Shortly afterwards, enveloped in a blue greatcoat, which entirely
hid his uniform, Andre went over the side into the boat accompanied
by Smithson, and in a few moments they were lost to
the eyes of those on deck in the shadows of the shore. In the
boat was a negro, who, with Smithson, pulled actively towards
the land, and in a quarter of an hour after leaving the ship, the
little skiff shot into a narrow inlet, shrouded by the beetling cliffs,
in impenetrable gloom. Andre instinctively laid his hand on his
pistols and assumed an attitude of caution and defence. The
oars were laid aside as they entered the creek, and the men drew
the boat some distance inland under the branches of the overhanging
trees. At length they ceased their exertions.

“We must be near the spot now, Sambo. Open the whites of
your eyes and look sharp about you.”

“'Tis so goramity dark, massa Jack, nigger no see one debbil
bit. Dis look wery like de place, nebberdeless. Chow! hear
dat bull-frog close here, mass Jack? I hearn him here when we
lef? Ki! 'tis jis de place for sartain sure.”

“Boat, there!” said a low voice from a short distance off.

“Boat it is!” answered Smithson.

“Have you been successful!”

“He is here.”

An exclamation of satisfaction was uttered; a heavy footstep
hastily approached, and the indistinct figure of a man appeared
on the bank. The next instant a dark lantern was sprung by him,
and a bright light shone into the boat, exposing the occupants,
while the individual behind it remained invisible.

“You are welcome, sir,” said the stranger, after a moment's
survey of the party. “Smithson you will remain in charge of

[figure description] Page 017.[end figure description]

the boat, and take it round to where I have directed you to meet
us.”

The British officer now landed. The greeting between the
two persons was marked, by haughtiness on one part, and fawning
courtesy on the other. The words of the Englishman, in exchanging
salutations, were few and brief. The other, who was a
stout gentlemanly looking man, with a decided military air, without
noticing his manner, passed his arm through his, and led him
by the light of the lantern a few yards from the boat to a forest
path, in which stood two saddled horses, tied to a tree.

“You will mount one of these horses, if you please, sir,” said
the stranger, who, it is perhaps unnecessary to say, was General
Arnold.

“How mean you, General Arnold?” demanded Andre, in surprise:
“is not our interview to take place here?”

“So far as conversation goes it might, sir. But I have a portion
of correspondence, several important documents, plans of
correspondence, and other papers necessary to our purpose, to exhibit
to you. For these we must have lights and the privacy of
a room.”

“Well.”

“A short distance from this place is a retired house, tenanted
by Smithson. He is away, and there we shall be private. I have
brought these horses that we may ride thither.”

After hesitating an instant, the young Englishman, as if determined
to risk every thing to effect the object of his mission, said
abruptly, “mount, sir, I attend you.”

For a few moments they threaded the forest path, and then
emerged into a highroad, where their way, from the absence of
trees, became lighter. They rode forward in silence, for neither
(the one, probably from contempt, the other from shame at the
degrading part he was playing) felt disposed to converse, except
on the topic that had brought two such opposite spirits in contact,
and this had been mutually deferred till their arrival at the place
of their destination. Suddenly the dark meditations of Arnold,
and the pleasing recollections of England, with which the light-hearted
Andre was beguiling the way, were interrupted by the
stern challenge of a sentinel, a few yards in advance. Andre
looked up and saw that they were just entering a small village.

[figure description] Page 018.[end figure description]

“Friends!” replied Arnold.

“Advance and give the countersign.”

“Congress.”

“Pass, friends.”

All this passed like a dream to Andre's senses. In an instant,
however, he realized the full extent of his danger, reined in his
horse and half turned to fly. Arnold's hand was instantly laid
on his bridle. “This is no time to waver. Ride on with me.
There is no danger to a cool head and resolute spirit.”

The words were spoken in a low or hurried tone close to Andre's
ear. A moment's reflection convinced him that it was vain
to think of retreating, and that his only alternative now, was to
meet the emergencies of his situation with coolness and presence
of mind. He therefore rode on, simply saying, in a tone of calm,
and dignified reproof, “You did not tell me, sir, that you were
about to conduct me within the American lines, else I should have
insisted on coming to terms with you where we landed, and not so
imprudently risked my liberty, and perhaps my life.”

“I presumed you placed that confidence in my honor, Major
Andre, which would have rendered such an intimation gratuitous.
With a passport signed by me, you are aware, that you can return
whenever you please.”

Andre said nothing, but the curl of his lip at the mention of
“honor,” would have conveyed more to his companion, had it
been light enough for him to have seen the expression of his features,
than a volume of verbal replies.

In a few moments afterward they arrived at a low farm house,
with a paling running along the front. As they dismounted they
were startled by a heavy cannonading from the river, but some
distance below.

“We are detected,” exclaimed Arnold, “that firing is at the
Vulture.”

The two gentlemen hastily ascended the steps of the portico,
and looked southward. A league below (for that distance had
Arnold led Andre from his ship) they saw the Vulture apparently
wrapped in flames, from the blaze of incessant discharges of
artillery, both from the shore and her own deck. From the batteries
on Verplanck's point, they beheld a long line of guns

[figure description] Page 019.[end figure description]

belching forth fire, the glare of which illuminated land and water far
and wide, while by the light of her own guns they distinguished
every spar and rope of the sloop of war as distinctly as at noon-day.

“Good God! all is discovered—all is lost!” cried Arnold.—
“To horse!”

“Hold!” said Andre, laying his hand on his arm, “you need
fear nothing. The Americans think the sloop lies too near the
shore for their good, and are firing to compel her to change her position.
See, she is already making sail.”

For a quarter of an hour longer they anxiously watched the
movements of the vessel, which, after returning the fire of the
Americans by a few broadsides, got under weigh, and still visible
by the blaze from the guns on shore, slowly dropped down the
river, and came to anchor some distance below, and beyond the
reach of the batteries. Satisfied that his conjectures as to the cause
of the firing were correct, he turned to Arnold and said, “It will
only be a longer pull back for that black bearded esquire of yours,
General Arnold, with a little unwelcome day-light to help him, too,
I fear, unless we can briefly despatch our business.”