Arnold was safe on board the Vulture.  This done, Washington bade his staff sit down with him at dinner, as the general was absent, and Mrs. Arnold was ill in her room.  Dinner over, he immediately set about guarding the post, which had been so near betrayal.  To Colonel Wade at West Point he wrote:  “Arnold has gone to the enemy; you are in command, be vigilant.”  To Jameson he sent word to guard Andre closely.  To the colonels and commanders of various outlying regiments he sent orders to bring up their troops.  Everything was done that should have been done, quickly, quietly, and without comment.  The most sudden and appalling treachery had failed to shake his nerve, or confuse his mind.

Yet the strong and silent man was wrung to the quick, and when everything possible had been done, and he had retired to his room, the guard outside the door heard him marching back and forth through all the weary night.  The one thing he least expected, because he least understood it, had come to pass.  He had been a good and true friend to the villain who had fled, for Arnold’s reckless bravery and dare-devil fighting had appealed to the strongest passion of his nature, and he had stood by him always.  He had grieved over the refusal of Congress to promote him in due order and had interceded with ultimate success in his behalf.  He had sympathized with him in his recent troubles in Philadelphia, and had administered the reprimand awarded by the court-martial so that rebuke seemed turned to praise.  He had sought to give him every opportunity that a soldier could desire, and had finally conferred upon him the command of West Point.  He had admired his courage and palliated his misconduct, and now the scoundrel had turned on him and fled.  Mingled with the bitterness of these memories of betrayed confidence was the torturing ignorance of how far this base treachery had extended.  For all he knew there might be a brood of traitors about him in the very citadel of America.  We can never know Washington’s thoughts at that time, for he was ever silent, but as we listen in imagination to the sound of the even footfalls which the guard heard all through that September night, we can dimly guess the feelings of the strong and passionate nature, wounded and distressed almost beyond endurance.

There is but little more to tell.  The conspiracy stopped with Arnold.  He had no accomplices, and meant to deliver the post and pocket the booty alone.  The British tried to spread the idea that other officers had been corrupted, but the attempt failed, and Washington’s prompt measures of defense checked any movement against the forts.  Every effort was made by Clinton to save Andre, but in vain.  He was tried by a court composed of the highest officers in the American service, among whom was Lafayette.  On his own statement, but one decision was possible.  He was condemned as a spy, and as a spy he was sentenced to be hanged.  He made a manly appeal against the manner of his death, and begged to be shot.  Washington declined to interfere, and Andre went to the gallows.