# Benedict Arnold. A biography/11

CHAPTER XI.
TAKEN IN THE TOILS.
SMITH, with his servant, hurried back to Fishkill the same evening, where, as we have stated, he sent his family in order to give up his own house to Arnold's use. On his way he called on the latter at the Robinson House, and dined with him. Arnold was thus put in possession of all that had thus far transpired.
Below Pine's Bridge, it was the Cow Boys' domain. These were chiefly British refugees, given to stealing cattle from the peaceful inhabitants, and driving them off to New York; and hence their very appropriate name. There was another party, called the "Skinners;" these pretended to favor the American cause, whereas they even laid in with the Cow Boys to rob all within their reach. By these two lawless parties the thirty-mile strip above New York, known as the "Neutral Ground," was infested. If a person was friendly to the cause of the Americans, the Cow Boys plundered him; and if he declined expressing his sentiments from motives of prudence, the Skinners stripped him on account of his want of patriotism. So that between the two, the unoffending inhabitants fared badly enough. In fact, the barbarities practised on the Neutral Ground formed a war by themselves, even more dreadful to those who suffered than the open conflicts between opposing armies in the field.
It was through this ground that André now had to find his way. He crossed Pine's Bridge, and had gone on about six miles, when he came to a place where the road forked; the left led to White Plains, into the interior of the country, and the right along the course of the Hudson. It was his purpose originally to take the left hand road, and so Smith had advised him; but remembering what Captain Boyd had told them the evening before about the Cow Boys, or Lower Party, being out on the Tarrytown road, he thought he should be safer among them if he should happen to fall in their way, and so he decided to take the right hand. In that moment of doubt his life was literally poised. Had he taken the left hand route, he would no doubt have got on unharmed.
As fortune would have it, on that very morning a company of seven young farmers in that neighborhood had met and agreed to proceed to a certain point on the Tarrytown road, and challenge whoever came along. Four of them took their position on a hill from which they could see the country for a wide circuit; the other three, named John Paulding, Isaac Van Wart, and David Williams, stayed down near the road running along by the banks of the river. Two of these three were playing cards in the bushes, as the best way to while away the time, and the other kept a sharp lookout on the road.
The story has been told so much better than we could hope to tell it by Paulding himself, that we offer no excuse for giving it in his own language :
"Myself, Isaac Van Wart, and David Williams were lying by the side of the road about half a mile above Tarrytown, and about fifteen miles above King's Bridge, on Saturday morning, between nine and ten o'clock, the 23d of September. We had lain there about an hour and a half, as near as I can recollect, and saw several persons we were acquainted with, whom we let pass. Presently one of the young men, who were with me, said, "There comes a gentlemanlike-looking man, who appears to be well dressed, and has boots on, and whom you had better step out and stop, if you don't know him." On that I got up, and presented my firelock at the breast of the person, and told him to stand; and then I asked him which way he was going. Gentlemen, said he, ' I hope you belong to our party.' I asked him 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 anything 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 best 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 anything 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."
Paulding asked André his name, and he told him it was 'John Anderson;' he also said he should have let him go after seeing the pass in General Arnold's handwriting, but for his having, a little before, called himself a British officer. Paulding inferred, from his pulling out his watch, that he meant by it only to show that he was a British officer, and not to offer it as a bribe.
Another of the three men, David Williams, gave his testimony on the matter to the same effect; and added some further particulars, which we subjoin in his own language :--
" 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 writing. 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 boot within his stocking.
" Upon this we made him dress himself, and I asked him what he would give us to let him go. He said he would give us any sum of money. I asked him whether he would give us his horse, saddle, bridle, watch, and one hundred guineas. He said 'yes,' and told us he would direct them to any place, even if it was that very spot, so that we could get them. I asked him whether he would not give us more. He said he would give us any quantity of dry goods, or any sum of money, and bring it to any place that we might pitch upon, so that we might get it. Mr. Paulding answered, ' No; if you would give us ten thousand guineas, you should not stir one step.' I then asked the person, who had called himself John Anderson, if he would not get away if it lay in his power. He answered, ' Yes, I would.' I told him I did not intend he should. While taking him along we asked him a few questions, and we stopped under a shade. He begged us not to ask him questions, and said when he came to any commander he would reveal all.
" He was dressed in a blue overcoat, and a tight body-coat, that was of a kind of claret color, though a rather deeper red than claret. The button-holes were laced with gold tinsel, and the buttons drawn over with the same kind of lace. He had on a round hat, and nankeen waistcoat and breeches, with a flannel waistcoat and drawers, boots, and thread stockings."
Having secured their prisoner, they marched off with him to North Castle, which was the nearest military post, and nearly a dozen miles inland. Lieutenant Colonel Jameson was in command there. They walked offthrough ravines and across fields, striking the straightest track possible, one of them going ahead and occasionally taking the horse by the bridle, while the rest distributed themselves on either side. It formed a ludicrous picture; and André afterwards sketched it with a pen, and presented it to one who had been with him during a part of his captivity. They put him several questions, but he declined answering any of them. At noon they came to a farm-house; the housewife was struck with the sad looks of the youthful prisoner, and urged him to share their frugal meal, while she likewise apologized for having nothing better to offer him; he thanked her for her kindness, but declared with a shake of the head that he could not eat.
When they reached North Castle, Jameson examined the papers that were taken from his stocking, and recognized the handwriting of General Arnold. The first thing he did was to send these off post haste to Washington, who was at Hartford. André used his eloquence with great effect upon Jameson, and prevailed on him next to despatch a message to West Point, informing Arnold that Mr. John Anderson had been detained as already described. It is difficult to understand what Jameson could have been thinking of; for if Arnold was really a participator in the plot, this was merely giving him warning of his danger and allowing him time to make his escape. Jameson did more even than to send the letter : he sent André along with it ! The like of such infatuation and folly has rarely been seen.
The prisoner had been gone but a little time, when Major Tallmadge, who was second in command and had been off all this while on duty at White Plains, returned to his post. The moment he heard the story, he seemed to understand the whole matter; he believed that Arnold had been guilty of a treasonable correspondence with the enemy. He insisted that André should be ordered back without an instant's delay, and pledged himself to take the responsibility on his own shoulders. Jameson was hard to persuade, but he finally yielded to Major Tallmadge's entreaties; he countermanded his order sending André forward to Arnold, and had him brought back, but the letter he suffered to go on. He refused even to suspect his commander of a crime of so heinous a character.
André came back again under guard. He was confined in a room, and began to pace up and down the floor, lost in thought. Major Tallmadge observed his step closely, and saw by the way he turned on his heel that he was a military character. Very soon after, he conducted him to Lower Salem, thinking him there more secure, as it was still farther within the American lines. They reached this place, after travelling during the night, at eight o'clock in the morning. Here he was forced to share the room of Mr. Bronson, having but one window and one door, and which on that account could be more easily guarded. André was tired when he was placed in this room, and said but little; he was troubled at seeing the soiled condition of his clothes, and accepted the loan of a change from Bronson, while his linen and nankeen underclothes were gone to be washed. After this he began to feel a little more revived, and showed more disposition to talk.
His affable manners pleased all who saw him. He was genial and gentlemanly, and indulged in a strain of agreeable conversation that won them over to him at once. It was while he was confined here at Lower Salem that he sketched the ludicrous scene of his being led away on horseback into captivity.
André" was aware by this time that the papers found on him had been sent off to Washington, and he determined to throw off all further disguise. He therefore sat down and wrote a letter to Washington, telling him who he was, and what was his rank, though he honorably abstained from drawing Arnold into the gulf of his own guilt, as he easily might. He explained that he was in no sense a spy, but had come to meet a person who was to give him intelligence on ground which neither army pretended to occupy. His attempt to prove that disguising his dress and name was not necessarily against him, since he did it only to get himself beyond the American lines, into which he was carried against his own will and stipulation, was quite ingenious, however inconclusive it might have been.
He showed the letter to Major Tallmadge when he had finished it, and immediately felt relieved of a great load. From that moment he was himself again : lively, cheerful, talkative, and winning. Those who had him in charge never forgot to their dying day the impressions his engaging manners and conversation made upon their hearts.
Washington set out from Hartford on his return to the Hudson two or three days earlier than he had intended, owing to a disappointment in relation to the operations of the French fleet, about which he had gone on to confer with the French commander. Lafayette was with him, as were also General Knox and his suite; with these two in particular he was wont to unbend. He travelled, in going to Hartford, what was called the lower road, which run through Danbury to Peekskill, and it was thought he would return by the same way; instead of that, however, he took the upper road, which led him through the upper highlands to West Point. On the afternoon of the 24th of September, he reached Fishkill, eighteen miles distant from Arnold's headquarters. Word was sent on that the commander-in-chief would be there to breakfast on the next morning.
The next day they were in the saddle as soon as it was light, and on their way to the Robinson House. Their course lay through the Highlands, and the scenery and the morning air were invigorating. They had come within a mile of the Robinson House, when Washington was observed, instead of keeping on the road, to turn his horse's head down a cross-road leading to the river. Lafayette spoke to him, and told him that he was on the wrong road, adding that they had best keep along, for Mrs. Arnold would be waiting breakfast. "Ah! you young men are all in love with Mrs. Arnold!" said Washington in reply. " I see you are eager to be with her as soon as possible. Go and breakfast with her, and tell her not to wait for me; I must ride down and examine the redoubts on this side of the river, but will be with her shortly."
Lafayette and General Knox, however, turned off with Washington; but Colonel Hamilton and the aide of Lafayette kept on, and presented to the fair hostess their commander's apology. They sat down to breakfast as desired, Arnold and his wife, and Hamilton and McHenry. Mrs. Arnold had been there not more than four or five days, having come from Philadelphia with her infant child, some six months old. She was as agreeable and chatty as ever; but Arnold himself sat at the table gloomy and taciturn. He had reason to be thoughtful, for this was the day on which the plot with Sir Henry Clinton was to be carried out, and the enemy's boats were to come up the river. Washington had come back from Hartford two days earlier than he had expected him, and his visit to West Point now was going to throw all his plans into disorder.
While he was plunged in this sea of doubt and perplexity, a messenger on horseback dashed up to the gate, alighted and delivered a letter. It was the one Lieut. Colonel Jameson had written him respecting the capture of André, in which he also stated that the papers found in the prisoner's boot had been sent on to Washington at Hartford.
Arnold took the letter and broke the seal in the presence of the company. It was all he could do to suppress his agitation, as he eagerly read its contents. Few men could have gone through what he went through in that single moment, and not betrayed themselves. He immediately rose from the table, went to Mrs. Arnold's chamber, and thence sent a servant down to call her up to him. She obeyed the summons, and thus the guests were left alone at their morning meal. When she was in the room, he told her that he was a ruined man, and that instant flight was all that could save him from death! She swooned at the intelligence, and fell helpless to the floor. He did not stop to assist her, but hurried down stairs and sent up the messenger that had just arrived, to her aid. Without a moment's delay he threw himself into the saddle of the horse standing at the door, and dashed down to the river by a path that goes by the name of Arnold's Path to this day. His six-oared barge was moored close by, and he ordered his oarsmen to row with all speed dowia to Teller's Point.
He had hardly gone, when Washington arrived at the house. Learning that Mrs. Arnold was sick, and that her husband had gone over to West Point as he said to meet him, he ate his breakfast hurriedly, and went back again across the river. He left word that he should be with the rest of them at dinner. As he went over, he noticed that no salute was fired at his approach, as expected. When he landed, too, he saw that no proper reception had been made for him. Colonel Lamb came down the bank alone to meet him, expressing the greatest surprise at his arrival; had he known of his coming before-hand, he should have received him in a very different manner. "Is not General Arnold here?" inquired Washington. Lamb answered that he was not, and had not been there in two days. Washington was perplexed, yet he suspected nothing. He stayed at the fortress through the morning, and then went over again to dinner.
Meantime the papers that Jameson had sent to Hartford, and that missed Washington on his way back in consequence of his travelling the other road, had reached the Robinson House; and as they were said to be of the greatest importance, Hamilton opened and examined them. The messenger, on finding that Washington had come back to West Point, turned upon his course, passing through Lower Salem where André was confined; and now he took André's letter to Washington along with him, too; so that this letter, together with the papers that were found on him, told who he was at once.
As Washington and his party were coming up from the river to the house, Hamilton met them. He spoke briefly to the commander-in-chief in a low voice, and both withdrew in private as soon as they got in. Washington was astounded, yet he preserved his calmness, as the damning facts were laid before him. He soon joined his military party again, and, taking Lafayette and Knox aside, communicated to them the whole story, putting the papers into their hands. He only exclaimed, "Whom can we trust now?" but that exclamation was crowded with meaning. Hoping to arrest the flight of the traitor, he sent Colonel Hamilton at the top of his horse's speed down to Verplanck's Point, below the Highlands, which commanded the river at a narrow part; he was to order Livingston to play his battery upon the boat and bring it to. Dinner was soon after announced, and they all sat down to the table. Washington was as self-possessed in the midst of so terrible a discovery as he ever was. "Come, gentlemen," said he, pleasantly, "since Mrs. Arnold is unwell, and the general is absent, let us sit down without ceremony." Having heard of Mrs. Arnold's situation, he went up stairs to endeavor to soothe her feelings; the meeting was a most remarkable and exciting one. Hamilton wrote of her condition, that she, for a considerable time, lost herself. The general went up to see her, and she upbraided him with being in a plot to murder her child. One moment she raved, another she melted into tears. Sometimes she pressed her infant to her bosom and lamented its fate, occasioned by the imprudence of its father, in a manner that would have pierced insensibility itself. All the sweetness of beauty, all the loveliness of innocence, all the tenderness of a wife, and all the fondness of a mother, showed themselves in her appearance and conduct. To Washington it must have been painful indeed.
Hamilton meanwhile spurred on to Verplanck's Point, but he arrived there too late. Arnold had passed some time before, having got some six hours the start; it was ten o'clock in the morning when he fled, and when Hamilton reached the Point it was four in the afternoon. On entering the boat, Arnold told his oarsmen to row with all speed down the river, for he had important business on board the Vulture. He promised them two gallons of rum, if they would do their best. As he passed Verplanck's Point, he displayed a white handkerchief, which gave his boat all the protection needed. He reached the Vulture in safety, and told the whole story to Capt. Sutherland; and then he gave up his oarsmen as prisoners! Few acts could have been meaner than this. The men protested, saying that they came under the protection of a flag of truce; but they were taken on board and carried down to New York the same night. Sir Henry Clinton, however, showed his scorn for such an act by immediately liberating and sending them back again.
A flag came over from the Vulture to Verplanck's Point while Hamilton was there, bringing a letter from Arnold to Washington. He still protested his love for his country, but believed he would be judged harshly by the world. He asked no favor for himself, but simply protection for his wife from every insult and injury that a mistaken vengeance of his country might expose her to. "She is as good," said he, "and as innocent as an angel, and is incapable of doing wrong." And he begged that she might be permitted to return to her friends in Philadelphia, or go to him, as she chose. She set out in a few days for her father's house in Philadelphia. With this came also another letter from Col. Beverly Robinson, asking for the release of André on the ground that he had gone ashore under the protection of a flag of truce, and at the invitation of an American general.
The hour was one of the greatest doubt and danger. No one could tell how far the plot had extended itself. It was not possible to say who were innocent, and who were guilty. Washington now knew that the enemy had all the intelligence they wanted of the fortifications at West Point, and took instant measures to secure their safety. He sent orders over to have the force there disposed to the best advantage to guard against a sudden, attack, especially on that very night. He also issued orders to General Greene, who was in command at Tappan, to put a division of his troops in motion at once, and to hold the rest in readiness. And finally he sent word to Col. Jameson to take all possible care that André was neither rescued nor made his own escape; and to send him to that place by a strong guard by some road not generally travelled. The order reached Jameson at midnight, and André was at once apprised of its nature; he started out of bed and prepared to obey the summons promptly. Before he left, he offered his thanks to the gentlemen around him for their kindness, and assured them that he never could meet them anywhere again as enemies. It was a dark and rainy night, and the travelling was difficult. They reached the Robinson House the next morning, the 26th. Washington would not see the prisoner, however, and did not see him from first to last. On the same evening he was taken over to West Point, and remained there till the morning of the 28th, when he was carried in a boat down to Stony Point, and thence under an escort to Tappan.
Joshua H. Smith was likewise arrested on the night of the 25th, at Fishkill, and taken to the same place. Washington gave directions to have them kept in separate houses, and on no account to be allowed to see one another. "I would wish," said he, "the room for Mr. André to be a decent one, and that he may be treated with civility."