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Benedict Arnold moved to Britain were he lost his fortune and died. Nobody knows how Benedict Arnold died. The only piece of information that I found on Benedict Arnold’s death, was that he died in London. His sons became honored British generals, and worked to pay for Benedict Arnold's debt, and also refurnish his fortune. Peggy, Benedict Arnold's wife, died in June of 1775. Benedict Arnold soon followed her when he died five years later in 1780. If Benedict Arnold stayed in America, he could have been one of the best generals that ever lived.

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Dear Diary,
   It is July 6, 1777 now and the war seems to never end. We are in New York and ready to defend the French crafted, Fort Ticonderoga, but we are alone except for the 150 poorly trained Canadian militia members. The British have the well trained Germans or, Hessians with them. We only have three thousand one hundred and fifty men fighting the Brit's seven thousand two hundred.   As we stand in place I can see Redcoats dressing in their bearskin caps, and the Hessians wearing their blue uniforms. I can see my soldiers going down one by one. Seeing my soldiers dying makes me want to switch sides with the British. I would get good pay, and I would be honored for eternity, but if I did that, I would betray the American cause.

   A canon is fired and three of my soldiers fall. The land around me is covered with smoke. Once some of it is cleared, I can see the British flag being carried towards the fort. Another canon fires, and seeing five soldiers go down, I make my decision.

   I scream, “RETREAT” with all of the energy I have left, and my remaining soldiers follow me into the smoke. Canons go off and thirteen more soldiers fall. Tears rolling out of my eyes I keep on running. I am running as fast as I can. I don't know where to go because Brits and Hessians are surrounding us, bombarding us with major field pieces and muskets. The majority of my soldiers are dead, and those left are wounded.

   Finally the reinforcements are here. One hundred and fifty soldiers are added to our army. Although this might help, it will not help a lot. At this point tears are streaming out of my eyes, but I do not feel anything.

   I keep on having memories of my child-hood. My father was often drunk from beer, and always yelling at me. He became so self-destructive once he lost his fortune of money. But I must not think about the past. I have to think about the present. I need to fight this battle. I need to defend the fort. As another round of British shots get fired, more of my soldiers go down. I start moaning and crying, but I keep on running. I am running as fast as I can. I can't stop thinking about my father.

   Finally I make it out of the Brit's gun sites, thank the Lord. We lost an important place, only a couple handfuls of my men made it. The next battle, I will have these soldiers well trained and ready for fighting. Even though I am the General I must not accept the blame for the loss of this battle upon myself.

    September 11, 1780
    It is September 11, 1780 and I have decided to join the British. Since the Battle of Fort Ticonderoga, I have thought that America was not the place for me. The British would pay me well, and give me the great honor of being their top general. I have been writing letters to the British loyalist, Mr.Andres about the pay that I would receive. I do not use my real name in the letters, instead I use the code name; Mr. Moore.

   This is a great opportunity for me to show my skills. I am a desperate man. I need the wealth. Everything that I need for my family and me, is in Britain. As I am writing this, I am also traveling to a neutral point were there is no fighting going on. Mr. Andres is guiding me through the boundaries to discuss a deal. The deal is that he will pay me handsomely if I join the British side, and make all of the regiments of rebel soldiers surrender at the Battle of West Point. I am trying to decide what my answer will be. Now if I say no, they might kill me, and if I say yes, then I would betray America. West Point is a vital location for the Continental Army to have, and without it I don't know what will happen. If I Make this deal then both my family and I could live in a beautiful, luxurious cottage on the British seaside. I shall do it!

    September 13, 1780
    Two days have passed and now it is September 13th. I think that some of my fellow colonists suspect that I am hiding something from them. I think that they have heard rumors about me consulting with British officers. They often give me dirty looks, but cannot say much. That is just what I think. I am beginning to have a bad feeling in my gut. I suspect that this is only paranoia. Often I dream about myself being hung on gallows, or getting shot by a firing squad. I can imagine Rebels cutting my leg open and pouring salt water on top of the bloodied surface. The horror and the pain that this is costing me is too much, but I need to do this, for my family; and myself. I shall not write any more at this time.

    September 17,1780
    Today I stand with my unsuspecting soldiers by my side. I cannot believe that I am going to do this. It breaks my heart to see my men trust a traitor like me. I want to tell them because the guilt is tearing at my insides (trying to separate them, and making it hard to breathe) but this is something that I need to do.

   My plan is to spread out my soldiers at West Point so that it would make their defenses weak. Once the British take hold of West Point, they will be able to destroy the colonists naval ships. Once I surrender West Point, Washington will have to retreat from New York leaving our French allies vulnerable at Long Island. Then the British commander in chief, Sir Henry Clinton, can defeat the French.

   I have it all planned out, but I am scared. I fear that someone will find out about the treachery. I just hope that this battle goes swiftly as planned.

   I have been sending many letters to Sir Henry Clinton. I am not sure if he is getting them.

    SEPTEMBER 23, 1780,
   Today is the 23rd of September. It has been what feels like years, since last time I wrote. I am going to go to the tavern to have an ale and to smoke some tobacco. I woke up just a little while ago. I took a bath, then got dressed in my breeches and coat. After having an ale, I shall practice shooting with my musket, clean the horse stables, then have some lunch. I assume that today will be a very productive and relaxed day. I shall continue writing again in a few hours. Hopefully something interesting will happen. As the day progressed, I found myself hiding from Rebel soldiers.

   I have heard that rebel soldiers captured André. He was carrying all of the letters that we had sent to each other with him. I suspect that this is the end for me in America. As I am writing this diary entry, soldiers are forming into an angry mob right near my house. I can not let the soldiers see me. I shall not write any more until I have reached safe grounds.

    September 28, 1780
   Today is the 28th of September. After five days of dangerous escape from the Rebel soldiers I had taken command of an American vessel only to find out that the ship consists of two Rebel soldiers. There is no way that these soldiers know about my treacherous acts. I arranged for a British vessel to pick me up about five miles off the coast of Maryland. The British vessel contains my family nice and safe. I see the massive British ship get enclosed by a cloud of fog. As I reach the British, I have one last memory of my childhood. I was with my dad. He had said to me that he loved me. This vision is a sign that my switching to the Brit's side was a good idea. Everything is going to be pleasant.

Epilogue

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