The Loyalist Part 48

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 const.i.tuted 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 inst.i.tution he was helping to rear. The chastis.e.m.e.nt 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 Was.h.i.+ngton. 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.

His enemies gloated over his misfortune. Everybody believed that, and it was commonly understood that General Arnold believed it, too. But would he overcome his enemies by retrieving the past and put to shame their vulgar enthusiasm by rising to heights of newer and greater glory? Or would he yield to the more natural propensities of retaliation or despair? A man is no greater than the least of his virtues; but he who has acquired self-control has founded a virtuous inheritance.

With thoughts of this nature were the trio occupied. For several minutes no one spoke. Mr. Allison leaned against the table, his right arm extended along its side, playing with a bodkin that lay within reach; the sergeant sat in silence, watching the face of his entertainer; while Marjorie lolled in her great chair, her eyes downcast, heavy, like two great weights. At length Sergeant Griffin made as if to go. Marjorie arose at once to bid him adieu.

"You said you came direct?" she reminded him.

"Yes, Miss Allison."

"You saw----" she hesitated, but quickly added, "Captain Meagher?"

She would have said "Stephen" but bethought herself.

"No, Miss. Not since the trial."

"He was not present?"

"No. He is with His Excellency. Several days ago I saw him and he bade me come here with the report of the finding."

"That was all?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Thank you. We can never repay your kindness."

"Its performance was my greatest delight."

"Thank you. Good night!"

She withdrew into the hall.

CHAPTER XI

I

More sin is attributed to the ruling pa.s.sion of a man than to the forbidden pleasures of the world, or the violent a.s.saults of the Evil One. Under its domination and tyranny the soul suffers s.h.i.+pwreck and destruction on the rocks of despair and final impenitence. It frequently lies buried beneath the most imperturbable countenance, manifesting itself only at times, often on the occasion of some unusual joy or sadness. It responds to one antidote; but the antidote requires a man of coa.r.s.e fiber for its self-administration.

In this respect General Arnold was not a strong man. If he had acted upon himself wholly from without, as if he were not himself, and had cultivated a spirit of humility and abnegation of self, together with a considerateness and softness of manner towards those at whose hands he had suffered, he would have stifled his pangs of wounded pride and self-love, and emerged a victor over himself in the contest. He might have recognized his own imperfections to a tolerable degree which would have disinclined him to censoriousness, not to say rashness. By maintaining an evenness of temper and equality of spirits during the days of his sore affliction, he might have reconsidered his decisions of haste and ultimate disaster, and be led to the achievement of newer and n.o.bler triumphs.

But he did not. Instead he gave way at once to a violence of anger which was insurmountable. There was engendered within him feelings of revenge of the most acrid nature. His self-love had been humiliated and crushed before the eyes of a garrulous world. His vanity and his prestige had been ground in the dust. There was no consideration save the determination for an immediate and effectual revenge.

"Don't worry, my dear," Peggy had whispered to him on the way home. "Try not to think of it."

"Think of it?... G.o.d! I'll show them. They'll pay for this."

Apart from that he had not spoken to her during the entire journey.

Morose, sullen, brutal, he had nursed his anger until his countenance fairly burned from the tension within. He slammed the door with violence; he tore the epaulets from his shoulders and threw them beyond the bed; he ripped his coat and kicked it across the floor. No! He would not eat. He wanted to be alone. Alone with himself, alone with his wrath, alone with his designs for revenge.

"The cowards! And I trusted them."

He could not understand his guilt. There was no guilt, only the insatiable l.u.s.t on the part of his enemies for vengeance. The execution came first, then the trial. There was no accusation; he had been condemned from the start. The public, at whose hands he had long suffered, who reviled and oppressed him with equal vehemence, who had elevated him to the topmost niche of glory, and as promptly crumbled the column beneath his feet and allowed him to crash to the ground, now gloated over their ruined and heartbroken victim with outrageous jubilation. They were on destruction bent, and he the victim of their stupid spite.

If he could not understand his culpability, neither could he apprehend fully and vividly the meaning of his sentence. To be reprimanded by the Commander-in-chief! Better to be found guilty by the court and inflicted with the usual military discipline. His great sense of pride could not, would not suffer him to be thus humiliated at the hands of him from whom he had previously been rewarded with so many favors, and in whom he had lodged his most complete esteem and veneration. He could not endure it, that was all; and what was more he would not.

He decided to leave the city forever. Then the howl of contumely could not pursue him; it would grow faint with the distance. He was no longer Military Governor, and never would he rea.s.sume that thankless burden. He would retire to private life far removed from the savage envy of these aspiring charlatans. Unhappy memories and wretched degradation would close his unhappy days and shroud his name with an unmerited and unjust obloquy.

His wife had been correct in her prognostications. The court, like the public mind, which it only feebly reflected, had been prejudiced against him from the start. The disgust which he entertained of the French Alliance was only intensified the more by the recent proceedings of Congress, and perhaps he might listen more attentively now to her persuasions to go over to the British side. He would be indemnified, of course; but it was revenge he was seeking, on which account he would not become an ordinary deserter. He had been accustomed to playing heroic roles, and he would not become a mere villain now at this important juncture. This blundering Congress would be overwhelmed by the part he would play in his new career, and he would carry back in triumph his country to its old allegiance.

Gradually his anger resolved itself into vindictive machination, which grew in intensity as it occupied him the more. He might obtain the command of the right wing of the American army, and at one stroke accomplish what George Monk had achieved for Charles the Second. It was not so heinous a crime to change sides in a civil war, and history has been known to reward the memory of those who performed such daring and desperate exploits. His country will have benefited by his signal effort, and his enemies routed at the same time in the shame of their own confusion. He would open negotiations with Sir Henry Clinton over an a.s.sumed name to test the value of his proposals.

"They'll pay me before I am through. I shall endure in history, with the Dukes of Albemarle and Marlborough."

As he mused over the condition of affairs and the possibilities of the situation, he wandered into the great room, where he saw two letters lying on the center table. Picking them up, he saw that one was addressed to Mrs. Arnold, the other to himself. He tore open his letter and read the signature. It bore the name of John Anderson.

II

The writer went on to say that he had arrived in safety in the city of New York, after a hurried and forced departure from Philadelphia. The meeting was terminated in a tumult because of the deliberate and fortunate appeal of an awkward mountebank, who was possessed with a fund of information which was fed to the crowd both skillfully and methodically; and by the successful coupling of the name of General Arnold with the proposed plot, had overwhelmed the minds of the a.s.sembly completely.

He revealed the fact that the members of the court had already bound themselves in honor to prefer charges against General Arnold in order that the powerful Commonwealth of Pennsylvania might be placated. He did not know the result of the trial, but predicted that there would be but one verdict and that utterly regardless of the evidence.

"Hm!" muttered Arnold to himself.

The British Government, he added, was already in communication with the American Generals, with the exception of Was.h.i.+ngton, and was desirous of opening correspondence with General Arnold. Every one knew that he was the bravest and the most deserving of the American leaders and should be the Second in Command of the rebel forces. The British knew, too, of the indignities which had been heaped upon him by an unappreciative and suspicious people, and they recommended that some heroic deed be performed by him in the hope of bringing this unnecessary and b.l.o.o.d.y contest to a close.

Seven thousand pounds would be offered at once, together with an equal command, in the army of His Majesty, and with a peerage in the realm. In return he would be asked to exert his influence in favor of an amicable adjustment of the difficulties between the colonies and the mother country. General Clinton was ready to begin negotiations after the advice and under the conditions proposed by General Arnold, which might be interchanged by means of a correspondence maintained with a certain ambiguity.

"Egad!" He set his lips; then he turned to the beginning of the paragraph. The offer was interesting.

Anderson then went on to relate what already had been suggested to him during the night of their conversation in the park at his magnificent home, the exigencies of the country, the opportunity for a master stroke at the hands of a courageous man, who would unite His Majesty's people under a common banner, and who might command thereby the highest honors of life.

He reminded him that it was possible to obtain a command of the right wing of the American Army, a post only commensurate with his ability, which command might be turned against the rebel forces in the hope that an immediate end might be made of the fratricidal war. There would be no humiliating peace terms. There would be no indemnities, no reprisals, no annexations nor disavowals. The principles for which the colonists contended would be granted, with the sole exception of complete independence. They would have their own Parliament; they would be responsible for their own laws, their own taxes, their own trade. It would be a consummation devoutly desired by both parties, and the highest reward and honor awaited the American General who bound himself to the effectual realization of these views.