\ dX - 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 ARNOLD; 
 
 OR 
 
 THE BRITISH SPY! 
 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The disk of the setting sun just touched 
 the outline of the forests crowning the heights 
 of Hoboken, on a bright afternoon in Septem¬ 
 ber, 1780, when a single horseman made his 
 appearance on the river-road leading from 
 Tarry Town to New York, towards which 
 . place, then in the possession of the British 
 troops under Sir Henry Clinton, he wasslow- 
 - ly trotting his horse. His journey was nearly 
 ended with the day, for the needle-like spire 
 of Trinity Church had been for the last half 
 hour, a prominent object in his eye, and the 
 expanded bay, girt with its majestic islands, 
 and covered with the fleets of England, as¬ 
 sured him that he was approaching the head 
 quarters of the British armies. 
 
 He rode slowly along, with his arms folded 
 across his breast, and the reins dropped care¬ 
 lessly over the neck of his large brown horse, 
 who stumbled and floundered over the rough 
 road, as if he had been ridden fast and far. 
 The horseman was a heavily framed man, 
 with a dark -countenance, rendered still dark¬ 
 er by thick brows and whiskers. His face 
 wore an expression of dogged resolution and 
 reckless daring. His costume was partly 
 that of a yeoman, partly military—a fustian 
 frock, buttoned to the throat, and reaching 
 to the stirrup, and a broad flapping hat that 
 he wore—belonging to the class of yeoman¬ 
 
 ry, and a leathern belt stuck wuth a brace of 
 pistols, and sustaining a serviceable broad 
 sword, with stout buff, buck-skin breeches, 
 somewhat darkened by long service—apper¬ 
 taining to the last profession. He appeared 
 lost in thought, and indifferent to surrounding 
 objects; but the alert and wary movements 
 of his eyes, and, what a closer scrutiny dis¬ 
 covered, one hand of his folded arms resting 
 on the butt of a pistol, and the other grasping 
 the hilt of his broadsword, showed that he 
 was on watch for sudden danger, and prepa¬ 
 red to meet it. 
 
 He had just gained the brow of a gentle 
 declivity, over which the road wound, from 
 whence there was a view of the town, and 
 from which the broad banner of England, 
 floating above the quarters of General Clin¬ 
 ton, was in full sight, when the sun dipped 
 beneath the horizon ; at the same instant the 
 report of the sunset gun fired from the Batte¬ 
 ry, reached his ears—the flags on fort and 
 shipping descended from their staffs, and over 
 the fortified town, night and watchfulness 
 took the place of day and security. The 
 horseman now gathered the reins in his huge 
 brown fist, settled himself into his saddle, and 
 muttering in a sort of subdued growl: 
 
 ‘ Come, Bruin, we have loitered full long— 
 stir! stir! a measure of corn and a cup of 
 sack await us at the inn ; so, forward!’ 
 
 He applied, as he spoke, both spur and whip 
 the sides of his beast, who, forthwith, throw- 
 
^ gentleman in the uniform of a British Admi¬ 
 ral, who was seated opposite to him. 
 
 4 1 have my suspicions, Rodney; but until 
 the arrival of the letters to destroy or confirm 
 them, I will not injure the fair fame even of a 
 foe, by whispering them.’ 
 
 At this instant, a slave, in a livery of silver 
 and green, entered the room with coffee, 
 when, through the half-open door, a noise 
 came from the street, of voices in uproarious 
 altercation. 
 
 4 What’s the disturbance without, there, 
 Nero?’ demanded Sir Henry Clinton, half 
 rising from the table. 
 
 4 Ony de press gang, mass ! Dey cotch big 
 rebel at black Sam’s—he no want to go 
 ’board ship, mas’ Rodney—so um yell litty 
 bit—dat’s all, mass Kuyhoos’um.’ 
 
 4 1 was afraid, General Kuyphausen,’ said 
 Clinton, resuming his seat, and addressing a 
 stout corpulent officer, with stiff, white hair, 
 highly powdered, wearing the uniform of a 
 foreigner of high military rank—‘ I was afraid 
 your thick-skulled Germans and my English 
 guards were at loggerheads again. Hark! 
 what is that ?’ 
 
 4 To the main-yard with him! Drag him to 
 the Sugar-House! Give him a berth in the 
 Old Jersey!’ mingled with the clashing of 
 weapons, came loudly from the street. 
 
 4 It is time for me to interfere,’ said Clin¬ 
 ton, rising and advancing through the hall, 
 followed by the others. ‘ They have a hard¬ 
 er case than common to deal with; and I 
 fear, notwithstanding my strict orders, blood 
 will be shed in their anxiety to secure him.’ 
 
 When they reached the door, they saw, by 
 the light of the lamps, a gigantic fellow, with 
 his back planted against the iron railing en¬ 
 closing the equestrian statue of the King, de¬ 
 fending himself with a huge broadsword, 
 from the assault of half a dozen men in blue 
 coats and cockades, who were thrusting at 
 him with swords, but unable, from the cir¬ 
 cling sweep of his powerful weapon, with 
 which he kept clear a wide space around him, 
 to get near enough to use them with effect. 
 
 4 Hold, men!’ cried General Clinton, as the 
 leader of the assailants drew a pistol, and 
 was levelling it at the man’s breast, swear¬ 
 ing he would put an end to the contest. ‘ Put 
 
 up jour pistol, captain of the gang—and you 
 fellow, give your weapon to the captain of 
 the guard.’ 
 
 4 If Iie will have it let him take it,’said the 
 man, menacingly. ‘ I am protected by a 
 fair passport, and was quietiy on my way from 
 the inn where I put up, to these quarters, 
 when these skulking chaps followed, and set 
 
 upon me here; and by-if they havn’t 
 
 had a taste of my quality by this time, per¬ 
 haps they’d like to trouble me again.’ 
 
 4 Advance, corporal of the guard, and se¬ 
 cure him,’ said General Clinton sternly. 
 
 4 Charge bayonets ! Forward-march!’ cried 
 the subaltern, who, on the first alarm, had 
 turned out his command. The press gang 
 opened to either side, and left our quondam. 
 horseman exposed to the bristling row of bay¬ 
 onets that advaneed upon, and enclosed him. 
 
 4 Surrender!’ cried the sergeant of the 
 guard. 
 
 4 I am an American citizen—the bearer of 
 a message to General Clinton, and am pro¬ 
 tected by his passport. Lay a finger on me 
 at your peril.’ As he spoke, he drew a pistol 
 from his belt, and cocked and levelled it at 
 the head of the corporal. 
 
 4 Ha, says he ?’ exclaimed Sir Henry Clin¬ 
 ton, hearing his words, and turning to Sir 
 George Rodney; ‘ our man, by haliden. 
 Stand back, corporal. Fellow, I am Gener¬ 
 al Clinton. If you are the bearer of papers 
 to me, come forward and deliver them. First 
 resign your weapons.’ 
 
 The man advanced, gave up his pistols 
 and sword, and, taking his passport, gave it 
 to the general, who, after glancing at it said— 
 
 4 It is as I thought. Follow me.’ 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Accompanied by the other gentlemen, and 
 followed by the messenger, Sir Henry Clinton 
 led the way to the apartment he had left, 
 when, closing the door, and satisfying himself 
 that he was secure from interruption, he turn¬ 
 ed to the man, and demanded the letters of 
 which he was the bearer. Unbuckling his 
 belt, he touched a concealed spring in the 
 
end of his/empty scabbard, when the steel 
 dropped to the ground. Taking it up, he 
 drew from it three rolls of thin Indian paper 
 addressed to Sir Henry Clinton, and gave 
 them to him. 
 
 After rapidly glancing over the contents, 
 the British general energetically struck the ta¬ 
 ble. ‘ Gentlemen, it turns out as I anticipa¬ 
 ted. My secret correspondence -. 
 
 You may leave the room, ‘ trusty Jack Smith- 
 son,’ as I see it is on the back of letters. Ho ! 
 without there. Markham, take Mr. Smithson 
 under your care ’till I want him again, and 
 see that he neither leaves the house, nor has 
 communication with any one.’ 
 
 The , captain of the guard received his 
 charge, and retired. 
 
 ‘ It is as I thought, continued Sir Henry 
 Clinton—‘ General Arnold is my correspond¬ 
 ed!.’ 
 
 ‘ Arnold !’ exclaimed the others, simulta 
 neously. 
 
 ‘ Arnold, and none other—-and on this sup¬ 
 position have I so long kept up the corres¬ 
 pondence. We will now examine these let¬ 
 ters. Here is one endorsed—‘ Important and 
 strictly private.’ Breaking the seal, he rap 
 idly ran his eyes over it; his features, as he 
 read, lighting up with animation. Suddenly 
 rising, he said with energy, ‘ This affair has 
 got to assume a magnitude and importance I 
 had not anticipated. This morning- General 
 Arnold took the command at West Point.' 
 
 ‘ At West Point,’ repeated Rodney, with 
 surprize. 
 
 ‘ Then is it ours,’ said General Kuyphau- 
 sen, shivering his glass on the board, in the 
 animation of the moment. 
 
 ‘Listen to his proposal. He makes me a 
 direct offer to surrender himself, West Point, 
 and its dependencies, with all the military 
 stores and provisions—cannon, vessels, and 
 flotillas, in such a manner as to contribute ev¬ 
 ery advantage to His Majesty’s arms, and the 
 safety of our men. Now, gentlemen, are we 
 in the way to pluck the fruit so long ripen¬ 
 ing.’ 
 
 ‘ There is, indeed, an opening for a suc¬ 
 cessful operation, that claims our most assid- 
 siduous care,’ said Sir George Rodney. 
 
 ‘ West Point appears to me an object of such j 
 
 vast importance, that no hazard or ZS~^ise 
 ought to be weighed against it. It will give 
 us control of the Hudson from the sea to its 
 source, facilitate our intercourse with the 
 northern army, and be a barrier to the inter¬ 
 course between New-England and the States 
 of Jersey, New-York and Pennsylvania.’ 
 
 ‘ And alsho, vat is of equal importanshe,’ 
 said General Kuyphausen; ‘ it vill terange 
 de plan of te kombined armies ant vleet of te 
 Fransh ant te Americans, in teir contemplate 
 attack on dis city of Neuve York.’ 
 
 ‘ West Point must be ours, gentlemen,’ said 
 General Clinton decidedly. ‘ From its pecu¬ 
 liar position and strength, it is the Gibraltar 
 of this rebel country, and must be taken, be¬ 
 fore we can get a permanent foothold in Amer¬ 
 ica. Its possession offers to us all the ad¬ 
 vantages you have named. But on the ground 
 alone of defeating the projected attack on 
 New York, it becomes us to pursue any plan 
 that will place it in our hands. Not only 
 will its capture serve to defeat the project of 
 a combined attack, but, by cutting off their 
 supplies, produce disaffection, and, ultimate 
 desertion in the ranks of the rebels, and to 
 excite discontent among the French allies. 
 It will be of incalculable advantage to the 
 service, and crown the campaign with tri¬ 
 umphant success. Let us now see what fur¬ 
 ther this traitor-general has to say. He is no 
 stickler, but comes out with a clean breast. 
 Ho! here is the whole gist of the matter.— 
 Hea% gentlemen!’ reading from the paper in 
 his hand. ‘ I wish you to send some one in 
 your confidence, (I should prefer Major An¬ 
 dre, and, indeed, do not desire to negotiate 
 with any one else, as I deem him the most 
 befitting person,) fullly authorised by your 
 house to confer with me, and the risks and 
 profits of the copartnership may be clearly un¬ 
 derstood. A speculation might, at this time, 
 be made to some advantage, with ready mo¬ 
 ney.’ ‘ Bah ! this, then, is the way the wind 
 blows.’ 
 
 ‘ Sent to him, General, von pag of monies 
 to py Vest Poin.’ 
 
 So Arnold has a mercenary, as well as a 
 revengeful motive in this treason,’ said Rod¬ 
 ney with some surprise. 
 
 ‘ I am told his extravagant style of living 
 
embarrassments, that he has resorted to shifts, 
 as trustee of public funds, that have laid him 
 open to suspicion, and lost him the confidence 
 of Congress ; the first intimation of the dis¬ 
 pleasure of which, was conveyed to him by 
 the promotion of five major-generals over his 
 head. A brave officer he certainly is; but 
 nojexcess of physical courage can atone for 
 the want of moral principle, of which he 
 seems entirely destitute. He is proud, vain, 
 hasty of speech, with many private vices, 
 which he has vainly hoped to gloss over by 
 the brilliancy of military career. In this he 
 has been unsuccessful, and his elevated rank, 
 only, makes the more conspicuous the man’s 
 private actions. Smarting under mortifica¬ 
 tion, disgust, and the stings of wounded self- 
 love, he has determined to avenge his real or 
 fancied wrongs on his country, and has re¬ 
 solved to offer her up as a sacrifice to his in¬ 
 jured pride. He accordingly wrote to me 
 under the signature of‘ Gustavus,’ assuming, 
 as you have just seen in the paragraph I read 
 to you, the character of a merchant. This 
 was eighteen months ago. The correspon¬ 
 dence had continued for a twelve month, be¬ 
 fore I could arrive at any probability as to 
 who he might be. At length, being confi¬ 
 dent, from the accuracy and importance of 
 his information, that he must be of high rank, 
 and a member of Washington’s councils of 
 war, I began to make myself acquainted with 
 the characters of the American generals, and 
 investigate their histories, to discover wliat 
 sufficient causes of dissatisfaction existed, 
 to induce any one of them to turn traitor to 
 his country. My suspicions, from obvious 
 reasons, rested on General Arnold, and we 
 now see that they are confirmed. It is gold 
 the fgentleman wants, and it must not be 
 withheld, for it is plain he will not stir a step 
 without being paid for it. I must send An¬ 
 dre to close the ‘bargain’ with him, forth¬ 
 with.’ 
 
 ‘But,’ said Admiral Rodney, ‘how shall 
 we be able to take advantage of this man’s 
 treason? We cannot plan an expedition to 
 take possession of West Point in secret, and 
 Washington will be prompt to defeat any 
 scheme for which we make open preparations.’ 
 
 have long coutemplated, with the aid of your 
 fleet, an expedition to the Chesapeake. This 
 will be a good mask to cover our real de¬ 
 signs. Under this feint, we must prepare 
 for a sudden movement up the Hudson.’ 
 
 ‘ Admirable. I second it with all my 
 heart,’ exclaimed Rodney. 
 
 ‘Tish ver’ exshellant. Ve vill take te 
 repel vort now, Sir Shorge ant Sir Hen- 
 ree.’ 
 
 A little more conversation followed, in 
 which the steps to be taken for bringing the 
 important affair to a crisis, were settled; the 
 messenger was then called in and dismissed 
 with letters to Arnold, when the two gentle¬ 
 men took their departure, to make prepara¬ 
 tions for the contemplated movement against 
 West Point, and promptly second the treach¬ 
 ery of its commander. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 About three o’clock the following after¬ 
 noon, a sloop of war got under weigh in the 
 harbor of New York, and spreading sail after 
 sail, stood boldly up the Hudson. As night 
 approached she entered the Highlands, and 
 came to an anchor off Verplank’s Point, and 
 within range of an American battery thrown 
 up on the head land. 
 
 Her progress up the river had been watch¬ 
 ed by spectators on shore with apprehension 
 not unmingled with curiosity. But as she 
 stood standing on her course without mani¬ 
 festing any hostile purpose, apparently for 
 the purpose of opening a treaty with Wash¬ 
 ington, and was suffered to pass the several 
 batteries that lined the shore without be¬ 
 ing fired into. 
 
 After she had swung round to her anchor, 
 and her sails were furled and a double watch 
 set, two gentlemen came on deck, from 
 which, with nign:-glasses they began care¬ 
 fully to reconnoitre the land. One of them 
 was in the uniform ef an English Naval 
 Captain, and was the commandei of the ves¬ 
 sel. The other was a handsome young man, 
 with noble features, a manly and elegant 
 
breeding. He was dressed as a British Army 
 officer, and his bearing was marked by the 
 frankness of. the soldier, tempered with the 
 courtesy of an accomplished gentleman.— 
 While his companion constantly kept the 
 glass to his eye, in the direction of the west¬ 
 ern shore, he paced the deck with an impa¬ 
 tient step. At length he paused for an in¬ 
 stant to glance landward, and exclaimed in 
 a dispassionate tone: 
 
 ‘No boat yet, Captain ? The night is ad¬ 
 vancing.’ 
 
 ‘ Nothing in sight but a brace of rebel 
 barges, they are lying off and on, to prevent 
 us communicating with the shore. They 
 suspect us strongly of being here on mis- 
 “ chief, and the good dames inland, doubtless 
 tremble for their poultry and dairies.’ 
 
 ‘A boat!’ cried the young officer, who, 
 while the Captain was speaking, had placed 
 the glass to his eye. ‘It is putting towards 
 the ship. Ah! By Heaven! all is lost! The 
 guard-boat has challenged and detained it! 
 No, they are permitted to pass, and are rapid¬ 
 ly approaching It must be him we seek ! I 
 will receive him in your state-room, Suther¬ 
 land. I have some papers to prepare before¬ 
 hand, and I will leave to you the honor of ush¬ 
 ering the gentleman below.’ 
 
 The officer had left the deck but a few 
 minutes, when the watch on the forecastle 
 suddenly sung out in a rough stejm voice, 
 ‘ Boat ahoy!’ 
 
 ‘ Hulloa!’ was the distant reply, in a voice 
 equally hoarse. 
 
 ‘ What boat is that ?’ 
 
 ‘ Ferry-boat!’ 
 
 ‘ Is this the way you come athwart His 
 Majesty’s hawser?’ growled the officer of the 
 watch. 
 
 ‘ Order that boat along side!’ said the cap¬ 
 tain advancing to the gangway. 
 
 ‘ Ay, ay, sir.’ 
 
 The boat was pulled alertly along side, 
 and a man stepped from her and ascended the 
 side. 
 
 ‘Which is Mr. John Anderson,’ he asked 
 in a bold, swaggeimg manner. 
 
 ‘ If you have business with any one on board 
 the Vulture, you bear some token from him 
 
 rogating. 
 
 ‘West Point,’ said the man in a subdued 
 tone. 
 
 ‘ ’Tis right. Follow me below.’ 
 
 ‘Where is Gen- the principal?’ ex¬ 
 
 claimed the young officer, on seeing a rough, 
 gigantic fellow, enter the cabin behind his 
 friend. 
 
 ‘ On shore,’ said Smithson, gruffly, ‘ and 
 bade me give you this letter, if you be Mr. 
 John Anderson.’ 
 
 ‘ Give it me !’ he said taking it from his 
 hesitating hold and tearing it open. ‘ This 
 will be delivered to you,’ he read, ‘ by Smith- 
 son, who will take you to a retired place on 
 shore, where with perfect safety to yourself, 
 we can confer together on the matters touch¬ 
 ing your mission to the Highlands. Gusta- 
 vus.’ 
 
 ‘ Leave the ship! By-no, Andre,’ said 
 
 the Captain; I allow no soul on board the 
 Vulture to put foot on rebel soil. If this 
 General wants to see you, he must come here.’ 
 
 ‘ That he was to meet me on board, I cer¬ 
 tainly understood from his letter to Sir Hen¬ 
 ry,’ said Andre; ‘but if he fears to trust his 
 person with us, I see no alternative but to do 
 as he desires.’ 
 
 ‘ Not if Henry Sutherland can help it shall 
 you have any thing to do with his proposition. 
 If you are caught on shore, they’ll hang you 
 as sure as the devil. No, no. ’Twill never 
 do, my dear boy. Never! If he wants to see 
 you let him come and see you here.’ 
 
 ‘My dear Sutherland, the advantages in 
 this matter are not his, but ours, and we must 
 not calculate risks m securing them, so vast 
 and important as they are to Hi§ Majesty’s 
 arms. My own life is nothing weighed 
 against the value of West Point. But there 
 is no need of sacrificing life. There is no 
 danger under cover of night, on going on 
 shore and meeting this man ; an hour’s time 
 will suffice for the interview, and I shall be 
 on board again by two hours before day¬ 
 break.’ 
 
 ‘ Major Andre, I’ll be-if you do.’ 
 
 ‘ Not a word, Sutherland,’ said the officer 
 playfully, ‘ this project must not be given up 
 at a time when it is about to be crowned with 
 
- or our' long pending’ negotiation may be 
 gathered—when the hopes of General Clin¬ 
 ton may be realized—when the reward for 
 ■which we have so long toiled, may be reap¬ 
 ed. Fanciful apprehensions ought to have 
 no weight with me now; nothing, life itself 
 would not make me waver. Every thing de¬ 
 pends on me this night. I will go on shore 
 and meet Arnold. I see no great risk in it, 
 and what there is, I cheerfully encounter for 
 the sake of the object I have in view'.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, do as you will, Andre. I have no 
 power to control your movements, my orders 
 being to afford you every means of achiev¬ 
 ing successfully your object. If you must 
 go,—go, and God bless you ! but I fear evil 
 will come of it.’ 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Shortly afterward enveloped in a blue 
 great coat, which entirely hid his uniform, 
 Andre went over the side into the boat ac¬ 
 companied by Smithson, and in a few mo¬ 
 ments they were lost to the eyes of those on 
 deck in the dark shadows of the shore. In 
 the boat was a negro, who, with Smithson, 
 pulled actively toward the land, and in a 
 quarter of an hour after leaving the ship, the 
 little skiff shot into a narrow inlet, shrouded 
 by the beetling cliffs, in impenetrable gloom. 
 Andre instinctively laid his hand on his pis¬ 
 tols and assumed an attitude of caution and 
 defence. The oars were laid aside as they 
 entered the creek, and the men drew' the boat 
 some distance inland under the branches of 
 the over-hanging trees. At length they 
 ceased their exertions. 
 
 4 We must be near the spot now, Sambo. 
 Open the wdiites of your eyes and look sharp 
 about you.’ 
 
 ‘ ’Tis so goramity dark, massa Jack, nig¬ 
 ger no see one debbil bit. Dis look wery 
 like de place, nebberdeless. Chow'! hear 
 dat bull frog close here, massa Jack P 1 hearn 
 him here w'hen we left? Ki! ’tis jis de place 
 forsartain sure.’ 
 
 distance off. 
 
 4 Boat it is!’ answered Smithson. 
 
 4 Have you been successful ?’ 
 
 4 He is here.’ 
 
 An exclamation of satisfaction was uttered ; 
 a heavy footstep hastily approached, and the 
 indistinct figure of a man appeared on the 
 bank. The next instant a dark lantern was 
 sprung by him, and a bright light shone into 
 the boat, exposing the occupant, while the 
 individual behind it remained invisible. 
 
 4 You are welcome, Sir,’ said the stranger, 
 after a moment’s survey of the party. 4 Smith- 
 son you will remain in charge of the boat, 
 and take it round to where I have directed 
 you to meet us.’ 
 
 The British officer now landed. The greet¬ 
 ing between the two persons was marked, 
 by haughtiness on one part, and fawning 
 courtesy on the other. The words of the 
 Englishman, in exchanging salutations, were 
 few and brief. The other, who was a stout 
 gentlemanly looking man, with a decided 
 military air, without noticing his manner, 
 passed his arm through his, and led him by 
 the light of the lantern a few yards from the 
 boat to the forest path, in which stood twm 
 saddled horses tied to a tree. 
 
 4 You will mount one of these horses, if 
 you please, Sir,’ said the stranger, who, it is 
 perhaps unnecessary to say, was General Ar¬ 
 nold. 
 
 4 How mean you, General Arnold?’ de¬ 
 manded Andre, in surprise: ‘is not our in¬ 
 terview to take place here ?’ 
 
 4 So far as conversation goes it might, Sir. 
 But I have a portion of correspondence, sev¬ 
 eral important documents, plans of corres¬ 
 pondence, and other papers necessary to our 
 purpose, to exhibit to you. For these we 
 must have lights and the privacy of a room.’ 
 
 4 Well.’ 
 
 4 A short distance from this place is a re¬ 
 tired house, tenanted by Smithson. He is 
 away, and there w r e shall be private. I have 
 brought these horses that we may ride thither.’ 
 
 After hesitating an instant, the young En¬ 
 glishman, as if determined to risk everything 
 to effect the object of his mission, said ab- 
 ruptly, 4 Mount, Sir, I attend you.’ 
 
For a few moments they threaded the for¬ 
 est-path, and then emerged into a high road, 
 where their way, from the absence of trees, 
 became lighter. They rode forward in si¬ 
 lence, for neither (the one, probably from 
 ‘'contempt, the other from shame at the de¬ 
 grading- part he was playing) felt disposed to 
 converse, except on the topic that had brought 
 two such opposite spirits in contact, and this 
 had been mutually deferred until their arri¬ 
 val at the place of their destination. Sud¬ 
 denly the dark meditations of Arnold, and the 
 pleasing recollections of England, with which 
 the light-hearted Andre was beguiling the 
 way, were interrupted by the stern challenge 
 of a sentinel, a few yards in advance. An¬ 
 dre looked up and saw that they were just 
 entering a small village. 
 
 ‘ Friends!’ replied Arnold. 
 
 ‘Advance and give the countersign.’ 
 
 ‘ Congress .’ 
 
 ‘Pass, friends.’ 
 
 All this passed like a dream to Andre’s 
 senses. In an instant however, he realized 
 the full extent of his danger, reined in his 
 horse and half turned to fly. Arnold’s hand 
 was instantly laid on his bridal. ‘ This is 
 no time to waver. Ride on with me. There 
 is no danger to a cool-head and resolute spir¬ 
 it.’ 
 
 The words were spoken in a low or hur¬ 
 ried tone close to Andre’s ear. A moment’s 
 reflection convinced him that it was vain to 
 think of retreating, and that his only alter¬ 
 native now, was to meet the emergencies of 
 his situation with coolness and presence of 
 mind. He therefore rode on, simply saying, 
 in a tone of calm and dignified reproof, ‘ You 
 did not tell me, Sir, that you were about to 
 conduct me within the American lines, else 
 I should have insisted on coming to terms 
 with you where we landed, and not so im¬ 
 prudently risked my liberty, and perhaps my 
 life.’ 
 
 ‘ I presume you placed that confidence in 
 my honor, Major Andre, which have render¬ 
 ed such an intimation gratuitous. With a 
 passport signed by me, you are aware, that 
 you can return whenever you please.’ 
 
 Andre said nothing: but the curl of his 
 lip at the mention of * honor,’ would have 
 
 conveyed more to his companion, had it been 
 light enough for him to have seen the ex¬ 
 pression of his features, than a volume of ver¬ 
 bal replies. 
 
 In a few moments afterward they arrived 
 at a low farm house, with a paling- running- 
 along the front. As they dismounted they 
 were startled by a heavy cannonading from 
 the river, but some distance below. 
 
 ‘We are detected,’ exclaimed Arnold, 
 ‘that firing is at the Vulture.’ 
 
 The two gentlemen hastily ascended the 
 steps ef the portico, and looked southward. 
 A league below (for that distance had Ar¬ 
 nold led Andre from his ship) they saw the 
 Vulture apparently wrapped in flames, from 
 the blaze of incessant discharges of artillery, 
 both from the shore and her own decks. From 
 the batteries of Verplank’s Point, they beheld 
 a long line of guns belching forth fire, the 
 glare of which illuminated land and water 
 far and wide, while by the light of her own 
 guns they distinguished every spar and rope 
 of the sloop of war as distinctly as at noon¬ 
 day. 
 
 ‘Good God! all is discovered—all is lost!’ 
 cried Arnold. ‘ To horse!’ 
 
 ‘ Hold !’ said Andre, laying his hand on his 
 arm, ‘ you need fear nothing. The Ameri¬ 
 cans think the sloop lies too near the shore 
 for their good, and are firing to compel her 
 to change her position. See, she is already 
 making sail.’ 
 
 For a quarter of an hour longer they anx¬ 
 iously watched the movements of the vessel, 
 which, after returning the fire of the Ameri¬ 
 cans by a few broadsides, got under weigh, 
 and still visible by the blaze from the guns 
 on shore, slowly dropped down the river, and 
 came to anchor some distance below, and 
 beyond the reach of the batteries. Satisfied 
 that his conjectures as to the cause of the 
 firing were correct, he turned to Arnold, and 
 said, 
 
 ‘ It will only be a longer pull back for that 
 black bearded esquire of yours, General Ar¬ 
 nold, with a little unwelcome day light to help 
 him, too, I fear, unless we can briefly des¬ 
 patch our business.’ 
 
Without replying, General Arnold led 
 the way up stairs, by the light of his dark- 
 lantern, and ushered Andre into a small room, 
 the door of which he carefully closed and se¬ 
 cured; then cautiously examining the apart¬ 
 ment to see that there was no intruder on 
 their privacy, he placed the light on a small 
 table, and motioning to his guest to take one 
 of two chairs placed by it, he seated himself 
 in the other, and proceeded to lay on the ta¬ 
 ble several papers which he drew from a con¬ 
 cealed pocket in the breast of his surtout. 
 While thus engaged, Andre sat silently sur¬ 
 veying his features. They were cast in a 
 noble mould. But the lofty forehead was 
 contracted, and scowling with the dark and 
 uneasy thoughts of the mind within; the 
 well-formed mouth was compressed with 
 gloomy determination, and his fine eyes, in 
 which nature had secreted the power that 
 controls and commands men, were restless, 
 and shunned the calm gaze of his compan¬ 
 ion’s. 
 
 ‘ I am now ready, Major Andre,’ said Gen¬ 
 eral Arnold, after arranging his papers on the 
 table, ‘ to listen to Sir Henry Clinton’s propo¬ 
 sition.’ 
 
 Andre continued to survey him for an in¬ 
 stant longer, and then replied, with a look in 
 which scorn and pity were equally mingled. 
 ‘ These shall be laid before you when you 
 have detailed the mode by which you can 
 favor His Majesty’s arms.’ 
 
 ‘ I can read the meaning of your glance, 
 Major Andre,’ said Arnold, slightly coloring, 
 ‘ and appreciate your estimation of me in re¬ 
 lation to the part I am about to act. But I 
 have weighed all this well. I am prepared 
 to meet the scorn and contempt of gentlemen, 
 so that the personal feelings that I have in 
 this matter are gratified. Major Andre, I am 
 an injured man. I have repeatedly fought for, 
 and five times shed my blood in defence of 
 my country, and she has rewarded me, not 
 only with contumely and neglect, but with 
 open insult. It is useless for me to unfold to 
 you the tissue of causes by which I have been 
 goaded on to this step. It is enough, that I 
 
 loivea on it, ana tor nearly two 
 'years have been slowly but surely laying the 
 foundation for its completion. I have now 
 reached the point when deliberation or re¬ 
 pentance are alike vain. When I resolved 
 to repay my country for the wrongs she had 
 loaded me with, it only remained to decide 
 the best means of doing it, so that I could 
 bring about advantage to myself, as well as 
 injury to the cause, I was about to desert. 
 My reward from the crown, I was aware, 
 would be measured by the injury I inflicted 
 on its enemies. It occurred that I could ac¬ 
 complish my object through West Point. So 
 soon as this idea occurred to me, I directed 
 all my efforts to get appointed commander at 
 this important post. I have succeeded. It 
 is now in my hands, and shall be transferred 
 to those of General Clinton, provided that’— 
 here the arch-traitor hesitated and looked 
 down, but the next instant continued with 
 assumed indifference, ‘ provided that the 
 price I name for my services shall be agreed 
 to.’ 
 
 ‘Name it, sir.’ 
 
 ‘ One hundred thousand pounds sterling, 
 in five quarterly payments, one quarter in 
 hand, and the rank of Major General in the 
 British Army.’ 
 
 ‘Your services should be great to merit 
 this, sir.’ 
 
 ‘ Let us weigh one against the other, and 
 see which will kick the beam,’ he said, with 
 a faint attempt to laugh and~appear at his 
 ease. 
 
 Unrolling a small chart, he spread it on 
 the table with the self-satisfied air of a man 
 who expects to give surprize. ‘ Here,’ he 
 said, displaying the map, which was covered 
 with lines of fortifications, ‘ here is a plan of 
 the works at West Point. You will perceive 
 on inspecting it, that besides the principal 
 fort, there are three lines of fortifications be¬ 
 tween the river and the summit of the inner¬ 
 most range of highlands, composed of upwards 
 of forty redoubts. But this map will serve 
 only to give you a general outline of the 
 works. Here is a paper that will show the 
 number of men stationed at each, with the 
 amount of military stores and provisions. 
 Here is a third, showing the easiest paths 
 
and means of access. On examination, it 
 will sufficiently explain itself. Here is a 
 fourth, containing the artillery orders, which 
 have just been published at West Point, 
 showing how each corps shall dispose of it¬ 
 self in case of alarm. This you will find of 
 vast importance, as it will enable you to know 
 the precise condition of every part of the gar¬ 
 rison when you attack. Here is a fifth docu¬ 
 ment, in which you will find an estimate of 
 the forces at the different posts. This, mark¬ 
 ed F. No. VI., will show how many men it 
 will take to man the -works. In this, num¬ 
 bered G- VIL, you will find a return of the 
 ordnance in the different forts, redoubts and 
 batteries ; also remarks on the works, descri¬ 
 bing the construction of each, and its strong 
 and weak points. Lastly, here is a report of 
 the last council of war held at head quarters; 
 and it contains hints written with pencil in 
 the margin, representing the probable ope¬ 
 rations of the campaign. I yesterday receiv¬ 
 ed it from General Washington himself.’ 
 
 As he finished speaking, he laid the re¬ 
 maining papers of the packet on the table, 
 and looked up with an air of triumph. As 
 he anticipated, the expression of the young 
 soldier’s countenance was that of undisguised 
 astonishment and gratification. 
 
 ‘Placethose papers in my possession* and 
 carry out in your person the spirit of them to 
 the letter, and the reward you have named 
 shall be yours,’ said Andre, with animation. 
 
 Arnold coldly smiled, and said, ‘ It shall 
 be mine to see that the post at West Point 
 is weakened by such a disposition of the 
 troops as shall leave but a small force for its 
 defence. At those points most inaccessible, 
 
 I have ordered scaling ladders, (ostensibly 
 for a very different purpose,) to be construct¬ 
 ed in the forest, where, at the place marked 
 with an X on the plan, you will find them 
 piled up ready for use. What think you, 
 Major Andre—is it well planned ?’ 
 
 ‘ It is most skilfully planned, sir,’ said the 
 young man, lost in wonder at this perfection 
 of treason. 
 
 It is, sir. But it remains to be ably sec¬ 
 onded on the part of Sir Henry Clinton. The 
 only obstacle to its success will be the dif¬ 
 ficulty of openly embarking troops on the 
 
 Hudson, without its object being suspected. 
 The vigilance of Washington never sleeps!’ 
 As he spoke these last words, his voice fell, 
 and he looked hurriedly about, as if he felt 
 or feared his presence. 
 
 ‘ This difficulty is easily settled,’ said An¬ 
 dre, slightly smiling at the sudden change in 
 his manner. 4 Under the pretext of an expe¬ 
 dition to the Chesapeake, of which, doubtless 
 you have heard some rumors, troops are now 
 embarking in Rodney’s fleet. By to-morrow 
 morning there will be eight thousand on 
 ship-board, ready to ascend the river at a 
 moment’s warning.’ 
 
 Then is success certain. As soon as it 
 shall be known that your ships are approach¬ 
 ing, I shall dispatch parties from the garri¬ 
 son to the gorges in the hills, and other re¬ 
 mote passes, under the pretence of stopping 
 the advance of the enemy in those quarters. 
 There I intend they shall remain until your 
 troops have landed, and marched to the gar¬ 
 rison through other passes, where there will 
 be left no troops to oppose them.’ 
 
 4 1 cannot refrain from complimenting you, 
 sir, on the masterly manner in which you 
 have laid your plans ; it is the perfection of 5 
 —Andre hesitated, when Arnold completed 
 the sentence—‘ of treason. So be it, sir. If 
 I bring about my ends, I care not what name 
 men give it.’ 
 
 The terms of his treachery having been 
 agreed on, Arnold now carefully divided the 
 papers in two equal parcels, while Andre 
 filled out a carte blanche previously signed 
 and delivered to him by Sir Henry Clinton 
 for this purpose, in which the terms of Gen¬ 
 eral Arnold were acceded to, on the fulfil¬ 
 ment of the conditions implied therein. He 
 gave this, covering a check for twenty thou¬ 
 sand pounds sterling, to Arnold, and receiv¬ 
 ed from him in return, the papers in two par¬ 
 cels, which, at the urgent desire of Arnold, 
 who manifested the greatest anxiety for their 
 security, he placed separately between his 
 stockings and feet, drawing his boots on 
 over all. 
 
 General Arnold now pleaded the necessity 
 of returning forthwith to his quarters at the 
 I Beverly House, opposite West Point; and 
 i delaying only long enough to fill out a pass- 
 
way to his boat, he, a few moments after¬ 
 wards, took his leave of him before the house, 
 and galloped rapidly northward. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ‘ So the gen’ral’s off with a thankee,’ said 
 a voice in not the best humored tones in the 
 world. Andre turned round and beheld 
 Smithson. 
 
 ‘ Ha! boatswain,’ said he, quickly, ‘ you 
 are in good time. Lose not a moment in 
 conveying me on board the Vulture.’ 
 
 ‘ There are two parties to that bargain,’ 
 said the man, in an indifferent manner, pro¬ 
 ceeding to place his oars in beckets on the j 
 portico. 
 
 ‘ What, fellow.’ 
 
 ‘ Fellow not me,’ said the boatswain, dog¬ 
 gedly ; ‘lam at no man’s beck and bidding. 
 
 I have my reasons for serving the General, 
 but am not every man’s servant, you may de¬ 
 pend. If you want to get back to your ship, 
 you have arms, and can pull an oar, I reckon, 
 as well’s another body.’ 
 
 Annoyed and irritated at the unexpected 
 position asssumed by his guide, Andre paced 
 the ground a few seconds, reflecting upon his 
 situation, and deliberating on the course he 
 should pursue: then turning to the man, who 
 was removing his thick overcoat with great 
 deliberation, he said, in a tone of mild en¬ 
 treaty—> 
 
 ‘ Smithson, my good fellow, take this gold, 
 aud conduct me to your boat.’ 
 
 ‘ Mr. John Anderson, what Jack Smithson 
 wont do for favor, he wont do for gold. Be¬ 
 sides, I have been up all night, and I want 
 sleep. The Vulture lays full two leagues 
 below, and it would be broad day before I 
 could reach her. No, no, nothing less than 
 the General’s orders will make me put oar in 
 row-lock this night.’ 
 
 ‘ Fat^I negligence on the part of Arnold, 
 not to leave instructions to this effect,’ said 
 Andre, bitterly. Turning full upon the man, 
 he suddenly drew a pistol and levelled it at 
 
 swear 
 
 to guide me to your boat, or you are a dead 
 man.’ 
 
 ‘ Is this your game ? ha!’ said Smithson, 
 with a laugh, quickly seizing the muzzle of 
 the pistol in his gigantic grasp, and turning 
 it upward—‘ now, Mr. Anderson, if you are 
 wise, you’d best put up that play thing, for 1 
 am not a-going to be frightened at such things 
 as them. Good night.’ Thus speaking, he 
 released his hold of the pistol, and entered 
 the dwelling. 
 
 Mortified at his want of success, indignant 
 at the supposed carelessness of Arnold, and 
 not a little alarmed at the danger of being 
 discovered within the American lines, the 
 young man stood still for a moment with in¬ 
 decision. Then approaching a light Smith- 
 son had placed in a window, he unfolded Ar¬ 
 nold’s passport, which he had not yet exam¬ 
 ined, to see to what extent it could protect 
 him. To his surprize and infinite relief, he 
 saw that there were two passports, one autho¬ 
 rizing him to return to New-York by land, 
 the other by water, wiih duplicates for Smith- 
 son, who was directed to see Mr. John An¬ 
 derson safe beyond the American lines. 
 
 With a face, from which all traces of anx¬ 
 iety had disappeared, he entered the room 
 and placed the passport in Smithson’s hands. 
 The man read them twice over with the most 
 annoying deliberation, and without speaking, 
 placed his own passport in his pocket, and 
 returned the others, resumed his dread¬ 
 nought and flapped hat, walked out of the 
 house, and gazed steadily at the eastern skies 
 for a few seconds, when he spoke: 
 
 ‘ Mr. Anderson, it will be day break in 
 twenty- minutes. It is no use trying to get 
 back to the Vulture, for it’s flood tide, and 
 blowing a dead head wind. The best oars¬ 
 man on the Hudson, couldn’t pull to her be¬ 
 fore ten o’clock, and during that time, there’s 
 no knowing what might happen to us. I 
 wouldn’t like to trust myself in a boat, for 
 there are boat-rowers along shore that little 
 care for passports. We must ride to King’s 
 Ferry, just above here, and cross to Ver- 
 planck’s Point, and so go down on the west 
 side, if you want to get to New-York. 
 
 After putting a few questions to him An- 
 
dre was satisfied that the danger by land was 
 less than by river, and that there remained no 
 alternative but to take the land route. 
 
 Hitherto he had worn his uniform conceal¬ 
 ed, even from Smithson, beneath his great 
 coat; hut he saw the danger of travelling in 
 this manner, and the necessity of appearing 
 simply as a plain citizen. To effect, this 
 change, it became necessary to make a con¬ 
 fidant, in some sort, of his guide. 
 
 ‘ Smithson,’ he said, as the other was busi¬ 
 ly saddling a second horse, ‘ if you have a 
 worn coat, I should like to exchange mine 
 for it, as I fear the one I wear may subject 
 me to suspicions.’ As he spoke, he approach¬ 
 ed the light in the window, and threw open 
 his surtout. 
 
 The eyes of the man opened with surprize 
 as they fell on the dazzling uniform of a Bri¬ 
 tish officer of high rank. 
 
 ‘ By all that’s good,’ he said, advancing, 
 ‘this is a discovery. A British officer in 
 the-’ 
 
 ‘ Hush, my dear fellow,’ said Andre, affect¬ 
 ing the voice and manner of an exquisite— 
 
 ‘ a—a—you see a—Mr. Smithson—that we 
 young fellows, a—that is you know—we like 
 to dress gaily—’ 
 
 ‘ Well.’ 
 
 4 Why—a foolish vanity, a—that is all— 
 nothing more I assure you—I thought I might 
 fall in with some of the pretty rustics—Ha, 
 ha, ha! you understand me Smithson, my 
 good fellow, ha?—and so I borrowed this 
 coat of an old acquaintance. You take, ha?’ 
 
 ‘ Confound your gibberish,’ muttered Smith- 
 son, and then added in a tone of supreme con- 
 
 away from the house at a fast trot, and in the 
 direction of King’s Ferry. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 tempt: ‘Yes, I understand.’ From that mo¬ 
 ment, Mr. Smithson set down Mr. Anderson 
 as one of the genus between the ourang- 
 outang and human. Whether the young 
 man succeeded in blinding him altogether 
 was doubtful; but he made no further re¬ 
 mark, and went into the house with the gor¬ 
 geous uniform in his hands, and returned 
 with a claret colored coat, and nankeen waist¬ 
 coat, which Andre put on, covering his head 
 with a round hat, and wrapping himself again 
 in his blue over coat In a few minutes the 
 horses were ready, and mounting, they moved 
 
 About nine o’clock the morning following 
 these events, on a broad hill-side that swept 
 from a ridge half a mile from the Hudson to 
 its shores, and within sight of the village of 
 Tarrytown, a foraging party consisting of 
 three yeomen were seated on the ground be¬ 
 neath a tree, playing at cards. The tree 
 stood a little retired from a' public road, 
 which coming from the village below, wound 
 across the face of the hill and disappeared 
 over the ridge towards the interior, Each of 
 them had a powder horn and shot pouch 
 slung over his shoulder, while a musket lay 
 across the knees of one, and a rifle and long 
 ducking-gun stood against a tree where ap¬ 
 parently they had been placed by the others 
 to leave them more at liberty to pursue their 
 pastime. 
 
 Although intent on their games, every few 
 seconds they lifted their heads, and took a 
 keen survey of the road. 
 
 ‘ Trumps!’ exclaimed one slapping the card 
 down upon his brawny thigh. 
 
 ‘It’s your trick, John, by the living Jeru¬ 
 salem !’ cried he with the musket. 
 
 ‘ Luck’s agin me this mornin’, boys,’ said 
 the third, a stout built jolly faced farmer, 
 with a twinkle in his eye, and a globular nose 
 on which was scored in carmine many a deep 
 potation ; ‘ I’ll into the road and see if I can’t 
 find some luck with game of another sort.’ 
 
 ‘ If you can light on one of them tory cow¬ 
 boys, Ike, we are on the look out for, driving 
 any Yankee cattle to make beef for John 
 Bull’s carcass down in York, I’ll give up 
 every copper I’ve won on ye,’ said the first 
 speaker, a thin cadaverous looking man with 
 long legs and long hair. 
 
 ‘Then fork out, Davy, for here comes a 
 prize as good, or may I never take aim at the 
 sun with the butt end of a quart-pot.’ 
 
 The men sprung to their feet, seized their 
 guns, and joined their comrade in the wood. 
 
 ‘ Whose cut and deal is this % said the 
 
speaker pointing up the road, along which a > red him on as if he would pass him at full 
 
 single horseman was advancing at the best 
 speed he could get out of a jaded horse. 
 
 At the period of which we write, there was 
 a tract of country along the east bank of the 
 Hudson between the American and British 
 lines, called the neutral ground, thirty miles 
 wide. By a law of the State of New York, 
 any person was authorized to seize and con¬ 
 vert to his own use, all horses, cattle or beef 
 that should be driven across it southward to¬ 
 wards the British lines if it was taken within 
 ten miles of these lines. The consequence 
 was that the whole of the neutral ground was 
 closely watched by the inhabitants, who sal¬ 
 lied from their homes in small parties and 
 waylaid the highroads: so that it was difficult 
 for the cow-boys, whose occupation was steal¬ 
 ing cows from the ‘ lower camp,’ to get with 
 their booty safely across the debateable land. 
 Stragglers and all suspicious persons were 
 also stopped and made to give an account of 
 themselves, and occasionally peaceful travel¬ 
 lers were civilly invited to pay toll of a few 
 dollars to some of these guardians of the roads, 
 who were not over nice in their distinction 
 between those who drove horses, and those 
 who rode upon them. With this explanation 
 the character of the party will be readily 
 seen. 
 
 ‘ He’s a gentleman-like looking chap,’ said 
 he of the carmine nose, who had been called 
 Ike; ‘broadcloth and boots, and a heavy 
 purse, I’ll warrant me.’ 
 
 ‘ You’re always thinkin’ o’ the purses, Ike,’ 
 said he of the long limbs; ‘ I wouldn’t won¬ 
 der if natur’ hadn’t g’enye a spice o’ the foot¬ 
 pad in your liver. Come, John, suppose you 
 step out and speak to him,’ he said, address¬ 
 ing the winner at cards, a substantial respec¬ 
 table looking young farmer, ‘ if Ike does it, it 
 will be like your regular banditti, one o’your 
 touch and go. We must stand by the honor 
 o’ the country at all odds.’ 
 
 The one addressed stepped in advance of 
 his comrades towards the horseman, who was 
 looking, as he rode, earnestly towards a ves¬ 
 sel of war some miles above the river, and 
 did not see the man until he came within 
 twenty paces of him, Avhen he suddenly 
 checked his horse ; the next instant he spur- 
 
 speed, reined up before the glittering bayon¬ 
 et levelled at his chest, and then, making a 
 demi-volte across the road buried his spurs 
 deep and would have dashed past, but the 
 cool yeoman caught the animal firmly by the 
 nostrils and checked him so suddenly as to 
 throw him backward nearly upon his haun¬ 
 ches. 
 
 ‘It was well done, sir,’ said the yeoman, 
 
 ‘ no doubt you are in a hurry, but then we 
 want to become a little acquainted with you 
 before you travel farther. The times are out 
 of joint, and we know not true men from bad.’ 
 
 The stranger was enveloped in a blue great 
 coat buttoned to the neck, with nankeen 
 breeches and military boots and an ordinary 
 black coat; and had that indescribable air 
 and manner that betrays under the meanest 
 disguises, the gentleman and the soldier. 
 
 ‘ Gentlemen,’ he said, in a collected manner, 
 as the rest of the party came up, ‘ I hope you 
 belong to our party.’ 
 
 ‘ Which party ?’ asked the first. 
 
 ‘ The lower party.’ 
 
 ‘ Ay, ay, that we do, don’t we, Davy ?’ said 
 the knight of the carmine. 
 
 ‘ To be sure! what else does the gentle¬ 
 man think?’ replied he of the long hair, 
 winking at his fellow. 
 
 I am glad to learn it,’ replied Major An¬ 
 dre, whom the reader has already recognized. 
 From Smithson’s house he had crossed King’s 
 Ferry, and ridden southward along the east 
 ern side under the guidance of Smithson, and 
 only dismissed him a few miles back when he 
 entered the neutral ground, where he con¬ 
 sidered himself comparatively secure. From 
 the top of the ridge above alluded to, he des¬ 
 cried the Vulture, a few miles above where 
 she had anchored beyond the fire of the Ame¬ 
 rican batteries. It occurred to him that he 
 might get some one to take him on board 
 from the village, whereby he should be saved 
 the fatigue and danger of a long ride of ten 
 miles to the British lines. His spirits hither¬ 
 to depressed by the loneliness of the road, 
 and the extreme peril of his situation, became 
 elevated at the prospect, and urging his horse 
 forward he found himself all at once in the 
 midst of an ambuscade. ‘Gentlemen,’ he 
 
continued, ‘ I am gratified to knoAv that you 
 are friends, for I am a British officer absent 
 from New York on particular busines, and I 
 beg you will not detain me, suspecting me 
 to be other than I say I am.’ As he spoke 
 he drew from his pocket a richly chased gold 
 watch and anxiously consulted it. 
 
 £ Ay ay, Paulding, he’s a British by his 
 yeller gimcranks,’ said Isaac; ‘ we Yankees 
 are too pesky poor to have sich gear—Gen¬ 
 eral Washington himself only fobs a silver 
 turnip.’ 
 
 ‘ You must dismount, sir,’ said the sturdy 
 yeoman sternly. 
 
 ‘ My God! I must do anything to get along, 
 my good fellows ! Here is General Arnold’s 
 pass, that, perhaps, you may respect if you 
 do not a British officer.’ 
 
 ‘ Dismount, sir, and we will read it,’ said 
 Paulding, who still held the horse by his nos¬ 
 trils. ‘ We have no idea of letting you es¬ 
 cape ’till we know your business.’ 
 
 * Hold on like death to a dead nigger, John,’ 
 said Ike of the nose, as the horse grew rest¬ 
 ive under the gripe, ‘gold watches don’t 
 grow in everybody’s corn-patch.’ 
 
 ‘ Gentlemen, you had best let me go or you 
 will get yourselves into trouble. Examine 
 this pass. Be brief! for I have been too 
 long detained already.’ 
 
 ‘ I cannot read until you dismount,’ said 
 Paulding, holding the closed paper in one 
 hand. 
 
 Andre sprung lightly from the saddle to 
 the ground, when the yeoman released his 
 gripe on the horse, passed the bridle beneath 
 his arm, and opened the passport. ‘ I hope 
 you’ll not be offended, sir,’ he said with the 
 air of respect, which he had hitherto preserv¬ 
 ed, notwithstanding his resolute manner, ‘ but 
 there are spies and other dangerous people 
 abroad, and I only want to know if you are a 
 true man. If you are proved to be, why 
 there’3no harm done, and if you ain’t, why—’ 
 
 ‘ Then we’ll have his watch on shares, and 
 pull straws for the chain,’ said Isaac. 
 
 ‘ The name in the pass is Anderson, is it 
 yours, sir ?’ 
 
 ‘It is. Let me go and I will give you my 
 watch, horse, saddle and bridle.’ 
 
 ‘ Your anxiety and your offer leads me to 
 
 suspect you. Here is General Arnold’s sig¬ 
 nature—that is all right enough, and we 
 would let you pass with it, if you had not 
 just now called yourself a British officer.’ 
 
 ‘ Considerable suspicious!’ said he of the 
 hair. 
 
 • He’s a regular circumstance—and no mis¬ 
 take,’ said Isaac, fumbling about his waist¬ 
 band for a fob that the sagacious tailor had 
 prophetically constructed therein. ‘ Let’s 
 search him. 
 
 ‘ Ay, that’ll show what’s trumps !’ said the 
 knight with the legs. 
 
 ‘ There is no alternative,’ said Paulding; 
 ‘ you must excuse us, but it must be done, sir.’ 
 
 Leading him into the wood they proceed¬ 
 ed to examine his hat, coat, and waistcoat, 
 without making any discovery. At length 
 they compelled him to resign every article of 
 his apparel to their scrutiny. He of the 
 long locks pulled off his boots, while Ike 
 opened his watch and examined the case. 
 Their search was vain, an$ he was directed 
 to resume his apparel, when Paulding thought 
 \\e heard a rattling like paper as Andre drew 
 on his boot. His fine thread stockings alone 
 had not been taken off, the captors satisfying 
 themselves with passing the hand along the 
 outside of the calf and ancle. 
 
 ‘Mr. Anderson,you will oblige me by re¬ 
 moving your stocking.’ said the vigilant yeo¬ 
 man. 
 
 ‘I had thought this foolish search was 
 ended,’ said the young man, his heart sinking. 
 
 ‘ Your stockings must come off, sir.’ 
 
 ‘ Take them off,’ said Andre, placing his 
 palm on his brow, and turning away his face, 
 wrung with an expression of the keenest an¬ 
 guish. 
 
 In the feet were discovered the fatal pack¬ 
 ets given him by General Arnold. A glance 
 at the contents of one or tw r o of the papers at 
 once gave them an idea of their importance 
 and dangerous nature. After they had con¬ 
 sulted together for a few minutes as to. the 
 disposal of their prisoner, he who was called 
 Ike, approached Andre, and said: 
 
 ‘Now what’ll you give us to let you go 
 free ?’ 
 
 ‘ Any amount you may ask,’ was the eager 
 reply. 
 
 
Will you give me your watch and chain, 
 and these gentlemen your horse, saddle, bri¬ 
 dle, and a hundred guineas told ?’ 
 
 ‘ Cheerfully. And the money shall be di¬ 
 rected to this very spot if you say so, so that 
 you shall be sure to get it.’ 
 
 ‘Is that all you will give ?’ coolly asked 
 Paulding. 
 
 ‘I will give yon whatever you demand, 
 goods or money to the amount of a thousand 
 pounds.’ 
 
 ‘Now, Mistur,’said he of the nose, in a 
 patriotic tone, and with a look of inconceiva¬ 
 ble magnanimity, ‘ if you’d give us ten thou¬ 
 sand guineas, and your watch to boot, yes, 
 your gold watch and chain to boot, we would 
 not let you stir a step, hey, boys ?’ 
 
 ‘ Ifhe’s an enemy, poor as we be, I’d rather 
 be without the money than he should escape 
 to do mischief,’ responded Davy. 
 
 ‘Would you escape if you could?’ asked 
 Paulding. 
 
 ‘ Most assuredly.’ 
 
 ‘ I don’t intend you shall,’ was the quiet 
 reply of the American. In a few minutes af¬ 
 terward they directed their prisoner to re¬ 
 mount his horse, and with Paulding leading 
 the animal by the bridle, and the two others 
 marching, one a few paces in advance, and 
 other in the rear, they re-entered the road, 
 and moved at a smart pace northwardly to¬ 
 wards North Castle, the nearest military post 
 of the Americans. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 On the eastern bank of the Hudson, two 
 miles south westerly from West Point, there 
 stands, at the present day, a time-worn dwell¬ 
 ing. It is a long, rambling structure, two 
 stories high, and erected apparently at dif¬ 
 ferent periods—a low gallery, in some pla¬ 
 ces sunken, runs around it with vines creep¬ 
 ing about its slender columns, and grass 
 growing in its crevices; shrubs have got root 
 hold on its moss-covered roof, and hang over 
 the eaves in graceful festoons. It is the 
 centre of a lawn, from the bosom of which, 
 numerous fine old trees ofa century’s growth, 
 
 send up their trunks to a great height, and 
 form a broad canopy of foliage above the ven¬ 
 erable roof. Everything about it—its worm- 
 eaten fences ; its thick soft grass, like piled 
 velvet, which age only can give ; its long 
 range of noble old barns, once red, but now 
 browned and blackened with the storms of 
 eighty winters ; its gigantic shrubbery; an 
 avenue of box trees that look as if planted un¬ 
 der a woman’s eye ere the Revolution, all 
 give it and air of old family dignity and an¬ 
 tiquity that is seldom found in this young 
 western world. A forest shuts out the pros¬ 
 pect of the river from the south gallery, but 
 a range of mountains, Dunderbeg and his sa¬ 
 tellites, fill the eye instead, while Antony’s 
 Nose, clothed with trees to its top, rises ab¬ 
 ruptly from the lawn, which is blended with 
 its base to the height of a thousand feet. On 
 the west and north, Fort Putnam, now nearly 
 hid by the trees that have been suffered to 
 grow up immediately around it, and old Crow 
 Nest, are striking objects in the prospect. 
 From the house a winding carriage road 
 leads through the romantic wood to a small 
 cove on the Hudson, near the outlet of a 
 brawling brook which intersects the grounds, 
 where is a landing place for small boats. 
 This is called Beverly Cove, and the dwell¬ 
 ing above described Beverly House. Here 
 Arnold held his head quarters during his 
 command at West Point. 
 
 In a large, square room of the mansion, its 
 low ceiling intersected by transverse beams, 
 carefully white-washed, the capacious fire¬ 
 place flanked by panel-work and little closets, 
 with but a single door (besides that opening 
 into the hall) leading into a small window 
 looking to the north, there sat, the morning 
 after Andre’s arrest, a party at breakfast. It 
 consisted of General Arnold, who was in an 
 unusually gay and social vein, his youthful 
 and lovely wife, whose maiden charms had 
 won the admiration of Andre,* and Colonels 
 Hamilton and McPIenry, aids-de-camps of 
 Generals Washington and La Fayette. 
 
 In the midst of their meal, and an animated 
 
 * R is a singular fact that Andre was an admirer 
 of Miss Shippen, afterwards Mrs Arnold, who was a 
 daughter of Chief Justice Shippen of Philadelphia, 
 where he first saw r her during its occupancy by the 
 British army. 
 
conversation on the subject of the contempla¬ 
 ted attack on New York, a horseman rode up 
 to the door, and a moment afterward an or¬ 
 derly entered the room with a note, which he 
 gave to General Arnold. Putting down an 
 egg he was about to break into a little China 
 cup before him, he opened the letter and read 
 with a palpitating heart and a sensation of 
 suffocation: 
 
 ‘ Sir:—I send forward under charge of 
 Lieutenant Allen and a guard, which will ar¬ 
 rive at Beverly House by noon, a certain John 
 Anderson, who had been taken while going 
 towards New York. He had a passport 
 signed in your name, which, doubtless, is 
 forged, and a parcel of papers, taken from his 
 stockings, which are of a very dangerous ten¬ 
 dency. I send him to you as commanding of¬ 
 ficer, feeling that it is a case presenting too 
 many difficulties, and involving too much for 
 me to decide upon. 
 
 * Jamieson, Colonel , fyc. fyc.’ 
 
 ’Till this moment Arnold had believed that 
 his treason was successful. From the hour 
 of his arrival at Beverley House, after taking 
 leave of Andre, he had been singularly ac¬ 
 tive and alert in his duties, and with the offi¬ 
 cers about his person was on more than usual 
 terms of confidence and intimacy. That 
 morning Colonels Hamilton and McHenry 
 had ridden forward to his house, to announce 
 the approach of Washington and Lafayette 
 to dine with him. Such was the confidence 
 this great man reposed in him—alas, how re¬ 
 paid ! The friendship (which he had) of such 
 a man as Washington; the moral atmosphere 
 he diffused around him should have saved 
 him from so great a fail! 
 
 With an effort of self-command almost su¬ 
 pernatural, he read the information of the cap¬ 
 ture of, A^idre and the defeat of his plans, so 
 long forming. He folded the letter, suppres¬ 
 sing hislemotions the while, so effectually as 
 to prevent the least suspicion of the occur¬ 
 rence of any extraordinary event, and taking 
 up the egg he laid down, deliberately broke 
 it into his cup, and f or a few seconds longer 
 continued to eat his breakfast, and addressed 
 with ease a few common-place words to Col. 
 Hamilton. At length he said : 
 
 ‘ Gentlemen, I beg you will not let my de¬ 
 parture interrupt your meal. I have received 
 a note requiring my immediate presence at 
 
 West Point. George, have my horse saddled 
 and brought to the door.* Then rising from 
 the table, he hastened up stairs to his private 
 room, situated at the northeast corner of the 
 house, and despatched a servant to the break¬ 
 fast room to say to Mrs. Arnold that he de¬ 
 sired to speak with her. 
 
 ‘ Mary,’ he said, in a tone of the deepest 
 agitation, closing the door and taking her in 
 his ar ns, ‘ we have been united but eighteen 
 months, but we must now part forever. I 
 have been, unknown to you, engaged in a 
 treasonable correspondence with Sir Henry 
 Clinton. The note I have just received tells 
 me of the arrest af his messenger to me, with 
 papers on his person, either of which would 
 become my death-warrant. Nothing remains 
 for me but instant flight to the enemy. My 
 barge is at the landing. I can reach the Vul¬ 
 ture by noon. Escape now will be easy.— 
 No one here is yet aware of my criminality. 
 An hour hence it will be too late. Though 
 Jamieson is too dull to suspect me, Tallrnadge 
 or others may ere this have seen the papers, 
 and be on their way to arrest me. Instantly 
 burn all my papers. Now, farewell, dearest. 
 God bless you. The heaviest blow this in¬ 
 flicts will reach me through you. Now', God 
 bless you—bless you!’ 
 
 Hastily embracing her he fled from the 
 apartment, and though a shriek prolonged and 
 wild, and a heavy fall reached his ears as he 
 descended the stairs, he lingered not but 
 flung himself on Col. Hamilton’s horse, his 
 own not being yet at the door. Giving the 
 animal the rein, he took a by-path around the 
 stables, galloped rapidly along a hedge and 
 descended a wooded hill through a dry, rocky 
 ravine, almost impracticable to horse, but 
 down which he recklessly urged the noble 
 animal, which, by plunging, leaping, and slid¬ 
 ing on his belly, the spurs of the rider cutting 
 into the rocks as he bore upon them with his 
 heels, reached the bottom, and leaped the 
 brook clear into the carriage-road Riding 
 forward like wind through the wooded bot¬ 
 tom, Arnold gained the cove, where, beside a 
 small pier, his barge, with six men, was in 
 waiting to convey him, as usual, at that hour, 
 across to West Point. 
 
 He threw himself from his horse, and 
 
sprung into the boat. ‘ Push off, Cuyler P he 
 said to the coxswain, with anxious impa¬ 
 tience. ‘ Lively men, lively ! Clear from the 
 shore! Set your oar to that sunken rock, and 
 help her? There, she’s off. Thank God! 
 Now let fall and give way, Starboard, Cuy¬ 
 ler ! Hand a starboard!’ 
 
 The boatswain stared. ‘ Are we not 
 going to West Point, sir?’ 
 
 ‘ No, below! Urgent affairs require my 
 presence on board the Vulture. Pull out 
 into the middle of the river, and take the full 
 force of the tide. Lay to your sweeps well? 
 now. You shall have a guinea a piece when 
 you run your boat under the counter ot the 
 Vulture.’ 
 
 The men gave utterance to a kind of cheer, 
 and bent to their oars with a good will. Cuy¬ 
 ler sat in the stern sheets, steering her with 
 a steadiness and skill that added almost the 
 force of a seventh oar to her speed. For 
 awhile the barge stood steadily down the 
 river, passing on either hand scenery of 
 savage grandeur, every commanding emi¬ 
 nence of which was frowning with a redoubt. 
 
 In about an hour they emerged trom the 
 Highlands into a broader part of the river, 
 and approached the fortress at Verplank’s 
 Point, commanded by Colonel Livingston. 
 Arnold, who hitherto had sat in the stern of 
 the boat, with his arms folded, only rousing 
 himself from a gloomly revery by cheering 
 the boatmen to renewed exertions, on near¬ 
 ing the post, placed in the stern a white 
 handkerchief fixed to his sword, which had 
 the effect intended, for Colonel Livingston 
 regarding it as a flag-boat permitted it to pass 
 without ordering it to be stopped and exam¬ 
 ined. This was a trying moment to the 
 traitor, and he scarcely breathed ’till the 
 barge was beyond gunshot. The Vulture 
 was now in sight a league below, and in 
 another hour he was on board of her. 
 
 We will here dispose of the traitor in a few 
 words. Although his plan had failed, he was 
 made a Major-General in the British army, 
 and was otherwise rewarded for his inten¬ 
 tions and previous services as Clinton’s cor¬ 
 respondent. But honorable men of the Bri¬ 
 tish army refused to associate with, him, and 
 officers to serve under him. After living- J 
 
 twenty years in merited contempt and infa¬ 
 my, he died miserably, at his residence in 
 Grosvenor square, London; not only unpiti¬ 
 ed and unhonored, but leaving behind him a 
 name which has become a by-word for trea¬ 
 son among both British and American peo¬ 
 ple. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Two hours after the flight of Arnold, Gen¬ 
 eral Washington, accompanied by Knox and 
 La Fayette, on their return from a visit to 
 Count Rochambeau at Hartford, arrived at 
 Beverly House, as previously arranged, to -J 
 repose themselves and dine. Here learning 
 from his aids that General Arnold had been 
 suddenly called over to West Point on ur¬ 
 gent business he remained only long enough 
 to take a late and hasty breakfast, and pro¬ 
 ceeded to the garrison, to ascertain if any 
 thing important had transpired. Accompa¬ 
 nied by all his suite except Colonel Hamil¬ 
 ton, who was detained in writing letters, he 
 rode to the cove by the usual carriage road. 
 
 This is a firm gravelled avenue, running 
 northwardly with an easy descent, through a 
 line of old trees for a hundred yards, to the 
 bottom of a dell, through which the brook be¬ 
 fore mentioned runs brawling over stones. 
 
 Here, at a gate, the road makes a sharp an¬ 
 gle to the left, and follows the course of the ^ 
 rivulet. A roof of densest foliage shields it 
 from the noon-day sun, and seats placed at 
 intervals along its borders, invite the rambler 
 to repose ; while the ceaseless gurgle of the 
 flowing water, the singing of countless birds, 
 the silence of the forest trees, save when 
 their tops are moved whisperingly- by the 
 winds, tempt him to linger in its delightful 
 seclusion. Such was the pleasant woodland 
 path through which the party rode, such, save 
 that time has made it lovelier, is it now. Just 
 beford they arrived at the cove they discover¬ 
 ed the horse deserted by Arnold grazing by 
 the path, his bridle beneath his feet, and his 
 saddle and coat bearing traces of the red 
 soil in which he had taken that equine luxury, 
 a roll. 
 
t 
 
 ir 
 
 
 A passing remark was made by Knox on 
 General Arnold’s carelessness; the animal 
 was led back to the house by a servant; and 
 in a few seconds afterward, the gentlemen 
 dismounted on the little pier. Here, a small 
 pennant, hoisted by an attendant sent in ad¬ 
 vance, was fluttering from a staff placed on a 
 projecting point of rock, in answer to which 
 a barge of eight oars was putting out from 
 the fort of Buttermilk Falls, then a military 
 boat station. In a few minutes, the party 
 embarked,and the boat moved rapidly through 
 the water. The harmony of motion and ac¬ 
 tion, in a well manned barge, produces, like 
 all harmony, silence and music. The simul¬ 
 taneous sway of the bodies of the oarsman— 
 the regular rattle in the row locks—the liquid 
 dip of the falling sweeps—the answering 
 leaps of the boat—all are harmonious, sooth¬ 
 ing, and conducive to meditation. After the 
 first hundred yards, conversation ceased, and 
 each gentleman seemed to be occupied with 
 his own thoughts. The scenery through 
 which they moved, added, also, its influence. 
 On the right, stretched the eastern shore, 
 rising a rocky precipice from the water, and 
 crowned with woods. On the left the But¬ 
 termilk Falls came tumbling and foaming in 
 snowy sheets from the top of a cliff, and fur¬ 
 ther on, the shores were walled with lofty 
 rural precipices. As they proceeded, the 
 Highlands of Crow Nest and Bull Hill frown¬ 
 ed down upon them, and from a promontory, 
 the fortress of West Point bristled with its 
 iron battery. As they approached the land¬ 
 ing, now disused, south of Kosciusco’s gar¬ 
 den, Washington observed with enthusiasm— 
 
 ‘ Well, gentlemen, it is fortunate for us that 
 General Arnold has gone over to the garrison 
 in advance of us, for we shall now have a sa¬ 
 lute, and the roaring of the cannon will have 
 a fine effect among these mountains.’ 
 
 The barge continued to approach the 
 shore without any notice from the fortress, 
 when, surprized at the silence, and absence 
 of all preparations to receive them, he ex¬ 
 claimed— 
 
 ‘ What! do they not intend to salute us ?’ 
 
 An officer now made his appearance, de¬ 
 scending the ravine, and reached the shore 
 just as the boat touched it. 
 
 ‘How is this, sir?’ said Washington, with 
 some severity. 
 
 ‘ Pardon me, General,’ said the officer in 
 confusion, ‘ I did not anticipate the honor of 
 such a visit, or I should have been prepared to 
 receive you in a proper manner.’ 
 
 ‘ What! is not General Arnold here ?’ de¬ 
 manded the chief with surprise. 
 
 ‘ No, your excellency. He has not been 
 here for these two days, nor have I heard 
 from him within that time.’ 
 
 ‘This is extraordinary, indeed,’ said 
 Washington ; ‘ we were told he had crossed 
 the river, and that we should find him 
 here.’ 
 
 He, nevertheless, remained and inspected 
 the garrison and works, and then re-entered 
 the barge with his suite, and was pulled back 
 to Beverly House. 
 
 As he approached the mansion, Colonel 
 Hamilton met him with a troubled counte¬ 
 nance, and whispered in his ear— 
 
 ‘ Alight, sir! I have a matter of the most 
 vital importance to acquaint you with.’ 
 
 Washington accompanied him into the sit¬ 
 ting room, and when the door was closed, 
 Hamilton placed in his hands several papers, 
 saying, ‘ As the messenger who arrived short¬ 
 ly after you left, said they were of the utmost 
 importance, I opened them.’ 
 
 Washington read the letters, which con¬ 
 tained from an authentic source, the account 
 of the capture of Andre, and a copy of the 
 papers in Arnold’s hand writing, with the 
 passport in the same hand, found on his per¬ 
 son. The guilt of Arnold was made clear as 
 light, and the cause of his absence from West 
 Point accounted for. It was plain that he 
 had escaped to the enemy. 
 
 ‘ Pie has descended the river ; ride, Ham- 
 ton, for your life,’ said Washington ; ‘ it may 
 be possible to intercept him at Verplank’s 
 Point.’ 
 
 Colonel Hamilton left the room and spur¬ 
 red away on what appeared to be a fruitless 
 errand. Washington now sent for General 
 La Fayette and Knox, to whom he communi¬ 
 cated Arnold’s treason, and placed in their 
 hands the papers which confirmed it. His 
 manner was composed and dignified. 
 
 ‘ Whom can we trust now !’ he said calm- 
 
ly, after they had finished the perusal of the 
 letters, 
 
 ‘ Mon dieu! is it possible !’ exclaimed La 
 Fayette, crumbling the paper in his clenched 
 hand, as he swiftly paced the apartment. 
 
 ‘ I always knew him to be a disaffected 
 
 man, but by-I did not expect the devil 
 
 to turn out so black from hoof to horn!’ said 
 Knox, violently striking his fist upon the ta¬ 
 ble. 
 
 1 It is useless to show feeling about it now, 
 gentlemen,’ soid Washington, without be¬ 
 traying emotion or anxiety of any kind, ‘ it 
 remains for us to repair what injury he has 
 done us, and prevent him from doing more.’ 
 
 The American General now directed all 
 his energies to counteract all the plans laid 
 by the traitor. Orders were forwarded to all 
 the posts, the positions of the garrison’s 
 changed, and the whole order of things, as 
 laid down by Arnold, reversed. Sir Henry 
 Clinton, however, through the capture of An¬ 
 dre, was kept in ignorance and uncertainty 
 until the arrival of the Vulture in New York, 
 with Arnold on board, the morning after his 
 flight. The project, therefore, was abandon¬ 
 ed, and the troops disembarked. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 It was not until noon on the following 
 day that Andre arrived at Beverly House, 
 under escort of Major Tallmadge. This of¬ 
 ficer, on inspecting the captured papers which 
 were shown him after Colonel Jamieson had 
 sent the prisoner forward, saw what this offi¬ 
 cer was strangely blind to Arnold’s guilt.— 
 Expressing in warm tones of censure his 
 opinion of the course pursued' by Jamieson, 
 of sending the accomplice to the accomplice, 
 he requested and received the command of 
 the escort, and after some delay reached 
 head quarters with his prisoner. Washing¬ 
 ton refused to see Andre, lest he should for¬ 
 get what was due to justice, in sympathy for 
 its victim, and ordered him to be placed un¬ 
 der guard in the small room, opening from 
 the dining-room, a sentinel to be posted on 
 the outside of tbe door, and other precautions 
 
 taken for his security, until he could be con¬ 
 veyed to West Point, and thence to Tappan 
 for trial. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon, when Andre 
 stood by his little window, watching the set¬ 
 ting sun as it hung low in the skies above 
 the summit of Crow Nest, and gilding with 
 its slanting beams the walls of the fortress at 
 West point. His thoughts were turned on 
 the hopelessness of his situation. He knew 
 that he must die. To be cut off in the prime 
 of youth, his earthly hopes crushed, the ties 
 of love, paternal and filial, for ever broken— 
 all that bound him to his fellow beings sev¬ 
 ered and destroyed-! He turned away from 
 the window, and paced to and fro his narrow 
 prison, under the pressure of intense and 
 mental agony. Terrible was the conflict be¬ 
 tween his manhood and his human nature! 
 At length reason asserted her power, and phi¬ 
 losophy and religion came to his aid, and he 
 grew calmer. He resolved to bear his fate 
 like a man, and like a British soldier. After 
 a few seconds, he called to the sentinel, and 
 requested writing materials to be brought to 
 him. They were cheerfully granted by Ma¬ 
 jor Tallmadge, who had taken a deep and 
 feeling interest in the fate of the youth.— 
 Seating himself at a table, Andre penned the 
 following letter to General Washington: 
 
 September 2 4th., 1780. 
 
 Sir:—What I have said concerning my¬ 
 self to my captors, was in the justifiable at¬ 
 tempt to be extricated; I am too little accus¬ 
 tomed to duplicity to have succeeded. 
 
 I beg your excellency will be persuaded, 
 that no alteration in the temper of my mind, 
 or apprehension for my safety, induces me to 
 take the step of addressing you ; but that it 
 is to rescue myself from an imputation of hav¬ 
 ing assumed a mean character for treacher¬ 
 ous purposes or self interest ; a conduct in 
 compatible with the principles that actuate 
 me, as well as with.my condition in life. 
 
 It is to vindicate my fame that I speak, and 
 not to solicit security. 
 
 The person in your possession, is Major 
 John Andre, Adjutant General in the British 
 army. 
 
 The influence of one commander in the 
 army of his adversary is an advantage taken 
 in war. A correspondence for this purpose, 
 
 I held; as confidential, (in the present in¬ 
 stance,) with his excellency, Sir Henry Clin¬ 
 ton. 
 
 To favor it, I agreed to meet upon o round 
 
not within the posts of either army, a per¬ 
 son who was to give me intelligence. I 
 came up in the Vulture man-of-war, for this 
 effect, and was fetched by a boat, from the 
 ship to the beach. Being there, I was told 
 that the approsch of day would prevent my 
 return, and that I must be concealed until 
 the next night. I was in my regimentals, 
 and had fairly risked my person. 
 
 Against my stipulation, my intention, and 
 without my knowledge beforehand, I was 
 conducted within one of ynur posts. Your 
 excellency may conceive my sensation on 
 this occasion, and will imagine how much 
 more must I have been affected by a refusal 
 to re-conduct me back the next night, as I 
 had been brought. Thus become a prisoner, 
 
 I had to concert my escape. I quitted my 
 uniform, and was passed another way, in the 
 night, without the American posts, to neu¬ 
 tral ground, and informed I was beyond all 
 armed parties, and left to press for New-York. 
 
 I was taken at Tarrytown by some volun¬ 
 teers. 
 
 Thus, as I have had the honor to relate, 
 was I betrayed, (being an Adjutant General 
 of the British Army,) into the vile condition 
 of an enemy in disguise within your posts. 
 Having avowed myself a British officer, I 
 have nothing to reveal but what relates to 
 myself, which is true, on the honor of an offi¬ 
 cer and a gentleman. 
 
 The request I have to make to your ex¬ 
 cellency, and I am conscious I address my¬ 
 self well, is, that in any rigor policy may dic¬ 
 tate, a decency of conduct towards me may 
 mark, that though unfortunate, I am branded 
 with nothing dishonorable, as no motive could 
 be mine but the service of my king, and as 
 I was involuntarily an imposter. 
 
 Another request is, that I may be permit¬ 
 ted to write an open letter to Sir Henry Clin¬ 
 ton, and another to a friend, for clothes and 
 linen. 
 
 I take the liberty to mention the condition 
 of some gentlemen at Charleston, who being 
 on parole, or under protection, were engaged 
 m a conspiracy against us. Though their 
 situation is not similar, they are objects who 
 may be set in exchange forme, or are’ per¬ 
 sons whom the treatment I receive might af¬ 
 fect. 
 
 It is no less, sir, in a confidence of the 
 generosity of your mind, than on accoount of 
 your superior station, that I have chosen to 
 importune you with this letter. 
 
 I have the dionor to be, with great respect, 
 sir, your Excellency’s most obedient and 
 most humble servant, 
 
 John Andre, Adj’t. General.' 
 
 When he had finished penning this elo¬ 
 quent appeal, he gave it to Major Tallmadge, 
 who read it with undisguised astonishment. 
 
 He had suspected from his carriage, and the 
 habit of turning on his heel in his walk, that 
 he was a military man, but had no suspicion 
 that he held so high a rank in the British 
 army, nor that the plot in which he had been 
 connected with Arnold, was so extensive and 
 dangerous. He carried the letter to General 
 Washington, who was deeply affected on 
 reading it, but made no reply to it. After 
 the prisoner had sent the letter, his mind ap¬ 
 peared relieved, and his features wore a calm 
 and contented expression. He turned again 
 
 to the window, and the calm landscape light¬ 
 ed by the evening sky, was not more pla¬ 
 cid and serene than his countenance. 
 
 ‘ Andre!’ 
 
 He started, and looked around. But there 
 was no one present. 
 
 1 Andre!’ was a second time repeated, as 
 if close to his ear, in the gentle tones of a 
 woman’s voice. 
 
 He looked around and up to the ceiling, 
 when his eye caught a slip of paper flutter¬ 
 ing through a crevice in the floor above. 
 Andre,’ softly repeated the voice a third 
 time, and the paper fell fluttering at his feet. 
 He lifted it from the ground and read it with 
 a sparkling eye. 
 
 Dear Major Andre.— Though miserable 
 myself, I cannot be altogether so absorbed m 
 my own wretchedness, as to forget the grief 
 of others. Listen to me. I know your high 
 notions of honor, and the spirit of chivalrous 
 self-sacrifice that fills your bosom, but oh! 
 for my sake—for your own—for that of your 
 mother and sisters—for the sake of your 
 country—do what I am about to ask-of you! 
 Accept life while it is in your power! Do not 
 remain to die like a criminal! Life is now 
 yours—to-morrow it may be due to justice! 
 Alas! my heart tells me what will be your 
 reply—but I will not therefore cease my ex¬ 
 ertions to save you. Assisted by a faithful 
 slave, I this morning loosened two of the 
 planks in your room. They afford commu¬ 
 nication with the cellar. Descend into it, 
 and Peter will meet you with a disguise, and 
 conduct you, by the western outlet, which 
 opens among high shrubbery, into the gar¬ 
 den, where he will conceal you ’till night, and 
 then provide a boat for your escape. Do 
 not, Andre, neglect this opportunity ! Fly 
 now! General Washington and his staff are 
 busy in the library, and nothing can prevent 
 , the success of the plan -but your obstinacy. 
 I Fly, Andre! Escape! For the sake of all 
 
you hold dear on earth, lose not a moment, 
 but fly ! Mary.’ 
 
 The young man read this appeal with a 
 sparkling eye and glowing countenance,when 
 he concluded it he glanced upward and kiss¬ 
 ed his hand to the invisible author of it, then 
 folded the paper, placed it next his heart, and 
 paced the room rapidly with a thoughtful brow 
 and excited manner. 
 
 ‘Nay, nay, I will not—I cannot—I may 
 not! I must abide my destiny.’ 
 
 He stopped, surveyed the floor through 
 every part, and then walked towards the side 
 next to the hall and trod lightly on the two 
 planks nearest the wall. They were loose. 
 He stooped to lift them and they yielded to 
 his hand and he gazed down the dark cellar 
 beneath. 
 
 ‘ Come, mass^! coas’ clear—dis jus’ de 
 time !’ said a low husky voice from beneath. 
 
 The prisoner paused an instant, then with 
 a sudden impulse closed the aperture and 
 walked resolutely away. An exclamation of 
 anguish and disappointment from the apart¬ 
 ment above reached his ear, but with folded 
 arms and a composed manner, he gazed stead¬ 
 fastly from the window, his face expressive 
 of the triumph of an honorable mind over an 
 unworthy temptation. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The morning of the second of October 
 broke with a clear sky, and the promise of a 
 bright autumnal day. The sun rose without 
 a cloud, and gladdened hill, forest, and valley 
 with his cheering light. 
 
 Happiness was written on the face of na¬ 
 ture, as if with the finger of Heaven; but 
 among the habitations of men, sorrow and 
 woe had, as ever, an abiding place. There 
 was one abode into the windows of which this 
 morning’s sun shone, above all others, melan¬ 
 choly in its character, and most melancholy 
 for the scenes of human sorrow and wretch¬ 
 edness of which it was the daily witness. It 
 was a prison. In one of its gloomiest apart¬ 
 ments, sat a young man whose days were 
 numbered—whose star was about to become 
 
 extinguished ere it reached its zenith. It 
 was Major Andre. His judges had doomed 
 him to die as a spy, taken within the Ameri¬ 
 can lines. 
 
 The sympathizing American Chief would 
 gladly have commuted this harsh sentence, 
 but military justice demanded the victim! In 
 one hour he was led forth to execution ! His 
 countenance was firm. A delightful calm 
 dwelt on his youthful and noble features, and 
 an air of repose and resignation marked his 
 bearing. About him stood a group of officers, 
 foes of his country, but whom his virtues had 
 converted into personal friends. Tears were 
 in the eyes of these stern warriors, and their 
 voices trembled with emotion as they talked 
 in low tones with each other. He alone was 
 calm and resigned ! 
 
 An officer entered and announced in a 
 subdued tone, that the hour of execution had 
 arrived. The prisoner rose with dignity and 
 said: 
 
 1 Gentlemen, I am ready to wait on you.’ 
 Taking the arm of Major Tallmadge, who 
 bad been constantly with him since his cap¬ 
 ture, he left his cell with a firm step. In the 
 street he took the arms of two subaltern offi¬ 
 cers, and walked between them to the place 
 of execution. A natural composure prevaded 
 his manner, and his whole deportment was 
 remarkably dignified and self-possessed. 
 
 ‘ My emotions are singular,’ he said, turn¬ 
 ing to Major Tallmadge, who walked near 
 him, ‘ when I reflect that in a very few min¬ 
 utes I shall be an inhabitant of the world of 
 spirits—so soon have revealed to me thegjxat 
 secret! But I do not shrink from it. I am not 
 afraid to die—if I were, wretched, indeed 
 should I be at this moment.’ 
 
 They now came in sight of the gallows 
 surrounded by a large military force and a 
 great concourse of citizens awaiting the event 
 —a deep gloom filling all hearts—commise¬ 
 ration visible on every face. 
 
 When the young man saw the degrading 
 instrument of execution he stopped, and turn¬ 
 ing to Major Tallmadge said, with an expres¬ 
 sion of mingled pain and indignation, ‘ Why 
 is this ?’ 
 
 ‘ Are you ill, sir,’ asked the officer, igno- 
 J rant of the cause of his emotion. 
 
‘ ’Tis nothing, sir,’ said the young soldier, 
 recovering his composure; ‘ I hoped to have 
 met death at least at the hands of the soldiers, 
 and not at those of the common hangman. 
 Move forward, I am reconciled to death, but 
 I detest the mode.’ 
 
 In a few minutes afterwards he stood be¬ 
 neath the gallows. As he looked up at the 
 fatal engine of death, his chest heaved and 
 there was a choaking in his throat as if he 
 were striving to suppress feelings struggling 
 to escape. At length the noose was suspen¬ 
 ded from the beam and the wagon placed be¬ 
 neath. Without assistance he stepped into 
 it, and then for a moment he appeared to 
 shrink. The ascendancy of nature was but 
 momentary. Instantly recovering himself, he 
 looked around upon the sorrowful faces at the 
 foot of the gallows, and said with a smile : 
 
 ‘ It will be but a momentary pang.’ 
 
 Then declining the assistance of the pro¬ 
 vost-marshal, he bandaged his own eyes with 
 a degree of firmness and resignation that 
 the eyes of all who gazed were filled with 
 tears, and deep groans of emotion escaped 
 from the breast of many a stalwart soldier, 
 that the stern spirit of military laws should 
 demand so young and so noble a victim. 
 
 The provost-marshal now loosely pinioned 
 his arms and placed the noose over the young 
 man’s head, who, himself with perfect firm¬ 
 ness, adjusted it to his neck. 
 
 ‘ Major Andre, you now have an opportuni- 
 ty to speak if you desire it,’ said the provost- 
 marshal. 
 
 Lifting the handkerchief from his eyes, he 
 looked steadily around, and said in a firm, 
 clear voice that reached every ear of the si¬ 
 lent multitude. 
 
 ‘ I pray you to bear me witness that I meet 
 my fate like a brave man.’ There was no 
 vain boasting in his voice or manner, but 
 his words proceeded from that honorable 
 pride which becomes a soldier, and which 
 sheds a halo even around the brow of death. 
 When he had said this, he resumed his form¬ 
 er position and calmly awaited his fate. 
 
 The signal was given—the wagon rolled 
 from beneath him, and the victim of military 
 justice had expiated his offence with life. 
 
 * Such,’ says Mr. Sparks in his ‘ Biogra¬ 
 
 phy of Arnold,’ which able work we have 
 made free use of in this outline, 4 such, was 
 the death of a man whose rare accomplish¬ 
 ments had procured for him the friendship 
 and confidence of all to whom he was known, 
 and opened the happiest presages of a future 
 career of renown and gmry. In ten short 
 days his blooming hopes had been blighted, 
 and his glowing visions dispersed. But it 
 was his singular fortune to die, not more be¬ 
 loved by his friends than lamented by his 
 enemies, whose cause he had sought to ruin, 
 and by whose hands his life was justly taken. 
 Time has consecrated the feeling. There 
 are few Americans, and few will there ever 
 be, who can look back upon the fate of Andre 
 without deep regret. His name is embalm¬ 
 ed in every generous heart; and they who 
 will condemn his great error, and applaud 
 the sentence of his judges, will cherish a 
 melancholy remembrance of the unfortunate 
 victim, and grieve that a life of so much prom¬ 
 ise, adorned with so many elevated and esti¬ 
 mable qualities, was destined to an untimely 
 and ignominious end.’ The tears and eulo¬ 
 gies that have followed the memory of this 
 noble gentleman, brave soldier, and honora¬ 
 ble man, eminently show how virtue may en¬ 
 noble even the gallows, and demonstrate that 
 it is far better to die well, though on a gal¬ 
 lows, than, like Benedict Arnold, to purchase 
 life with the scorn and contempt of mankind. 
 
 1 Still lived he on—his victim domed to die— 
 
 Yet in their different fates behold the homily 
 
 THE BOLdYnSURGENT. 
 
 A TALE OF THE YEAR 1768. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 SCENE IN A TAP-ROOM. 
 
 In the reign of Charles the Second, of 
 England, Sir William Berkley was Governor 
 of Virginia, then a pet-province of royalty, 
 and receiving more of the sunshine of kingly 
 favor than any other of the American plan¬ 
 tations. It was settled principally by cava¬ 
 liers of this prince’s ill-fated father’s court, 
 and a party, who, to escape the retributive 
 vengeance of Oliver Cromwell, sought here 
 an asylum from the political tempest that laid 
 
waste their fair Island. Here took refuge 
 many of the first Charles’ personal friends and 
 most devoted adherents ; and with but few 
 exceptions, all of these transferred their loy¬ 
 alty from the father to the sbn. After the 
 restoration, they would have willingly return¬ 
 ed from their exile, and were making prepa¬ 
 rations to do so, when the second Charles, 
 desirous of giving consideration to the pro¬ 
 vince through the presence there of men of 
 wealth and family, courteously signified that 
 it was his royal wish that they should remain 
 there, and by their presence and influence, 
 countenance the infant colony, which, on their 
 departure, would languish and die. The ex¬ 
 pression of i he royal desire was to them a 
 command; and Virginia became permanently 
 the home of some of the best descended cav¬ 
 aliers of Great Britain, whose descendants, 
 in this day, have parted not with the high 
 tone of gallantry and chivalrous bearing that 
 characterized the gentlemen of the court of 
 the unfortunate Charles. The presence of so 
 large a number of good families, who, instead 
 of coming to acquire wealth, brought it with 
 them in all its refinements, combined with the 
 peculiar favor the colony received from the 
 parent country, contributed to place Virginia 
 far before its sister colonies in those luxuries 
 which the latter only finally arrived to the en¬ 
 joyment of, after years of patient and labor¬ 
 ious toil. This peculiarity was apparent, and 
 distinctly marked as early as the period of 
 our story; and a century and a half has 
 scarcely diminished the claim of the ‘ old do¬ 
 minion’ to this distinctive feature. 
 
 The colonists were composed principally 
 of planters, gentlemen of estate, King’s offi¬ 
 cers, military men, with the persons compo¬ 
 sing the council and court of Sir William 
 Berkley. Mechanics there were few or none, 
 as all mnufactured articles were imported 
 from the mother country, from a hat down to 
 a shoe, and oftentimes, also, the entire frames 
 of dwelling honses and public edifices. Poor 
 white laborers were also rare, as all work 
 was done by slaves. Loafers were not known 
 then. It was emphatically a colony of gen¬ 
 tlemen. Their estates extended on both 
 sides of James River, many a league, and 
 along both shores of the Chesapeake. James¬ 
 
 town was the seat of the colonial government 
 the residence of Sir William Berkley; and 
 the centre of all provincial'events. Here the 
 governor held his court; here met the assem¬ 
 bly, and here were the head quarters of the 
 troops. 
 
 This town, at the period of our story, in 
 1675, extended along a rambling street that 
 ran parallel with James, then called Powhat- 
 ten River, for about three quarters of a mile, 
 and faced the south. The place on which it 
 was built, was a peninsula, formed by a creek, 
 that, approaching within a few' rods of James 
 River, above the town, turned with a broad 
 sweep, off suddenly to the left, quite encom¬ 
 passing the town, and emptied itself into the 
 the river two miles below it. The neck that 
 joined the peninsula thus formed, to the main 
 land, was but ten paces in breadth, and across 
 it run the only road that led from the town to 
 the the interior. Besides the state-house, 
 which was an imposing brick structure, with 
 a portico and gallery, the governor’s resi¬ 
 dence, just out of the village, and a church 
 with a lower tower, there wa3 no other pub¬ 
 lic building in the town, unless the hostel of 
 Katrine Larence, be thus designated. Ka¬ 
 trine had been the prettiest maiden, the love¬ 
 liest bride, and handsomest widow in the 
 whole plantation. At the time this story 
 opened, she had remained in widowhood 
 twelve years, the whilst mistress and hostess 
 of the most notable public house in Virginia; 
 
 £ the resorte,’ says the historian ‘ of all the 
 gentry and best of quality of the colony 
 whom business and cencours to the governor 
 brought to town from all parts.’ 
 
 One stormy night, several of her guests 
 were congregated in the tap-room, the chief 
 window of which looked toward the council- 
 hall or state house. It was the night before 
 the meeting of the provincial assembly, and 
 the inn was filled with the members that rep¬ 
 resented different parts of the colony, and, as 
 the custom then was, most of them were ga¬ 
 thered in tho tap-room after supper, previous 
 to retiring for the night, The company was 
 divided or separated into four or five groups. 
 Around the fire (for the night, though a late 
 one, was damp and chilly, and a fire comfort¬ 
 able) was drawn a knot of the members dis- 
 
cussing the anticipated affairs of to-morrow, 
 on the opening of the assembly. They , were 
 mostly dressed in the broad skirted coats, 
 flapped waistcoats, breeches and knee-buc¬ 
 kles, with the queued and powdered hair of 
 the period. In the middle of the floor, seated 
 around a table, was a group of town’s-people, 
 from their dress and conversation, evidently 
 merchants and ship-masters, talking of gains, 
 of winds, and foreign lands. In a corner of 
 the apartment were several seamen, riotous¬ 
 ly drinking and singing over oft-replenished 
 cups of gin or claret, while in an opposite 
 corner, as if seeking to shun observation, 
 were two swarthy and painted Indians, wij^i 
 bundles of furs at their feet, bargaining in 
 low guttural tones with a little fat, shrewd 
 ‘ leader ’ of the town, who displayed, in his 
 hands, gay beads, brass rings, and other 
 tempting trinkets, as the price for their bea¬ 
 ver skins. On one side of the long, low 
 apartment, was a semi-circular pulpit well 
 guarded with an oaken lattice, and commu¬ 
 nicating, by a little window in the rear, with 
 an inner room. This was the ‘ bar ’ or ‘ tap ’ 
 of the inn, and its presiding deity none other 
 than Katrine herself, who was leaning over 
 its counter, and talking with a tall, handsome 
 man, not above thirty years of age, who while 
 listening to her with courteous attention, was 
 marking all that passed among the several 
 groups in the tap-room. This man was fine¬ 
 ly formed, and wore a costume half that of a 
 hunter, and half military, which became him, 
 while it set off* to advantage the firm propor¬ 
 tions of his well-built frame. His whole air, 
 his subdued and calm manner, as well as the 
 richness of some parts of his dress, showed 
 him to be a man of birth and bearing. His 
 eye was grey and large, and clear like an 
 eagle’s, while his mouth wore that firm expres¬ 
 sion that indicated courage, daring, and a 
 high fierce spirit. His complexion was florid, 
 his forehead partly shaded by a low Virginia 
 palm hat, was broad and smooth ; while the 
 strength of his noble, but stern brows was re¬ 
 lieved by clustering locks of light brown hair 
 that escaped from his hat, and rested upon his 
 temples. A light, elegant mustache graced 
 his upper lip, and a peaked, well trimmed 
 beard' descended to his breast. He wore a 
 
 straight sword at his side, and in his belt was 
 stuck a pistol, and a long two-edged hunting 
 knife. His smile was pleasant, and the few 
 low words he from time to time returned for 
 the courteous flow of gossip with which Ka¬ 
 trine entertained him, seemed, from her fre¬ 
 quent laughs, not only to give her great plea¬ 
 sure, but to the sufficiently well-timed—not¬ 
 withstanding he was all the while more intent 
 in listening to the conversation of those about 
 the fire-place, than to her. 
 
 ‘ Come, Colonel,’ she said at length, seeing 
 that he thought less of her words than he 
 seemed to ; ‘ leave the tap-room, and go back 
 into the little parlor, where thy supper is laid- 
 There is wine and warm welcome for thee 
 there.’ 
 
 ‘ Such welcome were a thing not lightly 
 to be turned from, Katrine,’ he said, ‘ but 
 pray thee let me listen awhile to these cavj 
 liers. Their discourse hath especial intere] 
 for me.’ 
 
 ‘ It is nothing but dry assembly talk; a 
 hear it from morning ’till night, until I wish 
 there was no such thing as politics in the 
 world.’ 
 
 ‘Were there no politics, dame, thou 
 would’st scarce have so crowded a hotel as 
 thou hast this night,’ answered the cavalier. 
 
 ‘ That is true ; but we need not listen to 
 them.’ 
 
 ‘ Go, Katrine, I wiil presently follow thee, 
 and do justice to thy board.’ 
 
 Thus speaking, he quitted the easy, loung-i 
 ing posture he had hitherto assumed, as hm 
 leaned his ear towards the hostess, and movedH 
 as if with careless purpose, towards the m 
 place, yet not so near as to attract observa¬ 
 tion by the act. 
 
 ‘ These painted pagans that so infest our 
 borders with fire and blood and death in their 
 train, must be exterminated,’ said one of the 
 older gentlemen of the group, continuing the 
 conversation, and striking his gold-headed 
 staff* upon the hearth, to enforce, by its em¬ 
 phasis, his energetic words. 
 
 ‘They have, a second, time, come within 
 thirty miles of Jameston, and the light of 
 their war-fires has illuminated the horizon of 
 our very capital,’ said another. ‘ Why Sir 
 William does not send on troops to protect 
 
the frontier, and punish these savages, is 
 known better to himself than it is to me.’ 
 
 ‘ Sir William Berkley, our excellent go¬ 
 vernor, hath too much wisdom to shoot bul¬ 
 lets through beaver-skins/ squeaked a low, 
 chuckling voice, in a distant part of the 
 room. 
 
 Every one looked in the direction from which 
 it proceeded, and discovered in the speaker 
 the squat trader , who was bargaining with the 
 friendly Indians. 
 
 ‘ What mean you, sirrah ?’ demanded one 
 of the members, with indignation. 
 
 ‘ We all know that Sir William loves the 
 ring of gold and silver as well as a Jew,’ said 
 the little man with a boldness singularly con¬ 
 trasting with his small voice and diminutive 
 
 appearance, ‘ and while he can buy beaver- 
 skins for a blue bead each, and sell them to 
 his factors at a dollar, he will not, by going 
 to war with our red friends, put an end to 
 profitable gains.’ 
 
 ‘ By Saint George! there spoke a true 
 word if the devil had given it speech!’ cried 
 the second speaker with animation. 
 
 * And herein,’ said the first, ‘ lieth, I do 
 verily believe, the secret of the whole mat¬ 
 ter. The trader hath got to the thumb end.’ 
 
 ‘ Shall we suffer this thing to be, gentle¬ 
 men,’ said a bold, slashing cavalier, with a 
 red face, and altogether a dissipated air, who 
 made one of the group: ‘ shall our lives be 
 put in the balance against the governor’s cu¬ 
 pidity. It is but three hours since the rumor 
 kame flying in, that seventeen men have been 
 rin within fifty miles of us, since Saturday 
 jht. Sir William Berkley must learn that 
 freemen’s lives are not to be measured with 
 beaver-tails.’ 
 
 ‘ Tut, tut, Larence, man!’ said one of the 
 party, laughing; ‘you speak treason that will 
 bring you to a hempen neck-cloth.’ 
 
 ‘ If it be treason , then have I also a hand in 
 it,’ said the young cavalier, who had been 
 listening to their conversation with deep at¬ 
 tention. He strode towards the fire-place as 
 he spoke, and the exclamation, ‘ Colonel Ba¬ 
 con !’ from every one present, showed that he 
 was no stranger to them, though their man¬ 
 ner evinced surprize, both at his presence 
 and language. ‘ Yes, gentleman,’ he con¬ 
 
 tinued, after exchanging brief and courteous 
 salutations with them, ‘ if Major Larence had 
 spoken treason, then is every true and honest 
 man in this dominion a traitor! Sir William 
 Berkley looks more to his own interest than 
 to the colony’s, and hath some deeper pur¬ 
 pose in his forbearance towards the savages 
 who have been so long suffered to lay waste 
 our borders, than appears,—unless this trader 
 hath hit upon the truth.’ 
 
 ‘ This is bold language, Colonel Bacon,’ 
 said one of the gentlemen, ‘ to deliver in the 
 hearing of a member of Sir William Berk¬ 
 ley’s council.’ 
 
 ‘Sir William Berkley himself, shall hear a 
 plainer speech than even this, Mr.Oglethorpe. 
 I have come to Jamestowne to-night to ask 
 of his Excellency a commission, that 1 may 
 levy men and go against these Indian rob¬ 
 bers.’ 
 
 ‘This is a bold procedure, sir,’ said the old 
 counsellor, with surprise. 
 
 The times require bold steps,’ was the re¬ 
 ply of the young man. 
 
 ‘ If the Governor refuse to commission 
 you?’ asked one of the gentlemen, all of 
 whom had now risen from their seats and 
 were gathered round the young Virginian 
 cavalier, actuated^by various feelings, as hos¬ 
 tility or friendship to Sir Wiliam Berkley in¬ 
 fluenced their views of this proposed step. 
 
 ‘ I will in that case, on my own responsi¬ 
 bility, raise a party of men who have got too 
 much of the Briton in them to be slaves to 
 any man’s will, and go forth against them my¬ 
 self.’ 
 
 ‘ What greater cause have you than other 
 men to take up arms, that you must do this 
 even if you have to do it as a rebel ?’ asked 
 the counsellor. 
 
 ‘ Love for my ill-governed country, lest it 
 be ruined by the misconduct of those in pow¬ 
 er. Besides,’ he added in a low, deep tone 
 of vengeance, ‘ did not all of you know my 
 cousin and more than brother, Emery War¬ 
 wick ?’ 
 
 ‘ The noblest spirit in the province,’ was 
 the unanimous reply. 
 
 ‘ Well, sirs, he died yesterday,’ continued 
 Bacon, calmly. 
 
 ‘ Dead ! how came it ?’ 
 
‘ By the murderous tomahawk of the sav¬ 
 age chief Cineca !’ was the low, deep, and al¬ 
 most terrific reply. 
 
 ‘ This must be looked to/ said the counsel¬ 
 lors after a moment’s silent surprise. 
 
 ‘ It shall he looked to , or Sir William Berk¬ 
 ley’s head shall answer it,’ responded Bacon 
 sternly; and strode from the apartment, leav- 
 ^ ing them full of wonder and apprehension of 
 
 they knew not what impending evil. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 SCENE IN THE LIBRARY. 
 
 Sir William Berkley was seated in his li¬ 
 brary, the closely drawn window curtains of 
 which could not shut out the vivid lightning 
 of the storm that raged without, while occa¬ 
 sional peals of thunder shook the dwelling to 
 its foundation. ‘ Green Spring,’ the seat of 
 Sir William, was a handsome villa, construct¬ 
 ed after the old fashioned Virginia style, 
 with a broad hall running through the centre, 
 spacious wings, and a light colonade or gal¬ 
 lery, quite encompassing it. A wide lawn, 
 dotted with oaks, separated it from James 
 river, near which, about a third of a mile 
 from the town, it stood. Here Sir William 
 Berkley lived, in the style of a wealthy coun¬ 
 try gentleman, as well as Governor, though 
 ^ his hospitality was limited by a certain care 
 for money, characteristic of him, that better 
 became a King’s factor, than a King’s Gov¬ 
 ernor, or his own high birth. He was a lov¬ 
 er of mammon, and made his office rathe 
 the instrument for the acquisition of wealth 
 than for the weal and prosperity of the colo¬ 
 ny. Aside from this failing, he was a well- 
 bred gentleman, courteous, polite, and affa¬ 
 ble—for these are qualities that cost nothing, 
 and most avaricious men are lavish enough 
 of them so long as their purse strings are not 
 invaded. One great source of his wea'th 
 was trading with the Indians, which his sta- 
 * tion enabled him to do to advantage, and to 
 
 make a monopoly of the traffic. For two 
 years past, the Indians had been exceeding¬ 
 ly troublesome, and were constantly perpe¬ 
 
 trating atrocious murders along the frontier 
 on the plea, sufficiently well-grounded, that 
 the government was indebted to them for for¬ 
 mer services in war, in which several of their 
 warriors had been sacrificed, and for which 
 their widows had received no remuneration. 
 Numerous petitions had been made to Sir 
 William Berkley from the planters along the 
 borders, either to satisfy the claim or send 
 troops to protect them. Their applications 
 were disregarded, and the savages became 
 bolder, and at length so dangerous and for¬ 
 midable that all the planters and the inhabi¬ 
 tants of the region, open to their inroads, fled 
 from their homes to the towns, leaving their 
 cattle and harvests a prey to their enemies. 
 This was the crisis of affairs at the present 
 time. But Governor Berkley Avas too wise, 
 (to quote the language of the trader,) ‘ to 
 shoot a bullet through a beaver skin,’—and 
 so long as the Indians would send in their 
 furs, he was indifferent how many of his col¬ 
 ony were carried off and massacred. 
 
 There were two persons in the library Avith 
 Sir William. One of them was a rough, 
 Aveather-beaten sea-captain ; who stood twir¬ 
 ling his tarpaulin near the table where the 
 Governor sat in ruff, velvet, and powdered 
 wig. The other, who stood opposite the sail¬ 
 or, was an Indian chief of the highest rank, 
 judging from the Avar-eagle’s feather that 
 graced the coronet of scarlet plumes he 
 wore. 
 
 1 How many skins, Cineca, have you bro’t 
 down in your canoes, said you ?’ asked the 
 Governor, who was in the attitude of writ¬ 
 ing, Avith a gold pencil in his fingers. 
 
 ‘ Five canoes—thousand skins in each ca¬ 
 noe,’ answered the Indian in good English. 
 
 ‘And what am I to give you for them ?’ 
 
 ‘ One keg powder,, one keg whiskey, 
 twelve guns and one hundred pounds lead, 
 with pipes and tobacco for five Avarriors.’ 
 
 ‘This will never do, Chief! ’tis too much, 
 too much, Cineca!’ 
 
 ‘ Brother get the skins very cheap,’ an¬ 
 swered the Indian. 
 
 ‘ Too much—too much,’ repeated Sir Wil¬ 
 liam, ‘ I Avill give you but ten guns, and fifty 
 pounds of lead, with pipes and tobacco for 
 thyself.’ 
 
* Cineca must have what he said,’ replied 
 the Indian firmly. 
 
 ‘You are growing too sharp, Cineca. Two 
 years ago I bought twice as many of you at a 
 fifth of the price. 
 
 ‘ Cineca was a child then—he is now a 
 man—brother will pay. 
 
 ‘Well, be it so—but see that you use not 
 these guns against my people,’ said Sir Wil¬ 
 iam with a smile. ‘ I hear sad accounts 
 from your warriors. Set them to catching 
 beavers, and they will have little time to mo¬ 
 lest our borderers. I shall have to send 
 troops against you, and then there will be an 
 end of your thriving beaver trade.’ 
 
 ‘Warriors love better to hunt men than 
 beaver. If we fight we no hunt; a scalp is 
 worth a hundred beaver skins,’ answered the 
 savage Chief with a kindling eye. 
 
 ‘ Go to, Chief! Let me hear no more of 
 these murders on the frontier! To-morrow, 
 deliver your skins to my factor and you shall 
 receive your pay. Now, Captain,’ he said, 
 turning to the sailor after the Indian left the 
 apartment, ‘ I must have these skins packed 
 and aboard by Thursday night, which will 
 complete the tale of your rich freight, and 
 you can sail on Friday morning.’ 
 
 ‘ On Friday , Sir W illiam ?’ 
 
 ‘ Surely—why do you show such conster¬ 
 nation ?’ 
 
 ‘ It is an unlucky day, Sir William. I 
 would not put to sea. on Friday, if I expected 
 to have luck on the passage.’ 
 
 ‘ You are a fool. Then drive work, and 
 sail Thursday night: they shall not lay by a 
 day for no man’s superstition. The markets 
 by last accounts were high, and I would have 
 dispatch. If the voyage end prosperously, 
 ’t will make me eight thousand pounds richer 
 than at its beginning. Well, Edward, what 
 now ?’ he demanded of a servant who entered. 
 
 ‘ A gentleman desires to see your Excel¬ 
 lency.’ 
 
 ‘His name? He must have business press¬ 
 ing, to venture abroad in this storm.’ 
 
 ‘He gave none—but that he was a Virgin¬ 
 ian.’ 
 
 ‘ This smacks. These haughty Virginians, 
 
 I verily believe, do look upon themselves as 
 better men than born Britons. Bid him come 
 
 in. You may go, Captain, and see that the 
 rising sun of Friday shines on your canvass 
 ten leagues a-sea.’ 
 
 The captain took his leave as the servant 
 ushered in the new visitant. 
 
 ‘ Ha, Colonel Bacon! you are welcome !— 
 Come upon the old subject, I doubt not,’ said 
 the Governor petulantty. 
 
 ‘ If your Excellency by this phraseology 
 means the subject of our border grievances, 
 permit me to say it is a new subject. Would 
 to God we could say it was an old one! But 
 each day’s deeds seem to keep it fresh, and I 
 have hither come from my plantation to see if 
 by your aid this grievance may not be abated 
 and so made old to those who would hereafter 
 speak of it.’ 
 
 ‘ There is no cause for this array of peti¬ 
 tions with which I am hourly besieged. What 
 bloody deeds the Indians have committed, 
 they have been provoked to by men who 
 would push their possession into their hunt¬ 
 ing grounds.’ 
 
 ‘I am not here, your Excellenoy, to dis¬ 
 cuss a question which you have heard han¬ 
 dled in all its bearings. I am here to pray 
 you to give us present aid, that our homes 
 may not be made desolate.’ 
 
 ‘I have but a few household troops,'and 
 our military have little relish for fighting 
 with savages. I question if I could raise five 
 hundred men in all the counties to carry on 
 war with these barbarians.’ 
 
 ‘ I do not ask you to raise a single man, 
 Sir William. If you will commission me to 
 raise what men I may, and leave me to carry 
 on this barbaric war, you shall hear no more 
 of petitions,’ said Bacon, with animation. 
 
 ‘ Commission you, Nathaniel Bacon?’ re¬ 
 peated the Governor, starting with surprise. 
 
 ‘I said so, your Excellency,’ answered 
 Bacon, quietly. 
 
 ‘Never,by heaven! You would soon be 
 general-in-chief, and fore God! I should have 
 to look out for my own safety and authority. 
 No, no! I had enough of your fiery and 
 ambitious spirit when you were last year a 
 member of the Assembly. You were then 
 like to have o’ertopped all other gentlemen ! 
 By the round head of Noll Cromwell! but 
 
r 
 
 
 r 
 
 this is a singular proposition for you to make 
 to me, sir.’ 
 
 ‘ Will you commission me, Sir William?’ 
 asked Bacon, when he had ended, unmoved 
 by his violent language. 
 
 ‘ Commission you! If you want a commis¬ 
 sion, go to the devil for it.’ 
 
 The young Virginian struck his sword 
 hilt, as if he would have unsheathed it at this 
 insulting retort, but recollecting himself, said 
 calmly: 
 
 * Nay I will not draw my sword save for 
 my country, you have both refused to give 
 men and to commission me. Now mark, sir! 
 Commission or no commission, I do from this 
 hour give myself to this service.’ 
 
 Thus speaking, he left the library, and the 
 house of the Governor, and returned to the 
 inn, where ordering his horse, he galloped 
 off, dark and stormy as it was, and departed 
 from the town. 
 
 •PART III. 
 
 m 
 
 SCENE IN THE ASSEMBLY. 
 
 Not a week elapsed after the interview 
 between these two gentleman, ere the rumor 
 reached Jamestowne that Colonel Bacon had 
 put himself at the head of one hundred mount¬ 
 ed men, mostly of estate, and marched against 
 the Indians, over whom he had gained a most 
 signal victory. The assembly was in ses¬ 
 sion at the time, with the Governor presiding, 
 and the report was received by this body with 
 incredulity. But a few hours afterwards it 
 was confirmed by a special messenger to the 
 Governor, who was none other than Cineca 
 himself, who with his life had barely escaped 
 from the slaughter of his 'warriors. The 
 matter was instantly laid before the Assem¬ 
 bly, which was composed nearly equally of 
 those who sided with the governor in con¬ 
 demning it. The latter faction, instead of 
 appeasing Sir William’s anger, devised 
 means to increase it, by framing specious 
 pretences, which they grounded on the au¬ 
 dacity of Bacon’s conduct, and the hold he 
 had already got upon the popular affection. 
 
 Indeed, many of these gentlemen on their 
 own part began to have Bacon’s suddenly dis¬ 
 played merits in mistrust, and to look upon 
 him as a rival that would endanger their own 
 personal consideration. 
 
 Though he was a very young man, they 
 saw plainly that he was master of those tal¬ 
 ents which win popular favor and confidence, 
 to which he united great wisdom and discre¬ 
 tion. ‘By •which embellishments,’ says a 
 contemporary, ‘ they thought if hee should 
 bee suffered to continue at the head of a grow¬ 
 ing army, they, instead of being seniors, might 
 become juniors, while their younger brother, 
 (Col. Bacon,) through the nimbleness of his 
 witt, might steal away that blessing which 
 they accounted their own birthright; and also 
 Sir William thought this rash proceeding of 
 Bacon, if it did not undoe himselfe by his 
 failing in the enterprize, might chance to un¬ 
 doe him in the affections of the people; which 
 to prevent, he thought it conducible to his 
 intress and establishment to proclaim him a 
 rebelV 
 
 Accordingly, before the Assembly adjourn¬ 
 ed for that day, Nathaniel Bacon was pro¬ 
 claimed a rebel, and forces were raised to re¬ 
 duce him to his duty. Scarcely had the pro¬ 
 clamation been published, ere intelligence 
 reached Jamestowne that Bacon’s force had 
 increased to seven hundred men, that his ar¬ 
 my had constituted him General, that a 
 second victory over the Indians had brought 
 them to terms of peace for the time, and en¬ 
 ded the war, The news was received with 
 demonstrations of joy by the people general¬ 
 ly, but filled the Governor and the enemies 
 of Bacon with jealous alarm. Sir William 
 Berkley believed, or affected to believe, that 
 his next step •would be to march against him¬ 
 self, and he immediately called upon his 
 ‘Train Band,’ and all true men of the pro¬ 
 vince, to arm in defence of their country 
 against so dangerous an insurgent. Such 
 intentions, however, as the Governor saw fit 
 to attribute to the young leader, had never 
 entered Colonel Bacon’s mind. His only 
 object> in taking up arms was to free his 
 country from a ruthless foe, which, growing 
 confident in the supiness and inaction of the 
 government, threatened to inude the whole 
 
land with blood. ‘ He was a man of quality 
 and merit, brave and eloquent, and became 
 much endeared to the people, not so much 
 for what he had yet done, as for what they 
 expected he would do to deserve their de¬ 
 votion,’ says an old writer of that day ; ‘ while 
 with no common zeale they sent up their re¬ 
 iterated prayers, first to himselfe, and next to 
 Heaven, that he may become their guardian 
 angele to protect them against the Indians, 
 now that the Governor cared not whether 
 they were slain or noe.’ Thus in a few days 
 had this young man ingratiated himself into 
 the affections of the people, and become in¬ 
 deed, should he see fit to use his power, a 
 formidable rival to the jealous Governor. 
 
 Bacon having dispersed the Indians, re¬ 
 turned to his own country and dismissed his 
 forces, with orders to be ready to obey his 
 call at any moment. He here learned with 
 scornful indignation that the Governor had 
 proclaimed him both a rebel and traitor. The 
 county had recently chosen a burgess for the 
 Assembly, who, from some accidental cir¬ 
 cumstance, was detained from joining his 
 colleagues up to the time of General Bacon’s 
 return; and it was now apparent that he 
 would be unable to attend the Assembly dur¬ 
 ing the present session. It was necessary 
 that a substitute should be appointed, and the 
 young insurgent chief was unanimously cho¬ 
 sen to fill the station. He gladly accepted 
 the nomination, for he wished once more, 
 now that he had done good service against 
 the common enemy, to see Sir William Berk¬ 
 ley, and be commissioned by him, as well as 
 to have the proclamation that had outlawed 
 him, revoked. He therefore, immediately on 
 being elected burgess, embarked in a sloop 
 with thirty of his friends and adherents, and 
 sailed down James river, (on the banks of 
 which, near the head waters, his plantation 
 was situated,) towards the provincial capital. 
 It was night when he arrived and anchored 
 off the town. The Assembly were yet sit¬ 
 ting, by the light of their lamps which shone 
 through the windows of the state house, pen¬ 
 cilling long lines of light upon the limpid 
 stream. Trusting to the privileges of his 
 official character as an elected burgess, 
 
 1 without reflecting that as an outlaw his 
 
 election was illegal, the young chief deter¬ 
 mined to go on shore at once and take his 
 seat in the Assembly. He jumped into a 
 boat, and attended only by Major Larence 
 and another friend, pulled to the land. The 
 night w r as clear and starry, and the town they 
 were approaching, seemed to sleep, all was 
 so still. Lights burning here and there in a 
 chamber window, and the occasional howl of 
 a dog from the dark mass of houses, alone 
 gave signs that they were near the congre¬ 
 gated abodes of men. As they touched the 
 shore where a few water oaks bent over the 
 stream, they heard the distant sound of the 
 drum and fife, and then followed the varied 
 roll of the tatoo , rising and falling on the 
 wind, telling them that the town was garri¬ 
 soned and alert. 
 
 ‘ Berkley has taken care of himself,’ said 
 Major Larence, after listening an instant to 
 these martial sounds. ‘You had best follow 
 his example.’ 
 
 ‘ I fear nothing for myself, Larence. Re¬ 
 turn to the sloop, and let me go alone to the 
 council chamber. Nay, it is best that I 
 should do so. If I bring friends along with 
 me, it will look like suspicion.’ 
 
 After a few words of expostulation on the 
 part of Major Larence, he consented to re¬ 
 main where he was by the boat, that he might 
 be ready to succor his friend if his frank con¬ 
 fidence should bring him into peril. 
 
 When Col. Bacon reached the state house, 
 he was surprized to see a guard of soldiers 
 drawn up around it. Without hesitation he 
 advanced to the entrance of the hall, and de¬ 
 manded admittance into the Assembly. 
 
 ‘It were as much as my commission is 
 worth, sir, to admit you,’ said the captain 
 
 alone ?’ 
 
 ‘ Alone!’ 
 
 ‘ Then pass—but I would rather, for your 
 own safety, sir, you should retire,’ he said in 
 a low tone. 
 
 ‘ What have I tq fear, captain ?’ 
 
 ‘ The Governor’s jealousy, and the rival 
 enmity of your colleagues ?’ 
 
 ‘ I will meet it. Let me pass in !’ 
 
 The guard stood aside, and the bold young 
 leader opened the door, and strode into the 
 
hall of the Assembly. Without stopping, he 1 
 walked up to the forum, just in front of which | 
 was the chair for the burgess of his county, 
 and without a word, and in the face of the 
 whole body, quietly took his seat The sur¬ 
 prize his appearance and conduct excited, 
 having a little subsided, the Governor was 
 the first to speak. 
 
 4 How is this, sir traitor! we are bearded in 
 our very Assembly! Whatdoest thou here, 
 arch rebel ?’ 
 
 4 Represent my constituents,’ answered 
 Bacon, firmly, and with a smile of proud con¬ 
 tempt on his fine dark face. He then rose 
 and laid upon the table his credentials, which 
 the Governor examined with the closest scru¬ 
 tiny. 
 
 4 These are in form, sir, but they do not ap¬ 
 ply to a traitor. No banned man is eligible 
 to any office of dignity or trust. Gentlemen, 
 this outlaw, Nathaniel Bacon, hath had the 
 audacity to permit himself to be chosen bur¬ 
 gess of his county, after proclamation of trea¬ 
 son against him, and now demands his seat 
 with as honest a front, as if he were a true 
 man. Will you receive him among your 
 number ?’ 
 
 4 Ay, ay—no, no!’ for several moments fil¬ 
 led the hall from conflicting voices, when the 
 Governor, to put an end to it, cried out, 
 
 4 Ho, sergeant! command Captain Wilfred 
 to march in a file of men and take his prisoner.’ 
 
 4 Ha, this treachery !’ exclaimed Bacon, 
 half drawing his sword. 
 
 ‘Treachery!’ repeated Sir William, with a 
 smile of triumph, 4 seize the traitor!’ he cried, 
 as the soldiers entered, and marched up to the 
 spot where he stood. 
 
 4 1 will not resist your Excellency,’ said 
 Bacon, giving up his sword to the captain of 
 the guard, 4 lest it should look like guilt. I 
 yield myself your prisoner, and leave the ad- 
 judgment of my case to my country.’ 
 
 The Assembly broke up in confusion, and 
 Bacon was led to the prison, where, before 
 midnight, the Governor sent his thirty friends 
 to join him, putting them in irons, having by 
 stratagem captured the sloop as it lay off the 
 town, on learning that it was the vessel that 
 had brought Bacon down the river. 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 THE TRIAL FOR TREASON. 
 
 The next day Bacon and his adherents 
 were brought ironed into the presence of the 
 Governor and council, who constituted a tri¬ 
 bunal for the trial of the offence with which 
 he was charged. The state house was filled 
 with people, and the excitement was so great 
 throughout the town, not only among the 
 citizens, but the members of the Assembly 
 and strangers, that the Governor was forced 
 to place a strong guard in and about the coun¬ 
 cil chamber. His soldiers, however, had 
 caught the enthusiasm which the young in¬ 
 surgent’s brilliant actions had created in the 
 minds of all, and were as likely to go over to 
 Bacon’s party, as adhere to the Governor. 
 Sir William Berkley was penetrating enough 
 to see this; and policy dictated to him a mild 
 course, lest by severity he should rouse the 
 indignation of the people and thwart his own 
 ends. 
 
 After the usual preliminaries in cases of 
 trial for treason were gone through, Col. Ba¬ 
 con abruptly rose and thus spoke in his de¬ 
 fence : 
 
 4 1 stand here, gentlemen, manacled like a 
 condemned felon, charged with high treason^ 
 I ask whether as a man, wholly devoted to 
 his king and country, who has adventured his 
 life and fortune, ay, and his honor too, to 
 punish enemies in arms against his king and 
 country, be a traitor ? I ask if a man who 
 never plotted, contrived, or endeavored the 
 destruction, detriment, or wrong of any of 
 His Majesty’s subjects, their lives, fortunes or 
 estates, deserves the name of rebel and traitor. 
 If this be treachery, then am I a traitor! If 
 this be rebellion, then am I a rebel! But ’till 
 patriotism be proven to be treason, devotion 
 to the king disloyalty, and love of country re¬ 
 bellion, I stand before God an honest man 
 and a faithful subject! Behold my conduct in 
 the affair for which I am here in chains. Be-. 
 
hold that of my brave soldiers ! I call upon 
 t he whole country to witness against me or 
 them, if they can! There be some men in 
 authority, who, from weakness of intellect, 
 cannot distinguish between patriotism and 
 rebellion: or, who have such vicious natures 
 themselves, that they can see no good in 
 others! 
 
 4 I have not sought wealth by trickery! I 
 have not sought honor by sycophancy! I have 
 not been blinded by the glitter of gold! I 
 have not been a sponge to suck up the public 
 treasure! The colony has become a mart, 
 and rulers, forgetting their stations, have be¬ 
 come pedlars and brokers! What arts have 
 been promoted in the colony ? what sciences, 
 what school of learning, or manufactories 
 have been established and nourished in au¬ 
 thority ? Barter and trade, pounds and pen¬ 
 nies are the God here worshipped. 
 
 4 Such being the universal degeneracy, it 
 becomes those men who had remained honest, 
 to look after the country’s good. I justify 
 my campaign against the Indians. It is true 
 I have incurred the displeasure of Sir William 
 Berkley, by declaring war against his friends, 
 and, doubtless, beaver-skins will be less 
 abundant in town, for a time. It is well 
 known to all who hear me, that I have done 
 Sir William great wrong, and am viewed in 
 his eyes rather as a robber who hath taken 
 from his purse, than as a traitor, false to his 
 allegiance. But a traitor is easily said-— 
 while to prove a man a robber for slaying a 
 few scores of savages, who have long infest¬ 
 ed the frontier, were a more difficult thing. 
 We all know his Excellency’s friendship for 
 his tanny friends, and that to our disgrace and 
 shame, he hath, in this very court, refused to 
 admit a Virginian’s oath against an Indian, 
 when that Indian’s bare word was accepted 
 against a Virginian. I do but mention these 
 things, my friends to refresh your memories. 
 I would also hint to Sir William, who listens 
 with commendable patience, that it is not in 
 his power to dispose of his favorite beaver 
 trade to his own profit, it being a monopoly 
 of the crown. But this he must settle with 
 his Majesty. The powder, shot, and fire¬ 
 arms he hath given to the Indians, contrary 
 to the laws of the colony, hath made him a 
 
 buyer and seller of the blood of his own 
 brethren and countrymen—this he must set¬ 
 tle with his own conscience. But, gentle¬ 
 men, I have done!.! have but reviewed the 
 Governor’s course in contrast with my own. 
 You will see who best deserves to be called—■’ 
 
 4 What ?’ demanded the Governor, fiercely. 
 
 4 Traitor /’ continued Bacon, in a firm tone. 
 
 ‘ Seize and drag him to execution.’ 
 
 4 Sir Governor, you have no power to do 
 this thing,’ said Bacon, fearlessly ; 4 1 appeal 
 to the King and parliament, where justice and 
 wisdom yet dwell, and where mine and the 
 people’s cause will be impartially heard and 
 wisely adjudged.’ 
 
 This speech of the insurgent leader had an 
 electric effect upon the audience of the peo¬ 
 ple, and he had no sooner ended, than shouts 
 of applause, mingled with epithets of oppro¬ 
 brium against the Governor, filled the hall, 
 and were re-echoed from the green without. 
 Sir William Berkley was the while burning 
 with indignant mortification, tor the words 
 and ironical manner of the prisoner had cut 
 him sorely. He would at once have had him 
 led forth and shot, but that he feared the 
 multitude,’whose temper was not to be trifled 
 with. He also feared the result of the appeal 
 to the King, and trembled to have the gan¬ 
 grene of his own character laid open to the 
 assembled parliament by so sharp a knife as 
 the tongue of the insurgent leader. After 
 consulting a few moments with his counsel 
 on the bench, he turned to the prisoner, and 
 said in a tone of assumed blandness— 
 
 4 Nathaniel Bacon, I do graciously forgive 
 your harsh language of myself, and by the 
 advice of my counsel, offer you pardon for 
 your offences, on condition of your waiting 
 patiently until I can raise forces for your 
 command. I also acquit from, and pardon 
 all misdemeanors of your friends now at the 
 bar, restoring you, furthermore, and confirm¬ 
 ing to you your seat in the assembly.’ 
 
 Bacon fixed his penetrating glance upon 
 the Governor while he was speaking, and 
 smiled as if he understood the motive that in¬ 
 fluenced his conduct, which he was satisfied 
 was fear of losing his popularity of the col¬ 
 onists, and so of being re-called from his 
 profitable governorship. 
 
4 1 promise,’ answered Bacon, 4 if the com¬ 
 mission you promise be given to me within 
 fourteen days. Your red friends on the bor¬ 
 ders, Sir William, are by no means wholly 
 quieted, aad the men you propose to raise 
 may soon be wanted in the field.’ 
 
 4 You shall have the commission, Colonel 
 Bacon, and I trust, henceforward, all differ¬ 
 ences between us will end.’ 
 
 Thus spoke the wily Governor, who, by 
 commissioning Bacon under himself, in the 
 regular colonial forces of his own levying, 
 hoped to destroy that extraordinary popular¬ 
 ity which, as an independent leader of a 
 chivalrous volunteer army, he was so rapidly 
 acquiring. By this master-stroke he felt con¬ 
 fident he should effectually destroy the rival 
 power that threatened his own ruin. It was 
 done a* a great sacrifice of personal feeling 
 —for the deepest enmity rankled in his breast 
 against him. He then rose, and taking Col¬ 
 onel Bacon by the hand, (after first ordering 
 his manacles to be unlocked) and placed him 
 in his seat among the members of the assem¬ 
 bly. The multitude, by this unexpected ter¬ 
 mination of the scene, sent up a shout as loud 
 as that which had before burst from them. 
 Sir William Berkley, courteously smiling and 
 bowing at this testimony of their approbation, 
 then dismissed the court, and putting his arm 
 in that of Colonel Bacon, left the hall, fol¬ 
 lowed by his counsel and the members of the 
 assembly. 
 
 PART V. 
 
 OCCUPATION OF THE TOWN BY INSURGENTS. 
 
 The news of the arrest of Bacon and his 
 adhhrents had flown like wildfire from James¬ 
 town to the interior, and before night, a hun¬ 
 dred of his friends, mounted and armed, were 
 in the town, who, finding him restored to fa¬ 
 vor, and his adherents to liberty, returned 
 
 home satisfied, and with better feelings to¬ 
 wards the governor. Sir William Berkley 
 took advantage of this favorable state of the 
 public mind, and seeing all was once more 
 quiet, issued private warrants to take him 
 again, he having gone to his plantation. At 
 the same time he sent to levy the militia of 
 one of the counties which, situated on the 
 opposite side of the bay, had not been inocu¬ 
 lated with Bacon’s 4 treason,’ and would, 
 doubtless, readily obey his orders, so that, 
 holding the balance of power in his own 
 hands, he might withstand any attempts of 
 Bacon’s adherents to rescue him, (should he 
 arrest him) or avert the course of his ven¬ 
 geance. 
 
 Bacon, however, was far from being the 
 dupe of the Governor’s duplicity. He anti¬ 
 cipated these very steps, and had no sooner 
 reached his own county, than he despatched 
 secret orders to his captains and other officers, 
 to be in readiness for action. At the end of 
 the fourteenth day, he sent a messenger to 
 Jamestown for his commission. Sir Wililam 
 Berkley replied that it was ready for him, 
 and the troops already levied, and would be 
 in Jamestown the third day, thereafter to the 
 number of one thousand men. 
 
 4 There shall be a thousand men there be¬ 
 fore them, you little suspect, Sir William,’ 
 said Bacon, with a smile, when the messen¬ 
 ger returned him this answer, for he had 
 heard of the private warrant, and now deter¬ 
 mined to act. 
 
 The same evening he was riding towards 
 Jamestown with nine hundred mounted men 
 at his back. The Governor had rumor of his 
 approach, and in great alarm sent to the well- 
 disposed districts, on both sides of the James 
 River, for forces to defend the town, upon 
 which he was now assured Bacon was deter¬ 
 mined to make an attack. 
 
 Expresses came hourly of the enemy’s ap¬ 
 proach, and at two o’clock the ensuing day, 
 the insurgents, (now, for the first time, really 
 such,) entered the town without being with¬ 
 stood, and formed a body upon the green, 
 4 not a ffiight shot ffrom the end of the State 
 House, of horse and ffoot, as regular drawn 
 up in battel array as veteran troopers,ahd pos¬ 
 sessing themselves forthwith of all avenues, 
 
disarming all in towne, and coming thither 
 both in boats and by the land.’ 
 
 In half an hour after this, the drum beat 
 for the Assembly to meet, and soon after, the 
 rebel chief came with a file of fusileers, to 
 the outer porch of the council chamber, when 
 the Governor and council went forth to meet 
 him. The scene that followed, is best de¬ 
 scribed in the words of an eye-wttness, who 
 was a member of the assembly, and a parti- 
 zan of the Governor. 
 
 4 We saw,'from the windowe, the Gover¬ 
 nor open his breast when he saw Bacon ad¬ 
 vancing upon him with such hostile bearings. 
 The rebell captain walked between his two 
 files of soldiers, with a fierce aspect and 
 haughtier front, and seemingly in great ire 
 and displeasure at the Governor. We did 
 momently expect he would bid his men fall 
 upon Sir William, and we of the assembly 
 expected the same immediate fate. I step’d 
 down to the out-door, and among the crowd, 
 found the seamen of my plantatioh sloop, 
 who, in great fear, prayed me not to stir from 
 them. I then saw the Governor, who was 
 was looking very pale, for he had not two 
 hundred soldiers in the town to stick by him, 
 walk towards his private aparment; a colts’ 
 cast distant from the other end of the State 
 House, the gentlemen of the council follow¬ 
 ing him. After him walked Colonel Bacon, 
 commanding his soldiers cock their pieces if 
 any would escape, clapping his hand on his 
 sword menacingly. The fusileers, with their 
 fusils cocked, presented them at the window 
 of the assembly-chamber, filled with faces of 
 the members, and repeated in savage voices, 
 
 ‘ We will have it! we will have it!’ 
 
 ‘ What will you have ?’ asked one from the 
 window. 
 
 ‘ The commission!’ answered they. 
 
 ‘You shall have it! you shall have it!’ re¬ 
 peated the gentleman, three or four times, 
 shaking his white handkerchief out at the 
 windowe. 
 
 At these words they unbent the locks of 
 their fusils, and stood still until Bacon, com¬ 
 ing back, (for he had entered the private room 
 with the Governor,) they followed to the main 
 body. 
 
 ‘ In this hubbub, a servant of mine got so 
 
 nigh as to hear the Governor’s words, when 
 he opened his breast, and also what Mr. Ba¬ 
 con said. Said the Gov’nor— 
 
 1 Here! shoot me! ’fore God, fair mark! 
 shoot!’ After rehearsing the same without 
 any other words, whereto Mr. Bacon replied, 
 
 ‘No—may it please yo’r excellence—we 
 will not hurt a hair of yo’r head, nor any oth¬ 
 er gentleman present. We are come for a 
 commission to save our lives and estates 
 from the Indians. This you promised, and 
 have deceived me, and, moreover, have tried 
 to have me arrested, meanwhile, that you 
 mi>ht get me into your hands. We want 
 you to fulfil your promise, and we do assure 
 you we will have the commission before we 
 goe. 
 
 ‘ And afterwards I heard it was said, Ba¬ 
 con ordered his fusileers, when they were 
 aiming at the windows full of faces, that if 
 he should draw his sword, they were, on sight 
 of it, to fire and slay us, gazing out of the 
 window, saying, ‘ I’ll put to death, Gov’nor, 
 council, assemble, and all, but that I’ll have 
 the commission !’ So near was the massacre 
 of us all that very minit, had he drawn his 
 sword before the pacific bandkercher was 
 shaken out. at the window.’ 
 
 The insurgent leader, on quitting the pri¬ 
 vate apartment of the Governor, where,he 
 left him with his council, entered the assem¬ 
 bly alone, leaving his guard at the entrance, 
 and haughtily demanded a commission to be 
 then and there given him. The speaker re¬ 
 mained silent, when one. of Bacon’s friends 
 rose up and said with courtesy: 
 
 ‘We would most willingly do this, Colonel 
 Bacon, but you must be aware that to grant 
 it, is not in our province or power, nor of any 
 other, save the King’s vicegerent, our Gover¬ 
 nor.’ 
 
 At length the Governor and council came 
 in, and promised that if he would withdraw 
 his troops, he should, the next day, receive a 
 commission as general of the forces which he 
 now illegally commanded. To this, after 
 some discussion, he consented, desiring, if 
 possible, to avert bloodshed, by bringing his 
 troops in collision with the Governor’s Gloster 
 militia, which would arrive the next day— 
 his object being to obtain peaceably, if he 
 
could, forcibly, if he must, legal authority to 
 raise men in defence of the frontier. Through 
 all his conduct, he had shown a degree of 
 moderation that proved that he was actuated 
 only by love for his country, and that so far, 
 he had little deserved the stigma which was 
 attached to his name. 
 
 PART VI 
 
 THE CONCLUSION. 
 
 The next day Bacon, he, having witdrawn 
 his army a league from the town, despatched 
 a messenger to receive the commission of 
 general that had been promised to him. Dur¬ 
 ing the absence of this individual, rumor came 
 that the Indians, taking advantage of the in¬ 
 testine civil broils between the Governor’s 
 and Bacon’s factions, had penetrated within 
 forty miles of the capital, with a large force, 
 burning and slaying wherever they came. 
 He immediately placed his men in order of 
 march, and on horseback, surrounded by his 
 chief officers, waited the return of his mes¬ 
 senger. He at length appeared, and said that 
 he was commanded by the Governor to say 
 that the commission could be given only to 
 Colonel Bacon in person, and that if he de¬ 
 layed longer than the third day thereafter, to 
 come and receive it, it would be clearly taken 
 for granted that he did not truly desire it, and 
 only had demanded it to cover his own rebel¬ 
 lious designs. 
 
 This reply fired Bacon with indignation ; 
 but he knew too well the character of the 
 Governor to be surprized at it. His first im¬ 
 pulse was to march into the town, and chas¬ 
 tize the Governor who had sent such a mes¬ 
 sage, and the assembly that had ratified it. 
 But his love for his country overcame his 
 personal feelings, and without hesitation, he 
 gave the command to march forthwith against 
 the Indians. 
 
 He had been on his march but a few hours, 
 when the Governor’s troops, to the number of 
 twelve hundred men, arrived in the town, and 
 encamped on the green so lately occupied by 
 the insurgent forces. He immediately order¬ 
 ed them to be in readiness to pursue Bacon, 
 whom he now a second time proclaimed a 
 rebel, and on pain of forfeiture ot estate and 
 imprisonm ent, aid him in suppressing the re¬ 
 bellion. 
 
 At this time arose a murmur of dissatisfac¬ 
 tion among the troops, already favoring Ba¬ 
 con’s proceedings; and answering that they 
 came ‘to fight Indians, and not Virginians,’ 
 they re-embarked in three boats and vessels 
 and to a man returned across the bay to their 
 homes. 
 
 Bacon, in the meanwhile, a third time 
 drove the Indians back to their forests, and 
 added laurels to the bright wreath he had al¬ 
 ready won. He now heard of the Governor’s 
 defeated intentions of pursuing him as a reb¬ 
 el, and in his indignation, he resolved to get 
 possession, until he should obtain from him 
 not only a commission, but redress for the 
 many and bitter grievances that, under his 
 administration, afflicted the colony. 
 
 He immediately marched towards James¬ 
 town, taking on his way as prisoners, all 
 whom he suspected would molest him in 
 his war against the Indians, yet giving liber¬ 
 ty to such as pledged themselves by an oath, 
 framed by himself, to return home and live in 
 quiet. 
 
 One of these persons taken was suspected 
 to be a spy, having offered himself to Bacon 
 as a deserter from the Governor’s guard.— 
 He called a council of war, fairly tried him, 
 and proved that he had thrice gone between 
 his enemy and Jamestown, on private service 
 for the Governor. The proof was clear; yet 
 Bacon, unwilling to shed the first blood in the 
 quarrel, declared openly to him, in the hear¬ 
 ing of the whole line, 4 that if one man in the 
 army would speak a word to save him, he 
 should not suffer death.’ No one interceded 
 for him, and he was shot. This clemency of 
 the insurgent leader greatly increased his 
 popularity, and added numbers, hitherto neu¬ 
 tral, to the force he commanded. 
 
 Sir William Berkley, dn hearing of Ba- 
 
con’s approach, tried to gather a force to 
 withstand him. 
 
 I ’* But the popularity of the opposite cause 
 « was greater than that of the loyal party, and 
 he could not muster more than three hun- 
 v, dred men to stand by him in the defence—a 
 '* third of whom were members of the Assem¬ 
 bly, and private gentlemen personally disaf¬ 
 fected towards Bacon. 
 
 With these, however, the Governor deter¬ 
 mined to make resistance, and threw up a 
 breast work across the narrow peninsula, 
 which joined the town to the main land.— 
 This he protected by four pieces of cannon 
 planted a hundred rods in the rear; and tak¬ 
 ing up his position with more resolution and 
 courage than it was supposed his bartering 
 and avaricious spirit had left in him, he wait¬ 
 ed the advance of the insurgents. 
 
 The same afternoon, Bacon arrived in 
 sight of the w r orks, and taking a closer view 
 of them, did not see fit to attack the position, 
 but went to work and threw up an embank¬ 
 ment beyond musket shot of and twice the 
 height of the barrier, so that in the morning 
 the Governor found that his position was com¬ 
 manded by that of his enemy. He elevated 
 his cannon, and was about to open a fire upon 
 this work, when to his surprise, he saw seve¬ 
 ral ladies appear upon his enemy’s ramparts, 
 whose husbands were with him in his own 
 party. This produced surprise and conster¬ 
 nation on his side, and the firing was instant¬ 
 ly withheld.* As they stood uncertain how 
 to act, they found their defences suddenly 
 attacked, and in a moment carried, while 
 they, for fear of slaying the ladies on the 
 ramparts, were unable to return a single shot. 
 This singular step on the part of the insur¬ 
 gent leader was taken doubtless to prevent 
 unnecessary blood-shed, in which he was par¬ 
 tially successful. The Governor finding his 
 works carried and the enemy in the town, 
 resisted them a few minutes, and then, with 
 
 * u He fetches into his defences/'' saj^s a writer, 
 “ all the prime men’s wives, whose husbands were 
 with the Governor, having captured them at their 
 country houses, (as Coll. Bacone’s lady,Mdm. Bray, 
 Mdm’s. Page, Ballard, and others,) which the next 
 morning he presents to the view of their husbands 
 and ffriends in towne upon the top of the wall work 
 he had cast up in the night, where he caused them 
 to tarry ’till his purpose, in picking up such pickets 
 of white aprons was effected.” 
 
 the loss of several men, precipitately fled to 
 his vessels, and crossing the bay left the town 
 n the hands of the rebels. 
 
 The quarrel had now taken the aspect of a 
 civil war, and Bacon felt that he had gone too 
 far to retract. He now resolved to take the 
 government into his own hands, send out a 
 true representation of the whole affair to His 
 Majesty, and throw himself upon the King’s 
 clemency. He was herein a rebel, but not a 
 traitor. To any other man than Sir William 
 Berkley, appointed by the King, he was rea¬ 
 dy to resign his authority and yield up his 
 power. To him he determined never again 
 to pay allegiance. 
 
 Up to this period, the impartial historian 
 will perhaps justify the conduct of Nathan¬ 
 iel Bacon. He was now, however, under the 
 excitement of conquests, and about to com¬ 
 mit an act, but for which his name might have 
 come down to us as that of a patriot leader of 
 the loftiest virtue and courage. It is difficult 
 to tell why Colonel Bacon should have burn¬ 
 ed Jamestown. That he thought its destruc¬ 
 tion necessary to his safety is probable. But 
 whatever may have been his motive for this 
 flagrant act, it stands recorded against him as 
 a crime of the deepest dye, and is the main 
 point on which hangs his reputation as a 
 lawless rebel. Before night, the whole fair 
 ‘towne’ was in a heap of ashes—church and 
 state house, hotel and private dwelling—not 
 a roof remained to tell where in the morning 
 stood the capital of Virginia. 
 
 The next day he marched out of the town, 
 and prepared to take up a strong position not 
 far above on the James River, having some 
 unknown design in contemplation, when he 
 was suddenly seized with illness while on 
 horseback, and died three days afterward—it 
 is said from the effects of poison rubbed upon 
 his saddle by the Indian Cineca. 
 
 This event at once put an end to the rebel¬ 
 lion, which bid fair, measured by the awaken¬ 
 ing ambition of its head, to separate Virginia 
 from Great Britain.* Those gentlemen who 
 could save themselves by instant flight in¬ 
 stantly did so. Many of the insurgent offi- 
 
 * It is a coincidence worthy of remark, that this 
 rebellion in Virginia took place precisely one hun¬ 
 dred years before that of the thirteen colonies. 
 
Lwhom w 
 
 _ executed, an 
 tates were confiscated. 
 
 It was a season of triumph as well as j^ofit 
 to Sir William Berkley who soon made him¬ 
 self opulent on the rebel soils. He soon after 
 went to England, it was rumored by com¬ 
 mand of the king, leaving Colonel Jeffries in 
 his place as governor of the province. It is 
 well known that Charles, hearing of his arri¬ 
 val in London, said of him, with the charac¬ 
 teristic freedom with which he was wont to 
 speak of his public officers: 
 
 ‘ That old fool has hanged more men in 
 that naked country than I have done for the 
 murder of my father!’ 
 
 The Governor, hearing of this, became so I 
 mortified with grief and vexation, that he I 
 
 after, without seeing Hn 
 si property escheating to the m ^ 
 Thus terminated the famous ‘Baconl 
 bellion, and the lives of the principal actors 
 therein.’ If the private documents from 
 which the facts in this brief outline are ta¬ 
 ken, speak the truth, the name of Col. Bacon 
 will be rescued from the infamy w r hich has 
 adhered to it, for a century and a half; the 
 stigma of corruption, cruelty and treachery, 
 will be fixed on the administration by whichl 
 he was condemned; and one more case will 
 be added to those which prove that insurrec¬ 
 tions proceed oftener from the misconduct of 
 those in power, than from the factious and 
 turbulent temper of the people. 
 
 the end.