La Fayette and Colonel Knox, when it struck him that he would turn aside to examine two redoubts. La Fayette hinted that Mrs. Arnold would be waiting breakfast. "Ah, marquis!" said Washington, "you young men are all in love with Mrs. Arnold. Ride on, if you like, and tell her not to wait for me." However, both La Fayette and Colonel Knox remained with him, and the message was sent by the aide-decamp, Colonel Hamilton, who sat down to breakfast with the Arnolds, and was present when Colonel Jameson's letter for General Arnold arrived.

Arnold glanced at its contents. The moment was a fearful one to him, but he did not lose his presence of mind. He beckoned his wife up to her own room, and then told her that they must part at once; that he was a ruined man, and must fly for his life. He left her in a faint on the floor, went down-stairs again to his guests, and told them that he was required at the fort at West Point immediately, to make preparations for the reception of Washington; and then, slipping out to his own hall door, mounted the horse of Colonel Jameson's messenger that was standing there, and, riding hard down a path (which is still called Arnold's path), arrived at the landing-place, where his own barge with six men was lying, and made his escape in it to the ship Vulture, where he was received by the English.

Washington arrived at his house very soon after the traitor had left it. Being told that Arnold had gone to West Point, he and his companions took a very hurried breakfast, and started for the fortress with the rest of his party, excepting Colonel Hamilton, who remained at Arnold's house.

As the boat moved off towards West Point, Washington said, “Well, gentlemen, I am glad on the whole that General

Arnold has gone before us, for we shall now have a salute, and the roaring of the cannon will have a fine effect among the mountains." Yet, as they drew nearer and nearer to the beach, they heard no sound, they saw no sign of welcome.

"What!" said Washington. "Do they not intend to salute us?"

Just then an officer was observed wending his way down among the rocks. He met the barge as it touched the shore; and on perceiving the commander-in-chief, asked pardon for his seeming neglect, since, as he said, he was taken wholly by surprise.

"How is this, sir?" inquired Washington, no less astonished. "Is not General Arnold here ?"

"No, sir," replied the officer; "he has not been here these two days, nor have I heard from him within that time." "This is extraordinary!" said Washington. "Since, however we are come, though unexpectedly, we must look round a little, and see in what state things are with you." So saying, he proceeded to examine the works.

Colonel Hamilton, meanwhile, had received at Arnold's house the despatch that Colonel Jameson had sent to Washington, containing the plans which Arnold had given André. He opened the letter, and saw directly what had happened. When Washington came back to dinner, he drew him aside and showed him the proofs of Arnold's treachery.

Washington was calm and quiet; he betrayed nothing of the feelings which must have frozen his heart as he discovered the plot. To La Fayette alone he told what he had heard, with the wistful, heart-wrung words, "Whom can we trust now?" But he turned to those with him, when dinner was announced, and said, "Come, gentlemen, since Mrs.

L

Arnold is unwell, and the general is absent, let us sit down without ceremony."

Yet the wound was none the less deep and sore that it was hidden; and in judging Washington's subsequent conduct this must be remembered, that the shock of Arnold's treachery was one from which the high-minded and honourable commander would especially suffer. He has been accused of want of mercy to André; but it was hardly to be wondered at, that a man deceived by the friend in whom he had trusted should have become hard and stern upon all matters connected with that deception.

When Arnold was safe on the Vulture he wrote to Washington, still trusting in the heart so immeasurably greater than his own, and begged him to defend his innocent wife. At the same time he endeavoured to excuse himself for what he had done, by saying that he did not approve of the alliance with France, and that he did not think his country had sufficiently appreciated his services.

Washington did all that was in his power for Mrs. Arnold, who was almost beside herself with the shame and sorrow which had fallen upon her. She joined her husband at New York, and afterwards went to England.

It was on André that the anger of the American army fell; and it is his fate for which Washington has been so often blamed.

Major André was a young officer of French birth, though serving in the British army. He was a universal favourite ; handsome, cultivated, refined, and of an unfailing courage. He had undertaken his dangerous enterprise for the sake of military glory only; "the thanks of his general and the approbation of his king were all the reward that he sought."

Colonel Jameson sent him to Washington, under the

charge of Major Tallmadge, who was charmed with the frankness and courtesy of his prisoner. As they rode together, André questioned him as to what would probably be his fate. Tallmadge did not at first like to tell him, but at last answered him by reminding him of the story of a Captain Hale, who had been his (Tallmadge's) schoolfellow. Hale had gone in disguise to Brooklyn, after the retreat from Long Island, to ascertain the strength and probable movements of the British army, and was taken prisoner. "Do you remember the sequel of this story?" said Tallmadge. "Yes," said André; "he was hanged as a spy. But surely you do not consider his case and mine alike?"

"Yes, precisely similar," was the answer; "and similar will be your fate."

André had hardly thought this possible. He pleaded Arnold's encouragement to him; but the facts that weighed against him were that he had been captured in disguise, bearing treasonable papers concealed on his person, and travelling under a false name.

Sir Henry Clinton wrote urgently to Washington for his release, but Washington remained inexorable. He summoned a board of officers to decide. André's fate, amongst whom were Generals Greene, Stirling, and Lawrence, La Fayette, and Baron Steuben.

André

They condemned him to suffer death as a spy. met the result with manly firmness. "I foresee my fate," said he; "and though I pretend not to play the hero, or to be indifferent about life, yet I am reconciled to whatever may happen, conscious that misfortune, not guilt, has brought it upon me."

He wrote to Sir Henry Clinton, begging him not to

blame himself for what had happened to him, and asking him to take care of the interests of his mother and three sisters.

To the very last Sir Henry exerted himself to obtain his release, but in vain. It is said, indeed, that Washington offered to spare him if Arnold were given up, but this Sir Henry indignantly refused.

On the 1st of October André was hanged. He had earnestly pleaded to be shot as a soldier; but hanging was the death awarded to spies, and it was in that capacity he was put to death, therefore his request was denied. His last words to Colonel Scammel, in whose charge he had been, were, "I pray you to bear me witness that I meet my fate like a brave man." He died with a courage which was worthy of a better cause than that in which he had been employed. At first he was buried in America, but his remains were afterwards taken up and transferred to Westminster Abbey, where a monument was raised to him.

Such were the facts of André's sad story. It is hard to judge Washington upon them; the greatness of his character may well make us shrink from criticism of a special act. In calmly reviewing the circumstances, it would be difficult to say wherein he did wrong; but if he was unmerciful, if he repressed the nobler feelings of his nature, in carrying out this sentence of death, let us remember, in judging him, that he was undergoing the shock of treachery, and such a shock has the power of paralysing the most merciful, of rendering bitter the sweetest part of human nature. And if it be that this story of André's death is a blot in the annals of the War of Independence, let the stain for ever cling to Arnold, the betrayer, and not to Washington, the betrayed.