later he could describe him as “a Gentleman who I have always esteemed as a friend, and who I know to be a brave and an experienced Officer.”
Complacently, the British allowed their enemy to escape across Lake Champlain, confident that the continuous accumulation of resources would allow them to crush the rebels before the end of the year. The last two Americans to leave Canadian soil were Arnold, once more in command of the rear guard, and Wilkinson. They were rowed away from shore in the same boat, and it is hard to picture them far out on the waters of the lake without speculating about the nature of the capacity for treachery lying latent in each.
Physically, they were not unalike, being short and thickset, and they shared two pronounced characteristics, a crippling incompetence about money and an almost theatrical vanity— each had, for example, wanted to be the last person to leave Canada. To Wilkinson’s irritation Arnold had won by taking advantage of his rank to insist on pushing off from shore with his own hand. So long as they were in the field, money became a secondary issue, and the esteem of fellow combatants kept both content. Only when they were away from the fighting, and cash and admiration were in short supply, did cracks begin to open. Yet what is striking about Arnold’s career is the way that his spirit was broken by Congress’s unremitting hostility to his claims for military recognition and by its persecution of him over his financial affairs. It is not too much to say that he was driven to treachery. Wilkinson’s loyalty, on the other hand, was always unreliable, as Arnold himself discovered soon after their boat came to shore.
D ESPITE THE HUMILIATION of the retreat, Arnold felt that he at least had nothing to be ashamed of. At the end of June, when the remains of the Canadian invasion force had retired to Crown Point, south of Lake Champlain, to lick their wounds, he took Wilkinson with him to Albany, New York, to meet the new general who had been appointed to replace the disappointing Sullivan. This was Horatio Gates, who had made his reputation as Washington’s adjutant general, responsible for putting into effect the Continental Army’s disciplinary structure.
Gates arrived in Albany on June 27, 1776. Congress had appointed him to command a Canadian invasion force that no longer existed, and in its absence Gates felt entitled to regard himself as the senior officer in the Northern Department. Although that position had explicitly been given to Schuyler, it became Gates’s overriding priority to elbow his rival aside. In this task, he was soon to be joined by Arnold’s former protégé, James Wilkinson.
3
W OOING G ENERAL G ATES
T HERE WAS SOMETHING of the seducer in the way James Wilkinson set about winning the hearts of his generals. With all of them, as his fellow staff officers noted, he was quick, compliant, amusing, and efficient. But he could also be histrionic, as in his letter to Nathanael Greene. Or genuinely courageous, as in his efforts to safeguard Benedict Arnold. Toward General Horatio Gates, however, he exhibited an affection too intense to be pretended. The depth of feeling suggested how much he missed his real father.
At the height of their relationship, Wilkinson would write in an official, if outspoken, report, “Pardon the freedom of my language, I speak to General Gates, but in him I hope I address a friend,” signing himself “my dear General’s affectionate friend.” Gates responded warmly, encouraging Wilkinson’s extravagant opinions and judgments. As Wilkinson himself admitted, the general won him “by his indulgence of my self- love.” The younger man responded by encouraging the older one’s taste for intrigue. It was a dangerous exchange.
As a former major in the British army, Horatio Gates possessed a professional understanding of military organization and training. Appointed adjutant general in the Continental Army, he had begun the