A Monument to the Leg of a Traitor Hero Whose Name His Country Tried to Eradicate (9 photos)

An unusual monument stands in Saratoga National Historical Park in New York. It's not a heroic figure with a musket, but a solitary stone boot.





The inscription reads: "In memory of the most brilliant soldier of the Continental Army, who received his severe wound here and decided the outcome of the battle which earned him the rank of Major General."



Benedict Arnold

No name. But almost every American knows whose wounded leg this boot immortalizes. It's a monument to Benedict Arnold, a hero who willingly became a traitor.





Before his betrayal, Arnold was a living legend. His valor brought the Americans victory at the pivotal Battle of Saratoga, where, already wounded in the leg, he led his troops in a charge. His horse died under him, shattering the leg. This feat became Arnold's finest hour and a turning point in the war.



But glory proved bittersweet. The ambitious general, surrounded by envious enemies, felt slighted and insulted by Congress. Influenced by his young wife, who had connections to British intelligence, he took a fateful step.



For 20,000 pounds, Arnold agreed to surrender the key fortress of West Point. The plot was uncovered, and the general fled to the British, only to return later and burn the towns of his former comrades.



They say he asked an officer what the Americans would do to him if he were captured. The officer replied, "The leg that was so gloriously wounded in the battles for freedom, they will cut off and bury with military honors." "And the rest of the body will be hanged."



And so it happened. True, the country buried only its own memory of his heroism. The large monument in Saratoga has four niches for generals. One of them—the one where Arnold should have stood—is empty. Even in his hometown of Norwich, in the church register, next to the name of the infant Benedict, someone carefully scrawled: "was a traitor."



However, today historians urge us to see a complex figure behind the traitor's shadow. In Norwich, they sell a mug with his portrait and the inscription "Patriot." But pour hot water into it, and another word emerges: "Traitor." It's as if memory itself, searing and ambivalent, refuses to deliver a definitive verdict.