Origins_Revolution

by Mark Henrikson

  “You’re confident you can deliver West Point to us without a struggle?” Henry asked. “You may be willing to rejoin your countrymen and wear the crimson, but the men under your command will not.”

  The suggestion that Arnold could not make good on his promise brought an offended sneer to his lips. “I have redistributed most of the men throughout my command area away from the fort. I have delayed several major repairs that are needed, and I’ve also sent the extra supplies to Washington’s army to eliminate any chance of withstanding a siege.”

  “That is a fine start,” Major André commended. “Did you also bring your drawings of the walls, guard placements, and timing of rotations?”

  “Yes, of course,” Arnold snapped. “If you can’t manage to take West Point with all that in your favor, then you may as well pack up and head back to London because the American colonies are lost.”

  Henry was satisfied that Benedict Arnold had done more than enough to assure the successful capture of West Point. With the victory, Henry would control a key bend in the Hudson River that would lock down British control of the territory all the way north to Albany. It would effectively slice the rebelling colonies in half, separating east from west. He was well pleased.

  “Your preparations are satisfactory,” Henry said with his best poker face downplaying his excitement. He knew Arnold would demand a lot for this, and he braced for the blow as he moved the discussion to the topic of compensation. “I have drawn up a contract payment to you in the amount of £10,000 for your services; a lifetime of wages.”

  The lowball offer left Arnold with the look of a man ready to throw someone overboard. “This single action will deliver to you the colonies; we both know this as fact. Assuming the major has passed along what I have already told him, you know full well that my price is £20,000 and a general’s commission in the army with my prior years of service eligible for pension. That is what I have offered, and that is what I will have.”

  Arnold demanded a lot, but he would also deliver a lot. Henry was tempted to counter with 15,000, but he did not want to take the chance. The value of West Point was too great to quibble over £5,000. “We have an accord, General Arnold.”

  “It’s about damn well time,” Arnold exclaimed and took Henry’s hand to seal the agreement. “Now put it in writing, we’ll sign it, and I’ll be on my way.”

  Henry beckoned one of the deck hands over to their conversation. The youth carried with him a written contract along with a quill and inkwell. Henry crossed out the original amount in favor of twenty thousand. Both men initialed the change and were in the process of signing the document when two cannon blasts rang out from the shoreline up ahead. A high-pitched whistle screamed past overhead and struck the water’s surface a hundred feet behind.

  “A fortified artillery position along the shore has spotted us, General. Shall we return fire? It will take a few good hits, but we can take them out,” the ship’s captain said.

  “No,” Henry answered as he finished scribbling his name on the page. “We have nothing to gain and everything to lose from an engagement tonight. Once our guests have departed, turn the ship about and head back to New York.”

  Arnold finished inking his name on the page before asking, “I take it that is my cue to leave then?”

  “Yes, both of you,” Henry confirmed. “Major André, deliver those plans to the force commander. They are to make their assault on West Point in the morning. General Arnold, return to the fort and we look forward to bringing you into the fold after the capture. Godspeed, gentlemen.”

  A second blast from the coastline followed by a strike fifty feet in front of the ship accentuated the need for quick action. “They have us bracketed, general. The next shot may deliver damage if we do not move,” the ship’s captain insisted.

  “Their boat is away, turn us about,” Henry answered. A minute later, a third blast delivered a geyser rising from the river waters where the Vulture once sat idle. Before a fourth blast sounded, the ship was already out of range.

  The next day, Henry sat at the desk in his office sipping his afternoon tea. He tried to occupy his time reading intelligence briefs and field action reports, but he was only interested in hearing the results of one particular action underway. The anxious hours ticked by at a glacial pace until finally there came a knock at his office door.

  “Sir, there is a Benedict Arnold here claiming he has urgent news.”

  “Send him in,” Henry ordered and allowed himself a sigh of relief. His relative state of relaxation lasted until he saw the frazzled state of Arnold. The man’s uniform was a mess and his mental state even worse. “What’s happened?”

  “Apparently the major managed to get himself captured by a colonial patrol last night while trying to cross the lines,” Arnold began with his eyes searching the room for a drink to calm his nerves. “They found my drawings of the battlements on him along with some of our correspondence. I was unable to intercept them before they could reach Washington. At that point, I felt it best to leave rather than face a hangman’s noose.”

  “What of West Point? What about the assault I ordered?” Henry snapped. He knew the answer already, but he still needed to hear it.

  “They never received the order, and Washington is busy fortifying the position as we speak,” Arnold answered.

  “Why didn’t you relay the order then on your way here?” Henry screamed before flinging his cup of tea across the room to see it explode against the far wall next to General Arnold.

  “In my colonial uniform?” Arnold countered. “Is discipline in your royal army so bad that they’d take orders from an enemy general?”

  “No, I suppose not,” Henry finally admitted and paused in his rant to take several deep breaths to bring down his state of rage. His fortunes had whipsawed from elation to devastation in a matter of seconds. Making matters worse, not only was West Point lost, but his most valuable assets in Major André was captured. Between heaving breaths, Henry heard another knock at his door. “What?”

  “A courier has just arrived from the colonial army. He carries a note from General Washington addressed to you, sir,” a very concerned looking lieutenant announced with only his head leaning past the door into the room.

  “Let’s have it then,” Henry answered and extended an expectant hand into the open air between him and the lieutenant. His subordinate crossed the room in a quick cadence, placed the note in Henry’s hand, and then exited the room as quick as possible.

  Henry took his time reading the correspondence while Benedict Arnold paced back and forth in front of the desk taking large gulps of brandy from a glass he filled for himself. To his credit, Arnold remained silent for a long while before finally asking, “Well, what does it say?”

  “Washington offers a prisoner exchange - you for Major André,” Henry responded with a raised eyebrow asking the obvious question, ‘Are you worth more to me than the major?’

  Arnold obviously received the question loud and clear because he immediately began listing the locations of all the supply caches he knew to exist. “If you give me a command, I can decimate their supply lines while they are still reeling from the distraction at West Point. We can still turn this into a great victory, but not if you hand me back over to Washington. Major André was good at acquiring intelligence, but I already have it. You only need to keep me around to make use of it.”

  Henry was torn. Major André was a good man, a good soldier, and a true patriot. The rebels would execute him as a spy if he did not make the trade. No man deserved that fate, especially him. Then there was Benedict Arnold, a turncoat, a sell sword of the lowest moral character. If anyone did deserve a disgraceful execution, it was him.

  Still, the information in his head carried great value, at least for now. Then there was the added benefit of being able to rub this coup in the face of his tormentor for a change. Decimating the rebel supply lines was not as grand a prize as West Point along with cutting the rebellion in half, but
it would still be damaging. It might even give Henry the opportunity to slice the rebellion down the middle and separate north from south by employing the southern strategy he had been nurturing for some time.

  “I am placing you in command of my fourth order,” Henry announced. “You will take those 2,000 soldiers into the Virginia colony. Capture Richmond if you can, but most importantly, take care to destroy every storage house, foundry, and mill you know to exist in the area. Leave nothing but smoldering ashes in your wake. Nothing.”

  The stay of execution evoked a broad grin from Arnold before giving way to a vacant start, a realization of the order given. Was that regret in his eye?

  Chapter 40: The Southern Strategy

  The gentle chime of a dinner fork tapping against a crystal glass drew Henry Clinton’s attention halfway down the dining table where an officer rose to his feet and raised his goblet high. “I’d like to offer a toast. To the visionary architect of our new southern strategy. It is a stroke of genius, sir, and I feel privileged to be a part of it.”

  “Here, here,” the other ten officers replied on the way to their feet standing with glasses offered in salute to Henry who remained seated at the head of the table. He acknowledged the gesture with a slight bow of his head before taking a drink and motioning for his officer’s corps to sit once more.

  “Once we’ve secured our capture of Charleston, the largest colonial city in the south, I will entertain such a description of my plan. Until then, you give me too much credit.”

  “Nonsense,” another of his officers countered. “Following the disaster General Burgoyne brought down on our heads with his surrender at Saratoga, many whispered not so quietly that all was lost here in the colonies.”

  “That incident emboldened the rebel cause like none other could have,” the man who originally offered the toast added. “The French recognized their Declaration of Independence immediately after and then formally joined the war effort.”

  “Aye, before that defeat all of us could have wiped our arses with the paper carrying that worthless declaration,” another officer who obviously hailed from the regions of Scotland said. “Now dozens of countries recognize it, which let the rebel government start conducting foreign policy and trade deals.”

  “What do they call that governing document of theirs?” someone asked.

  “The Articles of Confederation,” came an answer.

  “Nice name,” another chided.

  “Regardless of the name, it is a dangerous document,” a man wearing the uniform of a brigadier general at the end of the table offered. “It lets them legally govern and pay their army, tax their citizens, and conduct foreign policy. It is the beginnings of a new nation carved out from our empire if we’re not careful.”

  “A few months back, our prospects looked bleak,” Henry agreed. “General Burgoyne, that pompous little eunuch personifies everything wrong with the leadership we’ve received from London to this point.”

  “I’m sure it sounded like a flawless plan to parade a mighty British army down from Quebec into the Hudson River Valley,” Henry elaborated. “No ragtag rabble could stop such a force on paper. Unfortunately, the real world put forests, trees, and mountains they had no familiarity with in their way, but was their enemy’s backyard.”

  “Not to mention harassing militias shooting from the woods the entire way,” someone added.

  Henry raised his glass to recognize the valid point. “Eying that strategy through a real world lens revealed its flaws almost instantly. Any one of us would have seen that fact even before considering the incompetence of the man chosen to lead the doomed excursion.”

  “Then the savior in our midst took matters into his own hands,” came a salute with the beginnings of a drunken slur. “He stood tall and sent this army south, even before receiving proper permission from London to do so. Now, instead of licking our wounds within the confines of New York City, we are banging on the gates of Charlestown. This last row of trenches dug has put our men so close to theirs we could almost shake hands.”

  “Aye, and They…Are…Desperate,” the Scottish officer agreed with a heavy emphasis on each word. “They’re naw’ shootin’ cannon balls anymore. The last blast near me had a broken shovel, a few hatchets, even an iron and some glass in it. I’d wager one more massive barrage from our guns with the threat of our mole army at the gates will prompt the good citizens of Charleston to open the gates and hand over the rebels within their walls.”

  “That is indeed the plan,” Henry replied before directing his attention to the brigadier general seated at the end of the table, “and I would like to acknowledge General Benedict Arnold’s vital contribution to making this southern strategy possible. Without the distraction you caused the continentals by joining the king’s army and offering to hand over West Point, I could never have spared enough regulars to undertake this siege. Hessian mercenaries are fine for show, but worthless in an attack since they receive no pay if they’re dead. I thank you for your loyalty, sir.”

  “I’m honored to serve,” General Arnold replied. “I think after tomorrow you will have more loyal enlisted men than you know what to do with. Loyalists, like myself, here in the south are numerous. They are just waiting for a royal army to serve, which they have not seen any opportunities to join until now. Tomorrow will be a turning point in this war.”

  “I trust our careful approach to constrict around the city rather than pummel it into submission will preserve this southern loyalty you promise,” Henry asked.

  “Most certainly,” Arnold answered with some frustration with the snail’s pace of the process showing through. “What do you intend to do with the prisoners we take. Only 2,500 are with the colonial army, the remaining 5,000 are local militia, not to mention the citizens themselves. Not all are with the rebel cause, in fact, most are against it I’d wager.”

  “What would you suggest?” Henry asked. He would do as he intended regardless of the answer, but he wanted to get a true measure of this man. He had turned to the king’s army, but only for the coin. In his mind, Mr. Arnold was no better than the Hessian mercenaries he was required to employ.

  “We need to take the colonial army soldiers prisoner, there is no getting around that fact,” General Benedict Arnold offered.

  “Agreed,” Henry answered with a nod.

  “The militiamen are a different matter,” General Arnold went on with a hint of hope and compassion in his voice. “They are serving their community out of loyalty and protection of their homes and family rather than this rebel cause. They see us as invaders of their lands, plus, I’m sure the colonials have more than a few pistols pointed at their backs to encourage them to continue manning the walls.”

  “I would pardon them all,” Benedict Arnold went on. “Have all of them and the free citizens take an oath of loyalty to the crown. That way they publically acknowledge that we are not invaders, we are their protectors.”

  “An added benefit is the fact that if any of them are found breaking that oath, they are subject to summary execution rather than imprisonment or a trial,” Henry added.

  “That is certainly a benefit, but the true advantage will come when you offer the militias a chance to enlist in the Royal Army. Offer them a wage and the opportunity to protect their homes from the rebels, and your ranks will swell. That is what I would do,” General Benedict Arnold concluded.

  “We are of one mind in that regard,” Henry replied.

  The next day, the citizens of Charleston opened the gates and willingly handed over the colonial’s southern army. Every citizen took their oath of loyalty and the army welcomed thousands of new enlistments from the local militia ranks, as well as soft-patriots and fence-straddlers from the surrounding areas. It was in that moment that Henry allowed himself to accept his officer’s praise from the night before. It was a brilliant strategy executed to perfection. The fact that he got to rub it in the rebel commander’s face by utilizing Benedict Arnold as a distraction was icing o
n this particularly delicious cake. He had cut the rebellion off at the knees, and bolstered his manpower at the same time.

  Chapter 41: Deception Point

  “this is a damned disaster!” General Washington bellowed to kick off the war council meeting held in his command tent. He tossed an intelligence letter down on the table to accentuate his point. “British forces in the south have taken Richmond, Virginia. General Cornwallis moved his army up from Charleston North Carolina to meet the turncoat, Benedict Arnold’s and his forces. Together they overpowered the garrison within hours and set the city ablaze.”

  The news was indeed alarming, but what shocked everyone present was the volume with which the general delivered it. He never cursed, and rarely raised his voice past an elevated whisper owing to his contracting diphtheria as a child.

  While the other officers took a moment to regain their composure, Valnor reached across the table and picked up the intelligence note. His eyes passed over the section that General Washington had announced to the council and focused on the latter half of the letter. “This also informs that their combined force is moving toward the coast with a likely destination of Yorktown.”

  “That makes sense,” a major said with a nod. “Inland, they are out of communication with their headquarters. They couldn’t hold Richmond for long, so they burned it and now seek to reestablish communication with General Clinton in New York by reaching the coast.”

  “And there they will take yet another city from us. We are outnumbered and their men have better organization, discipline, and training,” Washington snapped out of frustration.

  “That is the downside of the situation I grant you,” Valnor answered, “but there is a strategic benefit to our predicament.”

  “Oh?” Washington prompted as if Valnor were about to recite a child’s fairytale story.