In the Days of Poor Richard
CHAPTER XXX
"WHO IS SHE THAT LOOKETH FORTH AS THE MORNING, FAIR AS THE MOON, CLEARAS THE SUN, AND TERRIBLE AS AN ARMY WITH BANNERS?"
The American army had been sold by Arnold. The noble ideal it hadcherished, the blood it had given, the bitter hardships it hadsuffered--torture in the wilderness, famine in the Highlands, longmarches of half naked men in mid-winter, massacres at Wyoming andCherry Valley--all this had been bartered away, like a shipload ofturnips, to satisfy the greed of one man. Again thirty pieces ofsilver! Was a nation to walk the bitter way to its Calvary? MajorAndre, the Adjutant-General of Sir Henry Clinton's large force in NewYork, was with the traitor when he rowed from the ship to the westshore of the Hudson and went into the bush under the observation ofSolomon with his spy-glass. Arnold was to receive a command and largepay in the British army. The consideration had been the delivery ofmaps showing the positions of Washington's men and the plans of hisforts and other defenses, especially those of Forts Putnam and Clintonand Battery Knox. Much other information was put in the hands of theBritish officer, including the prospective movements of theCommander-in-Chief. He was to be taken in the house of the man he hadbefriended. Andre had only to reach New York with his treasure andArnold to hold the confidence of his chief for a few days and, beforethe leaves had fallen, the war would end. The American army and itsmaster mind would be at the mercy of Sir Henry Clinton.
Those September days the greatest love-story this world had known wasfeeling its way in a cloud of mystery. The thrilling tale of Man andLiberty, which had filled the dreams of sage and poet, had been nearingits golden hours. Of a surety, at last, it would seem the lovers wereto be wed. What time, in the flying ages, they had greeted each otherwith hearts full of the hope of peace and happiness, some tyrant kingand his armies had come between them. Then what a carnival of lust,rapine and bloody murder! Man was broken on the wheel of power andthwarted Hope sat brooding in his little house. History had been along siege, like that of Troy, to deliver a fairer Helen from theestablished power of Kings. Now, beyond three thousand miles of sea,supported by the strength of the hills and hearts informed and sworn tobitter duty, Man, at last, had found his chance. Again Liberty, inrobes white as snow and sweet as the morning, beckoned to her lover.Another king was come with his armies to keep them apart. The armiesbeing baffled, Satan had come also and spread his hidden snares. CouldSatan prevail? Was the story nearing another failure--a tragedy dismaland complete as that of Thermopylae?
This day we shall know. This day holds the moment which is to roundout the fulness of time. It is the twenty-third of September, 1780,and the sky is clear. Now as the clock ticks its hours away, we maywatch the phrases of the capable Author of the great story as they comefrom His pen. His most useful characters are remote and unavailable.It would seem that the villain was likely to have his way. The Authormust defeat him, if possible, with some stroke of ingenuity. For thisHe was not unprepared.
Before the day begins it will be well to review, briefly, the hoursthat preceded it.
Andre would have reached New York that night if _The Vulture_ had notchanged her position on account of a shot from the battery below StonyPoint. For that, credit must be given to the good scout SolomonBinkus. The ship was not in sight when the two men came out in theirboat from the west shore of the river while the night was falling.Arnold had heard the shot and now that the ship had left her anchoragea fear must have come to him that his treachery was suspected.
"I may want to get away in that boat myself," he suggested to Andre.
"She will not return until she gets orders from you or me," theBritisher assured him.
"I wonder what has become of her," said Arnold.
"She has probably dropped down the river for some reason," Andreanswered. "What am I to do?"
"I'll take you to the house of a man I know who lives near the riverand send you to New York by horse with passports in the morning. Youcan reach the British lines to-morrow."
"I would like that," Andre exclaimed. "It would afford me a welcomesurvey of the terrain."
"Smith will give you a suit of clothes that will fit you well enough,"said the traitor. "You and he are about of a size. It will be betterfor you to be in citizen's dress."
So it happened that in the darkness of the September evening Smith andAndre, the latter riding the blazed-face mare, set out for King'sFerry, where they were taken across the river. They rode a few milessouth of the landing to the shore of Crom Pond and spent the night witha friend of Smith. In the morning the latter went on with Andre untilthey had passed Pine's Bridge on the Croton River. Then he turned back.
Now Andre fared along down the road alone on the back of the mareNancy. He came to an outpost of the Highland army and presented hispass. It was examined and endorsed and he went on his way. He mettransport wagons, a squad of cavalry and, later, a regiment of militiacoming up from western Connecticut, but no one stopped him. In thefaded hat and coat and trousers of Reuben Smith, this man, who calledhimself John Anderson, was not much unlike the farmer folk who wereriding hither and thither in the neutral territory, on their petiterrands. His face was different. It was the well kept face of anEnglish aristocrat with handsome dark eyes and hair beginning to turngray. Still, shadowed by the brim of the old hat, his face was notlikely to attract much attention from the casual observer. Thehandsome mare he rode was a help in this matter. She took and held theeyes of those who passed him. He went on unchallenged. A little pastthe hour of the high sun he stopped to drink at a wayside spring and togive his horse some oats out of one of the saddle-bags. It was thenthat a patriot soldier came along riding northward. He was one ofSolomon's scouts. The latter stopped to let his horse drink. As hiskeen eyes surveyed the south-bound traveler, John Anderson felt hisdanger. At that moment the scout was within reach of immortal fame hadhe only known it. He was not so well informed as Solomon. He asked afew questions and called for the pass of the stranger. That wasunquestionable. The scout resumed his journey.
Andre resolved not to stop again. He put the bit in the mare's mouth,mounted her and rode on with his treasure. The most difficult part ofhis journey was behind him. Within twelve hours he should be atClinton's headquarters.
Suddenly he came to a fork in the road and held up his horse, uncertainwhich way to go. Now the great moment was come. Shall he turn to theright or the left? On his decision rests the fate of the New World andone of the most vital issues in all history, it would seem. Theleft-hand road would have taken him safely to New York, it is fair toassume. He hesitates. The day is waning. It is a lonely piece ofroad. There is no one to tell him. The mare shows a preference forthe turn to the right. Why? Because it leads to Tarrytown, her formerhome, and a good master. Andre lets her have her way. She hurries on,for she knows where there is food and drink and gentle hands. So a legof the mighty hazard has been safely won by the mare Nancy. Theofficer rode on, and what now was in his way? A wonder and a mysterygreater even than that of Nancy and the fork in the road. A little outof Tarrytown on the highway the horseman traveled, a group of three menwere hidden in the bush--ragged, profane, abominable cattle thieveswaiting for cows to come down out of the wild land to be milked. Theywere "skinners" in the patriot militia, some have said; some that theywere farmers' sons not in the army. However that may have been, theywere undoubtedly rough, hard-fisted fellows full of the lawless spiritbred by five years of desperate warfare. They were looking for Toriesas well as for cattle. Tories were their richest prey, for the latterwould give high rewards to be excused from the oath of allegiance.
They came out upon Andre and challenged him. The latter knew that hehad passed the American outposts and thought that he was near theBritish lines. He was not familiar with the geography of the uppereast shore. He knew that the so-called neutral territory was overrunby two parties--the British being called the "Lower" and the Yankeesthe "Upper."
"What party do you belong
to?" Andre demanded.
"The Lower," said one of the Yankees.
It was, no doubt, a deliberate lie calculated to inspire frankness in apossible Tory. That was the moment for Andre to have produced hispassports, which would have opened the road for him. Instead hecommitted a fatal error, the like of which it would be hard to find inall the records of human action.
"I am a British officer," he declared. "Please take me to your post."
They were keen-minded men who quickly surrounded him. A Britishofficer! Why was he in the dress of a Yankee farmer? The pass couldnot save him now from these rough, strong handed fellows. The die wascast. They demanded the right of search. He saw his error and changedhis plea.
"I am only a citizen of New York returning from family business in thecountry," he said.
He drew his gold watch from his pocket--that unfailing sign of thegentleman of fortune--and looked at its dial.
"You can see I am no common fellow," he added. "Let me go on about mybusiness."
They firmly insisted on their right to search him. He began to befrightened. He offered them his watch and a purse full of gold and anyamount of British goods to be allowed to go on his way.
Now here is the wonder and the mystery in this remarkable proceeding.These men were seeking plunder and here was a handsome prospect. Whydid they not make the most of it and be content? The "skinners" wereplunderers, but first of all and above all they were patriots. Thespirit brooding over the Highlands of the Hudson and the hills of NewEngland had entered their hearts. The man who called himself JohnAnderson was compelled to dismount and empty his pockets and take offhis boots, in one of which was the damning evidence of Arnold'sperfidy. A fortune was then within the reach of these threehard-working men of the hills, but straightway they took their prisonerand the papers, found in his boot, to the outpost commanded by ColonelJameson.
This negotiation for the sale of the United States had met withunexpected difficulties. The "skinners" had been as hard to buy as thelearned diplomat.