IN WHICH ARNOLD AND HENRY THORNHILL ARRIVE IN THE HIGHLANDS
Margaret and her mother returned to England with David Hartley soon
after Colonel Irons had left France. The British Commissioner had not
been able to move the philosopher. Later, from London, he had sent a
letter to Franklin seeking to induce America to desert her new ally.
Franklin had answered:
"I would think the destruction of our whole country and the extirpation
of our people preferable to the infamy of abandoning our allies. We
may lose all but we shall act in good faith."
Here again was a new note in the history of diplomatic intercourse.
Colonel Irons' letter to Margaret Hare, with the greater part of which
the reader is familiar, was forwarded by Franklin to his friend
Jonathan Shipley, Bishop of St. Asaph, and by him delivered. Another
letter, no less vital to the full completion of the task of these pages
was found in the faded packet. It is from General Sir Benjamin Hare to
his wife in London and is dated at New York, January 10, 1780. This is
a part of the letter:
"I have a small house near the barracks with our friend Colonel Ware
and the best of negro slaves and every comfort. It is now a loyal
city, secure from attack, and, but for the soldiers, one might think it
a provincial English town. This war may last for years and as the sea
is, for a time, quite safe, I have resolved to ask you and Margaret to
take passage on one of the first troop ships sailing for New York,
after this reaches you. Our friend Sir Roger and his regiments will be
sailing in March as I am apprised by a recent letter. I am, by this
post, requesting him to offer you suitable accommodations and to give
you all possible assistance. The war would be over now if Washington
would only fight. His caution is maddening. His army is in a
desperate plight, but he will not come out and meet us in the open. He
continues to lean upon the strength of the hills. But there are
indications that he will be abandoned by his own army."
Those "indications" were the letters of one John Anderson, who
described himself as a prominent officer in the American army. The
letters were written to Sir Henry Clinton. They asked for a command in
the British army and hinted at the advantage to be derived from facts,
of prime importance, in the writer's possession.
Margaret and her mother sailed with Sir Roger Waite and his regiments
on the tenth of March and arrived in New York on the twenty-sixth of
April. _Rivington's Gazette_ of the twenty-eighth of that month
describes an elaborate dinner given by Major John Andr?
Adjutant-General of the British Army, at the City Hotel to General Sir
Benjamin Hare and Lady Hare and their daughter Margaret. Indeed the
conditions in New York differed from those in the camp of Washington as
the day differs from the night.
A Committee of Congress had just finished a visit to Washington's
Highland camp. They reported that the army had received no pay in five
months; that it often went "sundry successive days without meat"; that
it had scarcely six days' provisions ahead; that no forage was
available; that the medical department had neither sugar, tea,
chocolate, wine nor spirits.
The month of May, 1780, gave Washington about the worst pinch in his
career. It was the pinch of hunger. Supplies had not arrived. Famine
had entered the camp and begun to threaten its life. Soldiers can get
along without pay but they must have food. Mutiny broke out among the
recruits.
In the midst of this trouble, Lafayette, the handsome French Marquis,
then twenty-three years old, arrived on his white horse, after a winter
in Paris, bringing word that a fleet and army from France were heading
across the sea. This news revived the drooping spirit of the army.
Soon boats began to arrive from down the river with food from the east.
The crisis passed. In the north a quiet summer followed. The French
fleet with six thousand men under Rochambeau arrived at Newport, July
tenth, and were immediately blockaded by the British as was a like
expedition fitting out at Brest. So Washington could only hold to his
plan of prudent waiting.
2
On a clear, warm day, late in July, 1780, a handsome coach drawn by
four horses crossed King's Ferry and toiled up the Highland road. It
carried Benedict Arnold and his wife and their baggage. Jack and
Solomon passed and recognized them.
"What does that mean, I wonder?" Jack queried.
"Dun know," Solomon answered.
"I'm scared about it," said the younger scout. "I am afraid that this
money seeker has the confidence of Washington. He has been a good
fighting man. That goes a long way with the Chief."
Colonel Irons stopped his horse. "I am of half a mind to go back," he
declared.
"Why?"
"I didn't tell the General half that Reed said to me. It was so bitter
and yet I believe it was true. I ought to have told him. Perhaps I
ought now to go and tell him."
"There's time 'nough," said Solomon. "Wait till we git back.
Sometimes I've thought the Chief needed advice but it's allus turned
out that I was the one that needed it."
The two horsemen rode on in silence. It was the middle of the
afternoon of that memorable July day. They were bound for the neutral
territory between the American and British lines, infested by "cow
boys" from the south and "skinners" from the north who were raiding the
farms of the settlers and driving away their cattle to be sold to the
opposing armies. The two scouts were sent to learn the facts and
report upon them. They parted at a cross-road. It was near sundown
when at a beautiful brook, bordered with spearmint and wild iris, Jack
watered and fed his horse and sat down to eat his luncheon. He was
thinking of Arnold and the new danger when he discovered that a man
stood near him. The young scout had failed to hear his approach--a
circumstance in no way remarkable since the road was little traveled
and covered with moss and creeping herbage. He thought not of this,
however, but only of the face and form and manner of the stranger. The
face was that of a man of middle age. The young man wrote in a letter:
"It was a singularly handsome face, smooth shaven and well shaped with
large, dark eyes and a skin very clean and perfect--I had almost said
it was transparent. Add to all this a look of friendliness and
masterful dignity and you will understand why I rose to my feet and
took off my hat. His stature was above my own, his form erect. I
remember nothing about his clothes save that they were dark in color
and seemed to be new and admirably fitted.
"'You are John Irons, Jr., and I am Henry Thornhill,' said he. 'I saw
you at Kinderhook where I used to live. I liked you then and, since
the war began, I have known of your adventures.'
"'I did not flatter myself that any one could know of them except my
family, and my fellow scout and General Washington,' I answered.
"'Well, I happen to have had the chance to know of them,' he went on.
'You are a true friend of the great cause. I saw you passing a little
way back and I followed for I have something to say to you.'
"'I shall be glad to hear of it,' was my answer.
"'Washington can not be overcome by his enemies unless he is betrayed
by his friends. Arnold has been put in command at West Point. He has
planned the betrayal of the army.'
"'Do you know that?' I asked.
"'As well as I know light and darkness.'
"'Have you told Washington?'
"'No. As yet I have had no opportunity. I am telling him, now,
through you. In his friendships he is a singularly stubborn man. The
wiles of an enemy are as an open book to him but those of a friend he
is not able to comprehend. He will discredit or only half believe any
warning that you or I may give him. But it is for you and Solomon to
warn him and be not deceived.'
"'I shall turn about and ride back to camp,' I said.
"'There is no need of haste,' he answered. 'Arnold does not assume
command until the third of August.'
"He shaded his eyes and looked toward the west where the sun was
setting and the low lying clouds were like rose colored islands in a
golden sea, and added as he hurried away down the road to the south:
"'It is a beautiful world.'
"'Too good for fighting men,' I answered as I sat down to finish my
luncheon for I was still hungry.
"While I ate, the tormenting thought came to me that I had neglected to
ask for the source of his information or for his address. It was a
curious oversight due to his masterly manner and that sense of the
guarded tongue which an ordinary mortal is apt to feel in the presence
of a great personality. I had been, in a way, self-bridled and
cautious in my speech, as I have been wont to be in the presence of
Washington himself. I looked down the road ahead. The stranger had
rounded a bend and was now hidden by the bush. I hurried through my
repast, bridled my horse and set off at a gallop expecting to overtake
him, but to my astonishment he had left the road. I did not see him
again, but his words were ever with me in the weeks that followed.
"I reached the Corlies farm, far down in the neutral territory, at ten
o'clock and a little before dawn was with Corlies and his neighbors in
a rough fight with a band of cattle thieves, in the course of which
three men and a boy were seriously disabled by my pistols. We had
salted a herd and concealed ourselves in the midst of it and so were
able to shoot from good cover when the thieves arrived. Solomon and I
spent four days in the neutral territory. When we left it a dozen
cattle thieves were in need of repair and three had moved to parts
unknown. Save in the southern limit, their courage had been broken.
"I had often thought of Nancy, the blaze-faced mare, that I had got
from Governor Reed and traded to Mr. Paulding. I was again reminded of
her by meeting a man who had just come from Tarrytown. Being near that
place I rode on to Paulding's farm and spent a night in his house. I
found Nancy in good flesh and spirits. She seemed to know and like the
touch of my hand and, standing by her side, the notion came to me that
I ought to own her. Paulding was reduced in circumstances. Having
been a patriot and a money-lender, the war had impoverished him. My
own horse was worn by overwork and so I proposed a trade and offered a
sum to boot which he promptly accepted. I came back up the north road
with the handsome, high-headed mare under my saddle. The next night I
stopped with one Reuben Smith near the northern limit of the neutral
territory below Stony Point. Smith had prospered by selling supplies
to the patriot army. I had heard that he was a Tory and so I wished to
know him. I found him a rugged, jovial, long-haired man of middle age,
with a ready ringing laugh. His jokes were spoken in a low tone and
followed by quick, stertorous breathing and roars and gestures of
appreciation. His cheerful spirit had no doubt been a help to him in
our camp.
"'I've got the habit o' laughin' at my own jokes,' said he. 'Ye see
it's a lonely country here an' if I didn't give 'em a little
encouragement they wouldn't come eround,' the man explained.
"He lifted a foot and swung it in the air while he bent the knee of the
leg on which he was standing and opened his mouth widely and blew the
air out of his lungs and clapped his hands together.
"'It also gives you exercise,' I remarked.
"'A joke is like a hoss; it has to be fed or it won't work,' he
remarked, as he continued his cheerful gymnastics. I have never known
a man to whom a joke was so much of an undertaking. He sobered down
and added:
"'This mare is no stranger to oats an' the curry comb."
"He looked her over carefully before he led her to the stable.
"Next morning as he stood by her noble head, Smith said to me:
"'She's a knowin' beast. She'd be smart enough to laugh at my jokes
an' I wouldn't wonder.'
"He was immensely pleased with this idea of his. Then, turning
serious, he asked if I would sell her.
"'You couldn't afford to own that mare,' I said.
"I had touched his vanity. In fact I did not realize how much he had
made by his overcharging. He was better able to own her than I and
that he proposed to show me.
"He offered for her another horse and a sum which caused me to take
account of my situation. The money would be a help to me. However, I
shook my head. He increased his offer.
"'What do you want of her?" I asked.
"'I've always wanted to own a hoss like that,' he answered.
"'I intended to keep the mare,' said I. 'But if you will treat her
well and give her a good home I shall let you have her.'
"'A man who likes a good joke will never drive a spavined hoss,' he
answered merrily.
"So it happened that the mare Nancy fell into the hands of Reuben
Smith."