Arnold, in order to be sure that he would get his price, insisted on a personal interview with a plenipotentiary. Andre attempted to get through the American lines, aided by an order given by Arnold to the American commander at that point, the pretext being that the person who was expected under the protection of a flag of truce was employed on private business relating to some confiscated property. This first attempt was defeated by the British themselves, one of their guard boats, whose men were not in the secret, firing upon the boat in which Andre was coming up the river.

On the 18th of September, Arnold took advantage of Washington's passing on his way to Hartford, where he was to meet the French officer Rochambeau, to ask him to let an agent pass the lines on private business; but Washington refused. Learning that he expected to stop in West Point on his return, Arnold sent word to Clinton to send Andre to him at once, and to make his preparations. Clinton at once began the embarking of troops, while Andre went up the river to the British ship of war "Vulture," anchored below the Point, where he waited for the boat under a flag of truce which Arnold was to send for him. On the night of September 21st, the boat arrived, rowed with muffled oars by a creature of Arnold's named Joshua Heth Smith. In it, Andre was put ashore, where he found Arnold waiting for him with a spare horse. They rode to Smith's house, where they talked over their business. The plan Arnold offered was to betray Fort Defiance by so distributing the garrison over its seven acres as to spoil their efficiency, and meanwhile to send to Washington for immediate aid; so that Clinton might be free to capture him by surprise on his way to the rescue. During their conversation, the "Vulture" had been fired on by an American battery, and had been forced to drop down stream; so Andre, after changing his regimentals for the clothes of a country man, made ready, with Arnold's letters and a plan of the works at West Point in his

boots, to return to New York by land. Arnold went back to his quarters.

Andre crossed the Hudson at King's Ferry, passed the American post at Verplanck's Point about dusk, spent the night near Crompond, and early on the 23d of September took the road on horseback to New York. Near Tarrytown, he fancied all danger was past; but by chance John Paulding, a poor patriot who had seen fighting and captivity, had, after his late escape from New York, organized a small party to assist him in capturing raiders and doing the like small services to the cause. At eleven o'clock, as Andre was riding up the hill from Sleepy Hollow, Paulding suddenly confronted him, and asked who he was and whither he went. "Gentlemen, I hope you are of our party?” said Andre, never doubting they were English.-"Which party?" responded the shrewd American.-"The lower party," was Andre's fatal reply.-"We are," said Paulding.-"I am a British officer, out on particular business, and I hope you won't detain me a minute." Upon this admission, Paulding bade him dismount. Andre, realizing his mistake, showed his pass from Arnold. "I hope you won't be offended; we don't mean to take anything from you; but there are many bad people going along this road, and you may be one of them. Have you any letters about you?"-"No," said Andre. Paulding, however, wanted to see for himself, so Andre was taken aside into the shrubbery and searched; and his boots gave up their secret. "You are a spy," Paulding observed. "Let me go, and you shall have a hundred guineas any sum you please," exclaimed the British adjutant-general. "No: not for ten thousand guineas!” answered Paulding. They made their prisoner accompany them to North Castle, where, in the evening, they handed him over to Jameson, the commander of the post; and, so far as Paulding and the other two men-David Williams and Isaac van Wart-were concerned, nothing more would ever have been heard of any of them; for they omitted to give their

names or to ask for a reward; and Jameson, who, so far as history enables us to judge him, was the most stupid man at that time in America, did not question them. It was Washington who, afterward, sought out the three humble patriots, whose fidelity, under Providence, saved the United States, and prompted Congress to vote them honorable annuities.

Meanwhile Lieutenant-colonel Jameson and Andre were left to each other's society; but no record of their conversation remains. We only know that, as a consequence of it, Jameson gave the amazing order that Andre should be sent back to Arnold! No comic opera contains a passage more ludicrous than this. Fortunately for the world of sane human beings, there was at the post a certain Major Tallmadge, who, though second in command, was first in common sense by an infinite degree above the lieutenant-colonel; and he insisted upon Andre's being retained at Old Salem. He was, however, allowed to write to Arnold. The letter reached the latter a few hours before the expected arrival of Washington from Hartford; and the traitor had but just time to escape.

Washington could not comprehend the scope of what had happened, till a letter from Andre enlightened him. He strove to excuse himself for having "been betrayed into the vile condition of an enemy in disguise," and begged, though "unfortunate," he might be branded with nothing dishonorable, since, he declared, he was "involuntarily an impostor." This was lying, not in the service of his country, but for personal safety only, and at the expense of his fellow conspirators. He hoped to be exchanged; and had the shameless effrontery to mention Gadsden of South Carolina, one of the most stainless and high-minded patriots in America, who had been captured at the surrender of Charleston, as a fit person to be exchanged for him. Should he be executed, he insinuated, a like fate would be inflicted upon Gadsden and other men of his caliber.

He was brought to headquarters at once; his guilt was established on his own confession; a court-martial of the most honorable men in the army tried him, and passed sentence of death unanimously; the sentence was approved by Washington on the last day of September, and he directed that the execution take place the next day. But Andre, who had not hesitated to prostitute a flag of truce, to pledge his word of honor that his mission was of a private nature exclusively, and to put himself on a par with men of honor and patriotism, did not, it appeared, think it becoming his high character to be hanged; he thought he ought to be shot, if he must be killed at all. But unfortunately for him, the British, ever since the war began, had used the gallows, and the gallows only, upon every possible occasion; and hundreds of Americans, guilty of no crime, whose shoes Andre was not worthy to unlace, had died on it at English hands. Hanged, therefore, Andre must be; and hanged accordingly he was, to the hearty satisfaction of the most elementary justice. True to his character, if to nothing else, he acted out his little scene on the scaffold; informed the spectators that he was "reconciled to his fate, but not to the mode,' and begged them to "witness to the world that I die like a brave man. He died the death of dishonor which he richly deserved. Sickly sentimentality demands that we "let his misfortunes cast a veil over his errors: the temptation was great!" A man with no honorable traits of character found an opportunity to do a congenial deed; and he did it. His misfortune was the misfortune of all other criminals who have not the luck to cover their tracks-he was found out. It is true, he was an English gentleman and soldier; and if English gentlemen and soldiers are proud of him as their peer, it is not for us to grudge them that privilege. His effigy is in Westminster Abbey.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIRST

GREENE, WASHINGTON, AND CORNWALLIS

HE Declaration of Independence was not a declaration of Union. The States had to learn by experience that there can be such a thing as too much independence. The lesson cost an immense sum of money, and nearly cost them their emancipation from England; but nothing less than a desperate war against all manner of odds could have hammered it home. The various governments of the States were as nearly perfect as free governments could be; while the government of the confederacy, as exercised by Congress, was the feeblest, and therefore one of the worst, possible. The States were naturally slow to perceive that this badness of the central government could only be remedied by their own action in voluntarily intrusting it with greater powers, at the sacrifice, apparently, of some measure of their own independence. The individual citizen was amenable to the government of his own state, but not to the authority of Congress; and this was a state of things which could not fail to produce essential weakness of the body corporate. Mutual jealousies must be put aside, the best men of the country must take their seats in Congress, and the confederacy must obey their laws, or the whole structure would collapse. Vergennes saw this, but he said that while, during the war, it was essential that the union of the states should be as nearly perfect as possible, yet afterward, "the general federation will have much difficulty in maintain