CHAPTER VII.
The trip on the Dolphin had been restful rather than fatiguing, and all were ready when tea was over for further chat upon the interesting historical themes which had engaged their attention through the day.
"Congress rewarded the men who took André prisoner, did it not, papa?" asked Grace.
"Yes; each of them was given a medal and a pension of two hundred dollars a year. Washington wrote of them to Congress in terms of high praise, proposing that they should receive a handsome gratuity for having saved the country from one of the severest strokes that could have been meditated against it. Lossing tells the whole story in his 'Field-Book of the Revolution,' and gives a picture of the medal."
"Oh, that was good!" exclaimed Little Elsie, adding, "Now, papa, I hope you are going to tell us the rest about the traitor Arnold."
"If all wish to hear it," replied her father; and receiving the assurance that such was the case, he proceeded with the story.
"When Arnold left André at Smith's house he went up the river in his barge and directly to the Robinson House; on arriving there spent a little time with his wife and child, then had a talk with his two aides, Majors Varick and Franks, telling them he was expecting important information from New York through a distinguished channel which he had just opened. This was on the 22d; the day fixed upon for the ascent of the river by the British ships was the 24th, and West Point was to be surrendered to them on their arrival there."
"And they listened to it all and never suspected him?" exclaimed
Sydney.
"Yes," said the captain; "he told it all as calmly as if there were no guilt on his soul, and so he appeared on the very day that his treason was to be consummated.
"Washington returned from Hartford two days sooner than Arnold had expected. He passed the night at Fishkill, and he and his suite were in the saddle before dawn, as he was anxious to reach Arnold's quarters before breakfast time, and they had eighteen miles to ride. Men were sent ahead with the baggage and a notice of Washington's intention of breakfasting there; but when the general and his party came opposite West Point, he turned his horse down a lane toward the river.
"Lafayette said, 'General, you are going in a wrong direction; you know Mrs. Arnold is waiting breakfast for us; and that road will take us out of the way.'
"Washington answered good-naturedly: 'Ah, I know you young men are all in love with Mrs. Arnold, and wish to get where she is as soon as possible. You may go and take your breakfast with her, and tell her not to wait for me; for I must ride down and examine the redoubts on this side of the river, and will be there in a short time.'
"But the officers did not leave him, except two aides-de-camp who rode on ahead to explain the cause of the delay. Breakfast was waiting when they arrived, and they all sat down to their meal.
"Arnold seemed moody. Washington had come back too soon to suit his plans, and the British had not come up the river at the appointed time. He did not understand it, for he had not yet heard that André was a prisoner. But before the meal was over Lieutenant Allen came with a letter for him. Arnold broke the seal hastily, for he recognized Colonel Jameson's handwriting in the address. Doubtless Arnold expected it would inform him that the enemy was moving up the river; but instead it told that Major André of the British Army was a prisoner in his custody. It must have been like a thunderbolt to Arnold, but his self-control was such that he showed but slight disturbance; he told the aides-de-camp that he found he must go immediately to West Point, and asked them to say to General Washington, when he came, that he had been unexpectedly called over the river and would soon return.
"He ordered a horse to be made ready, then left the table and went upstairs to his wife. He told her that he must flee for his life, and might never see her again. She fainted, but not venturing to call for assistance, or to delay his flight, he gave a farewell kiss to their sleeping baby, ran from the room, mounted a horse belonging to one of Washington's aides, and hastened toward the river—not by the winding road that led to the Beverly Dock, but along a by-way that led down a steep hill which is yet called Arnold's Path. He got into his barge, and told the six oarsmen to push out into the middle of the stream and pull for Teller's Point, promising them two gallons of rum if they would row rapidly. He told them he was going on board the Vulture with a flag of truce, and was obliged to make all possible haste, as he wanted to return in time to meet General Washington at his quarters.
"When they passed Verplanck's Point he showed a white handkerchief, which served as a flag of truce to both Captain Livingston at the Point and Captain Sutherland of the Vulture—lying in sight a few miles below. No one followed or tried to intercept them, and they reached the Vulture without difficulty. Arnold introduced himself to the captain, then told his oarsmen that they were prisoners. They answered indignantly that they had come aboard under a flag of truce and had a right to be allowed to go back free. Arnold coolly told them they must remain on board. Captain Sutherland did not interfere; but, despising Arnold's meanness, he gave the coxswain a parole to go on shore and get such things as he wanted, and when they arrived at New York Sir Henry Clinton set them all at liberty."
"Arnold was one mean wretch! I am sorry to have to own him as an
American!" exclaimed Lucilla.
"Didn't the British despise him, papa?" asked Elsie.
"Yes, many of them did—regarding him with scorn as a reptile unworthy of that esteem which a high-souled traitor, a traitor because of great personal wrong, might claim.
"You remember Arnold had said when he left the breakfast table at the Robinson House that he was going to West Point. Shortly after his departure Washington came in. On being told that Arnold had gone across the river to West Point, he took a hasty breakfast, then said he would go over again and meet Arnold there. Hamilton did not go with the others, and it was arranged that the general and his suite should return and all take dinner there.
"As they were crossing the river Washington remarked that they would be greeted with a salute, as General Arnold was at the Point; but to their surprise all was silent when they drew near the landing. Colonel Lamb, the commanding officer, came strolling down a winding path, and was quite confused when he saw the barge touch the shore. He apologized to Washington for his seeming neglect of courtesy, saying that he was entirely ignorant of his intended visit. 'Sir, is not General Arnold here?' asked Washington in surprise.
"'No, sir,' replied Colonel Lamb, 'he has not been here these two days, nor have I heard from him within that time.'
"That aroused Washington's suspicions, but he went around examining the works at West Point, and about noon returned to the Beverly Dock, from which he had departed.
"As he was going up from the river to the house, Hamilton was seen coming toward the party with a hurried step and an anxious, troubled countenance. He said something to Washington in a low tone; they went into the house together, and Hamilton laid before the chief several papers which furnished conclusive evidence of Arnold's guilt. They were the documents which Arnold had put in André's hands. With them was a letter from Colonel Jameson and one from André himself.
"Jameson, thinking Washington was still in Hartford, had sent a messenger there with these papers. While on the way the messenger heard of the return of Washington, and, hurrying back, took the nearest route to West Point through Lower Salem, where André was in custody. So he became the bearer of André's letter to Washington. He reached the Robinson House four hours after Arnold had left it, and placed the papers in Hamilton's hands.
"Washington called in Knox and Lafayette to give their counsel. He was calm, but full of grief. 'Whom can we trust now?' he said. As soon as the papers had been examined, Washington despatched Hamilton on horseback to Verplanck's Point, that an effort might be made there to stop the traitor.
"But it was too late; Arnold had got nearly six hours the start of him. When Hamilton reached the Point a flag of truce was approaching from the Vulture to that post. The bearer brought a letter from Arnold to Washington. Hamilton forwarded it at once to the commander-in-chief, then wrote to Greene, who was at Tappan, advising him to take measures to prevent any attempt the British might make to carry out the traitor's plans.
"But the plot had failed; and when Sir Henry Clinton heard of it the next morning, on the arrival of the Vulture at New York, knowing that the Americans must now be wide awake to their danger, he gave up all thought of carrying out his scheme for getting possession of West Point."
The captain paused in his narrative, and Eric asked, "What did Arnold write to Washington about, uncle?"
"To ask protection for his wife and child, and to say that love for his country had actuated him in this thing."
"Humph! a queer kind of love I should say," sneered the boy.
"Yes; a love that led him to do all in his power for the utter destruction of her liberties."
"And was Washington good to his wife and child?"
"Yes, very kind and sympathizing; and she was soon able to rejoin her husband—going down the river to New York with her babe.
"Washington promptly sent orders to General Greene to march with his portion of the army toward King's Ferry. Greene did not get the order before midnight, but by dawn his whole division was on the march. Washington sent a letter to Colonel Jameson also, telling him to send André to Robinson's house under a strong guard. That order also was received at midnight; André was aroused; and, though the night was very dark and rain falling fast, a guard under Major Tallmadge set off with the prisoner. They rode the rest of the night, and reached their destination at dawn of the 26th. On the evening of that day André was taken over to West Point, and on the morning of the 28th to Tappan. But we have already finished his story."
"I wish our folks could have got Arnold and punished him!" exclaimed
Eric.
"Didn't they even try at all, uncle?"
"Yes, and came very near succeeding," said the captain. "You will find an interesting story about it in Lossing's 'Field Book of the Revolution.'"
"Oh, please tell it to us now!" cried several young voices; and the captain kindly complied.
"There was a very strong feeling of sympathy for André, both in the army and among the people outside of it," he said, "and, along with that, anger and disgust toward Arnold—the arch-traitor—and a strong desire to punish him as his wickedness deserved. There were various plans made to capture him—some of them secret, some open. It was while the army was still at Tappan that the one I just spoke of was undertaken. There were only three persons—Washington, Major Henry Lee, and Sergeant Champe—who knew of it.
"The idea was Washington's. He had learned that Arnold's quarters in New York were next door to those of Sir Henry Clinton, and that the traitor seemed to feel so safe that he was not very cautious and watchful. Major Henry Lee was the commandant of a brave legion of cavalry, a man in whose prudence, patriotism, and judgment Washington knew he could confide; for he had already intrusted to him the delicate service of ascertaining the truth of flying rumors that other officers of high rank were likely to follow Arnold's wicked example.
"'I have sent for you, Major Lee,' Washington said to him, 'in the expectation that you have in your corps individuals capable and willing to undertake an indispensable, delicate, and hazardous project. Whoever comes forward on this occasion will lay me under great obligations personally, and in behalf of the United States I will reward him amply. No time is to be lost; he must proceed, if possible, to-night.'
"He then went on to explain what he wanted, and Lee promptly replied that he had no doubt his legion contained many men daring enough to undertake any enterprise, however perilous; but for the service required there was needed a combination of talent rarely found in the same individual. He then suggested a plan which was highly approved by Washington. He said that Champe, the sergeant-major of his cavalry, was one very well qualified for the service, but he feared that his sense of personal honor would not allow him to take the first step in the perilous expedition,—desertion,—for he was anxiously awaiting a vacancy in the corps to receive a promised commission.
"John Champe was a Virginian, a native of Loudon County; he was twenty-three or twenty-four years of age; he had enlisted in 1776; he was a grave, thoughtful man and as unlikely as anyone to consent to do anything ignominious. Lee sent for him at once, told him what Washington wanted, and used all the eloquence of which he was master to persuade him to undertake the perilous work. Champe listened with the closest attention and evident excitement, and, when Lee had concluded, said that he was charmed with the plan and the proposed results; then went on to say that he was ready to attempt anything for his country's good, no matter how dangerous, that did not involve his honor; but the idea of desertion to the enemy and hypocritically espousing the king's cause was an obstacle in his way too grave to be disregarded; so he must ask to be excused.
"Lee earnestly replied to these arguments; told him that desertion at the request of his beloved commander, and for such reasons, carried with it no dishonor; it was a laudable purpose; success would bring him personal honor, and the stain upon his character would last only till prudence would allow the publication of the facts.
"A great deal of persuasion was necessary, but at last Lee succeeded; Champe consented to undertake the perilous task, and they at once set about the necessary preparations.
"Washington had his instructions already drawn up. They were read to Champe, he taking note of them in such a way that no one else could understand their true meaning. He was to deliver letters to two persons in New York, unknown to each other, but who had both been long in Washington's confidence. He was to procure such aid in bringing Arnold away as he deemed best, but was strictly enjoined to forbear killing the traitor under any circumstances.
"All these matters having been settled, they next considered the difficulties that lay in Champe's way between the camp and the enemy's outposts at Paulus Hook. There were many pickets and patrols in the way, and often parties of American irregulars in search of booty or adventure. Major Lee could not offer Champe any aid against these dangers lest he should be charged with favoring his desertion; so the sergeant was left to manage his flight as well as he could without help, Lee only doing what he could to delay pursuit as long as possible after it should become known that the sergeant-major had deserted.
"It was eleven o'clock at night when Champe took his orderly book, his cloak, and valise, and, with three guineas in his pocket,—given him by Lee,—mounted his horse secretly and started on his perilous expedition. Lee went at once to his bed, but not to sleep. He was doubtless much too anxious and excited for that. Within an hour the officer of the day, Captain Carnes, came hurrying in to tell him that one of the patrols had fallen in with a dragoon, who, on being challenged, put spurs to his horse and escaped.
"Lee was slow in replying; pretended to be very weary and drowsy—only half awake. In this way he detained the captain for some little time before he seemed fairly to understand what was wanted. Then he ridiculed the idea that one of his dragoons had deserted; for such a thing had occurred only once during the whole war.
"But the captain would not be convinced by any such arguments, and by Lee's reluctant orders immediately mustered a squadron of horse, satisfied himself and Lee that one had deserted, and that it was no less a personage than Champe, the sergeant-major, who had decamped with his arms, baggage, and orderly book.
"Captain Carnes ordered an immediate pursuit. Lee delayed the preparations as much as possible, and, when all was ready, ordered a change in the command, giving it to Lieutenant Middleton, a young man of so tender a disposition that he would no doubt treat Champe leniently should he catch him.
"Champe, however, was not caught. These delays had given him an hour's start of his pursuers. It was a bright starry night and past twelve o'clock when Middleton and his men mounted their horses and spurred after him.
"Lossing tells us that the horses of Lee's regiment were all shod by a farrier attached to the corps, and every shoe, alike in form, had a private mark put upon it; so the footprints of Champe's horse were easily recognized; for a fall of rain at sunset had effaced other tracks, and often before it was light enough to see them readily, a trooper would dismount and examine them. Ascending a hill near the village of Bergen, they saw from its summit their deserting sergeant not more than half a mile away. Champe saw them at the same moment, and both he and they spurred on as rapidly as possible. They were all well acquainted with the roads in that part of the country. There was a short cut through the woods to the bridge below Bergen. Middleton divided his party, sending a detachment by the short road to secure the bridge, while he and the others pursued Champe to Bergen. As Paulus Hook could not be reached without crossing the bridge, he now felt sure of capturing the deserter.
"The two divisions met at the bridge and were much astonished to find that nothing was to be seen of Champe. He knew of the short cut, thought his pursuers would take it, and therefore decided to give up the plan of joining the British at the Hook and take refuge on board of one of two of the king's galleys that were lying in the bay about a mile from Bergen.
"Middleton hurried from the bridge to Bergen, and asked if a dragoon had been seen there that morning. He was told that there had been one there, but nobody could say which way he went from the bridge. They could no longer see the print of his horse's shoes, and for a moment were at a standstill. But presently a trail was discovered leading to Bergen; they hurried on, and in a few moments caught sight of Champe near the water's edge, making signals to the British galley. He had his valise containing his clothes and his orderly book lashed to his back. When Middleton was within a few hundred yards of him he leaped from his horse, threw away the scabbard of his sword, and, with the naked blade in his hand, sped across the marsh, plunged into the deep waters of the bay, and called to the galley for help. In response to that a boat with strong oarsmen was quickly sent to his help, and directly he was in the galley with all the evidences of his desertion.
"Before night he was safely quartered in New York, having arrived there with a letter from the captain of the galley to Sir Henry Clinton in which the scene of his escape from the American troopers was described.
"Middleton's men picked up Champe's cloak and the scabbard of his sword, then caught his horse and returned with it to Tappan. As Lee caught sight of the articles he took them to be evidence that Champe had been killed, and was grieved at the thought; but his grief was turned into great joy when he learned from Middleton that the sergeant had escaped safely on board one of the enemy's galleys.
"Four days later a letter in a disguised hand, and without signature, came to Lee. It told of the occurrences of Champe's escape, and Lee knew it was from him.
"The British were much pleased with the desertion of Champe, as they knew that Lee's legion was considered very faithful and that therefore this desertion was an evidence of increasing defection among the American troops. Champe did what he could to increase the idea by adroit answers to questions asked of him, giving the impression that he had a strong desire to serve the king. Clinton gave him a couple of guineas, and advised him to call upon Arnold, who was engaged in raising an American legion to be composed of loyalists and deserters. Arnold received him politely, gave him quarters among his recruiting sergeants, and invited him to join his legion. Champe begged to be excused from that, saying that if caught by the rebels he would surely be hanged; but added that if he changed his mind he would surely join his legion.
"Champe soon found means to deliver the letters Washington had entrusted to him, made arrangements with one of the correspondents to aid him in his designs upon Arnold; then communicated with Major Lee, telling him that he had made inquiries in regard to those who were suspected of beginning to favor the enemy, and learned that there was no foundation for the report. Soon he enlisted in the traitor's legion that he might have free intercourse with him and learn his night habits and pursuits. He soon discovered that it was Arnold's custom to return to his quarters about midnight and then to visit a garden at the back of his house which extended down to the edge of the river. Adjoining the garden was a dark alley leading to the street. All this seemed favorable to Champe's design. He arranged with two accomplices a plan which seemed feasible: a boat was to be in readiness on the river; they were to seize and gag Arnold, carry him through the alley, and from there through the most unfrequented streets to the river; and should anyone attempt to interfere with them on the way they were to represent him as a drunken soldier whom they were taking to the guardhouse. When once they had reached the boat there would be no further difficulty.
"Champe was to remove some of the palings in the garden fence and replace them so slightly that they could be easily, quietly, and quickly taken out when desired. When all was arranged he wrote to Lee and appointed the third subsequent night for the delivery of the traitor on the Jersey shore.
"No doubt Lee was well pleased, and on that evening he and a small party left the camp with three accoutred horses—one for Arnold, one for Champe, and one for the man who was assisting him—and concealed themselves at a place agreed upon in the woods at Hoboken. There they remained hour after hour until dawn, but no Champe and no prisoner appeared. They were much disappointed, but a few days later Lee received a letter from Champe telling how their plan had failed, and assuring him that nothing could be done in the matter at present.
"He said that on the very day when his plan was to have been carried out Arnold changed his quarters in order to superintend the embarkation of troops for an expedition southward to be commanded by himself. In this expedition the legion in which Champe had enlisted in order to carry out his plans was to take part, and the poor fellow was in a sad dilemma. Instead of crossing the Hudson that night with the traitor as his prisoner, he had been obliged to go on board a transport with that traitor as his commander; and that to fight against, instead of for, his country."
"Oh, papa, did he go and fight against his country?" asked Elsie, drawing a long breath of surprise and sympathy.
"He had to allow himself to be carried to Virginia along with the troops of the enemy, and, I suppose, to go into battle with them," replied the captain; "but I dare say he was careful not to shoot any of the Americans. He watched his opportunity to desert, and after a time succeeded in so doing. He went up into the mountains of North Carolina, and when Lee and his legion were pursuing Lord Rawdon, he joined them. His old comrades were greatly astonished to see him—a deserter, as they supposed—and that Major Lee gave him a most cordial reception. But the truth was soon told, and then his old corps showed the greatest love and admiration for him. They were very proud of him, but he was discharged from service because it was very certain that the British, if they could get hold of him, would hang him."
"Is he alive now, papa?" asked Ned.
"Oh, no, my son; he died in 1798—a hundred years ago. At that time we were threatened with a war with France, and Washington, appointed to the chief command of our armies, sent to Colonel Lee to inquire for Champe, intending to make him a captain of infantry. But it was too late; the brave and gallant soldier had gone to another world."
"Dear man! I hope he went to heaven!" exclaimed Little Elsie in quivering tones.
"I hope so," responded her father.
There was a moment of silence, presently broken by Ned. "Papa, you know you promised to tell about Nathan Hale; please won't you do it now?"
"I will," replied the captain. "He was a fine, brave, good young man; described as very handsome—six feet tall, perfectly proportioned, light-blue eyes beaming with intelligence, roseate complexion, and soft light-brown hair. He was overflowing with good humor, and always ready to help anyone in distress. He received a good education, his father wishing him to enter the ministry; but he was teaching school in New London when the news of the Battle of Lexington came. A town meeting was at once held, and Hale was one of the speakers. He urged prompt action, saying, 'Let us march immediately, and never lay down our arms until we have obtained our independence.'
"He took part in the siege of Boston, and was made a captain in January, 1776. He went to New York and did good service there. Early in the fall, in response to a call from General Washington, he volunteered to enter the British lines and procure intelligence. Disguised as a schoolmaster and loyalist, he visited all of the British camps on Long Island and in New York, openly making observations, drawings, and memoranda of fortifications. When he had about finished his work, he was seized by the British and taken before Sir William Howe. On the evidence of papers found in his shoes, he was condemned as a spy, and Sir William ordered him to be hanged. He asked for a Bible, but it was refused him, nor would they let him see a minister. He had written letters to his sisters and to his betrothed, but his cruel captors destroyed them before his eyes. That last was done by William Cunningham—one of the most notoriously cruel Tories of the war. He afterward gave as his reason for that act of cruelty that he meant the rebels should never know they had a man who could die with such firmness.
"As Hale mounted the scaffold he said,'You are shedding the blood of the innocent; if I had a thousand lives I would lay them down in the defence of my injured, bleeding country'; and his last words were, 'I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country.'
"A country that may well remember him with love and pride," said
Grandma Elsie.
"Oh, what wicked, wicked things they do in war times!" sighed Little
Elsie.
"Yes," said her grandma; "war is itself a wicked thing: wholesale murder—sometimes on both sides, always on one."
"When the folks on one side are fighting for freedom, that's right, isn't it?" asked Eric.
"Yes; everyone not a criminal has a right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness."
"Is it right to hang a man just for being a spy?" asked Ned.
"Not always, I'm sure," exclaimed Eric. "It wasn't right to hang Nathan Hale, I'm sure, for he was a good man, and only doing what he could to save his country."
"Very true," said his father; "and he is now one whose memory is cherished and honored, while that of Cunningham—his cruel executioner—is abhorred."
"I'd rather be entirely forgotten than remembered as a cruel, wicked wretch!" exclaimed Eric.
"Yes; as any right-minded person would," said his father.