful devotion in future to his dear country, which he said he loved as his own life. It came out afterwards that even then he had been for months secretly exchanging letters with Sir Henry Clinton, and plotting how to betray his country! His letters were signed “Gustavus,” and were secretly sent by his wife. The replies from Clinton purported to be from “John Anderson.”

237. Secretly plans to betray his Country. Arnold knew that of all things Clinton most longed to get possession of West Point; for it was the key of the river northward up to Lake Champlain, and it also controlled the crossing between New England and the Middle States. Arnold studied how to betray it, and by one bad act to satisfy both his revenge and his greed for money.

The first thing to do was to change the sullenness that had marked his behavior since the trial. He at once became cheerful, loudly patriotic, and so eager to help his dear country! Next he contrived to persuade some prominent officers to induce Washington to appoint him to the command of West Point. Not suspecting his treachery, Washington gave him the place. He took command in August, 1780.

238. Arnold and Andre meet, and plot Treason. Now Arnold’s plot began to ripen. But Clinton wanted to be very sure of what he was doing. He concluded to send a trusty officer to meet Arnold and settle the plan beyond doubt. So he selected the Adjutant General of his army, a brilliant young officer, Major John Andre, who knew all about it thus far, for he was the “John Anderson” who had, under Clinton’s directions, answered the “Gustavus” letters.

On the morning that he started, Andre had a parting lunch with his fellow officers, with wine-drinking and song-singing a right jolly time! Ah! if he could only have foreseen! Andre was an estimable young man, brave, educated, accomplished, a poet, an artist, and brought up in the best society of England.

Andre went up the Hudson in the sloop-of-war Vulture. After the moon went down, and it was dark enough for such a deed, a boat came silently from the west shore near Haverstraw, and took back from the vessel a tall young man wrapped in a black cloak. Arnold met him on the bank and led him into a thicket of fir trees. There, like two ugly spirits of evil, they crouched in the darkness, and talked over the details of the dastardly deed.

Arnold, eager for British gold, haggled for a higher price. They plotted the utter ruin of the patriot cause, till, at the earliest streak of dawn, boom! boom! sounded some cannon! The traitor was frightened! One of our shore batteries was firing a few shots at the Vulture, so that she had to drop down stream a few miles. Andre therefore could not return directly to the Vulture, but was obliged to remain hidden all that day.

The plans had all been arranged. Clinton was to send up a fleet with soldiers to West Point, and Arnold was meanwhile to have removed most of his troops from the fort on some pretense, so that Clinton’s force could easily capture it. Arnold gave Andre some papers to carry to Clinton, maps of the fort, with instructions how to approach and take it.

Sir Henry had warned Andre not to receive any papers from Arnold nor to put on any disguise. Andre for some reason did not obey these orders. He may have suspected that, after all, some trap was planned to deceive the British, and thought best to carry back papers in Arnold’s own handwriting. At all events, it was a fatal mistake for poor Andre.

239. Capture of Andre. Andre wore long riding-boots. Between his stockings and the soles of his feet he put these papers. He took also a pass from Arnold to carry him through the guards. The Vulture having dropped down the river, Andre crossed over and set out on horseback to go back to New York on the east side.

All went well until he reached the vicinity of Tarrytown. At this time the region was infested with “cowboys” and “skinners,” who under the pretense of keeping up a partisan warfare for their respective sides used to steal whatever they could find.

On this morning several men from the American army had been sent out to look after the “cowboys.” As Andre rode along, three of this party sprang from the bushes, leveled their muskets at him, and ordered him to halt. They were young men, and their names were John Paulding, David Williams, and Isaac Van Wart. One of them happened to have on the coat of a Hessian soldier whom he had captured. This may have misled Andre and prompted him to make a blunder.

“Gentlemen,” said Andre, “I hope you belong to our side.”

“Which side?” asked Van Wart.

“The lower party,” answered Andre. “I am a British officer on urgent duty, and hope you will not detain me.”

Then the three patriots ordered him off his horse. Andre saw his mistake. He showed them Arnold’s pass, but they insisted on searching him. They examined his saddle, took off his coat and vest, but finding nothing wrong, were about to let him go, when Paulding said:

“Boys, I am not satisfied; his boots must come off.”

Andre objected: “his boots were very tight he must not be detained you’ll suffer yet for what you are doing.”

But off came the boots, and out came the fatal papers!

“Boys, this fine fellow is a spy!” exclaimed Paulding.

Andre offered his captors his splendid gold watch, his horse, and a thousand dollars in money, if they would only let him off. The three common soldiers proved true to themselves and to their great cause and refused a bribe. Believing their captive to be a spy, they took him to their commander, Colonel Jameson.

240. The Arch Traitor makes his Escape. This officer made the blunder of sending a messenger to Arnold with a letter saying a certain John Anderson had been arrested! The horseman found the arch traitor at breakfast with several of his prominent officers as his guests. His beautiful young wife was presiding with charming grace at the table.

Arnold, concealing his terror, left the table, kissed his sleeping babe, told his fainting wife he might never see her again, seized a horse, galloped to the river, sprang into a boat, and urged the oarsmen by their love of money and rum to row him to the Vulture. When the boat reached the vessel, the traitor was so mean as to hand over the poor oarsmen as prisoners. But the British captain generously sent them back.

Washington arrived at Arnold’s house a few hours after he had escaped, and when the papers in Arnold’s handwriting were shown him, his hand shook; he was overwhelmed with amazement and sorrow.

Turning to Lafayette, with tears running down his cheeks, and choking with grief, he cried out:

“Arnold is a traitor, and has fled to the British! Whom can we trust now?”

It was only for a moment. The next instant Washington had recovered his iron self-control.

241. What became of Arnold. Washington contrived an ingenious plan to capture Arnold, but it failed. The traitor got his reward; he was made a major-general in the British army and received thirty thousand dollars for his villany. But the gold turned to ashes in his hands. Everybody despised him. Men pointed the finger of scorn at him, saying, “There goes Arnold the traitor.”

A member of Parliament, in the midst of a speech saw Arnold in the gallery, and, pausing, said, “Mr. Speaker, I will not go on while that traitor is in the house.”

Washington had, all the years before, been Arnold’s steadfast friend. He admired one who could fight with such energy, and who never knew fear. After the treason it is said that Washington could never mention the traitor’s name without a shudder.

“What do you think of the doings of that diabolical dog?” wrote Colonel Williams, the gallant southern fighter, to General Morgan.

“Curse on his folly and perfidy!” said the noble-hearted General Greene. “How mortifying to think that he is a New Englander!”

242. Andre’s Sad Fate. The three faithful men who captured Andre were highly honored. Each received a silver medal from Congress, with a life pension of two hundred dollars a year. Their graves are marked by worthy monuments.

But poor Andre! what became of him? He was tried within a week by a court-martial of fourteen generals and condemned to death as a spy.

“We cannot save him,” said the kindly old veteran, Baron Steuben. “Oh that we had the traitor who has dragged this gallant young officer to death, so that he might suffer in his stead!” Andre wrote a full and frank letter to Washington, urging that he was not really a spy. All Americans felt deep pity for him because of his youth, his virtues, his many accomplishments, his belief that he was serving his country, and because he had been the victim of a villain.

But Americans could not forget that the British, four years before, had captured a brave young American officer, Captain Nathan Hale, and hanged him as a spy without any manifestation of pity or sympathy.

The officer who commanded the escort that brought Andre across the Hudson to the main army was a college classmate of Hale. As the young officers rode along on horseback, mention was made of Hale’s sad fate.

“Surely,” said Andre, “you do not think his case and mine alike!”

“They are precisely alike,” answered the officer, “and similar will be your fate.”

Washington, who shed tears when he signed the death warrant, would gladly have saved Andre’s life; but the stern rules of war and the good of the American cause left no room for mercy. His execution was put off one day, it is said, in hope that Arnold might be captured and made to suffer in his stead.

Andre bravely faced the awful event, and on the morning of the day of his death conversed freely and even cheerfully. He was disturbed only about the mode of his death; he begged to be shot as a soldier, and not hanged as a spy; but the grim custom and rules of war forbade.

243. Arnold dies in Disgrace. Arnold lived in London for more than twenty years after his foul treason. No doubt they were years of bitter remorse and self-reproach. His wife proved herself a devoted woman. Arnold’s children and grandchildren all felt keenly the disgrace that rested upon the family.

As the traitor came to his final sickness, his mind seemed to recall the days when he fought for his country with distinction. He thought of the steadfast friendship that Washington once cherished for him. After Saratoga, this friend had presented him with epaulettes and a sword-knot, and put them on with his own hand. The old uniform in which he had fought his battles, and which he wore on the day he escaped to the Vulture, had been carefully kept during all these years of disgrace.

Just before his death the desolate old man called for these sad reminders and put them on again.

“Let me die,” said he, “in this old uniform in which I fought so many battles for my country. May God forgive me for ever putting on any other!”

Thus perished the man who, with the exception of Washington and Greene, prior to his infamous deed, had done perhaps more efficient service for the cause of our independence than any other American general.

Think of the contrast between the deep infamy of an Arnold and the patriotic grit and unselfishness of those ragged, half-starved Pennsylvania soldiers who rose in mutiny during the next winter. Mad Anthony Wayne had led some of these men at the storming of Stony Point, and he was dearly beloved by them all; yet they would not obey even him.

As Wayne was speaking to them, two men, who had been sent by General Clinton to tamper with the mutineers and offer a bounty and high pay if they would enlist in the British army, were detected. The soldiers in their wrath turned these emissaries over to their general, and they were hanged as spies.

“Tell General Clinton,” said these men who had not received a cent of pay to send home to their families for over a year, “that we are not Benedict Arnolds.”