The details of Benedict Arnold’s life have been laid before the reader as I have discovered them. The question remains: What is one to make of the man? Was Arnold a thoroughly evil man, greedy, vainglorious, and self-serving, as his angry contemporaries and later generations have concluded? Certainly, he was ambitious and able, a man on the make, a man in a hurry. He was extraordinarily successful in business and on the battlefield. Never having had actual military experience before the Revolutionary War, he turned out to be a brilliant, bold, and inspiring commander, arguably the best officer on either side. Arnold fought passionately for the cause of independence until his defection late in the war. He was generous to friends but openly scornful and impatient with those less committed or brave. Impatience and bluntness make enemies, and Arnold’s enemies were tenacious. As for his politics, Arnold was a moderate, not a radical, a fact that infuriated the radical Pennsylvania Executive Council. They accused Arnold of favoring the enemy because of his unwillingness to arrest the long list of Philadelphians the Council claimed were loyalists.
Some historical understanding is needed here. Arnold was willing, even eager, to die a soldier’s death to win independence. Such single-minded dedication to personal honor was a common characteristic of Arnold’s time and vocation. Charles Royster reckons that Continental Army officers’ self-conscious imitation of European models might make them “doubly touchy because of the officers’ difficulty in securing satisfactory recognition as gentlemen in the first place.”1 Royster’s insight clearly applies to Arnold, who had been abruptly deprived of a university education and suffered the public humiliation of his father’s alcoholism and indebtedness. Later, despite Arnold’s superior military achievements, members of Congress passed him over for promotion and, when grudgingly promoting him much later, did not correct his seniority. He was robbed of credit for his role in the victory at Saratoga where he rallied the troops and led the victorious charge, suffering a grievous wound in the process. Instead the honors were bestowed upon his commander, General Horatio Gates, who had remained in his tent as the battle raged, and had banned Arnold from participating. Even Washington had let him down. The commander had promised to have an early court-martial hearing, yet it had been delayed time and again as the Pennsylvania Council won successive postponements. Arnold had asked for a commission in the navy, a command for which his experience suited him perfectly and which would accommodate his lameness. Yet Washington insisted he serve in the field army. Hounded for financial malfeasance by enemies in and out of Congress but unable to defend himself against their charges for months, Arnold endured more than his share of slurs upon his reputation.
Arnold’s disgust with the attitude of Congress and of many civilians toward the Continental Army was shared by most of its officers and men. Even Lafayette, who was aware of the army’s privations, was shocked when he rejoined Washington in Morristown in 1779 to find “An Army that is reduced to nothing, that wants provisions, that has not one of the necessary means to make war. . . I confess I had no idea of such an extremity.”2 Two years later Lieutenant Colonel Huntington of Connecticut wrote his brother of his disgust “at the rascally stupidity which now prevails in the country at large,” demanding, “Why do you not reinforce your army, feed them, clothe and pay them?”3 He concluded in despair, “I despise my countrymen. I wish I could say I was not born in America.”
On the other hand, while the officers’ growing professional self-consciousness may have been natural, it did look very sinister to many of their fellow revolutionaries.4 Delegates feared the rise of another Oliver Cromwell, who would deploy his troops to seize power. Yet while worried about a successful army general, they were quick to punish military failure, levying charges of misconduct against officers who surrendered a fort or suffered a military defeat. To ensure their control, Congress insisted on micromanaging an army they were unable or unwilling to keep decently supplied with food, clothing, shelter, arms, or pay.
Treatment of the army was not the only issue. Many patriots shared Arnold’s criticism and doubts about the direction of the war. Charles Royster writes that the reaction to Arnold’s treason “revealed that in his crimes, as in his achievements, he shared many attributes with his countrymen.”5 By 1780 when Arnold defected many of his countrymen were dismayed at the direction of the war, fearing it was lost, and also upset at the alliance with their old enemy France. The French alliance seemed to have been of little benefit up till that point while involving many risks.6 George Mason, a former delegate to the Continental Congress from Virginia, wrote in June 1781 that even those in northern Virginia “well-affected to the French alliance . . . grow uneasy and restless & begin to think that our Allies are spinning out the war, in order to weaken America, as well as Great Britain & thereby leave us, at the End of it, as dependent as possible upon themselves.”7 Carl Van Doren points out that the mood of disenchantment was enhanced by the presence of Britain’s Carlisle Commission that year, offering Americans everything they had demanded except independence. All this public disapproval caused great consternation among the country’s leaders. Van Doren finds:
In the prevailing bitterness and suspicion the zealous patriots were intolerant of opposition or dissent. The British peace offers in June and the lingering presence of the peace commissioners in New York till November, made many honest Philadelphians wonder if it would not be wiser for America to return to its old place in the Empire on favourable terms than to go on fighting bloodily for independence—and in the end perhaps fail to win it. Independence was an idea, the Empire a reality. Other Philadelphians honestly dreaded the French alliance, out of doubt as to French motives.8
If Arnold had genuine grievances he had other options than treason. He might have followed the example of scores of Washington’s officers and simply resigned his commission and returned to civilian life. What made that path more difficult in his case was the insistence of Congress that he still owed them £1,000, a sum that would probably have bankrupted him. His children would suffer the humiliation he had of being the sons of a debtor. Wartime conditions and his absence for several years had taken a toll on his shipping business. He had also spent lavishly to purchase a grand home for his lovely Peggy. In the end he opted for continuing to play a part in the war and to retrieve his honor by offering his services to the British. If all worked out and the British won, as seemed almost certain at the time, he would be applauded for helping end the bloodshed and securing a British victory. He insisted upon an important commission in the British army for his own self-esteem, and financial aid to reimburse him for the certain loss of his American property. In the event he chose the losing side and became a pariah, dishonoring himself and his family. His behavior was dishonorable, his choice was tragic.
The real tragedy is not that we have insufficiently demeaning language to ensure Arnold’s actions remain shocking to our own and future generations. It is that a brilliant and heroic man opted to betray the victory he had done so much to achieve in order to retain his personal honor and in the process dishonored his name for eternity. If time cannot bring forgiveness, can it not bring some measure of understanding?