by Logan Beirne
Arnold’s wife had died three and a half years earlier, and a local socialite caught his eye. Margaret “Peggy” Shippen, age eighteen, was the beautiful youngest daughter of a prominent Philadelphia family. Descended from the founder of the College of New Jersey (Princeton) and other politically powerful men, she had a great pedigree to match her smarts. And with her blond curly locks, small pretty face, and piercing glance, she was a woman of “every engaging attraction.”23 This lady of high society had been courted by many, but being passionate about politics, she favored military men.
Arnold was beguiled by the coquettish and intelligent young woman, two decades his junior, with “gray eyes that stared even as they smiled.”24 Besides, marrying a Shippen would certainly enhance his social standing. While the Shippens’ wealth had faded during the war, a misfortune shared by many Tories, their aristocratic prominence had not. So as he enjoyed the extravagances of Philadelphia’s high life, he actively courted the young beauty.
Peggy was likewise attracted to the courageous soldier. She had read about his exploits since childhood and was ecstatic to be lavished with attention from such a famous war hero. She also enjoyed “the vitality that irradiated his light-blue eyes and his high-cheekboned face.”25 Soon she was seen with him at parties around town, unable to resist his flamboyance and spendthrift ways.
Peggy’s father had misgivings about the match, however. The upper-crust, Loyalist-leaning Edward Shippen IV did not particularly care for a patriot with a money-hungry reputation, and he rejected Arnold’s first request for his daughter’s hand in marriage. But he came to appreciate Arnold’s fair treatment of Philadelphia’s Loyalists and to believe that Arnold’s apparent wealth would keep his favorite daughter happy. The Shippens eventually gave their approval, and Peggy soon married the dashing officer. Their divergent political views quickly became less of a problem: Arnold adopted her Loyalist tendencies as he grew more disgusted with his fellow patriots.
Despite his pretenses, Arnold was heavily indebted by his lavish lifestyle and by his spending of personal funds to support his military campaigns. To his great insult, Congress had balked when he demanded reimbursement for his contributions to the war effort, and so he took matters into his own hands. Always astute in turning a profit, he was purported to have “established lucrative connexions” with the Continental Army’s provision suppliers and their wives, and “made them the instruments of converting into money, his embezzlements of public stores.”26 In one alleged scheme, he made deals with the merchants to protect their wares in exchange for a cut of the profits. In another shady deal, he was said to have used army wagons to transport his own goods for sale. 27
Even though such profiteering was commonplace among officers during the war and often overlooked, the politicians in Philadelphia seized the opportunity to disgrace Arnold. His brashness had elicited resentment from Pennsylvania’s executive council, which went so far as to charge him with “various accounts of extortion on the citizens of Philadelphia, and with peculating funds of the continent.”28
Humiliated, Arnold stood trial before a panel of military judges for these corruption charges, starting on June 1, 1799.29 Washington privately sided with Arnold but publicly did little to aid him. This was because the great Virginian was being blackmailed.
The governor of Pennsylvania, determined to flex his political muscle, threatened to withdraw the state’s support for the war should Washington come to Arnold’s rescue. Desperate for supplies as he was, Washington decided not to interfere in the charged situation. Arnold, unaware of the blackmail, saw Washington’s silence as betrayal.
Arnold was acquitted of the serious charges, but the scandal left its disgraceful taint.30 He wrote his commander a pain-filled letter pleading for help in clearing his name, but Washington’s hands were tied.
Arnold snapped.
In a shocking twist, he defected from “the cause he had so gallantly maintained.”31 He came to see the once virtuous revolutionary cause as having been sullied by the people who now led it. While recovering from his injuries, both physical and emotional, Arnold expressed his deep feeling of betrayal by the American leaders. To his friends, he “complained of being ill used by Congress and the executive council of Pennsylvania, which had treated him with injustice.”32
As far as Arnold was concerned, he had courageously led the American forces to victory on multiple occasions, sacrificing not only his finances but also his health. And in return he was disgraced time and again as his political enemies in Philadelphia charged him with corruption and his military associates took credit for his victories. They had so offended his sense of honor that he came to consider the new American leadership just as suspect as the British government. The ideal of a government run by “educated, fair-minded men” was gone, and in its place was “something dark and venal.”33 The American cause was further degraded in Arnold’s mind by the nation’s new alliance with the French Crown. He was outraged that his blood and toil at Saratoga had led to an association with the absolute monarch of a “perfidious people.”34
Arnold perceived the corruption of the American cause as having trickled down into the thinning ranks of the patriot soldiers. The middle-class stock that made up the bulk of the troops at the beginning of the war had mostly returned home, discouraged by poor rations, low pay, harsh discipline, and shattering military defeats. In fact, as Americans grew weary of the struggle, the Continental Army’s fluctuating numbers plummeted from 27,500 to as low as 3,000. Those who had been motivated by ideals went back to their farms, while those in desperate need of the military wages stayed on. Arnold looked down on these lower classes, and he feared that the revolutionary spirit was gone.
Having lost the initial patriotic zeal, the American cause had indeed fallen into dire straits. Even Washington began to question the future of the new nation, writing, “unless a system very different from that which has long prevailed be immediately adopted throughout the states, our affairs must soon become desperate, beyond the possibility of recovery. Indeed, I have almost ceased to hope.”35
After fighting valiantly for the patriotic cause, Arnold now found himself with “a ruined constitution, and this limb (holding up his wounded leg) now rendered useless.” He fumed to his friends, “At the termination of this war, where can I seek for compensation for such damages I have sustained?”36 Enterprising as ever, Arnold devised a diabolical plan to get recompense. He would betray the revolutionary cause for £20,000.
23
Treason of the Blackest Dye
After Arnold helped expel the British from upstate New York, the necessity of building an “insurmountable barrier against the British navy” was clear.1 The Americans appointed their best military engineer to scout the area and discern the best location to rebuild a land-based defense.2 They selected a “point of land projecting in the river on the west side” on account of “the natural advantages presented not only from the strength of the circumjacent ground, but from the narrowness of the Hudson, where here takes a short winding circuit east and west.” This would force the British ships to tack to a shift in the wind while they drew cannon fire.3
At this ideal location, called West Point, the Americans swiftly constructed the “Great Chain” across the Hudson to Constitution Island in the spring of 1778. This large barricade was composed of a 600-yard iron chain floating atop multiple wooden rafts built from forty-foot waterproofed logs.4 With each two-foot link of the chain weighing 114 pounds, the entire barricade weighed approximately 65 tons and presented a formidable obstacle even to Britain’s most powerful vessels. On a natural plateau on an adjacent hill, the Americans built a fortification from which to defend this “Great Chain” from land assault and bombard any foolish ship captain who dared challenge the blockade. Unlike Fort Montgomery, which had been built a short way downstream two years earlier, the fort at West Point was largely “bomb proof and unassailable from its strength and elevated situation, being built on and composed of rocks,�
�� and was “abundantly stored with every military means of defence that the country was capable of affording at that stage of the war, and made the grand arsenal of the main army.”5
Enticed by the value of this “American Gibraltar,” Arnold “intimated a great desire to have the command at West Point.”6 Washington was puzzled. He respected Arnold’s abilities and was prepared to appoint him to command a large portion of his army. He correctly viewed Arnold as a man of action and a valuable leader in battle. But Arnold turned down a prestigious command in favor of a relatively sleepy defensive role guarding the Great Chain. It was difficult for Washington to refuse Arnold’s request since the officer’s “prowess and gallantry” during his rapid rise through the ranks had “justified his appointment.”7 So he appointed Arnold to the command of West Point. Washington wondered why he wanted this particular station. He never fathomed the actual reason.
After slowly cultivating a relationship with Clinton’s command in New York City, Arnold began negotiating his defection as early as 1778. In order to build trust with the British and prove the value of his services, he transmitted bits of sensitive American military intelligence: he divulged Washington’s troop movements, details regarding the French alliance, and information about the Americans’ inability to defend Charleston, South Carolina. This was all groundwork for wringing top dollar from the British when he sold America’s crown jewel, West Point.
Arnold knew that such a sale would inflict a “deadly wound if not a fatal stab” on the American cause, and he therefore expected the British to pay dearly.8 His quarrelsome ways reemerging, he began to argue with the British over compensation and became offended when Clinton refused to treat him as an equal. After haggling like a street urchin, Arnold finally settled on the £20,000 figure that would scar the history books—roughly the equivalent of 25.7 million in modern U.S. dollars, which he considered “a cheap purchase for an object of so much importance.”9 Because Clinton refused to meet with him directly, Arnold had to orchestrate the plot through a young British major named John André.
John André was an unusually well-educated young man known more for courtesy than for cunning. “To an excellent understanding, well improved by education and travel, he united a peculiar elegance of mind and manners, and the advantage of a pleasing person.”10 With his soft manners, he seemed to be “fraught with the milk of human kindness” rather than suited to warfare.11
Born in 1750 to a prosperous mercantile family in London, he grew into a handsome man with soft features and mannerisms. His large eyes, small mouth, and gently cleft chin gave him a kind and youthful appearance. His long, thick head of hair hung down his back, tied fashionably with a black ribbon.12 André was adept at painting, writing lyric and comic verse, and playing the flute. Educated in Switzerland, he was noted for an “inquiring mind” and an aptitude in mathematics and drawing.13 With a knack for language, he attained fluency in English, French, German, and Italian. But his father was unimpressed by his academic accomplishments.
When André was seventeen years old, his father demanded that he return home to work in the family’s counting house. André obeyed, albeit unhappily. Always a romantic, he looked for a means of escape from the family business, which he despised. Toiling as an accountant in a “gloomy” room warmed by a small coal fire, the teenager longed to join in the adventurous British Army battles he had read about at school.14 The glamour of military life would have to wait, however, for duty and love delayed his enlistment.
Two years after André returned home, his father died. André felt obligated to assume leadership of the family business in order to support his mother and siblings. He trudged through the days, but, as with many young men, his sense of duty was handily overwhelmed by his sense of attraction: André’s attention shifted to a wilting seventeen-year-old named Honora Sneyd.
A blonde “sickly angel” who had survived a bout of tuberculosis, Honora welcomed André into her literary coterie.15 André was warmly received into the group, and together they enjoyed poetry, song, and philosophical debate. In what became a magical time in his life, he joined Honora at her scenic family estate in Lichfield, England.16 Here, “where the shadows of the spires darkened the well-clipped lawn,” Honora and her elite group of romanticists talked of poetry, and André “played his flute as they sang to their reflections in the minster pool.”17 Anna Seward, Honora’s sister, described the beloved young gentleman:Belov’d Companion of the fairest hours
That rose for her in Joy’s resplendent bow’rs,
How gaily shore on thy bright Morn of Youth
The Start of Pleasure, and the Sun of Truth!
Full from their source descended on thy mind
Each gen’rous virtue, and each taste refin’d.
Young Genius led thee to his varied fane.
Bade thee ask all his gifts, nor ask in vain;
Hence novel thoughts, in ev’ry lustre drest
Of pointed wit, that diamond of the breast.19
But despite André’s intelligence, charm, and heart of gold, Honora’s affections proved fleeting. She fell out of love with him just as quickly as she had fallen into it. She came to feel that he was a frivolous dreamer who “did not possess the reasoning mind that she required.”20 Nevertheless, she followed the era’s rules of high romance and kept up the pretense: she “agreed to be in love with him.”21 To the love-struck André’s delight, the beautiful Honora soon accepted his marriage proposal. However, her powerful family intervened to quell the teenage romance’s rapid progression.
They demanded that André accumulate significant wealth before marrying their daughter. So he returned home and made an effort to “win Honora by making his fortune in the family business.” He was ultimately unsuccessful at amassing enough money to please Honora’s famously wealthy parents, and they broke off the engagement. “His love affair shattered,” André “revived an older ambition. Fame, honor, glory called him to the profession of arms.”22 Finding it too painful to remain in Britain, André would run.
He joined the British Army in March 1771, hoping to “dissipate the memory of his sorrows in the turmoil and dangers of war.”23 After training in Germany, he was transferred to Canada by the time the Revolution erupted in 1775. He fought bravely against the Americans and was even held captive for a short time. Writing of his imprisonment, he said, “[I] was stripped of everything except [my] picture of Honora, which I concealed in my mouth. Preserving that, I yet think myself fortunate.”24
After his release from American custody in a prisoner exchange, André spent nine months enjoying Philadelphia during Howe’s occupation. He lived in Benjamin Franklin’s abandoned home and quickly became a favorite of the city’s high society. As such, he spent much time with the family of Edward Shippen IV, whose lively young daughter Peggy caught his attention. He invited her to a military masquerade ball and even sketched a portrait of her—just as he had done as he was falling for Honora. But any budding romance was promptly cut short by the winds of war. When France entered the war and the British withdrew from Philadelphia in order to defend more vital locations, André departed with them. The American forces rolled in to retake the city, and Benedict Arnold replaced André as Peggy’s suitor.
The overachieving André continued to impress his British superiors with his intellect and writing ability. In recognition, he was appointed adjunct general on Clinton’s staff in New York City, where he won “friendship and even fondness” from his “solitary, resentful, and stubborn” superior.25 Clinton respected the charming, young André’s discretion and placed him in charge of the army’s secret intelligence activities. It was in this role that André eventually came into contact with his old friend’s new husband, Arnold.
Having successfully lobbied Washington for command of the West Point garrison, Arnold took over the post in July 1780 and proceeded to prepare his “treason of the blackest dye.”26 Eager to gain the maximum profit from his subterfuge, he had the audacity to request funds and
horses from New York’s state government on the pretext that he needed them to fix his soldiers’ barracks.27 This could get him some quick cash, though the real money would come from the British when they took over.
The fox in charge of the henhouse, Arnold began sending large groups of soldiers off on trivial assignments like chopping wood in order to diminish the fort’s defenses.28 Hoping to offer the British much more, he lobbied to remove the Great Chain across the Hudson, pretending that it required repairs, though the real purpose was to open the river to British warships.29 He even toured the fortresses to analyze their vulnerabilities. Exploiting the help of American engineers, he identified the exact angles by which the British might take advantage of weaknesses in the fortifications. For example, walls facing in the directions from which the British would most naturally attack were nearly impenetrable, but the Americans had neglected areas with rougher terrain from which they did not expect an assault.
While Arnold was unsuccessful in removing the Great Chain, he whetted Clinton’s appetite by informing him that a well-loaded ship could break it. He also offered to provide detailed plans of the fortifications. 30 These plans were the reason why Arnold met with André.
As summer set in 1780, Arnold requested to meet with the British in order to finalize the arrangements for the surrender of West Point and to coordinate the plan of assault. Even though Washington had an uncanny ability to read people, he was clueless about Arnold’s scheming. He never suspected that the man who had fought so valiantly for his army would ever consider such duplicity. Arnold enjoyed free rein, and he turned to his friend Joshua Hett Smith to facilitate a final meeting with the British.