Traitor, by Jean Fritz, is a book about Benedict Arnold, who is known for committing treason against America and joining the British during the American Revolution. For this assignment I had to write a diary as if I were Peggy Shippen Arnold, Benedict’s second wife. To challenge myself, I decided to try and write in 18th century language as best as I could. (A book that helped me achieve this is A Gathering of Days, by Joan W. Blos. A Gathering of Days is a diary of an 1830’s New Hampshire girl written in the style of that time.)
September 4th, 1780:
I can not stand this. The children and I are packaged into these little apartments with even fewer furnishings. There is scarcely enough space to sufficiently room my chests of gowns. So tight are my accommodations that I have stacked my chests one upon another in order to keep a clear path from my bed to the door. Oh! And the state of the foyer carpet is quite atrocious. This fatigues me a great deal since it is the very first thing upon which people look. And not only is the house diminutive, but the food that we feed on daily is scarce. Sugar only twice a week! No fruit cakes, no preserves, not even a lump in tea can we afford! Why my American army general husband is paid so little is indeed beyond me!
But soon is the time when he shall not be an American general but at British one. If I have deciphered his text in his latest letter, the plans are going smoothly. It will be wonderful to be a British wife! The extent of the finery and splendor is quite more bountiful on the Loyalist side. I dare say if only this war were fought on class and nobility, rather than skilled men at arms, the glorious red coats would be clearly the champions. It was very fortunate for Benedict that I had previous encounters with a certain British officer and that I have kept up connections with this so named Brit.
September 6th, 1780:
Alas! Today we had to auction off one of our dear slaves, Jayne. Most of her chores have been added to our other two slaves’ work, but the following, our slaves having no more time to do any additional work, has been assigned to the children, and to myself: opening our door to invite guests out of the cold, starting the fire in the morning, and washing and scrubbing the dishes and floors. What a disgrace it will be to go on one’s hands and knees to clean the area where people’s feet have been! This such task I shale bestow upon the children. What we shall do without such help as Jayne provided, I know not, but our funds have come in so scarcely that the £40 from her sale are worth more than poor Jayne’s work. Conjointly, I was in need of a new muff to protect my hands from bitter winds, winter coming and all. And all the children are in desperate need of winter attire.
September 11th, 1780:
I have been so busy with Jayne gone and all! The children skater when work is to be done, and I have little time to do such things as daily necessities. I feel great remorse as the loss of Jayne, the £40 gone this Tuesday past. Her work would have served us more than the petty sum of £40.
I have heard nothing concerning my husband in his transfer, but soon news shall come.
September 18th, 1780:
Today I have been much disgraced! This is how it all happened:
I ran into my neighbor, Mrs. Benneth, who lives three miles up the road and who is a lady quite lower in rank and stature than I. Only on rare occasions do I take the liberty of speaking with her since it would be unseemly for a general’s , even a American general’s, wife to interact with a miller’s. However, she did stop me and showed a desire to speak to me. I, putting on as happy a countenance as I could manage, spoke to her most cordially. Whereupon, so quickly I barely knew what had happened, she invited me over to her house for supper that very day! So shocked was I that I did not protest, and found myself inclined to supper at the Benneth’s.
I hurried home to tell the children so that we might get ready and arrive at the Benneth’s on time and appear the high society we are. I went to the stables that held our horse and buggy to make sure that they would be ready. Here I heard most unhappy news from Mark, our male slave. Apparently our buggy’s wheel is broken and has been for three weeks past. Why I was not informed of this I can not say. I was much saddened by the loss of the wheel, but I saw my way out of an invitation to the Benneth’s supper. I told Mark to take our horse and hurry up the road to the Benneth’s to tell them that our buggy had been damaged and that we would be unable to accept their invitation on this present day.
When I saw that Mark was well on his way I made my way to my chamber to see what bonnet I would wear to Sunday’s service. Just after I had selected the perfect one to go along with my ivory silk dress, what did I hear at the door, but a knock. I hurried down to the door and who would be there, but Mr. Benneth with his own carriage. Mark, hereby, stepped forward and said, “I told ’em what you said Miss, but they here just reply, ‘We’ll just drive our carriage here down to ’em’s house and pick ’em up.’” I was not prepared for such a tragic turn of events. Not only would I have to endure a meal with the Benneths, but I would also have to ride in their wooden carriage, with no cushions. Wanting to seem grateful for their pains, I thanked Mr. Benneth warmly, and briskly gathered up the children. We climbed into their carriage, and made our way up to their house. Not used to the hard wood of the carriage seats, I became sore quite quickly.
On arrival, I realized that their dwellings were far more substantial than I had first thought. They were nothing to mine, of course. When we went inside the house, we were greeted by a presentation of the whole family, their five servants, and their two hunting dogs. When we sat at their table we were presented with appetizers and entrees. We were given a choice of our drink, and when I chose mine, I was asked “One or two lumps”. After the supper, and the ride home, I laid myself upon my bed to reflect the night and write all this down.
And now my conclusion is thus: the Benneths wanted to find favor with a high society person like myself, and thereby invited us over so that we would return the favor and invite them over to our home to show them the proper way to do things, such as eating. Not wanting to embarrass themselves, they spent half of their little hard earned money on a presentable meal. This thought pleases me, and I will not invite the Benneths over, just so they will not feel awkward in the presence of such a delicate and dainty dinner service which they would receive.
It has been almost a month, and still there is no news from Benedict. Oh, how I hope he is well and that his plans are going well. I don’t know how much longer I can survive on his present income.
September 19th, 1780:
Today is little Edward Shippen Arnold’s half birthday. He was brought into this world six month ago. I long to hear from his father, but no news was sent today.
September 30th, 1780:
News from Benedict at last came on the 20th, but it was not good:
I was greeted by several American persons this afternoon at my house. Slowly they broke the news to me. Benedict had betrayed the country and was working for the British. The words wrung in my ear, not because they themselves were a surprise but because I was not expecting to hear them from these persons. Then they went on to tell me he had been captured! Benedict? Captured? Impossible! He was braver and smarter than all of the Americans together! They said that they had found letters in Benedict’s hand encrypted, deciphered and sealed as well as replies to those letters. That was when I knew the full purpose of their visit. It was not to inform me of my husband’s betrayal but to seek out and find his accomplice. I knew whose hand the replies were written in. My own. I knew I had to act fast if I was going to avoid being hanged for treason. So I went mad. I screamed. I thrashed about. I laughed. I cried. I did anything a crazy person would do in order to save myself. For one brief moment I was ashamed of myself. Me, a graceful aristocrat, acting no better than a wild dog chasing its tail. I was denying my husband. After that short moment I was ashamed no more. I had two of four quarters of my life to live, and I would not let those years pass me by. Benedict was three fourths done with his years. I had a right to live my full days.
Ladies from the town and surrounding area stayed with me for many days to counsel me and comfort me; no one saw through my charade. I would refuse to eat, wander the house at night, and burst into uncontrollable fits to ensure my innocence. Mrs. Benneth took all the children in to shield them from my outbursts.
It has been nine days since I received the news. My children have returned home, and I am no longer tended to.
My dreams of being a rich British officer’s wife are over. I must live even more simply now. I mostly sit and watch the movement of passersby while sipping on a cup of tea with no lumps.
This is so well written and certainly sounds like the style of the time. I was fascinated reading this “diary” as if I were reading a novel!
Wonderful!
Nice!
His wife was very self-centered, but then, I guess, so was Benedict Arnold. You have captured the “heart” (or should I say, heartlessness?) of Peggy very well. Keep up the excellent work.
Your writing is getting better and better!!