Life and Times of Washington Part 17

Washington did not relinquish without infinite chagrin the sanguine expectations he had formed of rendering this campaign decisive of the war. Never before had he indulged so strongly the hope of happily terminating the contest. In a letter to an intimate friend, this chagrin was thus expressed: "We are now drawing to a close an inactive campaign, the beginning of which appeared pregnant with events of a very favorable complexion. I hoped, but I hoped in vain, that a prospect was opening which would enable me to fix a period to my military pursuits and restore me to domestic life. The favorable disposition of Spain, the promised succor from France, the combined force in the West Indies, the declaration of Russia (acceded to by other powers of Europe, humiliating the naval pride and power of Great Britain), the superiority of France and Spain by sea in Europe, the Irish claims and English disturbances, formed in the aggregate an opinion in my breast (which is not very susceptible of peaceful dreams), that the hour of deliverance was not far distant; for that, however unwilling Great Britain might be to yield the point, it would not be in her power to continue the contest. But, alas, these prospects, flattering as they were, have proved delusive, and I see nothing before us but acc.u.mulating distress. We have been half of our time without provisions and are likely to continue so. We have no magazines nor money to form them. We have lived upon expedients until we can live no longer. In a word, the history of the war is a history of false hopes and temporary devices, instead of system and economy. It is in vain, however, to look back, nor is it our business to do so.

Our case is not desperate if virtue exists in the people, and there is wisdom among our rulers. But to suppose that this great revolution can be accomplished by a temporary army, that this army will be subsisted by State supplies and that taxation alone is adequate to our wants is in my opinion absurd, and as unreasonable as to expect an inversion of the order of nature to accommodate itself to our views. If it were necessary it could be easily proved to any person of a moderate understanding that an annual army or any army raised on the spur of the occasion besides being unqualified for the end designed is, in various ways that could be enumerated, ten times more expensive than a permanent body of men under good organization and military discipline, which never was nor will be the case with raw troops. A thousand arguments, resulting from experience and the nature of things, might also be adduced to prove that the army, if it is to depend upon State supplies, must disband or starve, and that taxation alone (especially at this late hour) cannot furnish the means to carry on the war. Is it not time to retract from error and benefit by experience? Or do we want further proof of the ruinous system we have pertinaciously adhered to?"

While the respective armies were in the state of inaction to which we have just referred, the whole country was astounded by the discovery of Arnold's treason. The details of this sad affair disclosed traits in the character of this officer which were previously unknown, and, by the public generally, unsuspected.

The great service and military talents of General Arnold, his courage in battle and patient fort.i.tude under excessive hardships had secured to him a high place in the opinion of the army and of his country. Not having sufficiently recovered from the wounds received before Quebec and at Saratoga to be fit for active service, and having large accounts to settle with the government, which required leisure, he was, on the evacuation of Philadelphia in 1778, appointed to the command in that place.

Unfortunately that strength of principle and correctness of judgment which might enable him to resist the various seductions to which his fame and rank exposed him in the metropolis of the Union, were not a.s.sociated with the firmness which he had displayed in the field and in the most adverse circ.u.mstances. Yielding to the temptations of a false pride and forgetting that he did not possess the resources of private fortune, he indulged in the pleasures of a sumptuous table and expensive equipage, and soon swelled his debts to an amount which it was impossible for him to discharge. Unmindful of his military character, he engaged in speculations which were unfortunate, and with the hope of immense profits took shares in privateers which were unsuccessful. His claims against the United States were great and he looked to them for the means of extricating himself from the embarra.s.sments in which his indiscretions had involved him; but the commissioners to whom his accounts were referred for settlement had reduced them considerably, and on his appeal from their decision to Congress, a committee reported that the sum allowed by the commissioners was more than he was ent.i.tled to receive.

He was charged with various acts of extortion on the citizens of Philadelphia, and with peculating on the public funds. [3]

Not the less soured by these multiplied causes of irritation, from the reflection that they were attributable to his own follies and vices, he gave full scope to his resentments, and indulged himself in expressions of angry reproach against what he termed the ingrat.i.tude of his country, which provoked those around him, and gave great offense to Congress.

Having become peculiarly odious to the government of Pennsylvania, the executive of that State (President Reed, formerly aid to Washington) exhibited formal charges against him to Congress, who directed that he should be arrested and brought before a court-martial. His trial was concluded late in January, 1779, and he was sentenced to be reprimanded by the Commander-in-Chief. This sentence was approved by Congress and carried into execution. [4]

From the time the sentence against him was approved, if not sooner, his proud unprincipled spirit revolted from the cause of his country and determined him to seek an occasion to make the objects of his resentment the victims of his vengeance.

Turning his eyes on West Point as an acquisition which would give value to treason and inflict a mortal wound on his former friends, he sought the command of that fortress for the purpose of gratifying both his avarice and his hate.

To New York the safety of West Point was peculiarly interesting, and in that State the reputation of Arnold was particularly high. To its delegation he addressed himself; and one of its members had written a letter to Washington, suggesting doubts respecting the military character of General Robert Howe, to whom its defense was then entrusted, and recommending Arnold for that service. This request was not forgotten. Some short time afterward General Schuyler mentioned to Washington a letter he had received from Arnold intimating his wish to join the army, but stating his inability, in consequence of his wounds, to perform the active duties of the field. Washington observed that, as there was a prospect of a vigorous campaign he should be gratified with the aid of General Arnold--that so soon as the operations against New York should commence, he designed to draw his whole force into the field, leaving even West Point to the care of invalids and a small garrison of militia. Recollecting, however, the former application of a member of Congress respecting this post, he added that "if, with this previous information, that situation would be more agreeable to him than a command in the field, his wishes should certainly be indulged."

This conversation being communicated to Arnold, he caught eagerly at the proposition, though without openly discovering any solicitude on the subject, and in the beginning of August (1780) repaired to camp, where he renewed the solicitations which had before been made indirectly.

At this juncture Clinton embarked on an expedition he meditated against Rhode Island, and Washington was advancing on New York. He offered Arnold the left wing of the army, which he declined under the pretexts mentioned in his letter to Schuyler.

Incapable of suspecting a man who had given such distinguished proofs of courage and patriotism, Washington was neither alarmed at his refusal to embrace so splendid an opportunity of recovering the favor of his countrymen nor at the embarra.s.sment accompanying that refusal. Pressing the subject no further, he a.s.sented to the request which had been made and invested Arnold with the command of West Point. Previous to his soliciting this station Arnold had, in a letter to Colonel Robinson, of the British army, signified his change of principles, and his wish to restore himself to the favor of his prince by some signal proof of his repentance. This letter opened the way to a correspondence with Clinton, the immediate object of which, after obtaining the appointment he had solicited, was to concert the means of delivering the important post he commanded to the British general.

Major John Andre, an aide-de-camp of Clinton, and adjutant-general of the British army, was selected as the person to whom the maturing of Arnold's treason, and the arrangements for its execution should be entrusted. A correspondence was carried on between them under a mercantile disguise in the feigned names of Gustavus and Anderson; and at length, to facilitate their communications, the Vulture, sloop-of-war, moved up the North river and took a station convenient for the purpose, but not so near as to excite suspicion.

The time when Washington met Rochambeau at Hartford was selected for the final adjustment of the plan, and as a personal interview was deemed necessary Andre came up the river and went on board the Vulture. The house of a Mr. Smith, without the American posts, was appointed for the interview, and to that place both parties repaired in the night--Andre being brought under a pa.s.s for John Anderson in a boat dispatched from the sh.o.r.e. While the conference was yet unfinished, daylight approached, and to avoid discovery Arnold proposed that Andre should remain concealed until the succeeding night. They continued together during the day, and when, in the following night, his return to the Vulture was proposed, the boatmen refused to carry him because she had shifted her station during the day, in consequence of a gun which was moved to the sh.o.r.e without the knowledge of Arnold and brought to bear upon her. This embarra.s.sing circ.u.mstance reduced him to the necessity of endeavoring to reach New York by land. To accomplish this purpose, he reluctantly yielded to the urgent representations of Arnold, and laying aside his regimentals, which he had hitherto worn under a surtout, put on a plain suit of clothes and received a pa.s.s from Arnold, authorizing him, under the name of John Anderson, to proceed on the public service to White Plains or lower if he thought proper.

With this permit he had pa.s.sed all the guards and posts on the road unsuspected and was proceeding to New York in perfect security, when one of three militiamen who [5]

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night, and the other troops lay on the field of battle with their arms in their hands. Washington pa.s.sed the night in his cloak in the midst of his soldiers. The British employed the early part of the morning in removing their wounded, and about midnight marched away in such silence that their retreat was not perceived until day.

As it was certain that they must gain the high grounds about Middletown before they could be overtaken, as the face of the country afforded no prospect of opposing their embarkation, and as the battle already fought had terminated in a manner to make a general impression favorable to the American arms, Washington decided to relinquish the pursuit. Leaving a detachment to hover about the British rear, the main body of the army moved towards the Hudson.

Washington was highly gratified with the conduct of his troops in this action. Their behavior, he said, after recovering from the first surprise occasioned by the unexpected retreat of the advanced corps, could not be surpa.s.sed. Wayne he particularly mentioned, and spoke of the artillery in terms of high praise.

The loss of the Americans in the battle of Monmouth was 8 officers and 61 privates killed, and about 160 wounded. Among the slain were Lieutenant-Colonel Bonner, of Pennsylvania, and Major d.i.c.kinson, of Virginia, both of whom were much regretted. One hundred and thirty were missing, but a considerable number of these afterward rejoined their regiments.

In his official letter, Sir Henry Clinton states his dead and missing at 4 officers and 184 privates; his wounded, at 16 officers and 154 privates. This account, so far as it respects the dead, cannot be correct, as 4 officers and 245 privates were buried on the field by persons appointed for the purpose, who made their report to Washington; and some few were afterward found, so as to increase the number to nearly 300. The uncommon heat of the day proved fatal to several on both sides.

As usual, when a battle has not been decisive, both parties claimed the victory. In the early part of the day the advantage was certainly with the British; in the latter part it may be p.r.o.nounced with equal certainty to have been with the Americans. They maintained their ground, repulsed the enemy, were prevented only by the night and by the retreat of the hostile army from renewing the action, and suffered less in killed and wounded than their adversaries.

It is true that Sir Henry Clinton effected what he states to have been his princ.i.p.al object--the safety of his baggage. But when it is recollected that the American officers had decided against hazarding an action, that this advice must have trammeled the conduct and circ.u.mscribed the views of Washington, he will be admitted to have effected no inconsiderable object in giving the American arms that appearance of superiority which was certainly acquired by this engagement.

Independent of the loss sustained in the action, the British army was considerably weakened in its march from Philadelphia to New York. About 100 prisoners were made, and near 1,000 soldiers, chiefly foreigners, deserted while pa.s.sing through Jersey. Many of the soldiers had formed attachments in Philadelphia, which occasioned their desertion. Clinton's whole loss, including killed, wounded, prisoners, and deserters, amounted to at least 2,000 men.

The conduct of Lee was generally disapproved. As, however, he had possessed a large share of the confidence and good opinion of the Commander-in-Chief, it

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were employed between the lines of the two armies, springing suddenly from his covert into the road, seized the reins of his bridle and stopped his horse. Losing his accustomed self possession, Andre, instead of producing the pa.s.s from Arnold, asked the man hastily where he belonged. He replied, "To below," a term implying that he was from New York. "And so," said Andre, not suspecting deception, "am I." He then declared himself to be a British officer on urgent business, and begged that he might not be detained. The appearance of the other militiamen disclosed his mistake too late to correct it. He offered a purse of gold and a valuable watch, with tempting promises of ample reward from his government if they would, permit him to escape; but his offers were rejected, and his captors proceeded to search him. They found concealed in his stockings, in Arnold's handwriting, papers containing all the information which could be important respecting West Point. When carried before Lieutenant-Colonel Jameson, the officer commanding the scouting parties on the lines, he maintained his a.s.sumed character and requested Jameson to inform his commanding officer that Anderson was taken.

Jameson dispatched an express with this communication. On receiving it, Arnold comprehended the full extent of his danger, and flying from well-merited punishment took refuge on board the Vulture.

When sufficient time for the escape of Arnold was supposed to have elapsed, Andre, no longer effecting concealment, acknowledged himself to be the adjutant-general of the British army. Jameson, seeking to correct the mischief of his indiscreet communication to Arnold, immediately dispatched a packet to the Commander-in-Chief containing the papers which had been discovered, with a letter from Andre relating the manner of his capture and accounting for the disguise he had a.s.sumed.

The express was directed to meet the Commander-in-Chief, who was then on his return from Hartford, but, taking different roads, they missed each other, and a delay attended the delivery of the papers, which ensured the escape of Arnold.

Washington, with Generals Lafayette and Knox, had turned from the direct route in order to visit a redoubt. Colonels Hamilton and M'Henry, the aides-de-camp of Washington and Lafayette, went forward to request Mrs.

Arnold not to wait breakfast. Arnold received Andre's billet in their presence. He turned pale, left them suddenly, called his wife, communicated the intelligence to her, and left her in a swoon, without the knowledge of Hamilton and M'Henry. Mounting the horse of his aide-de-camp, which was ready saddled, and directing him to inform Washington on his arrival that Arnold was gone to receive him at West Point, he gained the river sh.o.r.e, and was conveyed in a canoe to the Vulture.

Washington, on his arrival, was informed that Arnold awaited him at West Point. Taking it for granted that this step had been taken to prepare for his reception he proceeded thither without entering the house, and was surprised to find that Arnold was not arrived. On returning to the quarters of that officer he received Jameson's dispatch which disclosed the whole mystery.

Every precaution was immediately taken for the security of West Point, after which the attention of the Commander-in-Chief was turned to Andre.

A board of general officers, of which General Greene was president, and Lafayette and Steuben were members, was called, to report a precise state of his case, and to determine the character in which he was to be considered, and the punishment to which he was liable.

The frankness and magnanimity with which Andre had conducted himself from the time of his appearance in his real character had made a very favorable impression on all those with whom he had held any intercourse.

From this cause he experienced every mark of indulgent attention which was compatible with his situation, and, from a sense of justice as well as of delicacy, was informed, on the opening of the examination that he was at liberty not to answer any interrogatory which might embarra.s.s his own feelings. But, as if only desirous to rescue his character from imputations which he dreaded more than death, he confessed everything material to his own condemnation, but would divulge nothing which might involve others.

The board reported the essential facts which had appeared, with their opinion that Major Andre was a spy and ought to suffer death. The execution of this sentence was ordered to take place on the day succeeding that on which it was p.r.o.nounced.

Superior to the terrors of death, but dreading disgrace, Andre was deeply affected by the mode of execution which the laws of war decree to persons in his situation. He wished to die like a soldier not as a criminal. To obtain a mitigation of his sentence in this respect he addressed a letter to Washington, replete with the feelings of a man of sentiment and honor. But the occasion required that the example should make its full impression, and this request could not be granted. He encountered his fate with composure and dignity, and his whole conduct interested the feelings of all who witnessed it.

The general officers lamented the sentence which the usages of war compelled them to p.r.o.nounce, and never perhaps did the Commander-in-Chief obey with more reluctance the stern mandates of duty and policy. The sympathy excited among the American officers by his fate was as universal as it is unusual on such occasions, and proclaims alike the merit of him who suffered, and the humanity of those who inflicted the punishment.

Great exertions were made by Sir Henry Clinton, to whom Andre was particularly dear, first, to have him considered as protected by a flag of truce, and afterward as a prisoner of war.

Even Arnold had the hardihood to interpose. After giving a certificate of facts tending, as he supposed, to exculpate the prisoner, exhausting his powers of reasoning on the case, and appealing to the humanity of Washington, he sought to intimidate that officer by stating the situation of many of the most distinguished individuals of South Carolina, who had forfeited their lives, but had hitherto been spared through the clemency of the British general. This clemency, he said, could no longer be extended to them should Major Andre suffer.

It may well be supposed that the interposition of Arnold could have no influence on Washington. He caused Mrs. Arnold to be conveyed to her husband in New York, and also transmitted his clothes and baggage, for which he had written, but in every other respect his letters, which were unanswered, were also unnoticed.

The night after Arnold's escape, when his letter respecting Andre was received, the general directed one of his aides to wait on Mrs. Arnold, who was convulsed with grief, and inform her that he had done everything which depended on him to arrest her husband, but that, not having succeeded, it gave him pleasure to inform her that her husband was safe.

It is honorable to the American character that, during the effervescence of the moment, Mrs. Arnold was permitted to go to Philadelphia to take possession of her effects, and to proceed to New York under the protection of a flag without receiving the slightest insult.

This treatment of Mrs. Arnold by Washington is the more remarkable for its delicacy when we recollect that she was under very strong suspicions at the time of being actively concerned in the treason of her husband.

Historians are still divided on the question of her guilt or innocence.

The mingled sentiments of admiration and compa.s.sion excited in every bosom for the unfortunate Andre, seemed to increase the detestation in which Arnold was held. "Andre," said General Washington in a private letter, "has met his fate with that fort.i.tude which was to be expected from an accomplished man and a gallant officer, but I am mistaken if at this time Arnold is undergoing the torments of a mental h.e.l.l. He wants feeling. From some traits of his character which have lately come to my knowledge, he seems to have been so hardened in crime, so lost to all sense of honor and shame, that while his faculties still enable him to continue his sordid pursuits, there will be no time for remorse."

The traits in his character above alluded to, were disclosed in a private letter from Hamilton, who said: "This man (Arnold) is in every sense despicable. In addition to the scene of knavery and prost.i.tution during his command in Philadelphia, which the late seizure of his papers has unfolded, the history of his command at West Point is a history of little as well as great villainies. He practiced every dirty act of peculation, and even stooped to connections with the sutlers to defraud the public." [6]

From motives of policy, or of respect for his engagements, Sir Henry Clinton conferred on Arnold the commission of a brigadier-general in the British service, which he preserved throughout the war. Yet it is impossible that rank could have rescued him from the contempt and detestation in which the generous, and honorable, and the brave could not cease to hold him. It was impossible for men of this description to bury the recollection of his being a traitor--a sordid traitor--first the slave of his rage, then purchased with gold, and finally secured at the expense of the blood of one of the most accomplished officers in the British army.

His representations of the discontent of the country and of the army, concurring with reports from other quarters, had excited the hope that the Loyalists and the dissatisfied, allured by British gold and the prospect of rank in the British service, would flock to his standard and form a corps at whose head he might again display his accustomed intrepidity. With this hope he published an address to the inhabitants of America in which he labored to palliate his own guilt, and to increase their dissatisfaction with the existing state of things.

This appeal to the public was followed by a proclamation addressed "To the officers and soldiers of the Continental army, who have the real interests of their country at heart, and who are determined to be no longer the tools and dupes of Congress or of France."