nce in Beverley Robinson's lately-vacated house on the
east bank of the Hudson and nearly opposite the entrenchments at West
Point. The story of the discovered plot and Major Andre's detention
is too well known to be more than glanced at here: everything was in
readiness for the surrender of the post into the hands of Sir Henry
Clinton when the unfortunate young adjutant was taken, and the papers
criminating Arnold found upon his person. No one, I am sure, can read
unmoved Dr. Thacher's eye-witness account of the execution of this
officer, lost through Arnold's cowardly blundering. The gravity of his
offence against a flag of truce need not prevent our admiration of his
soldierly conduct after his arrest, the perfect truthfulness to which
he adhered during his examination, and the noble resignation with
which he met his dreadful fate. Arnold had here a fine opportunity to
retrieve in some degree the bitter mischief of which he had been the
occasion. Had he but come forth and suffered in Andre's place, the
blackness of his crime would have almost disappeared in the brilliancy
of his atonement; but he chose a living death instead, and his hapless
victim went to his doom accompanied by the pity of every honest
American heart. His manly figure affords a fine contrast to that of
the traitor skulking down the lane (still shown as "Arnold's Path")
at the back of the Robinson House in his flight to the British frigate
moored out in the stream fifteen miles below the fort. A few hasty
words had put his innocent wife in possession of the horrid story,
and she had fallen, as if struck by his hand, in a swoon to the floor,
where he left her unconscious of his frantic farewell. In her sad
interview with Washington next day she manifested such frenzied grief
and horror at her husband's guilt, such tender concern for the future
of her helpless babe, that the stern commander was melted to the
heart's core, and left her entirely convinced of her innocence. He
gave orders that her comfort should be fully attended to, and offered
her an escort to protect her from insult on the journey to her
father's house in Philadelphia. Further, he sent her word in a day or
two that, however sorely he must regret the escape of a traitor, he
was glad to be able to assure her of her husband's safety with the
British. Then came the mournful pilgrimage to the loving home in
Philadelphia. She set out at the time when poor Andre was making his
preparations fo