When Washington returned from the conference, he was accompanied by Lafayette, his chief of artillery, Henry Knox, and members of his staff. They rode through Fishkill and were heading toward West Point and a planned meeting with Arnold when they unexpectedly met the French minister to the United States, the Chevalier de La Luzerne, who was en route to visit Rochambeau. The minister was so eager to talk that Washington went back with him to Fishkill, where they spent the evening.
Next morning, September 25, the General headed off at daybreak—a ritual intensely unpopular with his staff, since it consisted of riding ten or fifteen miles before breakfast. He was eager to push on to Arnold’s headquarters and teased his retinue by saying they could look forward to a good meal and the opportunity of admiring Arnold’s lovely young wife, the former Margaret “Peggy” Shippen of Philadelphia (who happened to be first cousin to Tench Tilghman). Then he dispatched Lafayette’s aide, Major James McHenry, and Captain Samuel Shaw of Knox’s staff to ride on ahead and tell Arnold they were coming and to prepare for a number of hungry guests. Along the way to West Point, Washington made a careful inspection of several defensive positions on the east bank of the Hudson and shortly after ten o’clock came in sight of Beverley Robinson’s house, which Arnold had taken over as his headquarters. The rambling, two-story mansion was about two miles below West Point, and the General anticipated a warm welcome from Arnold and his beautiful Peggy.
About ten-thirty the group reined up before the house and saw, instead of Arnold and his wife, a single figure, Major David Franks, Arnold’s aide, who greeted them nervously and said that the major general had received a message at the breakfast table that required him to go immediately to West Point. When Franks asked if they had eaten, Washington said no, they would appreciate having some breakfast. Franks added that Mrs. Arnold was indisposed and in her bedroom, and that Lieutenant Colonel Richard Varick, the major general’s chief aide, was laid up with a severe stomach disorder. Adding to Varick’s discomfort was that nothing had come of his efforts to obtain a transfer from Arnold’s staff. Franks was equally unhappy in his current job: he had suffered such “repeated insults and ill treatment from Arnold” that he was determined “not to remain with him on any terms whatever.” What’s more, when Varick appeared, he and Franks observed that Mrs. Arnold had episodes of nervous tension “during which she would give utterance to anything and everything on her mind … so much so as to cause us to be scrupulous of what we told her or said within her hearing.” Service on the staff of Benedict Arnold was not an enviable assignment. Washington told Varick to go back to bed and not to worry, and after he and his officers enjoyed a leisurely breakfast they left Alexander Hamilton behind to receive any messages and rode to the dock, where Arnold’s barge—an elegant vessel with seats and awnings—and a crew of eight oarsmen waited to take them upriver to the fort.
What greeted them at West Point was quite a sight—one the Chevalier Chastellux was to call “the most magnificent picture” he had ever beheld. Around the fort itself, which clung to the rocks at river’s edge, the mountain summits bristled with redoubts and batteries—a complex that was an engineering triumph, designed by such skilled foreign engineers as Thaddeus Kosciuszko and Louis Duportail, and built with several years of hard labor by Continental soldiers. Above the fort were six additional works in the form of an amphitheater, positioned so as to protect each other. The highest and most formidable was known as Fort Putnam, named for General Israel Putnam, who had the lion’s share of its planning and construction, atop a precipitous plateau of rock that made it virtually inaccessible. Once here, one had a spectacular view of thirty miles in every direction. To the north of West Point, angling into the middle of the river, was Constitution Island, which seemed to be secured to the west bank by an enormous iron chain, made of iron bars two inches square, with links twelve inches wide and eighteen inches long, floating on sixteen-foot logs, to prevent vessels from sailing upstream. The main guns of the fort were trained on this barrier, which was located at the point where the river made a ninety-degree turn to the east, creating a kind of embrasure formed over the eons through the sheer rocks of immense mountains. Below it the Hudson widened and plunged southward again.
As the barge neared the dock, where Washington expected to find a welcoming party, no sign of activity was evident other than a few sentries making their appointed rounds. Most unusual—no Arnold, nor had anyone seen him that morning. Probably, the General thought, he was at one of the outlying works and would undoubtedly be found during their inspection tour of the defenses. Of all the posts in the United States, Washington considered West Point the most important. Three years earlier the Burgoyne expedition’s goal was to seize control of the Hudson and cut off communications between the northeastern and southern states, but fortunately that army of British, Germans, and Indians had been stopped at Saratoga in the victory that convinced the French to join in the war on the side of the Americans. West Point, which commanded the Hudson, had been called the Gibraltar of America, but when the General saw the condition of the place he was appalled.
The east wall and other portions of Fort Putnam had collapsed; Fort Arnold, constructed entirely of wood, was a tinderbox, certain to be set afire by a shell; and all the other defenses were in a state of advanced decay. Yet instead of crews at work on all these posts, Washington saw almost no one, and those he did see could tell him nothing of their commander’s whereabouts. The artillery colonel, John Lamb, who had fought at Arnold’s side at Quebec, where he lost an eye and part of his face, was in charge here and said he had not seen the major general all morning.
Thoroughly irritated now by Arnold’s unexplained absence, Washington nevertheless completed his inspection in about two hours (reporting later that he had found the post in “the most critical condition”) and with vague feelings of uneasiness left West Point after three in the afternoon and was rowed across the river to Robinson’s house, where his boat tied up at the landing about four. Mrs. Arnold was still in her room, Varick was in his, and Alexander Hamilton reported that he had heard nothing from the missing commander of the post. Completely mystified by then, the General went to the room designated for him, and as he waited to be called for dinner, Hamilton entered with a packet of papers sent to the commander in chief by Lieutenant Colonel John Jameson, commander of the cavalry outpost at North Castle, present-day Mount Kisco. Jameson’s covering note read:
Sir
Inclosed you’ll receive a parcel of Papers taken from a certain John Anderson who has a pass signed by General Arnold as may be seen The Papers were found under the feet of his Stockings he offered the Men that took him one hundred Guineas and as many goods as they wou’d Please to ask I have sent the Prisoner to General Arnold he is very desirous of the Papers and every thing being sent with him But as I think they are of a very dangerous tendency [letter torn] … ght it more proper your Excellency should see them.… From every account That I can hear they mean an Attack on the Troops at this place.…
The name John Anderson was vaguely familiar: wasn’t that the man Arnold had indicated was a secret agent for him in New York City? When Washington perused the papers found inside Anderson’s stockings, he was horrified. A pass for Anderson, dated September 22, was signed by Arnold. Other documents included a detailed summary of troop strength at West Point, an ordnance return, the placement of artillery in case of attack, a paper with the notation “Remarks on Works at Wt. Point, a copy to be transmitted to his Excell’y General Washington,” with detailed descriptions: “Redoubt No. 3, a slight Wood Work 3 Feet thick, very Dry, no Bomb Proofs … easily set on fire—no cannon,” and so on. Finally—most curious—a copy of minutes of the council of war on September 6, which Washington had sent to Arnold.
What was the meaning of this? How did this man Anderson come to have these secret documents, several of them in Arnold’s handwriting?
Hamilton had also received another letter for the General, brought by express rider from Jam
eson. Washington had been stunned by the other package he had received, but this one was even more remarkable. Written in elegant script, the letter was addressed to him and came from the prisoner Jameson had taken. The language of this extraordinary document, written the previous day (September 24), was as full of flourishes as the handwriting but, simply put, it was from Major John André, the British army’s adjutant general, to General George Washington. André wrote, he said, not out of fear for his safety but to explain why and how he had been apprehended. He had been “conducted” inside the American lines to meet a person who was to give him certain intelligence, but in a manner that was “Against my stipulation, my intention, and without my knowledge before hand.”
He came up the Hudson in the Vulture sloop of war, he wrote, dressed in his regimentals, but instead of being returned to the vessel had been obliged to remove his uniform and was “betrayed … into the vile condition of an enemy in disguise within your posts.” He had been “in the service” of his king and was “involuntarily an imposter.” His request was for “decency of conduct” toward him and the privilege of sending an open letter to General Sir Henry Clinton, and another to a friend requesting some clothing.
It was now clear to Washington that this British officer, André, had met with Benedict Arnold, who had given him the highly confidential information in the packet of papers, after which Arnold had fled—God only knew where. While he was digesting this bombshell in the presence of Hamilton and Colonel Robert Harrison, one of them reported what they had heard from James McHenry and Samuel Shaw, who had been sent ahead of Washington’s party and had eaten breakfast with Arnold this morning. During that meal a courier had handed Arnold a letter from Jameson, which was evidently the same one that had been turned over to Washington just now. Without revealing anything about its contents to his guests, Arnold excused himself, saying he had to cross the river to West Point at once, and McHenry and Shaw could see from the expression on his face that he was deeply disturbed by what he had read. The message, McHenry said, had thrown him “into some degree of agitation.”
Arnold immediately ran upstairs to inform Peggy about what had happened, told her he must leave at once in order to save his life, and on his way out of the house directed an aide to say he would return from West Point in an hour. Running from the house, he leaped on a horse and as he was rounding the stable saw several of Washington’s party, who told him the commander in chief was coming up the road. Arnold put spurs to his horse, galloped down a steep hill to the dock, where his barge awaited, and, after throwing his saddle and pistols into the boat, ordered the boatmen to row as fast as possible to Stony Point. He was anxious to get there in a hurry, he told them, so as to get back in time for a visit with the General.
When the barge was off Stony Point, Arnold told the boatmen his business required him to go aboard the Vulture and promised them two gallons of rum for rowing on as fast as possible. In a final contemptuous act, when they reached the sloop and went aboard, Benedict Arnold turned his crew over to the British as prisoners. These men, whom Washington described later as “very clever fellows and some of the better sort of soldiery,” were dumbfounded to be declared prisoners, since they assumed they were under the protection of a flag of truce. Fortunately, Washington added, when they reached New York “General Clinton, ashamed of so low and mean an action, set them all at liberty.”
* * *
GRADUALLY, AT THE Robinson house, the story of what had occurred began to emerge. Washington’s note to Arnold, informing him he would be passing through Peekskill on the evening of September 17, en route to Hartford, had set in motion an elaborate plan on the part of Arnold to capture the American commander in chief and seize the post at West Point. Arnold immediately wrote to the British, stating that Washington would be at King’s Ferry the following Sunday and planned to lodge at Peekskill that night. Providentially for the Americans, Arnold’s letter was delayed and did not reach the enemy in time for them to catch Washington, but the plan to take West Point was still in effect. All that remained was for Arnold and Major André to work out the details, and to that end Arnold arranged for Joshua Hett Smith—brother of William Smith, royal chief justice of New York—to go on board the Vulture on September 22 and bring ashore André (or John Anderson, which was the name by which Smith knew him). Smith lived nearby, in a country home owned by his brother. He was known to be an active Whig and had hospitably offered to put up Arnold’s wife if she should visit her husband.
The two plotters, Arnold and André, talked at Smith’s house all through that night and were still conversing at dawn when American cannon opened fire on the sloop, inflicting some damage and forcing her to drop downstream, out of range. Smith’s boatmen, who had rowed André to the meeting, realized the risks involved in taking him back to the Vulture and refused to do so. Arnold, disconcerted by this turn of events, told André he must change his uniform for a disguise, return to New York by a different route, and deliver the papers to Clinton. The Briton protested heatedly, but he was finally persuaded to put on some of Joshua Smith’s clothes and let Smith escort him to the British lines. At nightfall André and his companion were warned by American militiamen that travel after dark below the Croton River was extremely hazardous, so they put up for the night at a farmer’s residence.
Next morning the two set out together on the east side of the river, heading for White Plains, but Smith left André when they reached a place called Pine’s Bridge, telling him he would have an easy time reaching the British lines from there, and the major went off alone, carrying a pass in his pocket from Arnold that would supposedly get him past any rebel patrols.
André was riding through what was purportedly neutral ground, which was in fact a no-man’s-land—a savagely contested area where no one was safe, where loyalist partisans who called themselves “Cowboys” were on one side, fighting the “Skinners,” who supposedly supported the rebels, with both gangs preying on hapless travelers of all persuasions for whatever they could steal from them. Between nine and ten André was suddenly stopped by three American militiamen, who rushed out of the woods where they had been playing cards and grabbed his horse. Confused and alarmed, the British officer did not produce his pass from Arnold, which might have saved him, but instead told the men he hoped they belonged to “the lower party” (the popular term for the king’s supporters, who held territory at the lower end of the river).
“We do,” said one of them.
“So do I,” replied André, adding that he was a British officer on urgent business and must not be detained. Then he showed them Arnold’s pass, adding, “I am in his service.”
“Damn Arnold’s pass!” one of the men said. “You said you was a British officer. Where is your money?”
André said he had none with him, at which they ordered him to dismount and strip. Finding no money in his clothing, they had him remove his boots and finally his stockings, and there they discovered the papers given him by Arnold—revealing the troop strength and defenses of West Point. André, realizing that they wanted money more than anything, offered them a substantial sum, but since he had none with him, they decided they were asking for trouble by keeping him and took him to the nearest outpost, which was at North Castle.
There, the temporary commander, Lieutenant Colonel John Jameson of the Second Continental Dragoons, looked at the papers and tried to decide what to do. He and other officers at advanced posts had been ordered by Arnold to keep an eye out for a John Anderson and if they encountered him to send him at once to headquarters at West Point. Jameson had Anderson, all right, but those papers were something altogether different. They appeared to be “of a very dangerous tendency,” and he decided to send them to General Washington, who was known to be returning from Hartford, at the same time he dispatched the prisoner to Arnold at West Point.
Shortly after André departed under guard, Major Benjamin Tallmadge, who was in Washington’s secret service, returned from a scouting mission, heard a
bout John Anderson, and suspected that there was a lot more to this than met the eye. He spoke with Jameson,* persuaded him to recall the prisoner, and John Anderson and his guards came back to Lower Salem on Sunday morning, September 24, to be held pending instructions from Washington. Here he was put in the care of Lieutenant Joshua King, who was to deliver him to Washington, and the lieutenant was not overly impressed by what he saw. “He looked somewhat like a reduced gentleman,” said King. Over his undress military clothes, he wore a “coat, purple, with gold lace, worn, somewhat threadbare, with a small-brimmed, tarnished beaver on his head.” A barber came in to fix King’s hair, and when the lieutenant had him do the same for the prisoner, the ribbon André was wearing fell from his head. “I observed it full of powder,” said King, knowing that powdered hair indicated a man of some elegance. “This circumstance, with others that occurred, induced me to believe I had no ordinary person in charge.” Walking outside with the lieutenant, the prisoner confessed he needed someone to talk to, told King who he was, and requested pen and ink so he could write directly to the American commander in chief in an effort to convince him he was not a spy.
* * *
JOHN ANDRÉ WAS young—just twenty-nine years old—charming, handsome, with long black hair that hung down his back, tied fashionably with a black ribbon. Born in London, he was the son of a Swiss merchant who moved to England, and he had spent some of his early years in a London countinghouse, not regarded as suitable preparation for a military career. He was ambitious and industrious, and after being commissioned in the army and sent to America, he needed a patron in order to rise through the ranks. He found one in a protégé and kinsman of the powerful Duke of Newcastle—General Sir Henry Clinton—who eventually made him an aide-de-camp and adjutant general in America. André was something of a poet, had a talent for sketching, and participated enthusiastically in the amateur theatricals British officers engaged in to while away the long winters in New York and Philadelphia. In the latter city he was the guiding spirit behind an extravaganza called “Mischianza,” staged in 1778 to honor the departure of General Sir William Howe from America.
Victory at Yorktown Page 6
