cradle, rode to Beverley Dock, and ordered his men to pull off and
go down the river. The "Vulture," an English man-of-war, was near
Teller's Point, and received a traitor, whose miserable treachery
branded him with eternal infamy on both continents. It is said that
he lived long enough to be hissed in the House of Commons, as he once
took his seat in the gallery, and he died friendless and despised. It
is also said, when Talleyrand arrived in Havre on foot from Paris, in
the darkest hour of the French Revolution, pursued by the bloodhounds
of the reign of terror, and was about to secure a passage to the
United States, he asked the landlord of the hotel whether any
Americans were staying at his house, as he was going across the water,
and would like a letter to a person of influence in the New World.
"There is a gentleman up-stairs from Britain or America," was the
response. He pointed the way, and Talleyrand ascended the stairs. In a
dimly lighted room sat a man of whom the great minister of France was
to ask a favor. He advanced, and poured forth in elegant French and
broken English, "I am a wanderer, and an exile. I am forced to fly to
the New World without a friend or home. You are an American. Give me,
then, I beseech you, a letter of yours, so that I may be able to earn
my bread." The strange gentleman rose. With a look that Talleyrand
never forgot, he retreated toward the door of the next chamber. He
spoke as he retreated, and his voice was full of suffering: "I am the
only man of the New World who can raise his hand to God and say,
'I have not a friend, not one, in America!'" "Who are you?" he
cried--"your name?" "My name is Benedict Arnold!"

* * *

Wayne, Putnam, Knox and Heath are there,
Steuben, proud Prussia's honored son;