The Loyalist

by James Francis Barrett

  CHAPTER XI

  I

  More sin is attributed to the ruling passion of a man than to theforbidden pleasures of the world, or the violent assaults of the EvilOne. Under its domination and tyranny the soul suffers shipwreck anddestruction on the rocks of despair and final impenitence. It frequentlylies buried beneath the most imperturbable countenance, manifestingitself only at times, often on the occasion of some unusual joy orsadness. It responds to one antidote; but the antidote requires a man ofcoarse fiber for its self-administration.

  In this respect General Arnold was not a strong man. If he had actedupon himself wholly from without, as if he were not himself, and hadcultivated a spirit of humility and abnegation of self, together with aconsiderateness and softness of manner towards those at whose hands hehad suffered, he would have stifled his pangs of wounded pride andself-love, and emerged a victor over himself in the contest. He mighthave recognized his own imperfections to a tolerable degree which wouldhave disinclined him to censoriousness, not to say rashness. Bymaintaining an evenness of temper and equality of spirits during thedays of his sore affliction, he might have reconsidered his decisions ofhaste and ultimate disaster, and be led to the achievement of newer andnobler triumphs.

  But he did not. Instead he gave way at once to a violence of anger whichwas insurmountable. There was engendered within him feelings of revengeof the most acrid nature. His self-love had been humiliated and crushedbefore the eyes of a garrulous world. His vanity and his prestige hadbeen ground in the dust. There was no consideration save thedetermination for an immediate and effectual revenge.

  "Don't worry, my dear," Peggy had whispered to him on the way home. "Trynot to think of it."

  "Think of it?... God! I'll show them. They'll pay for this."

  Apart from that he had not spoken to her during the entire journey.Morose, sullen, brutal, he had nursed his anger until his countenancefairly burned from the tension within. He slammed the door withviolence; he tore the epaulets from his shoulders and threw them beyondthe bed; he ripped his coat and kicked it across the floor. No! He wouldnot eat. He wanted to be alone. Alone with himself, alone with hiswrath, alone with his designs for revenge.

  "The cowards! And I trusted them."

  He could not understand his guilt. There was no guilt, only theinsatiable lust on the part of his enemies for vengeance. The executioncame first, then the trial. There was no accusation; he had beencondemned from the start. The public, at whose hands he had longsuffered, who reviled and oppressed him with equal vehemence, who hadelevated him to the topmost niche of glory, and as promptly crumbled thecolumn beneath his feet and allowed him to crash to the ground, nowgloated over their ruined and heartbroken victim with outrageousjubilation. They were on destruction bent, and he the victim of theirstupid spite.

  If he could not understand his culpability, neither could he apprehendfully and vividly the meaning of his sentence. To be reprimanded by theCommander-in-chief! Better to be found guilty by the court and inflictedwith the usual military discipline. His great sense of pride could not,would not suffer him to be thus humiliated at the hands of him from whomhe had previously been rewarded with so many favors, and in whom he hadlodged his most complete esteem and veneration. He could not endure it,that was all; and what was more he would not.

  He decided to leave the city forever. Then the howl of contumely couldnot pursue him; it would grow faint with the distance. He was no longerMilitary Governor, and never would he reassume that thankless burden. Hewould retire to private life far removed from the savage envy of theseaspiring charlatans. Unhappy memories and wretched degradation wouldclose his unhappy days and shroud his name with an unmerited and unjustobloquy.

  His wife had been correct in her prognostications. The court, like thepublic mind, which it only feebly reflected, had been prejudiced againsthim from the start. The disgust which he entertained of the FrenchAlliance was only intensified the more by the recent proceedings ofCongress, and perhaps he might listen more attentively now to herpersuasions to go over to the British side. He would be indemnified, ofcourse; but it was revenge he was seeking, on which account he would notbecome an ordinary deserter. He had been accustomed to playing heroicroles, and he would not become a mere villain now at this importantjuncture. This blundering Congress would be overwhelmed by the part hewould play in his new career, and he would carry back in triumph hiscountry to its old allegiance.

  Gradually his anger resolved itself into vindictive machination, whichgrew in intensity as it occupied him the more. He might obtain thecommand of the right wing of the American army, and at one strokeaccomplish what George Monk had achieved for Charles the Second. It wasnot so heinous a crime to change sides in a civil war, and history hasbeen known to reward the memory of those who performed such daring anddesperate exploits. His country will have benefited by his signaleffort, and his enemies routed at the same time in the shame of theirown confusion. He would open negotiations with Sir Henry Clinton over anassumed name to test the value of his proposals.

  "They'll pay me before I am through. I shall endure in history, with theDukes of Albemarle and Marlborough."

  As he mused over the condition of affairs and the possibilities of thesituation, he wandered into the great room, where he saw two letterslying on the center table. Picking them up, he saw that one wasaddressed to Mrs. Arnold, the other to himself. He tore open his letterand read the signature. It bore the name of John Anderson.

  II

  The writer went on to say that he had arrived in safety in the city ofNew York, after a hurried and forced departure from Philadelphia. Themeeting was terminated in a tumult because of the deliberate andfortunate appeal of an awkward mountebank, who was possessed with a fundof information which was fed to the crowd both skillfully andmethodically; and by the successful coupling of the name of GeneralArnold with the proposed plot, had overwhelmed the minds of the assemblycompletely.

  He revealed the fact that the members of the court had already boundthemselves in honor to prefer charges against General Arnold in orderthat the powerful Commonwealth of Pennsylvania might be placated. He didnot know the result of the trial, but predicted that there would be butone verdict and that utterly regardless of the evidence.

  "Hm!" muttered Arnold to himself.

  The British Government, he added, was already in communication with theAmerican Generals, with the exception of Washington, and was desirous ofopening correspondence with General Arnold. Every one knew that he wasthe bravest and the most deserving of the American leaders and should bethe Second in Command of the rebel forces. The British knew, too, of theindignities which had been heaped upon him by an unappreciative andsuspicious people, and they recommended that some heroic deed beperformed by him in the hope of bringing this unnecessary and bloodycontest to a close.

  Seven thousand pounds would be offered at once, together with an equalcommand, in the army of His Majesty, and with a peerage in the realm. Inreturn he would be asked to exert his influence in favor of an amicableadjustment of the difficulties between the colonies and the mothercountry. General Clinton was ready to begin negotiations after theadvice and under the conditions proposed by General Arnold, which mightbe interchanged by means of a correspondence maintained with a certainambiguity.

  "Egad!" He set his lips; then he turned to the beginning of theparagraph. The offer was interesting.

  Anderson then went on to relate what already had been suggested to himduring the night of their conversation in the park at his magnificenthome, the exigencies of the country, the opportunity for a master strokeat the hands of a courageous man, who would unite His Majesty's peopleunder a common banner, and who might command thereby the highest honorsof life.

  He reminded him that it was possible to obtain a command of the rightwing of the American Army, a post only commensurate with his ability,which command might be turned against the rebel forces in the hope thatan immediate end might be made of the fratricidal war. There would be nohumiliating pea
ce terms. There would be no indemnities, no reprisals, noannexations nor disavowals. The principles for which the colonistscontended would be granted, with the sole exception of completeindependence. They would have their own Parliament; they would beresponsible for their own laws, their own taxes, their own trade. Itwould be a consummation devoutly desired by both parties, and thehighest reward and honor awaited the American General who bound himselfto the effectual realization of these views.

  "Announce your defection, return to the royal cause, agree to the termswhich His Majesty's peace commissioners will make, and earn theeverlasting gratitude of your countrymen, like Monk and Churchill."

  So the letter concluded with the humble respects and obediences of JohnAnderson. Arnold did not fold it, but continued to stare at it forseveral minutes, as if trying to decide upon some definite course ofaction in regard to it. At length he arose and limped to the desk, and,drawing out from its small drawer several sheets of paper, began hisreply.

  But he did not conclude it. Hearing footfalls in the hallway, he hastilyfolded the several papers, Anderson's letter included, and stuck theminto his breast pocket. He sat motionless, with the pen poised in hishand, as Peggy entered.

  III

  "You here?" she asked.

  He did not reply, nor make any movement.

  "Another resignation? or applying for a new command?"

  He now turned full about and faced her.

  "No. I was just thinking."

  "Of what?"

  She stood before him, her arms akimbo.

  "Of many things. First of all we must leave here."

  "When?"

  "I don't know."

  "Well then, where?"

  "To New York."

  "Do you mean it?"

  Now she sat down, pulling a chair near to him in order that she mightconverse the more readily.

  "I am thinking of writing for a new command in the army."

  He thought best not to tell her of his original purpose in writing, norof the letter which he had received from Anderson. Whatever foul schemeshe may have concocted, he did not desire to acquaint her with their fullnature. Enough for her to know that he intended to defect without herbeing a party to the plot.

  "Did I interrupt you? Pardon me!" she made as if to go.

  "Stay. That can wait. You were right. They were against me."

  "I felt it all the time. You know yourself how they despise you."

  "But I never thought----"

  "What?" was the interruption. "You never thought? You did, but you werenot man enough to realize it. Reed would stop at nothing, and if thecolonists gain complete independence, the Catholic population will giveyou no peace. That you already know. You have persecuted them."

  "What are they? A bare twenty or twenty-five thousand out of apopulation of, let us say, three million."

  "No matter. They will grow strong after the war. Unfortunately they havestuck true to the cause."

  "Bah! I despise them. It is the others, the Congress, Lincoln, Gates,Lee, Wayne. They will acquire the honors. Washington will be king."

  "And you?"

  "I'm going to change my post."

  She smiled complacently, and folded her arms.

  "Under Washington?"

  She knew better, but she made no attempt to conceal her feignedsimplicity.

  He looked at her without comment.

  Whether he shrunk from unfolding to her the sickening details of hisdespicable plan, or whether he judged it sufficient for her to know onlythe foul beginnings of his treason without being initiated into itswretched consummation; whether it was due to any of these reasons orsimply to plain indifference or perhaps to both, he became unusuallysilent on this subject from this moment onward. It was enough for her torealize that he had been shabbily treated by the Congress and by thepeople, that he had long considered the American cause hopeless and hadabandoned his interest in it on account of the recent alliance with thegovernment of France. In her eyes he thought it would be heroic for himto resign his command, and even to defect to the side of the enemy onthese grounds,--on the strength of steadfastly adhering to his ancientprinciples. He knew well that she had counseled such a step and wasenthusiastic in urging its completion, nevertheless he sensed that theenormity and the depravity of his base design was too revolting, tooshocking, for even her ears. He would not even acquaint her withAnderson's letter nor with the purpose he had of concurring with theproposition it contained.

  "Did you receive a letter from Anderson?" she asked suddenly.

  "Yes. He wrote to inform me that he had escaped in safety and is now inNew York."

  "No more?"

  "No. He did comment on the frustration of the plot, and expressed adesire to learn the identity of the disturber."

  "You will tell him?"

  "Later. Not now."

  There was a pause.

  "Do you intend to take active part in the coming campaigns? You knowyour leg will prevent you from leading a strenuous life in the field.Why not ask for some other post, or retire to private life? I want toget out of this city."

  "I am about to write for a new command. I have one friend left in theperson of His Excellency, and he will not leave me 'naked to mineenemies,' as the great Wolsey once said."

  "But he is to reprimand you," she reminded him.

  "No matter. That is his duty. I blame the people and the court which wasenslaved to them for my humiliation. They shall pay for it, however."

  "Let us leave together. Announce your desire of joining arms with theBritish and let us set out at once for New York. Mr. Anderson will takecare of the details. You know his address?"

  "Yes."

  "You have fought the war alone; end it alone. Settle your claims withthe government and let us sell our house."

  "Our house? This is yours, Margaret, and, by God, they shall not depriveyou of it. No! We will not sell our house. This is yours for life, andour children's."

  "Well, we can rent it for the present. For, if you go, I am going, too."

  "Very well. We shall see what the future holds out for us. Give me thatstool."

  He pointed to the small chair over against her. She arose at once andset it before him. He placed his foot upon it.

  "When I think of what I have done for them and then compare theirgratitude. Congress must owe me at least six or seven thousand pounds,not to mention my life's blood which never can be replaced. I have beena fool, a fool who does not know his own mind."

  "Didn't I predict what the outcome would be? I felt this from the momentAnderson left. And what were you charged with? A technical violation ofthe code of war. There was no actual guilt nor any evidence in supportof the charge. Were the least shadow of a fault in evidence, you may beassured that it would have been readily found. You were innocent of thecharge. But you were technically guilty that they might plead excuse fortheir hate."

  "I know it, girl ... I know it ... I see it all now. I tried hard todisbelieve it." He seemed sad, as he muttered his reply and slowly shookhis head.

  He was still for a moment and then sat suddenly upright.

  "But by the living God!" It was surprising how quickly he could passfrom mood to mood. Now the old-time fire gleamed in his eyes. Now theunrestrained, impetuous, passionate General, the intrepid, fearlessleader of Quebec, Ridgefield, Saratoga, revealed himself with all hisold-time energy and determination of purpose.

  "By the living God!" he repeated with his hand high in the air, his fistclenched, "They shall pay me double for every humiliation, for everycalumny, for every insult I have had to endure. They sought causeagainst me; they shall find it."

  "Hush! My dear," cautioned Peggy, "not so loud. The servants willoverhear you."

  "The world shall overhear me before another month. Revenge knows nolimit and is a sweet consolation to a brave man. I shall shame thisprofligate Congress, and overwhelm my enemies with no meanaccomplishment, but with an achievement worthy of my dignity and power.They shall pay me. Ha! they sh
all; by God! They shall."

  Peggy arose at his violent outbreak, fearing lest she might antagonizehim the more. It was useless to talk further, for he was enraged to apoint beyond all endurance. She would leave him alone, hoping that hewould recover his normal state again.

  She walked to the window as if to look out. Then she turned and vanishedthrough the doorway into the hall.

  IV

  Several days later a courier rode up to the door and summoned GeneralArnold before him, into whose care he delivered a letter from theHeadquarters of the Commander-in-chief. Strangely excited, the Generalfailed to perceive the identity of the messenger as he saluted and madethe usual brief inquiries. Only after the courier was well down the roaddid the memory of his strangely familiar face recur to him. But he wastoo preoccupied with the document to give him any more attention.Breaking the seal he scanned the introductory addresses and read hisreprimand from his Commander-in-chief, a reprimand couched in thetenderest language, a duty performed with the rarest delicacy and tact.

  "Our profession is the chastest of all," it read. "Even the shadow of afault tarnishes the luster of our finest achievements. The leastinadvertence may rob us of the public favor so hard to be acquired. Ireprimand you for having forgotten that, in proportion as you haverendered yourself formidable to our enemies, you should have beenguarded and temperate in your deportment towards your fellow citizens.Exhibit anew those noble qualities which have placed you on the list ofour most valued commanders. I myself will furnish you, as far as it maybe in my power, with opportunities of regaining the esteem of yourcountry."

  Slipping it again into its envelope, he slammed the door.

  PART THREE