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Many of his letters are in this strain. He tells her, in one of them, that, for her sake he has overcome his repugnance to a mercantile life, and that, if ever something whispers in his ear that he is not of the right stuff for a merchant, he draws his Honora's picture from his bosom, and the sight of that dear talisman so inspirits his industry, that no toil appears distressing. But this romantic affection in a merchant's clerk of eighteen had no results. Soon after coming of age he entered the army, and, about two years after, his Honora gave her hand to that terrific being whom lovers are supposed to style with gnashing teeth —" another." In 1774, the year before the revolutionary war began, he was ordered to Canada to join his regiment. Scarcely had the contest begun when he was taken prisoner by General Montgomery at the capture of St. Johns ; and he was held on his parole for about fourteen months. The American troops, he says in one of his letters, robbed him of everything he had except a miniature of his Honora, which he concealed in his mantle ; and having preserved that, he thought himself lucky. He spent most of his time as a prisoner at Lancaster and Carlisle, in Pennsylvania, having the liberty to go to a distance of six miles from his appointed residence. His chief amusement was drawing and painting, and he gave instructions in those arts to the young people of the families he visited, some of whom preserve to this day specimens of his skill. The grandfather of the late Caleb Cope, of Philadelphia, of the eminent mercantile family of that name, was one of his pupils in 1776. There is still a tradition in those towns of his agreeable and polite behavior. After his exchange he was stationed for a while in the city of New York, where he held the rank of captain. He probably owed his further rise in the army to a memoir which he wrote upon the war, in which he embodied the results of his observations during his long confinement, and in preparing which he was aided by a journal care-fully kept, and illustrated by drawings of everything curious and rare that he had seen. The intelligence displayed in this memoir procured him a staff appointment, and finally led to his being adjutant-general of the whole army. He was eminently fitted to shine upon a general's staff. During the British occupation of Philadelphia, Major Andre was one of those who were quartered in Dr. Franklin's house, from which the family had fled. Amateur theatricals were the reigning amusement of that winter, and it was Andre who painted the drop curtain, and most of the scenery, some of which did duty in a Philadelphia theatre many years after the war. The drop curtain was in use until 1821. One of the plays in which he took part was " The Liar," which was revived a few years ago in the city of New York. Andre amused the garrison also with various comic pieces of verse, in the style of Yankee Doodle, designed to cast ridicule upon the starving and shivering patriot army at Valley Forge. With all his talents, he was one of the last men in the British army to be employed in any affair requiring nerve and duplicity. Brave and high-principled he was ; but he had not the toughness of fibre, the coolness of temperament, the fertility of resources, and the callousness of conscience requisite in a man who ventures into the lion's den with intent to deceive and entrap the lion. He was too talkative, too confiding, too sensitive, too quick in surrendering the game. He would have led a forlorn hope up into the breach of a beleagured city with the most splendid valor ; but he was not the man for the complicated, cool-blooded business of a spy. Peggy Shippen, as she was usually called, was one of the most beautiful young ladies in Philadelphia, and a member of one of its most distinguished and ancient families. Her father, judge Edward Shippen, was a wealthy and hospitable gentleman of Quaker lineage, the owner of a fine mansion, the orchard and grounds of which were famed throughout the colonies. He was, like many of the old Quaker residents, a Tory in his feelings, and, prior to the arrival of the British, had been several times fined for his neglect of militia duty, to which, of course, he was averse. His pretty daughter was naturally of her father's politics, and, probably, owing to her age and sex, she was a Tory of a more positive cast than he. her loyalty could not but be much strengthened by the opportune arrival of a large body of victorious troops, whose officers showed every disposition to appreciate her devotion to their cause. Her father's house soon became a popular resort with these gentlemen, who always found a welcome there ; and the most frequent and favored visitor among them was Major Andre. In the gorgeous festival given in honor of Lord Howe just before his departure for England, both Major Andre and Miss Shippen were conspicuous figures. The celebration, which from its mingled character was named the Mischianza, included a regatta, a mock-tournament, a ball, a supper, and a display of fireworks. In the tournament, which was the most novel and brilliant feature of the occasion, Major Andre was one of the Knights, and Miss Shippen one of the fourteen chosen damsels in whose honor the jousting took place. The two sides, as we learn from an elaborate account which Major Andre wrote to a friend, adopted for their distinguishing devices, the one a Burning Mountain, with the motto I burn forever, the other a Blended Rose, of red and white intertwined, with the motto We droop when separated. A distinguishing costume was worn by the knights and ladies of each party, in addition to which each knight bore a shield with his private motto and device, and each lady wore a favor intended to be given as a reward to her champion. The costumes—at least, those of the ladies—were made in accordance with designs prepared by Major Andre. He refers to them as Turkish habits, although there was nothing beyond a veil and turban to indicate such a nationality. Trowsers are not mentioned, and he probably considered it within the license of an artist to provide a substitute for them. The costume therefore in which Miss Shippen, as a Lady of the Blended Rose, was arrayed on this occasion, consisted of a flowing robe of white silk, a rose-colored sash covered with spangles, spangled shoes and stockings, a spangled veil trimmed with silver lace, and a towering turban adorned with pearls and jewels. To us this description conveys a slight suggestion of the circus; but we must remember it was made before the day of aesthetic art, and that it was designed by a man. It is probable, too, that Peggy Shippen was lovely enough to look well even in spangled incongruity. The tournament took place upon the lawn in front of the house of Mr. Wharton, a beautiful green slope rising by a gentle ascent from the Delaware river. The company, who arrived in boats, were marshaled to their places in the procession, and advanced to the stirring music of " all the bands in the army," through an avenue formed by two lines of grenadiers, and spanned by two triumphal arches. "Two pavilions," wrote Major Andre, " with rows of benches rising one above the other, and serving as wings of the first triumphal arch, received the ladies ; while the gentlemen ranged themselves in convenient order on each side." Upon the front seat of one of these pavilions sat the seven ladies of the Blended Rose, doubtless in a flutter, wondering how their knights would acquit themselves. Presently these gentlemen, attired in red and white silk, mounted upon gray horses, and each attended by his squire, made the circuit of the field, preceded by their Herald. Each saluted his lady in passing, and they then ranged themselves in line before the pavilion. The Herald proclaimed the superiority of the ladies of the Blended Rose to all others in " wit, beauty, and every accomplishment" ; and added to that, should this assertion be disputed, their knights were ready to maintain it by force of arms. The Herald of the Burning Mountain did dispute the bold assertion ; the knights of that device rode in ; a gauntlet was thrown down and taken up ; and presently the jousting began. "The knights then received their lances from their esquires," says Major Andre, " fixed their shields on their left arms, and making a general salute to each other, by a very graceful movement of their lances, turned round to take their career, and, encountering in full gallop, shivered their spears. In the second and third encounter they discharged their pistols. In the fourth they fought with their swords." The two chiefs then engaged in single combat, and fought until the Heralds interfered and declared that the ladies were satisfied. A procession was again formed; the knights dismounted and joined the ladies ; and all passed through the garden and into the house, where in a beautiful hall the knights kneeling received each a favor from his lady. What was the favor that Peggy Shippen bestowed is not recorded ; but the fortunate warrior who received it was a Lieutenant Sloper, who had borne his part in the tourney with the device of a Heart and Sword upon his shield ; his motto was Honor and the Pair. Shortly after this grand festival, Philadelphia was abandoned by the British. When we next hear of Margaret Shippen she is a married woman, the wife of an American general. Her husband was no other than Benedict Arnold, the commander of the American troops that occupied the city after the departure of the enemy. This post Arnold held for nine months, and during that period conducted himself in a manner so arbitrary that the council of Pennsylvania charged him with misconduct, and demanded a trial by court-martial. He was tried, and sentenced to be reprimanded by the commander-in-chief, who showed as much leniency as possible in the discharge of this unpleasant duty. Throughout his trial Arnold professed himself devotedly attached to his country ; yet he had for some months been carrying on a treasonable correspondence with the enemy. His letters, signed Gustavus, were sent to Sir Henry- Clinton, who entrusted to Major Andre the task of answering them. The replies were signed John Anderson. Neither Sir Henry Clinton nor Major Andre knew with whom they were corresponding, until gradually the information contained in the letters betrayed the author. On the sixth of August, 1779, Mrs. Arnold had the pleasure of receiving a letter from her old friend, Major Andre, then in New York. A year had passed since they parted ; yet he had never written to her before, nor (lid he continue the correspondence thus abruptly opened. "Madame,"— so runs the letter —" Major Giles is so good as to take charge of this letter, which is meant to solicit your remembrance, and to assure yon that my respect for you, and the lair circle in which I had the honor of becoming acquainted with you, remains unimpaired by distance or political broils. It would make me very happy to become useful to you here. You know the Mesquianza made me a complete milliner. Should you not have received supplies for your fullest equipment from that department, I shall be glad to enter into the whole detail of cap-wire, needles, gauze, etc., and, to the best of my abilities, render you in these trifles services from which I hope you would infer a zeal to be further employed. I beg you would present my best respects to your sisters, to the Miss Chews, and to Mrs. Shippen and Mrs. Chew. I have the honor to be, with the greatest regard, Madame, your most obedient and most humble servant, John Andre." There has been much discussion with regard to this letter. Many deem it to be what it purports to be — a letter of friendship, and nothing more. Others think with much probability, that it was written to indicate, by a veiled allusion to "further employment," and by the similarity of the handwriting to that of " John Anderson," who that mysterious individual really was. It is worded, moreover, in a careful and conciliatory manner. The slighting reference to the war as ''political broils," is immediately noticeable. Whether, from his knowledge of the character of his fair Tory friend, he imagined that, since there was a plot, she would be sure to be in it, or whether he wrote the letter merely that she might show it to her husband, we can only conjecture. In 1780, with the express and deliberate purpose of betraying an important post, Benedict Arnold solicited an appointment to the command at West Point. Shortly after his removal to this place he was joined by his wife, whose beauty and agreeable manners had already wade her as popular with the American officers, in spite of her well-known Tory inclinations, as she had been with the British. But her American admirers had neither time nor opportunity to enjoy her society as their enemies had done. " Political broils," perhaps, appeared to them too serious a matter to permit of such distractions as balls and amateur theatricals. And if, while still in her native city, surrounded by old friends and new acquaintances, Mrs. Arnold looked back with regret to the gayeties of the British occupation, she could scarcely have found the military routine of life at West Point much to her taste. Meanwhile, the treacherous plans of her husband were maturing. The impulse that precipitated André upon his fate was, as we can clearly discern in the records of the time, honorable and patriotic. He looked forward with the utmost confidence to being the means of putting an end to the war through the defection of Arnold and the capture of West Point. Immense supplies had been gathered in and about that post, which had been fortified by three years' constant labor of a large force of men, and an expenditure of three millions of dollars. The post was not only of infinite value as keeping open communication between the various posts of the country, but it was relied upon as a last resort for the army in case a series of disasters should render an impregnable refuge necessary. It was Andre's belief that the patriot cause could not survive the two-fold calamity of the defection of so important an officer, and the loss of so important a place. At the ancient mansion of Jacobus Kip, which stood at what we now call the corner of Second avenue and Thirty-fourth street, Major André dined, for the last time, with Sir Henry Clinton and his staff, before leaving New York for his fatal interview with Arnold. After dinner, when he was called upon, as usual, for a song, he gave the one attributed to General Wolfe, who sang it the evening before he climbed the heights of Quebec:
Thus sang the light-hearted soldier of twenty-nine, with his comrades around him, and his general at the head of the table. Early the next morning he started on his mission. Four days after, he was a prisoner. Nine days after, he swung from a gibbet. The scenes which occurred at West Point (luring those momentous days are too well known to require repetition here. Let us merely recall those in which Mrs. Arnold so unhappily figured. It so chanced, as the reader is aware, that General Washington was then upon his way to meet Count de Rochambeau at West Point. He and his suite were nearing this place in the early morning, when he paused, and turning his horse into a by-way leading to the river, was about to ride on in that direction. Lafayette, who was beside him, protested, saying that word had been sent to West Point that they were coining, and it would be a pity to cause Mrs. Arnold to wait breakfast. "Ah," replied Washington, "I know you young men are all in love with Mrs. Arnold, and wish to get where she is as soon as possible. You may go and take your breakfast with her, and tell her not to wait for me. I must ride down and examine the redoubts on this side of the river, and will be there in a short time." Lafayette chose to remain with his chief. Two aides were sent on with the message, who, upon arriving, sat down to the table with General and Mrs. Arnold, and a few officers. They were still occupied with their meal when a letter was delivered to General Arnold which caused him, apparently, some slight embarrassment. lie remained in his place for some minutes, continuing to sustain his part in the conversation ; then, urging the plea of business, and requesting his guests to excuse him and make themselves at home during his absence, which should be brief, he left the room. News traveled slowly in those times. Two full days had then passed since the arrest of Andre. The letter which Arnold received was the one written by Colonel Jameson to inform him of that arrest and of the transmission of the fatal papers to Washington. There was obviously not a moment to be lost. Hastily giving the orders necessary for his escape, he entered his wife's room to bid her farewell. She was there awaiting him. Her quick eye had told her that something serious had occurred, and his forced calmness at the table had not deceived her. She, too, had excused herself to her guests, and gone to her room, ready to receive his confidence. In a few hurried words he explained to her the necessity of his immediate departure. She, overcome by the suddenness of the blow, uttered a shriek of terror that summoned her maid to the spot; while he, clasping her once more in his arms as she appeared about to faint, kissed her and his child, bade the girl attend to her, and hurried from the room. On his way out of the house he paused a moment at the dining-room to explain to the guests that Mrs. Arnold was suddenly seized with illness and could not leave her chamber. Then he mounted his horse and dashed at full speed toward the river. Not long after, Washington arrived, and was surprised and displeased to learn of Arnold's departure. He spent a couple of hours in inspecting the fort, and then recrossed the river and rode with his suite to Robinson's House. Here he found awaiting him the papers which explained the plot. Hastily despatching some officers in pursuit of Arnold, he returned to West Point and at once asked to see Mrs. Arnold. She was apparently distracted. Her condition was pitiable to witness, and convinced all present that she was not implicated in her husband's treason. She pro-tested her innocence; she wept, she raved, she evinced at times the utmost terror if approached, declaring wildly that the life of her child—a baby in arms—was endangered ; that they meant to murder it. In short, she appeared as if crazed by sorrow. General Washing-ton and his aides, touched with pity for her condition, soon left her to her grief, and withdrew to the dining-room to discuss further measures. They were still seated at the table when two letters from Arnold were brought in ; one addressed to the commanding general, and the other to Mrs. Arnold. In the first he declared her innocence and requested protection for her. Upon reading it Washington at once turned to an aide. "Go," he said, " to Mrs. Arnold, and inform her that though my duty required that no means should be neglected to arrest General Arnold, I have great pleasure in acquainting her that he is now safe on board a British vessel of war." Mrs. Arnold's conduct had convinced General Washing-ton and his staff of her innocence, especially the young and ardent Hamilton, who has left us a moving account of her beauty and distress. But public opinion condemned her, and the residents of her native city in particular were convinced that she was her husband's accomplice, if indeed she had not tempted him to treason. They knew her best, and we are justified in saying that they were right. One evening, not long after the events just narrated, Colonel Aaron Burr was at the house of Mrs. Theodosia Prevost, the accomplished lady whom he afterwards married. Suddenly, horses' hoofs were heard upon the road without, and presently a lady in a riding habit, veiled, burst into the room, and hurried up to Mrs. Prevost. She was about to speak, when she observed Colonel Burr, although without recognizing him in the dim light. She paused and asked anxiously : "Am I safe ? Is this gentleman a friend ?" "Oh, yes," Mrs. Prevost answered, " he is my most particular friend, Colonel Burr." "Thank God!" exclaimed the lady, who was none other than Mrs. Arnold ; "I've been playing the hypocrite, and I'm tired of it." Colonel Burr was also an old friend of herself and the Shippen family. He had been an inmate of her father's house. Feeling herself at liberty to speak freely at last, Mrs. Arnold avowed her deception of General Washington, who had even given her an escort of horse from West Point. She further confessed that she had been aware of the whole progress of the plot, and that it was she who had induced her husband to betray his country. She passed the night at Mrs. Prevost's house, being careful, when strangers entered the room, to resume the piteous and distracted bearing which had already served her so well. Many have doubted the truth of this incident because it rests upon the word of Aaron Burr. But Burr, what-ever his faults, was by no means the man to invent a lie which could be of no service to himself or any one else, for the mere pleasure of telling it. His story is but too probable. False, frivolous, and ambitions, she naturally desired, after the taste of distinction she had enjoyed during the days of the British occupation, followed by the bitter ordeal of her husband's disgrace in the eyes of her own Philadelphians, to escape to the brilliant social life of England. Upon reaching Philadelphia, where she wished to reside for a while with her family, the authorities refused to allow her to remain, although she protested her patriotism, promised to write no letters to her husband until after the war, and to send all received from him at once to the government. She was forced to go to New York, where, after a period of suitable dejection, she again entered society and shone as brilliantly as ever. Her life in England, when at length she was enabled to rejoin her husband there, can scarcely have been agreeable to her. Arnold received some compensation in money and in military rank from the British government; but men of honor would not know him, and he was frequently insulted. His wife shared the mortification which such slights inflicted. Of her subsequent life, history gives us but a few faint glimpses. One of these shows her standing at his side in Westminster Abbey before the monument erected by the king to the memory of her old friend Major Andre, reading the inscription that told of his untimely death—due, indeed, if Burr's story be true, in large measure to her influence. The reader has, perhaps, seen, or will see, the monument to Andre in Westminster Abbey. It has a very insignificant appearance, but the name in the inscription arrests every American eye, and the few words accompanying it impress every American mind: "Sacred to the Memory of MAJOR JOHN ANDRE, who, raised by his merit, at an early period of life, to the rank of Adjutant-General of the British Forces in America, and employed in an important but hazardous enterprise, fell a sacrifice to his zeal for his king and country, on the second of October, 1780, aged twenty-nine; universally beloved and esteemed by the army in which he served, and lamented even by his foes. His gracious Sovereign, King George the Third, has caused this monument to be erected." Mrs. Arnold returned at length to her native country. Her husband dead, her children mature and settled in life, she left a country where her illusions had been destroyed and her hopes unfulfilled, and came home to die. To America she came, but not to her old family home in Philadelphia ; not to her relatives and friends—if any friends there remained to her. She did not enter Pennsylvania. She preferred to remain in Massachusetts, the state where an ancestor of hers had been publicly whipped for being a Quaker. She died at Uxbridge, Mass., February 14, 1834, eighty-three years of age. Some of her descendants still survive in England, worthy and honorable persons. The present head of the family is a clergyman of the Church of England, owner of the estate of Little Messenden Abbey, in Buckingham-shire. He is now a wealthy man, a tract of land near Toronto granted by the government to Benedict Arnold, having recently become of great value. He is a kindly and pleasant gentleman, and not at all averse to talking of an ancestor of whom he cannot be proud. One of the sons of the traitor died a few years ago,. a Lieutenant-General of the British army. At Tappantown, in Rockland county, New York, a village about three miles west of the Hudson river, and about forty from the city, there is an elevated field, in the midst of which there might have been seen till recently a withered tree, and a heap of stones ; and for a little space round about, the ground was never ploughed. Strangers occasionally came, who gazed upon the spot with evident interest. It is a pleasant, romantic region, interesting to New Yorkers because of the vicinity of Rockland Lake, which supplies us with part of our ice, and gives name to much of the rest. This heap of stones marked the spot where the remains of Major Andre reposed from the day of his execution in 1780, until 1821, when they were transferred to Westminster Abbey in London. His grave was dug directly beneath the gallows, and there he was interred at the depth of three or four feet. A peach-tree, planted by a sympathetic woman's hand to mark the grave, struck down its roots, pierced the coffin, and formed a net-work of fibres around the skull. This tree was taken up with the remains and replanted in one of the royal gardens in London. The skeleton, enclosed in a mahogany coffin, which was
exceedingly massive and richly decorated with gold, and covered with velvet black and crimson, was conveyed to London in a British man-of-war, and interred in the abbey with religious ceremonies, near the monument erected to his honor by George the Third. For forty-one years the body had remained in a cheap pine coffin, painted black, and in the unhonored grave of a spy, to be buried at last in the mausoleum of heroes, orators, pouts, and statesmen. Related:
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