XXV.—ARNOLD: HIS GLORY, HIS WRONGS, HIS CRIMES.
Did you ever, reader, journey among dark mountains, on a stormy night,
with hideous gulfs yawning beneath your feet, the lightning enveloping your
form, with its vivid light—more terrible from the blackness that followed—
the thunder howling in your ears, while afraid to proceed or go back, you
stood appalled, on the verge of a tremendous chasm, which extended deep
and black for half a mile below?
Did you ever after a journey like this, ascend the last mountain top in
your path, behold the clouds roll from the scene of last night's danger, and
the eastern sky, glowing with the kiss of a new-born day? Then you
surveyed the past terror with a smile, and counter the chasms, and measured
the dark ways with a look of calm observation.
So, after our dark and fearful journey over Arnold's life, do we reach
the last mountain top, and the day breaks over us. Not upon him, dawns
the blessed light—ah, no! But upon us it glows, and we will now look
back upon the long track of his deeds, the waste of his despair, spread far
behind us.
Yes, our journey is near its end. The pleasant valleys of the Brandywine
will soon invite us to their shadows, soon we will repose beside their
clear waters, and drink the perfume of their flowers, while we listen to the
Legends of Battle, and Love, and Supernatural beauty, that rise like spirits
from those mound-like hills. Yet ere we pass to those shades of Romance
and Dreams, let us, at one bold sweep, survey the life of Arnold, his Glory,
his Wrongs, his Crimes.
He was born at Norwich, Connecticut, on the 3d of January, 1740.
At the age of sixteen, he ran away and joined the British army, was
stationed at Ticonderoga, but unable to endure either the restraint of discipline,
or the insults of power, he deserted and returned home.
He was now the only son of a devoted Mother. Left by a drunken father,
to the tender mercies of a World, which is never too gentle to the widow
or the orphan, his character was formed in neglect and hardship. He was
apprenticed to a druggist, and after his apprenticeship removed to New
Haven.
He next became a merchant, shipping horses and cattle and provisions
to the West Indies, and commanding his own vessel. In the West Indies,
his ardent temper involved him in a duel. His strong original genius, soon
led him in the way to wealth; his precipitate enterprize into bankruptcy.
He married at New Haven, a lady named Mansfield, who bore him three
sons, Benedict, Richard, and Henry. The first inherited the father's temper,
and met an untimely end. The others settled in Canada after the war:
the wife died at the dawn of the Revolution.
One sister, a noble-hearted woman, Hannah Arnold, clung to him in all
the changes of his life, and never for an hour swerved from the holy tenderness
of a sister's faith.
In May, 1775, he shared with Ethan Allen, the glory of Ticonderoga.
In September, 1775, with such men as Daniel Morgan, the great Rifleman,
and Christopher Greene, afterward the hero of Red Bank, under his
command, together with eleven hundred men, he commenced his expedition
through the Wilderness, to Quebec. After two months of suffering and
hardship, without a parallel in our history, he arrived at Point Levy, opposite
Quebec, having accomplished a deed that conferred immortal honor to
his name.
On the last day of the year, 1775, he led the attack on Quebec. Congress
awarded him for his gallant expedition and brilliant attack, with the
commission of brigadier general.
After the campaign of Canada was over, Arnold was accused of misconduct
in seizing certain goods at Montreal. The testimony of the first historian
in our country, proves, that in the removal of these goods, he was
neither practising any secret manœuvre, nor did he endeavor to retain them
in his possession. It is well to bear these truths in mind: the charge of
misconduct at Montreal, has been suffered almost to grow into history.
He was next appointed to the command of a fleet on Lake Champlain.
The nation rung with the fame of his deeds. On the water, as on the land,
his indomitable genius bore down all opposition.
A week before the battle of Trenton, he joined Washington's Camp, on
the west side of the Delaware, remained with the Chieftain three days, and
then hastened to Providence, in order to meet the invaders on the New
England coast.
In February, 1777, the first glaring wrong was visited upon his head.
Congress appointed five new major generals, without including him in the
list: all were his juniors in rank, and one was from the militia. Washington
was astonished and surprised at this measure; he wrote a letter to
Arnold, stating “that the promotion which was due to your seniority, was
not overlooked for want of merit in you.”
While on a journey from Providence to Philadelphia, where he intended
to demand an investigation of his conduct, he accomplished the brilliant
affair of Danbury.
Congress heard of this exploit, and without delay, Arnold was promoted
to the rank of Major General. With an inconsistency not easily explained,
the date of his commission was still left below the other five major
generals.
We next behold him in Philadelphia, boldly demanding an investigation
of his character, at the hands of Congress. The Board of War, to whom
all charges were referred, after examining all the papers, and conversing
with the illustrious Carrol, (Commissioner at Montreal) declared that the
character and conduct of General Arnold had been groundlessly and cruelly
aspersed.
Congress confirmed that report, complimented Arnold with the gift of an
elegantly caparisoned horse, yet still neglected to restore him to his hard-won
rank. This was the best way that could have been adopted to worry
a brave man into madness.
While his accounts lingered in the hands of Congress, Arnold was appointed
to command the army then convening in the vicinity of Philadelphia.
This duty he discharged with his usual vigor.
At last, chafed by the refusal of Congress to settle his accounts, and
adjust his rank, he resigned his commission in these words:
“I am ready to risk my life for my Country, but honor is a sacrifice
that no man ought to make—”
At this crisis came the news of the fall of Ticonderoga, and the approach
of a formidable Army under Burgoyne. On the same day that Congress
received the resignation, they also received a letter from Washington, recommending
that Arnold should be immediately sent to join the northern
army.
“He is active, judicious, and brave, and an officer in whom the militia
will repose great confidence.”
This was the language of Washington.
Arnold did not hesitate a moment. He took up his sword once more,
only hoping that his claims would be heard, after he had fought the battles
of his country.
He even consented to be commanded in the northern army, by General
St. Clair, who had been promoted over his head. With all his rashness,
all his sense of bitter wrong and causeless neglect, on this occasion, he acted
with heroic magnanimity.
In the two Battles of Saratoga, the one fought on September the 19th,
and the action of Oct. 7th, Arnold was at once the General and the Hero.
From 12 o'clock, until night on the 19th, the battle was fought entirely by
Arnold's division, with the exception of a single regiment from another brigade.
There was no general officer on the field during the day. Near
night, Col. Lewis, arriving from the scene of action, stated that its progress
was undecisive. “I will soon put an end to it,” exclaimed Arnold, and set
off in full gallop for the field.
Gates was so far forgetful of justice, as to avoid mentioning the name of
Arnold or his division in his despatches. A quarrel ensued, and Arnold
resigned his command.
On the 7th of Oct., without a command, he rushed to the field and led
the Americans to victory. “It is a singular fact,” says Sparks, “that an
officer, who really had no command in the army, was leader in one of the
most important and spirited battles of the Revolution.”
At last Congress gave him the full rank which he claimed.
If ever a man won his way to rank, by heaping victory on victory, that
man was Benedict Arnold.
In May, 1778, Arnold joined the army at Valley Forge.
But a short time elapsed ere he established his headquarters in Philadelphia,
as Military Governor or Commander.
Here, he prohibited the sale of all goods in the city, until a joint Committee
of Congress and the Provincial Council should ascertain, whether
any of the property belonged to King George or his subjects. This measure,
of course sanctioned by Washington and Congress, surrounded him
with enemies, who were increased in number and malignancy, by his impetuous
temper, his luxurious style of living, and his manifest consciousness
of fame and power.
He had not been a month at Philadelphia, ere he solicited a command in
the navy.
It was at this time, that he sent five hundred dollars, out of his contracted
means, to the orphan children of Warren, and pressed their claims upon
the notice of Congress.—Six weeks before the consummation of his treachery,
he sent a letter to Miss Scollay, who protected the hero's children, announcing
that he had procured from Congress, the sum of thirteen hundred
dollars, for their support and education.—
Soon after he assumed command in Philadelphia, he married Miss Shippen,
a beautiful girl of eighteen, daughter of a gentleman, favorable to the
King, and an intimate acquaintance of John Andre. This marriage encircled
Arnold with a throng of Tory associates. So familiar was the intimacy of
his wife with John Andre, that she corresponded with him, after the British
left the city and returned to New York.
His enemies now began their work. A list of charges against him, with
letters and papers was presented to Congress, by General Joseph Reed,
President of Pennsylvania, and referred to a committee of inquiry.
That Committee vindicated Arnold from any criminality in the matters
charged against him.
Congress did not act upon their report, but referred the matter to a joint
Committee of their body and of the Assembly and Council of Pennsylvania.
At last, Washington ordered a Court Martial, and gave notice to the
respective parties.
The accusers were not ready at the appointed time. The trial was put
off “to allow them to collect evidence.”
Three months had now elapsed since the charges were first presented to
Congress.
On the 18th of March, 1779, Arnold resigned his commission.
The day finally agreed upon, was the 1st of June, 1779, the place,
Middlebrook.
At this time the enemy in New York made threatening demonstrations,
and the Court Martial was again postponed.
Arnold then formed the project of forming a settlement for the soldiers
and officers who had served under him. He wished to obtain the grant of
a tract of land in Western New York. The members of Congress from
that state seconded his wishes, and wrote a joint letter to Governor Clinton,
soliciting his aid:
—“To you Sir, or to our state, General Arnold can require no recommendation:
a series of distinguished services, entitle him to respect and
favor —”
The President of Congress, the virtuous Jay, enforced the same application
in a private letter to Governor Clinton. He said—
—“Generosity to Arnold will be Justice to the State.”—
These testimonies speak for themselves. Was Arnold without noble and
virtuous friends?
Still with the odium of an “unconvicted criminal” upon his head, he was
attacked by a Mob, his person assaulted and his house surrounded. In
tones of bitter indignation he demanded a guard from Congress, and was
refused.
Time wore on, and the trial came at last. It commenced at Morristown,
on the 20th of December, and continued until the 26th of January 1780.
He was thoroughly acquitted on the first two charges; the other two
were sustained in part, but not so far as to imply a criminal intention.
He gave a written protection, (while at Valley Forge,) for a vessel to proceed
to sea. He used the baggage wagons of Pennsylvania. These were
his offences; for these he was sentenced to be reprimanded by Washington.
At least thirteen months had passed, from the time of the first accusation
until he was brought to trial. In the course of this time, he made his first
approaches of Treason.
Plunged into debt, he wished to enter the service of the French King,
to join an Indian tribe, to betray his country to the British. The
French Minister met his offer with a pointed refusal, his mysterious proposition
to become the Chief of the red men, was never carried into effect;
the only thing that remained, the betrayal of his country, was now to be
accomplished.
Supported by powerful influence, he obtained command of West Point.
He had corresponded for some months with Sir Henry Clinton, through
the letters of his wife to Major Andre. Andre affixed to his letter the signature,
John Anderson, and Arnold was known as Gustavus. Andre from
a mere correspondent and friend of the wife, was at last selected as the
great co-partner in the work of Treason. He was raised to the position of
Adjutant General, and when the fall of West Point was accomplished, was
to be created a Brigadier General.
The Conspirators met within the American lines; by some inexplicable
mistake Andre failed to go on board the Vulture, attempted to return to New
York by land, and was captured by Paulding, Williams, and Van Wert.
He was captured on the 23d of September, 1780. On the 25th, Arnold
escaped to the Vulture. On the 2nd of October, at twelve o'clock, Andre
was hung.
In May 1781, Arnold returned to New York from Virginia, thus narrowly
escaping the capitulation of Yorktown; in September he laid New
London in ashes; and in December he sailed from the Continent for
England.
—Thus plainly in short sentences and abrupt paragraphs, without the least
attempt at eloquence or display, you have the prominent points of Arnold's
career before you.
Judge every heart for itself, the mystery of his wonderful life!
A friendless boy becomes a merchant, a man of wealth, a bankrupt, a
druggist. From the druggist he suddenly flashes into the Hero of the Wilderness
and Quebec, the Victor of Champlain and Saratoga. In renown as
a soldier and general, having no superior save Washington, he is constantly
pursued by charges, and as constantly meets them face to face. The best
men of the nation love him, Washington is his friend, and yet after the torture
of thirteen months delay, his accusers press their charges home, and
he is disgraced for using the public wagons of Pennsylvania.
Married to a beautiful wife, he uses her letters to an intimate friend as
the vehicles of his treason, and afterwards meets that friend as a brother
conspirator. Resolved to betray his country, he does not frankly break his
sword, and before all the world proclaim himself a friend of the King, but
in darkness and mystery plans the utter ruin of Washington's army.
His star rises at Quebec, culminates at Saratoga, and sets in eternal night
in the reprimand of Morristown. When it appears again, it is no longer a
star, but a meteor streaming along a midnight sky, and flashing a sepulchral
light over the ruins of a world.
The track of his glory covers the space of five years.
When we contemplate his life, we at once scorn and pity, despise and
admire, frown and weep. His strange story convulses us with all imaginable
emotion. So much light, so much darkness, so much glory, so much
dishonor, so much meanness, so much magnanimity, so much iron-hearted
despair, so much womanly tenderness in the form of Benedict Arnold! In
the lonely hours of night, when absorbed in the books which tell of him, or
searching earnestly the memorials which are left on the track of time, to
record his career, I have felt the tears come to my eyes, and the blood beat
more tumultuously at my heart.
If there is a thing under Heaven, that can wring the heart, it is to see a
Great Man deformed by petty passions, a Heroic Soul plunged all at once
into the abyss of infamy. We all admire Genius in its eagle flight—but
who has the courage to behold its fall?
To see the Eagle that soared so proudly toward the rising sun, fall with
broken wing and torn breast into the roadside mire—to see the white
column that rose so beautifully through the night of a desert waste, the
memorial of some immortal deed, suddenly crumble into dust—to see the
form that we have loved as a holy thing, in a moment change into a leprous
deformity—Who would not weep?
And then through the mist of sixty-seven years, the agonized words of
Washington thrills us with deep emotion—“Whom—” he cried, “Whom
can we trust now?”
You may not be able to appreciate my feelings when I survey the career
of Arnold, but you will in any event, do justice to the honesty of my purpose.
Arnold has not one friend, on the wide earth of God, unless indeed
his true-hearted sister survives. His name is a Blot, his memory a Pestilence.
Therefore no mercenary considerations sway me in this my solemn
task. Had money been my object, I might have served it better, by writing
certain Traitors into Heroes, and believe me there are plenty of grand-children,
with large fortunes, who would pay handsomely to have it done.
But Arnold—where is there a friend—to pay for one tear shed over his
dishonored grave?
Guided by the same feeling with which I investigated the character of
Washington, and found it more Pure and Beautiful than even the dull history
tells it, I have taken up Arnold and looked at him in every light, and to his
good and evil, rendered—Justice.
Those who expect to find in my pages, a minute record of his petty
faults—how he burnt grasshoppers when a little boy, or swindled grown
men out of fine black horses, when a warrior—will be wofully disappointed.
It may be true that he defrauded some one of the price of a horse, but
while we abuse him for the deed, let us at least remember, that he had a
strange way of killing his horses throughout the war. It was his chance
to ride ever in the front of the fight. Then as he plunged into the jaws of
Death, snatching the laurel leaf of victory from the brow of a skull, his
horse would fall under him, gored by a chain-shot, or rent by a cannon ball.
It was my intention to have drawn a portrait of his character, in conclusion
of this Tragedy, to have compared him with the heroes and accursed
ones of olden times, but the pen drops from my hand—
I can only say—
Lucifer was the Son of the Morning, brightest and most beautiful of all
the hosts of Heaven. Pride and Ambition worked his ruin. But when he
fell, the angels were bathed in tears.
