Robinson, likewise dated on board the Vulture. He earnestly demanded that major Andre should be released, urging in bis defence, that he had gone ashore on public business and under the protection of a flag, as well by the invitation of Arnold as by the command of his own general; that he was the bearer of a regular passport for his return to New York; that all his doings during the time he had passed with the Americans, and especially the change of his dress and name, had been dictated by the will of Arnold. The colonel concluded with alleging that the major could no longer be detained without a violation of the sanctity of flags and a contempt for all the laws of war as they are acknowledged and practised by all nations. General Clinton wrote in much the same style in favor of Andre. In the letter of that general was enclosed a second from Arnold; its language could not pretend to the merit of reserve. He insisted that in his character of American general, he was invested with the right to grant Andre the usual privilege of flags, that he might approach in safety to confer with him; and that in sending him back, he was competent to choose any way he thought the most proper. But major Andre betrayed less anxiety respecting his fate than was manifested in his behalf by his countrymen and friends. Naturally averse from all falsehood, from all subterfuge, desirous, if he must part with life, to preserve it at least pure and spotless to his last hour, he confessed ingenuously that he had by no means come under the protection of a flag; adding, that if he had come so accompanied, he should certainly have returned under the same escort. His language manifested an extreme attention to avoid imputing fault to any; abjuring, on the contrary, all dissimulation in regard to what concerned him personally, he often avowed more than was questioned him; so much generosity and constancy were universally admired. The fate of this unfortunate young man wrung tears of compassion even from his judges. All would have wished to save him, but the fact was too notorious. The court martial, on the ground of his own confession, pronounced that he was, and ought to be considered as a spy, and as such to be punished with death. Washington notified this sentence to Clinton, in the answer to his letter. He recapitulated all the circumstances of the offence, inviting him to observe, that although they were of a nature to justify towards major Andre the summary proceedings usual in the case of spies, still he had preferred to act in respect of him with more deliberation and scruple; that it was therefore not without a perfect knowledge of the cause that the court martial had passed the judgment of which he apprised him. But Clinton, half delirious with anguish at the destiny of Andre, whom he loved with the utmost tenderness, did not restrict himself to the efforts he had already made to preserve him. He again wrote to Washington, praying him to consent to a conference between several delegates of the two

parties, in order to throw all the light possible upon so dubious an affair. Washington complied with the proposal; he sent general Greene to Dobbs Ferry, where he was met by general Robertson on the part of the English. The latter exerted himself with extreme earnestness to prove that Andre could not be considered as a spy. He repeated the arguments already advanced of the privilege of flags, and of the necessity that controlled the actions of Andre while he was in the power of Arnold. But perceiving that his reasoning produced no effect, he endeavored to persuade by the voice of humanity; he alleged the essential importance of mitigating by generous counsels the rigors of war; he extolled the clemency of general Clinton, who had never put to death any of those persons who had violated the laws of war; he reminded, that major Andre was particularly dear to the general-in-chief, and that if he might be permitted to reconduct him to New York, any American, of whatever crime accused, and now in the power of the English, should be immediately set at liberty. He made still another proposition; and that was, to suspend the execution of the judgment, and to refer the affair to the decision of two officers familiar alike with the laws of war and of nations, such as the generals Knyphausen and Rochambeau. Finally, general Robertson presented a letter from Arnold, directed to Washington, by which he endeavored to exculpate the British prisoner, and to take all the blame of his conduct upon himself. He did not retire till after having threatened the inost terrible retaliations, if the sentence of the court martial was executed; he declared in particular, that the rebels of Carolina, whose life general Clinton had hitherto generously spared, should be immediately punished with death. The interposition of Arnold could not but tend to the prejudice of Andre; and even if the Americans had been inclined to clemency, his letter would have sufficed to divert them from it. The conference had no effect.

Meanwhile, the young Englishman prepared himself for death. He manifested at its approach, not that contempt which is often no other than dissimulation, or brutishness; nor yet that weakness which is peculiar to effeminate, or guilty men, but that firmness which is the noble characteristic of the virtuous and brave. He regretted life, but he sighed still deeper at the manner of losing it. He could have wished to die as a soldier, that is to be shot; but he was doomed to the punishment of spies and malefactors, to the infamous death of the halter. This idea struck him with horror; he painted it with force to the court martial. It made him no answer, not willing to grant his request, and esteeming it a cruelty to refuse it expressly. Two other causes of despair increased the anguish of the unhappy youth. One was the fear that his death would reduce to indigence and wretchedness a mother and three sisters, whom he tenderly loved; and whom he supported with his pay; the second,

lest the public voice should accuse Clinton of having precipitated him, by his orders, into his present dreadful situation. He could not think, without the most bitter regrets, that his death might be laid to the charge of that man, whom he loved and respected the most. He obtained permission to write to him; he used it but to recommend to his protection his unhappy mother and sisters, and to bear testimony that it was not only against his intentions, but even against his positive orders, that he had introduced himself into the camp of the Americans, and had assumed a disguise. The second day of October was destined to be the last of his existence. Brought to the foot of the gibbet, he said; and must I die thus? He was answered, that it could not be otherwise. He did not dissemble his profound grief. At length, after having past a few moments in prayer, he pronounced these words, which were his last; 'bear witness that I die as a brave man should die.' Such was the just, but melancholy end of a young man deserving in so many respects of a better destiny. It cast a damp of sadness over enemies as well as friends. Arnold gnashed with rage, if, however, that polluted soul was still capable of remorse. The English themselves eyed him with abhorrence, both as traitor, and as original cause of the death of the hapless Andre. In policy, nevertheless, any instrument being thought good provided it serves the end proposed, Arnold was created brigadier-general in the British armies. Clinton hoped that the name and influence of this renegade would induce a great number of the Americans to join the royal standard. Arnold at least was well aware, that since he had abandoned them, he could not show too much fervor for the cause of England. And such being the irresistible ascendant of virtue, that even the most depraved are forced to assume its semblance, he thought fit to publish a memorial, by which he hoped to mask his infamy. He alleged that in the commencement of the troubles, he had taken arms because he believed the rights of his country were infringed; that he had given into the declaration of independence, although he had thought it ill timed; but that when Great Britain, like a relenting and tender mother, had extended her arms to embrace them, offering them the most just and the most honorable conditions, the refusal of the insurgents, and especially their alliance with France, had entirely changed the nature of the quarrel, and transformed a glorious cause into a criminal revolt; that ever since that epoch he had been desirous to resume the relations of ancient allegiance towards England. He declaimed with violence against the Congress; he painted in the most odious colors its tyranny and avarice; he railed against the union with France, affecting a profound grief that the dearest interests of the country had thus been sacrificed to an arrogant, inveterate and perfidious enemy. He represented France as too feeble to establish independence, as the bitterest foe of the protestant faith, as deceitfully

pretending a zeal for the liberty of the human race, while she held her own children in vassalage and servitude. Arnold finished with declaring, that he had so long delayed the disclosure of his sentiments, from a wish, by some important service, to effect the deliverance of his country, and at the same time to avoid as much as possible the effusion of blood. He addressed this memorial to his countrymen in general. A few days after, he published another, directed to the officers and soldiers of the American army. He exhorted them to come and place themselves under the banners of the king, where they would find promotion and increase of pay. He vaunted of wishing to conduct the flower of the American nation to peace, liberty and safety; to rescue the country from the hands of France, and of those who had brought it to the brink of perdition. He affirmed that America was become a prey to avarice, an object of scorn for her enemies, and of pity for her friends; that she had exchanged her liberty for oppression. He represented the citizens thrust into dungeons, despoiled of their property; the youth dragged to war, blood streaming in torrents. What,' he exclaimed, 'is America now, but a land of widows, orphans and beggars? If England were to cease her efforts for her deliverance, how could she hope to enjoy the exercise of that religion for which our fathers once braved ocean, climate and deserts? Has not the abject and profligate Congress been seen of late to attend mass, and to participate in the ceremonies of an antichristian church, against the corruptions of which our pious ancestors would have borne testimony at the price of their blood?' These declamations of a traitor proved the more fruitless the more they were insolent and exaggerated. America, moreover, had writers who stepped forward to refute them, in a style as animated as the reasoning was triumphant. They observed, among other things, that none more than Arnold, even subsequent to the rejection of accommodation with England, had been the devoted and obsequious courtier of France, none more than him had danced attendance upon her generals and agents; that on the first arrival of the minister Gerard at Philadelphia, he had pressed him to inhabit his house; that he had lavished, in his honor, the most sumptuous banquets, the most splendid balls, the most gorgeous galas; that he had been the supple flatterer of Silas Deane, the. most servile tool of France, in a word, that on all occasions he had given the French grounds to believe that they had not in all the United States a more sincere friend than himself. But such,' it was said, 'is the ordinary conduct of the ambitious; alternately cringing and supercilious, they are not ashamed to tax others with their own vices.' Thus Arnold found retorted against himself those arguments from which he had anticipated the most success.

As to the Congress, they deemed it beneath their dignity to appear to take the least notice of the perfidy or the pamphlets of Arnold.

Only to testify their high sense of the noble conduct of the three soldiers who had arrested major Andre, they passed a resolution creating in favor of each of them a life annuity of two hundred dollars, free of all deductions. They also decreed that they should be presented with a silver medal, struck express, bearing upon one face the word Fidelity, and upon the other the following motto; Vincit amor patria. The executive council of Pennsylvania issued a proclamation summoning Benedict Arnold, in company with some other vile men, to appear before the tribunals to make answer for their defection, and declaring them, otherwise, subject to all the pains and penalties usually inflicted on criminals convicted of high treason. This was the only act in which any public authority deigned to make mention of Arnold.

The details of the conspiracy of New York have necessarily diverted our attention for some time from the theatre of war. We proceed now to recount the various success of the British arms in the Carolinas. The month of September approached its close, when the British generals, who had reenforced their troops and recruited their necessary stores and provision, resolved to reenter the field and complete those operations which they had commenced, and which were to be the most important fruit of the victory of Cambden. They flattered themselves that the rumor alone of their march upon North Carolina would suffice to determine the American army to evacuate it immediately. They already beheld in no distant perspective not only the conquest of that province, but also that of Virginia. They calculated that when to the possession of the two Carolinas, of Georgia and New York they should have added this, Virginia, so fertile and so powerful, the Americans, crushed by the burthen of the war, must of necessity submit to the laws of Great Britain. The decline and humiliation of their enemies appeared to them inevitable. Lord Cornwallis and general Clinton were to cooperate simultaneously to bring about this grand result; the first, by advancing from South into North Carolina; the second, by sending a part of his army from New York into the lower parts of Virginia, where, after having passed the Roanoke, it was to operate its junction with the army of Cornwallis upon the confines of North Carolina. In pursuance of this plan, Clinton had detached upon the Chesapeake bay a corps of three thousand men, under the command of general Leslie. He landed his troops as well at Portsmouth as upon the adjacent points of that coast, ravaging and burning all the magazines, and especially those of tobacco, of which an immense quantity was destroyed. Many merchant vessels fell into the hands of the English. In this quarter, they were to wait for news of the approach of Cornwallis, then to push rapidly forward to the banks of the Roanoke, where the junction was to be effected. But the distance being great, and as unforeseen accidents might impede the