The Loyalist

Anderson had failed miserably and his conspiracy had perished with him. Not a prominent Catholic had been reached in the first place; not a member of the poorest class would now leave the city. The affair with its awful disclosures only added strength to their position, for whatever aspersions might have been cast upon their loyalty in the event of the successful deportation of the company, were now turned like a boomerang against the very ones who had engineered the scheme. The community would respect the Catholics more for the future. They were to profit by his undoing. They would be valued for the test that their patriotism had stood.

There was another consideration, however, which wore a graver complexion and tormented him beyond endurance. This was the solicitude for his own safety. The people had hated him for years and had proceeded to invent stories about him which might justify its anger. It had been a satisfaction for him to reflect that, for the most part, these stories had not been the causes, but rather the effects of public indignation. But what answer could he make now, what apology could he offer for this late transaction, this conspiracy at once so evident and palpable? As far as the question of his guilt was concerned there would be little conjecture about that. Ten or twenty accounts of the venture, inconsistent with one another and with themselves, would be circulated simultaneously. Of that he had no doubt. People would neither know nor care about the evidence. It was enough that he had been implicated.

He would ask for a court-martial. That, of course. Through no other tribunal could a just and a satisfactory decision be reached, and it was paramount that another verdict besides that pronounced by public opinion be obtained. Unquestionably, he would be acquitted. His past service, his influence, his character would prove themselves determining factors during his trial. Fully one-half of the charges were ridiculous and would be thrown out of court as incontestable, and of the remainder only one would find him technically culpable. Still it were better for a court to decide upon these matters, and to that end he decided to request a general court-martial.

III

"You have removed your uniform?" Peggy asked in surprise as she beheld him entering the doorway of the drawing-room.

"Yes," was the solemn reply. "I am no longer a confederate of France."

He limped slowly across the room, leaning on his cane. He had laid aside his buff and blue uniform, with the epaulets and sword knots, and was clad in a suit of silken black. His hose and shoes were of the same color, against which his blouse, cuffs and periwig were emphasized, a pale white.

"But you are still a Major-General," she corrected.

"I was; but am no longer. I have resigned."

She started at the announcement. Obviously she had not anticipated this move.

"You have resigned? When?"

"I wrote the letter a short time ago. I precluded their designs."

He sat in his great chair, and, reaching for his stool, placed his foot upon it.

"But … I … I don't understand."

"I do perfectly. I shall be tried by court-martial, of course; they have moved already to suspend me pending the course of my trial. I want to anticipate any such possibility, that is all."

"But you will be reinstated?"

"I don't know, – nor care," he added.

"And what about us, our home, our life here," she asked with a marked concern.

"Oh! That will go on. This is your house, remember, if it comes to the worst; you are mistress here. This is your home."

"If it comes to the worst? To what?"

"Well, if I should be found guilty … and … sentenced."

"I should not stay here a minute," she cried, stamping her foot. "Not one minute after the trial! In this town? With that element? Not for an hour!"

"Well!" he exclaimed, making a gesture with both hands, together with a slight shrug of the shoulders.

"Where is Anderson?" she asked quickly.

"In New York, I presume, ere this. I have not seen him."

"Fled?"

"The only proper thing. It's a great wonder to me that he escaped at all. I should have expected him torn to pieces by that mob."

"A bungled piece of business. I imagined that he was assured of success. A sorry spectacle to allow them to slip from his grasp so easily."

"Margaret, you do not understand a mob. They are as fickle as a weather-cock. The least attraction sways them."

"Who did it? Have you yet learned?"

"No. A bedraggled loafer, gifted with more talk than occupation. He was acquainted with the whole scheme from beginning to end, and worked upon their feelings with evidences of treason. The sudden mention of my name in connection with the plot threw cold water on the whole business. They were on their feet in an instant."

"You are quite popular," was the taunt.

"Evidently. The pass inspired them. It would defeat any purpose, and Anderson must have sensed it and taken his hurried departure. No one has since heard or seen aught of him."

"He was a fool to drag you into this, and you were as great a fool to allow it."

"Margaret, don't chide me in that manner. I did what I thought best. But I'm through now with these cursed Catholics and with France."

"You are a free man now," she murmured.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that this court-martial relieves you of any further obligation to the colonies," was the answer.

"But I may still be Second in command."

She paused to regard him. Did he continue to cherish ambitions of this nature; or was he attempting to jest with her?

"You seem to forget Gates and the Congress," she said with manifest derision.

"No. In spite of them."

She lost all patience.

"Listen! Don't flatter yourself any longer. Your cause is hopeless, as hopeless as the cause for which the stupid colonists are contending. You are now free to put an end to this strife. Go over to the enemy and persuade Washington and the leaders of the revolt to discuss terms."

"Impossible!"

"What is impossible? Simply announce your defection; accept the terms of His Majesty's government; and invite Adams, Franklin, Jefferson, Hamilton and Washington to meet you. There is the assurance of all save complete independence."

"I shall wait."

"For what? The court-martial will be against you from the start. Mark my words. You will be found guilty, if not actually, at least technically. They are determined upon revenge and they are going to have it. You saw the paper?"

"I did."

"You read the list of charges?"

He did not answer. He had sunk into his chair and his hands were clasped before him. He was engaged in a detailed series of thought.

"How many of them were artificial? Except for the first, that about the pass, none are worth the reading, and the first never can be proved. They have no evidence apart from the fanatical ravings of a drunken Catholic. But wait! You shall be adjudged guilty in the end. See if I am not correct."

"I have the right to question the composition of the court!"

"What matter! You know the people detest you. They have hated you from the moment you set foot in this city. Every issue of the paper found some new grievance against you. And when you married me the bomb was exploded. You yourself know that it was the mere fact of your participation in this scheme that quelled it. They loathe you, I tell you. They hate you."

Silence reigned in the room as she finished. His eyes were closed and he gave every appearance of having fallen into a deep sleep. His mind was keenly alert, however, and digested every word she uttered. At length he arose from his composure and limped to the window at the further end of the room.

"I shall ask for a new command," he said quietly, "and we shall be removed for all time from this accursed place. I shall do service again."

"Better to await developments. Attend to your trial first. Plan for the future later."

"I shall obey the wishes of the people."

"The people! A motley collection of fools! They have eyes and ears but no more. They know everything and can do nothing."

"I don't know what to do. I…"

"I told you what to do," she interrupted his thought and finished it for him. "I told you to join Anderson. I told you to go to New York and make overtures to General Clinton. That's what you should do. Seek respect and power and honor for your old age."

"That I shall not do. Washington loves me and my people will not desert me to my enemies. The court-martial is the thing."

"As you say. But remember my prophecy."

He turned and again sought his chair. She arose to assist him into it.

"I wonder who that fellow could be! He knew it all."

"Did you not hear?"

"No. I have seen no one who could report to me. The details were missing."

"Did you ever stop to think of the spy in the garden?"

"I did."

"That was the man, I am sure. You know his body has not been found, and if I am not mistaken, it was present at that meeting hall."

"We shall learn of his identity. We shall learn."

"Too late! Too late!"

He again dozed off while she watched him. For several minutes they sat in this manner until she stole out of the room and left him alone. Soon he was wrapped in the arms of a gentle slumber. Some time later she aroused him.

CHAPTER X

I

A fortnight later there came to the Allison home a messenger from Stephen in the person of Sergeant Griffin. He appeared at the doorway just as the shroud of eventide was being enfolded about the landscape, changing its hues of green and gray to the more somber ones of blue or purple; just at the time when the indoor view of things is about to be made apparent only by the artificial beams of the tallow and dip.

"Hail!" he said; "I have business with Matthew Allison."

"From Stephen?" Marjorie asked with evident interest.

He shook his head.

"The trial – "

"Oh!" exclaimed Marjorie. Plainly she was relieved at the nature of the message. Then she turned.

"Father!" she called.

"I am coming directly," cried Mr. Allison from the rear.

She had clear forgotten to invite the sergeant into the room, so absorbed was she in the nature of the business at hand. Expectancy breeds cowardice. When great issues are at stake every act wears an awful meaning. For this reason she stood transfixed at the threshold, before this unexpected arrival, whom she associated with the image of Stephen. With the sudden and delightful lessening of her anxiety, however, she bethought herself.

"Won't you come in? It was stupid of me not to have asked you before."

The sergeant acted promptly. Marjorie followed at a little distance, but had no sooner entered the room herself than her father came through the other door.

"What news? Arnold?"

"Found guilty," was the response.

"The court-martial has come to an end?" asked the girl.

"Yes, Miss. And he has been found guilty," he repeated.

"I thought so," muttered Mr. Allison.

They were seated now in the parlor, the two men at opposite ends of the table, the girl at the side of the room.

"They met at Morristown?" asked Mr. Allison.

"Yes. At Norris' Tavern. Major-General Howe was chairman of the court. Only four charges were pressed for trial: the matter of the pass; the affair of the wagons; the shops; and the imposition upon the militia."

"And Arnold?"

"He managed his own trial, and conducted his own cross-examination. He made an imposing spectacle as he limped before the court. The sword knots of Washington were about his waist and he took pains to allude to them several times during the defense. It was astonishing to hear his remarkable flow of language and his display of knowledge of military law. He created a wonderful impression."

"He was found guilty, you say?" interposed Mr. Allison.

"Technically guilty of one charge and imprudent in another," was the deliberate reply.

"And sentenced?"

"To receive a reprimand from the Commander-in-chief."

Mr. Allison assented by a move of his head.

"How did he take it?" he then asked. "I cannot imagine his proud nature to yield readily to rebuke."

The visitor thought for a moment.

"His face was ashen pale; there was a haggard look upon it; the eyes were marked with deep circles and his step faltered as he turned on his heel and, without a word, made his way from the court room."

"Were you present at the trial?" Marjorie inquired.

"Yes, Miss Allison."

"Was Stephen?"

"No." The sergeant answered mildly, smiling as he did so.

Marjorie smiled, too.

"Tell me," Mr. Allison asked. "Was the evidence conclusive?"

"The Isis occupied the court to some length. It was contended that General Arnold had issued the pass with evil intent. The affair of the regiment was referred to in connection with this, but no great stress was brought to bear upon it because of the fear of arousing a possible prejudice in the minds of the court. That fact was introduced solely as a motive."

Allison shook his head again.

"It was proved," the sergeant continued, "that the Isis was a Philadelphia schooner, manned by Philadelphia men, and engaged in the coastwise trade. The pass itself was introduced as an exhibit, to support the contention that the General, while Military Governor, had given military permission for the vessel to leave the harbor of Philadelphia for the port of New York, then in possession of the enemy."

"That was proved?"

"Yes, sir."

"Was the Regiment alluded to?"

"Yes. But at no great length."

"And the pass?"

"It was there. The Regiment was the motive for the pass. The affair of the recruiting was scarcely mentioned."

There was an abrupt silence.

"What was the next charge?" Mr. Allison asked.

"That of the wagons."

"Yes."

"The prosecution made a strong point. Jesse Jordan was introduced. Testimony was given by him to the effect that he himself had drawn back a train of twelve wagons loaded with stores from Egg Harbor."

"Where?"

"Egg Harbor. Where the traffic between the British Army and the Tories of the city was carried on."

"Was this sustained?"

"The General denied most of the accusation, but he was found imprudent in his actions. In regard to the other two charges, that of the shops and that of the militia, absolute acquittal was decided. The verdict was announced the following morning and the sentence was published immediately after adjournment."

"He was sentenced to be reprimanded, you tell me?"

"Yes. By General Washington."

"That will break Arnold's heart. He will never endure it."

"Others were obliged to endure it," sounded a soft voice.

"Yes, I know," replied the father of the girl. "But you do not know General Arnold. Undoubtedly the city has the news."

"Yes," said the sergeant. "I have told several. All know it ere this."

II

And what subject could possibly afford more of concern or consequence to the city folk than the court-martial of General Arnold! Those of the upper class, because of their intimate association with the man; those of the middle class, interested more or less in the great significance attached to the event itself and the influence it would exert upon the future; those of the lower class because of their supreme contempt for the erstwhile Military Governor and the biased manner of his administration, all, without exception, found themselves manifesting an uncommon interest in the progress and the issue of the trial.

It was commonly known that General Arnold had requested a court-martial; but it was not so commonly understood that the matter of his guilt, especially his collusion with the Catholic Regiment and the matter of its transportation, was so intricate or profound. Stephen's speech at the meeting house had given the public the first inkling of the Governor's complicity in the affair; still this offense had been condoned by the many, as usually happens with the crimes of great men who occupy stations of honor, whose misdemeanors are often enshrouded and borne away into oblivion beneath the veil of expediency and interest of the common weal. A court-martial would indeed take place; but its verdict would be one of absolute acquittal.

To hold court at some neutral post was just. No charge of unfairness could then be lodged. Nor could the personnel of the court be regarded as hostile to the accused, for the latter had already raised an objection to its composition which had been sustained and heeded. The charges were dealt with fairly, only four of the eight counts in the original indictment being allowed to come within the jurisdiction of a military tribunal. Even the General was permitted to conduct his own trial and every courtesy and attention was granted him.

Only two charges bore any evidence of guilt. The pass was issued with deliberate intent. That was proved by the testimony of several witnesses as well as by the introduction of the pass itself. Arnold defended himself on the ground that there were no authorities in the city of New York to be offended by the entrance of the vessel, and also the fact that since the Commander-in-chief had lodged no complaint over the alleged offense to his dignity, it was logical to infer that His Excellency took no offense at the order. In regard to the charge of misuse of the government wagons, it was revealed that traffic had been carried on between Egg Harbor and the city of Philadelphia, and that full loads had been delivered to several private families of the city. Arnold denied any knowledge of the destination of these wagons, although he was aware that they were being used.

His defense, it was learned, consisted of a long plea, in which he rehearsed in detail the leading events of his life. He was fond of alluding to his past and entertained no diffidence whatsoever in regard to his own abilities. He hoped thereby to impress the court and to intimidate them.

The charges he denounced as false, malicious, and scandalous, inspired solely by motives of animosity and revenge. He was not accustomed to carry on a warfare with women, he told the court, nor did he ever bask in the sunshine of any one's favor. Honorable acquittal of all the charges brought against him was pleasantly expected by him and he looked forward to the day when he might share again with his fellow-soldiers the glory and the dangers of the war.

But he was not acquitted, and the verdict of the court came no less as a surprise to the people of the city and of the nation than to the General himself. The following morning they met to pronounce the verdict and they found that on the first charge Major General Arnold had exceeded his rights in giving permission for a vessel to leave port without the knowledge of the City Authorities or of the Commander-in-chief; and as such he was found to have violated technically Article Five, Section Eighteen of the American Articles of War. The second and third charges were dismissed, but he was found to have been imprudent in his temporary use of the wagons. Because of his guilt on these two counts he was sentenced to receive a reprimand from His Excellency, the Commander-in-chief.

He left the court room without a word.

III

"It is precisely what I fear most," Mr. Allison said. "If he curried less the favor of the public, little or naught would come of it, and the reprimand would end the case. But you know Arnold is a conceited man; one who carries his head high. Better to deprive him of life itself than to apply vinegar and gall to his parched lips."

"His return will be hard," Sergeant Griffin observed. He, too, knew the character of the man.

"I doubt if he will return. He has resigned, you know, and may dislike the sight of the city which witnessed his misfortune. Still this is his home and a man's heart is in his home regardless of its environment."

"Do not forget Peggy," Marjorie reminded them. "I know she will never consent to live in the city. I know it. Dear me! The shame of it all would confuse her."

"She might become accustomed to it," replied her father. "All school themselves to the mutations of life."

"Not Peggy. I know her. She will not forgive. Why, I recall quite vividly the violence of her temper and the terror of her wrath. Her own aunt, with whom she was staying for a brief space, took occasion to reprove her for a slight indiscretion. Peggy resented the correction fiercely, and leaving the house at once vowed she never would set foot into it again. That was seven years ago. She has, to my knowledge, never violated that pledge."

Her father shook his head.

"I see it all quite clearly," continued Marjorie. "The General will resent the wrong; Peggy will nurture a fierce indignation. Whatever thoughts of revenge will come to his mind she will ably promote. Have a care to her; her wrath will know no mitigation."

"He never expected the verdict," the sergeant remarked.

"How did he appear?" asked Mr. Allison.

"Splendid. As he entered the court he laughed and jested with several officers with all the self-possession of one of the eye-witnesses. Flashes of the old-time energy and courage were manifest at intervals. There was jubilation displayed on his every feature."

"He was jocose, you say?"

"Extremely so."

"Was this before the trial?"

"Yes. As he entered the Tavern."

"Was Peggy with him?"

"No, indeed. It was not permissible for her to enter. She awaited him outside."

"And yet he maintained his composure throughout."

"He seemed to take delight in relating the resolutions of Congress, its thanks, its gifts, for the many campaigns and the brilliant services rendered his country. His promotions, his horse, his sword, his epaulets and sword-knots, all were recounted and recited enthusiastically."

Mr. Allison looked at Marjorie and smiled.

"Only once did he lose his self-possession. Near the end of his plea he forgot himself and called his accusers a lot of 'women.' This produced a smile throughout the court room; then he regained his composure."

He paused.

"That was all?" asked Mr. Allison.

"I think so. The court adjourned for the day. On the following morning the verdict was announced. I came here direct."

When he had finished he sat quite still. It was approaching a late hour and he saw that he had overstayed his leave. Still the gravity of the occasion required it.

It was these thoughts regarding the future, far more than any great poignancy of grief respecting General Arnold and his present misfortune, that affected this small group. It seemed to them that the events which had of late happened were not without grave and serious consequence. General Arnold was a man of prominence and renown. To lead such a figure to the bar of justice and to examine and determine there in a definite manner his guilt before the whole world was a solemn piece of business. It meant that the new republic was fearless in its denunciation of wrong; that it was intent upon the exercise of those precepts of justice and equity which were written into the bill of rights, the violation of which by a foreign power had constituted originally a set of true grievances; and that it was actuated by a solemn resolution never to permit within its own borders the commission of any of those wrongs which it had staked its life and consecrated its purpose as a nation to destroy. General Arnold was a big man, generous in service to his country, honored as one of its foremost sons, but he was no bigger than the institution he was helping to rear. The chastisement inflicted upon him was a reflection upon the state; but it also was a medication for its own internal disorders.

The fact that the ruling powers of the city were bitterly opposed to the Military Governor was not wholly indicative of the pulse of the people. General Arnold was ever regarded with the highest esteem by the members of the army. A successful leader, a brave soldier, a genial comrade, he was easily the most beloved general after General Washington. With the citizen body of Philadelphia he was on fairly good terms, – popular during the early days of his administration, although somewhat offensive of late because of his indiscretion and impetuosity. Still he was not without his following, and whereas he had made himself odious to a great number of people by his manner of life and of command, there were a greater number of people who were ready to condone his faults out of regard for his brilliant services in the past.