The Two Spies: Nathan Hale and John André

Hale's Birthplace.

THE TWO SPIES

NATHAN HALE AND JOHN ANDRÉ

BY

BENSON J. LOSSING, LL. D.

ILLUSTRATED WITH PEN-AND-INK SKETCHES BY H. ROSA

ANNA SEWARD'S MONODY ON MAJOR ANDRÉ

NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,

72 FIFTH AVENUE.

1897.

Copyright, 1886,

By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.

FORETALK.

This little volume contains a brief account of the most important events in the life-career of two notable spies in our War for Independence, Nathan Hale and John André. They were both young men, well educated, endowed with genius and ability for conspicuous achievements, brave and accomplished soldiers, pure and virtuous in private character, truthful, manly, refined in thoughts and manners, handsome in person, lovely in disposition, and beloved by all who knew them.

Yet they were spies!

"Spies," says Vattel, "are generally condemned to capital punishment, and not unjustly, there being scarcely any other way of preventing the mischief which they may do. For this reason a man of honor, who would not expose himself to die by the hand of a common executioner, ever declines serving as a spy. He considers it beneath him, as it can seldom be done without some kind of treachery."

May not a spy be a man of lofty honor, and act under the inspiration of disinterested patriotism? Stratagem, an artifice or scheme for deceiving an enemy in war, is regarded as honorable, but is it not seldom exercised "without some kind of treachery"?

It is the motive which gives true character to the deed. When the motive is a purely mercenary one, the deed is dishonorable; when it is the lofty one of a desire to serve one's country or his race, unselfishly, the act is certainly honorable. Nathan Hale truthfully said, "Every kind of service necessary for the public good becomes honorable by being necessary."

The motives of the two spies were expressed by themselves. Hale said: "I wish to be useful. If the exigencies of my country demand a peculiar service, its claims to the performance of that service are imperious." André avowed that in the enterprise in which he was engaged all he sought "was military glory, the applause of his king and country, and, perhaps, a brigadiership."

The last words uttered by André under the gibbet indicated that his supreme thought at that moment was of himself. He said to the American officers present, "I request you, gentlemen, that you will bear me witness to the world that I die like a brave man." Hale's last words upon the ladder indicated that his supreme thought at that moment was of his country. He said, "I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country!"

In 1856 a "Life of Captain Nathan Hale," by I.W. Stuart, was published at Hartford, in a small volume of 230 pages. In 1861 "The Life and Career of Major John André," by Winthrop Sargeant, was published at Boston in a small octavo volume of nearly 500 pages. It is an exhaustive work. To these two books I acknowledge much indebtedness.

The spirited pen-and-ink sketches which illustrate this little volume were largely copied from original drawings by the author; also from other original drawings and autographs. The two pictures, Cunningham destroying Hale's Letters, and The Tournament, are original designs by the artist.

This volume contains the full text of André's "Cow-Chase," and the famous "Monody on Major André," by Miss Anna Seward, with a portrait and a brief biographical sketch of the author; also three characteristic letters written by André to Miss Seward, when he was a youth of eighteen. The "Monody," I believe, has never been published in America.

B.J.L.

The Ridge, April, 1886.

CONTENTS.

ILLUSTRATIONS.

[Nathan Hale's Birthplace]
[Fac-simile of Hale's Handwriting]
[Union Grammar School-house at New London]
[The Beekman Mansion]
[Beekman's Greenhouse]
[Cunningham destroying Hale's Letters]
[The Hale Monument at Coventry]
[Portrait of John André]
[Portrait of Honora Sneyd]
[The Mischianza Ticket]
[Lady's Head-Dress]
[The Joust at the Tournament]
[Fac-simile of Arnold's disguised Handwriting]
[Fac-simile of André's disguised Handwriting]
[Fac-simile of the Last Stanza of the Cow-Chase]
[The Smith House]
[Fac-simile of Arnold's Passport]
[Portrait of John Paulding]
[The Robinson House]
"[The '76 Stone House]"
[Washington's Headquarters at Tappaan]
[Passage from the Vulture]
[André's Monument in Westminster Abbey]
[Bowlder-Monument]
[Dean Stanley's Autograph]
[Memorial at Tappaan]
[Memorial at Tarrytown]
[Portrait of Anna Seward]

NATHAN HALE.

CHAPTER I.

In a picturesque region of Tolland County, Connecticut, twenty miles eastward of Hartford, situated upon an eminence which commands a beautiful and extensive prospect westward toward the State capital, there once stood, and perhaps now stands, a pleasant farm-house, built of wood, and two stories in height.[1] In that house, on the 6th of June, 1755, a child was born whose name appears conspicuous in our national history. It was a boy, and one of twelve children, whose father, Richard Hale, had emigrated in early life from Newberry, in Massachusetts, to Coventry, and there married Elizabeth Strong, a charming maiden eighteen years of age. He was a descendant of Robert Hale, or Hales, who settled in Charlestown, in 1632, and who seems to have been a scion of the Hales of Kent, for he bore their coat-of-arms—three broad arrows feathered white, on a red field.

Both Richard and Elizabeth Hale were of the strictest sect of the Puritans of their day. They revered the Bible as the voice of God; reverenced magistrates and gospel ministers as his chosen servants; regarded the strict observance of the Christian Sabbath as a binding obligation, and family worship and grace before meals as imperative duties and precious privileges.

The sixth child of Richard and Elizabeth Hale they named Nathan. He was feeble in body at the beginning of his life, and gave very little promise of surviving the period of infancy; but tender motherly care carried him safely over the critical second year, and he became a robust child, physically and mentally. He grew up a lively, sweet-tempered, and beautiful youth; and these qualities marked his young manhood.

Nathan Hale, the distinguished person alluded to, bright and active, loved out-of-door pastimes, and communing with Nature everywhere. He was conspicuous among his companions for remarkable athletism. He would spring, with apparent ease, out of one hogshead into another, through a series; and he would place his hand upon a fence as high as his head, and spring over it at a bound with apparently little effort.

Having an intense thirst for knowledge, young Hale was very studious. His father designed him for the Christian ministry, and he was fitted for college by the Rev. Dr. Huntington, one of the most eminent Congregational divines and scholars of his day, and then the pastor of the parish in which Nathan was born.

Young Hale entered Yale College when in the sixteenth year of his age. His brother Enoch, the grandfather of Rev. Edward Everett Hale, of Boston, and two years the senior of Nathan, entered Yale at the same time. The students then numbered about sixty. His course of college-life was eminently praiseworthy; and he was graduated with the highest honors in September, 1773. Popular with all the students, the tutors, and the faculty, he was always a welcome visitor in the best families of New Haven.

In the autumn of 1848 I visited the venerable Eneas Munson, M.D., at New Haven. He had been assistant surgeon, under Dr. Thatcher, in the old War for Independence. He knew young Hale well during the later period of his life at Yale College, for he was then a frequent visitor at the home of Dr. Munson's father.

"I was greatly impressed," said Dr. Munson, "with Hale's scientific knowledge, evinced during his conversation with my father. I am sure he was equal to André in solid acquirements, and his taste for art and talents as an artist were quite remarkable. His personal appearance was as notable. He was almost six feet in height, perfectly proportioned, and in figure and deportment he was the most manly man I have ever met. His chest was broad; his muscles were firm; his face wore a most benign expression; his complexion was roseate; his eyes were light blue and beamed with intelligence; his hair was soft and light brown in color, and his speech was rather low, sweet, and musical. His personal beauty and grace of manner were most charming. Why, all the girls in New Haven fell in love with him," said Dr. Munson, "and wept tears of real sorrow when they heard of his sad fate. In dress he was always neat; he was quick to lend a helping hand to a being in distress, brute or human; was overflowing with good-humor, and was the idol of all his acquaintances."

Such was the verbal testimony of a personal acquaintance of Nathan Hale as to his appearance and character. When he left Yale College.[2] Dr. Jared Sparks, who knew several of Hale's intimate friends, writes of him:

Please accept for yourself and Mrs. Munson the grateful thanks of one who will always remember the kindness he ever experienced whenever he visited your abode.
your friend,
Nathan Hale.
Fac-simile of Hale's Handwriting.

"Possessing genius, taste, and order, he became distinguished as a scholar; and, endowed in an eminent degree with those graces and gifts of Nature which add a charm to youthful excellence, he gained universal esteem and confidence. To high moral worth and irreproachable habits were joined gentleness of manner, an ingenuous disposition, and vigor of understanding. No young man of his years put forth a fairer promise of future usefulness and celebrity; the fortunes of none were fostered more sincerely by the generous good wishes of his associates, and the hopes and encouraging presages of his superiors."

Among Hale's classmates was (afterward Major) Benjamin Tallmadge, who had charge of André soon after his arrest. With William Robinson and Ezra Samson he was engaged with Hale at their graduation, in a Latin syllogistic dispute, followed by a debate on the question, "Whether the education of daughters be not, without any just reason, more neglected than that of the sons?"

"In this debate Hale was triumphant," wrote James Hillhouse, another of his classmates, who was a few months his junior. "He was the champion of 'The Daughters,' and most ably advocated their cause. You may be sure that he received the plaudits of the ladies present."

On leaving college, Hale engaged in school-teaching for nearly two years. He first taught a select school at East Haddam, on the left bank of the Connecticut River, then a place of much wealth.

In 1774 he was called to the position of preceptor in the Union Grammar-School at New London, an institution of high grade, intended to furnish facilities for a thorough English education and the classical preparation necessary for entering college. The school-building stood on State Street. Young Hale was appointed its first preceptor after its organization. It was a high compliment to his ability.

Hale's connection with this school was most agreeable. Everybody became warmly attached to him. His life moved on in a placid current, with scarcely a ripple upon its surface. He assiduously cultivated science and letters, moved in the most refined society, and engaged in social pleasures and religious repose. His future appeared full of joyful promises.

Union Grammar School-house at New London.

Suddenly war's alarms dispelled Hale's dream of quiet happiness. The news of the bloodshed at Lexington and Concord aroused the continent—New England in a special manner. A messenger, riding express with the news, between Boston and New York, brought it to New London late on the 21st of April. It created intense excitement. A town meeting was called at the court-house at twilight. Among the speakers present whose words fired the hearts of the eager listeners was Nathan Hale. With impassioned language and intense earnestness he exhorted the people to take patriotic action at once. "Let us march immediately," he cried, "and never lay down our arms until we have obtained our independence!" This was the first public demand for independence made at the beginning of the great struggle.

When the meeting adjourned, Hale, with others, enrolled himself as a volunteer. A company was soon formed. On the following morning when the school assembled, he prayed with his pupils, gave them good advice, bade each one of them an affectionate farewell, and soon afterward departed for Cambridge. He returned and resumed his duties at the school, but it was not long before his intense desire to serve his country caused him to enlist as a lieutenant of a company in Colonel Charles Webb's regiment—a body raised by order of the General Assembly for home defense, or, if necessary, for the protection of the country at large.

Late in September Hale marched with his regiment to Cambridge, and participated in the siege of Boston. He received the commission of captain early in January, and was vigilant and brave at all times. The British were driven from the New England capital in March (1776), and sailed away to Halifax with a host of Tories, who fled from the wrath of the Whigs whom they had oppressed. After the British left Boston, the bulk of the American army proceeded to New York. So earnest and unselfish was Hale's patriotism that, when, late in 1775, the men of his company, whose term of service had expired, determined to return home, he offered to give them his month's pay if they would remain so much longer.

Soon after Hale's arrival at New York, he successfully performed a daring feat. A British sloop, laden with provisions, was anchored in the East River under the protection of the guns of the man-of-war Asia sixty-four. General Heath gave Hale permission to attempt the capture of the supply-vessel. With a few picked men (probably of Glover's brigade, who were largely seamen), as resolute as himself, he proceeded in a whale-boat silently at midnight to the side of the sloop, unobserved by the sentinel on the deck. Hale and his men sprang on board, secured the sentinel, confined the crew below the hatches, raised her anchor, and took her into Coenties Slip just at the dawn of day. Captain Hale was at the helm. The victors were greeted with loud huzzas from a score of voices when the sloop touched the wharf. The stores of provisions of the prize-vessel were distributed among Hale's hungry fellow-soldiers.

We have no information concerning Hale's movements from the time of his capture of the supply-vessel until after the battle of Long Island. He became captain of a company of Connecticut Rangers in May—a corps composed of choice men picked from the different Connecticut regiments, and placed under the command of Lieutenant-Colonel Thomas Knowlton, who had distinguished himself in the battle of Bunker's (Breed's) Hill. They were known as "Congress's Own."

In two or three letters written by Hale to his brothers in the earlier part of the summer, he mentions some hostile movements, but there are no indications that he was engaged in any of them. He seems not to have been in the battle of Long Island or a participant in the famous retreat of Washington across the East River, from Brooklyn, at the close of August. He was among the troops that remained in New York when the British invaded Long Island (for he was sick at that time), and joined the retreating forces in their march toward Harlem Heights early in September. He first appears after that movement in the presence of Washington, at the house of the opulent Quaker merchant, Robert Murray, on Murray Hill, to receive instructions for the performance of an important mission. What was the nature of that mission? Let us see:

The American army on Manhattan Island was in a most perilous condition after the retreat from Long Island. It was fearfully demoralized, and seemed to be on the point of dissolution. Despair had taken possession of the minds of the militia. They deserted by companies and even by regiments. Impatient of restraint, insubordination everywhere prevailed. The soldiers clamored for pay; the money-chest was empty. They clamored for clothing and blankets, as cold weather was approaching; the commissary could not respond. One third of the men were without tents, and one fourth of them were on the sick-roll. Only fourteen thousand men were fit for duty, and these were scattered in detachments lying between each extremity of the island, a distance of a dozen miles or more.

The British army was then twenty-five thousand strong, and lay in compact detachments along the shores of New York Bay and the East River, from (present) Greenwood Cemetery to Flushing and beyond. The soldiers were veterans, and were flushed with the recent victory. They were commanded by able generals. The army was supported by a powerful naval force which studded with armed vessels the waters that clasped Manhattan Island. Each arm of the service was magnificently equipped with artillery, stores, and munitions of war of every kind.

Such was the condition and relative position of the two armies when, on the 7th of September, Washington called a council of war to consider the important questions, What shall be done? Shall we defend or abandon New York?

Washington had already asked Congress, "If we should be obliged to abandon the town, ought it to stand as winter-quarters for the enemy?" He was answered by a resolve that, in case he should find it necessary that he should quit New York, he should "have special care taken that no damage be done to the city, Congress having no doubt of their being able to recover it." It was resolved to remain and defend the city.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] See the frontispiece, copied from a drawing by J.W. Barber, of New Haven, in 1840.

[2] Dr. Munson allowed me to read the following letter written by Hale to his father, from New London, late in September, 1774, and to make a fac-simile of the last paragraph as seen above:

"New London, November 30, 1774.

"Sir: I am very happily situated here. I love my employment; find many friends among strangers; have time for scientific study, and seem to fill the place assigned me with satisfaction. I have a school of more than thirty boys to instruct, about half of them in Latin; and my salary is satisfactory. During the summer I had a morning class of young ladies—about a score—from five to seven o'clock; so you see my time is pretty fully occupied, profitably I hope to my pupils and to their teacher.

"Please accept for yourself and Mrs. Munson the grateful thanks of one who will always remember the kindness he ever experienced whenever he visited your abode.

Your friend,
Nathan Hale."

CHAPTER II.

Perils were gathering thick and fast, and at another council, held on the 12th, it was resolved to abandon the city and take a position on Harlem Heights. The sick were sent over to New Jersey, and the public stores were taken to Dobb's Ferry, twenty miles up the Hudson River. Then the main army moved northward, leaving in the city a guard of four thousand men under General Putnam, with orders to follow if necessary.

Washington made his headquarters at the house of Robert Murray on the 14th. The position of the American army now appeared more perilous than ever. Two ships-of-war had passed up the East River. Others soon followed. Scouts reported active movements among the British troops everywhere, but could not penetrate, even by reasonable conjecture, the designs of the enemy. It was of the utmost importance to know something of their real intentions. Washington wrote to General Heath, then stationed at Kingsbridge:

"As everything, in a manner, depends upon obtaining intelligence of the enemy's motions, I do most earnestly entreat you and General Clinton to exert yourselves to accomplish this most desirable end. Leave no stone unturned, nor do not stick at expense, to bring this to pass, as I was never more uneasy than on account of my want of knowledge on this score. Keep constant lookout, with good glasses, on some commanding heights that look well on to the other shore."

The vital questions pressing for answer were, Will they make a direct attack upon the city? Will they land upon the island, above the city, or at Morrisania beyond the Harlem River? Will they attempt to cut off our communications with the main, by seizing the region along the Harlem River or at Kingsbridge, by landing forces on the shores of the East and Hudson Rivers, at Turtle Bay, or at Bloomingdale, and, stretching a cordon of armed men from river to river, cut off the four thousand troops left in the city?

Washington, in his perplexity, called another council of war at Murray's. He told his officers that he could not procure the least information concerning the intentions of the enemy, and asked the usual question of late, What shall be done? It was resolved to send a competent person, in disguise, into the British camps on Long Island to unveil the momentous secret. It needed one skilled in military and scientific knowledge and a good draughtsman; a man possessed of a quick eye, a cool head, unflinching courage; tact, caution, and sagacity—a man on whose judgment and fidelity implicit reliance might be placed.

Washington sent for Lieutenant-Colonel Knowlton and asked him to seek for a trustful man for the service, in his own noted regiment or in some other. Knowlton summoned a large number of officers to a conference at his quarters, and, in the name of the commander-in-chief, invited a volunteer for the important service. They were surprised. There was a long pause. Patriotism, ambition, a love of adventure, and indignation, alternately took possession of their feelings. It was an invitation to serve their country supremely by becoming a spy—a character upon whom all civilized nations place the ban of scorn and contumely! They recoiled from such a service, and there was a general and even resentful refusal to comply with the request.

Late in the conference, when Knowlton had despaired of finding a man competent and willing to undertake the perilous mission, a young officer appeared, pale from the effects of recent severe sickness. Knowlton repeated the invitation, when, almost immediately, the voice of the young soldier was heard uttering the momentous words, "I will undertake it!" It was the voice of Captain Nathan Hale.

Everybody was astonished. The whole company knew Hale. They loved and admired him. They tried to dissuade him from his decision, setting forth the risk of sacrificing all his good prospects in life and the fond hopes of his parents and friends. They painted in darkest colors the ignominy and death to which he might be exposed. His warmly attached friend, William Hull (afterward a general in the War of 1812), who was a member of his company and had been a classmate at college, employed all the force of friendship and the arts of persuasion to bend him from his purpose, but in vain. With warmth and decision Hale said:

"Gentlemen, I think I owe to my country the accomplishment of an object so important and so much desired by the commander of her armies, and I know no mode of obtaining the information but by assuming a disguise and passing into the enemy's camp. I am fully sensible of the consequences of discovery and capture in such a situation. But for a year I have been attached to the army, and have not rendered any material service, while receiving a compensation for which I make no return. Yet I am not influenced by any expectation of promotion or pecuniary reward. I wish to be useful; and every kind of service necessary for the public good becomes honorable by being necessary. If the exigencies of my country demand a peculiar service, its claims to the performance of that service are imperious."

These manly, wise, and patriotic words—this willingness to sacrifice himself, if necessary, for the good of his country—silenced his brother officers. Accompanied by Knowlton, he appeared before Washington the same afternoon, and received instructions concerning his mission. His commander also furnished him with a general order to the owners of all American vessels in Long Island Sound to convey him to any point on Long Island which he might designate.

Hale left the camp on Harlem Heights the same evening, accompanied by Sergeant Stephen Hempstead, a trustworthy member of his company, whom he engaged to go with him as far as it would be prudent. He was also accompanied by his trusty servant, Ansel Wright. They found no safe place to cross the Sound until they arrived at Norwalk, fifty miles from New York, owing to the presence of small British cruisers in those waters. There Hale exchanged his regimentals for a citizen's dress of brown cloth and a broad-brimmed round hat, and directed Hempstead and Wright to tarry for him at Norwalk until his return, which he supposed would be on the 20th. He directed a boat to be sent for him on the morning of that day, and left with Hempstead his uniform and his military commission and other papers.

There are somewhat conflicting accounts concerning Hale's movements after he left Norwalk. All agree that he was conveyed across the Sound to Huntington Bay, where he landed; that he assumed the character of a schoolmaster and loyalist disgusted with the "rebel" cause, and that he professed to be in quest of an engagement as a school-teacher. It is known that he entered the British camps in personal disguise and with the pretext of loyalty and the character of a pedagogue; that he was received with great cordiality as a "good fellow"; that he visited all the British camps on Long Island, made observations openly, and drawings and memoranda of fortifications, etc., secretly; that he passed over from Brooklyn to New York city and gathered much information concerning affairs there, the British having invaded Manhattan Island and secured possession of the town since his departure;[3] and that he returned to Long Island and passed through the various camps to Huntington Bay for the purpose of going back to Norwalk.

Tradition tells us that Hale was conveyed from Norwalk to Huntington Bay on a sloop, and was landed from her yawl two hours before daybreak in the neighborhood of a place called "The Cedars." Near there a Widow Chichester, a stanch loyalist (called "Widow Chich"), kept a tavern, which was the resort of all the Tories in that region. Hale passed this dangerous place with safety before cock-crowing, and at a farm-house a mile distant he was kindly furnished with breakfast and a bed for repose after his night's toil. Then he made his way to the nearest British camp, and was received without suspicion of his real character. Concerning his movements after that, until his return from New York, tradition is silent.

Hale, on his return, had reached in safety the point on the Long Island shore where he first landed, and prepared to recross the sound at Norwalk the next morning. He wore shoes with loose inner soles. Between the soles he had concealed the accurate drawings he had made of fortifications, etc., and also his memoranda, written in Latin on thin paper. He had given directions for the boat, from which he had landed, to come for him on a designated morning, which would be the next after his return. Satisfied that he was safe from harm, for he was remote from a British post, and happy with the thought that his perilous mission was ended successfully and that he should render his country most important service, he awaited the coming morning with patience and serenity of mind.

Feeling secure in his simple dress and disguised manner, Hale entered the tavern of the Widow Chichester, at "The Cedars." A number of persons were in the room. A moment afterward, a man, whose face seemed familiar to him, suddenly departed and was not seen again.

Hale passed the night at the tavern, and at dawn went out to look for the expected boat. To his great joy he saw one moving toward the shore, with several men in it. Not doubting they were his friends, he hastened toward the beach, where, as the vessel touched the shore, he was astounded by the sight of a barge bearing British marines. He turned to flee, when a loud voice called, "Surrender or die!" Looking back he saw six men standing erect, with muskets leveled at him. He was seized, taken into the barge, and conveyed to the British guard-ship Halifax, Captain Quarne, which was anchored behind a point of wooded land of Lloyd's Neck.

It has been asserted that the man who so suddenly departed from the room of the tavern at "The Cedars" when Hale entered was a Tory cousin of his, a dissipated fellow, who recognized his kinsman in disguise and betrayed him into the hands of the enemy; but there is no warrant for such an accusation.

Hale's captors stripped and searched him, and found the evidences of his being a spy in the papers concealed between the soles of his shoes. These formed as positive testimony as to his true character as did the papers found in André's boot, which convicted the adjutant-general of the British army of being a spy.

The Beekman Mansion.

Beekman's Greenhouse.

Captain Hale was taken in one of the boats of the Halifax to General Howe's headquarters, at the elegant mansion of James Beekman, at Mount Pleasant, as the high bank of the East River at Turtle Bay was called. The house was situated at (present) Fifty-first Street and First Avenue. It was then deserted by its stanch Whig owner. Around it were beautiful lawns and blooming gardens; and near it was a greenhouse filled with exotic shrubbery and plants.[4] In that greenhouse Hale was confined, under a strong guard, on Saturday night, the 21st of September. He had been taken before Howe, who, without trial, and upon the evidence found in his shoes, condemned him to be hanged early the next morning. Howe delivered him into the custody of William Cunningham, the notorious British provost-marshal, with orders to execute him before sunrise the next day.

This severity, nay, absolute inhumanity, was doubtless the result of great irritation of the minds of the British officers at that moment. They had looked upon the little city of New York, containing twenty thousand inhabitants, as a most comfortable place for their winter-quarters. On the very morning when Hale was arrested (at a little past midnight), a fearful conflagration was accidentally begun at a low tavern on the wharf near Whitehall Slip (now Staten Island Ferry). Swiftly the flames spread, and were not quenched until about five hundred buildings were consumed. The British believed, and so declared, that the fire was the work of Whig incendiaries, to deprive the army of comforts. The city was yet ablaze while Hale was lying in Beekman's greenhouse, awaiting his doom in the early morning.

When Hale was taken before Howe, he frankly acknowledged his rank and his purpose as a spy. He firmly but respectfully told of his success in getting information in the British camps, and expressed his regret that he had not been able to serve his country better. "I was present at this interview," wrote a British officer, "and I observed that the frankness, the manly bearing, and the evident disinterested patriotism of the handsome young prisoner, sensibly touched a tender chord of General Howe's nature; but the stern rules of war concerning such offenses would not allow him to exercise even pity."

FOOTNOTES:

[3] On the day after Hale's departure, a strong British force crossed the East River and landed at Kip's Bay at the foot of (present) Thirty-fourth Street, drove off an American detachment stationed there, and formed a line almost across the island to Bloomingdale. On the 16th detachments of the two armies had a severe contest on Harlem Plains, in which the Americans were victorious, but at the cost of the life of the gallant Colonel Knowlton.

[4] I made a sketch of the Beekman mansion in 1849, and of the greenhouse in 1852, a few days before it was demolished, with all the glories of the garden, at Mount Pleasant; for, at the behest of the Street Commissioner, streets were opened through the whole Beekman domain. The site of the greenhouse was in the center of (present) Fifty-second Street, a little east of First Avenue. It was erected with the mansion in 1764. The mansion was occupied, during the war, as headquarters by Generals Howe, Clinton, and Robertson. It was the residence of the Brunswick General Riedesel and his family in the summer of 1780. General Carleton occupied it in 1783.

CHAPTER III.

Long before daybreak of a Christian Sabbath, Nathan Hale was marched to the place of execution, in the vicinity of (present) East Broadway and Market Street. He was escorted by a file of soldiers, and there delivered to the provost-marshal. The young commander of a British detachment lying near, told Captain William Hull that on Hale's arrival he requested Cunningham to allow him to sit in his (the officer's) marquee while waiting for the necessary preparations. The boon was granted. Hale requested the presence of a chaplain; it was denied. He asked for a Bible; it was refused. At the solicitation of the compassionate young officer in whose tent Hale sat, he was allowed to write brief letters to his mother, sisters, and the young maiden to whom he was betrothed;[5] but, when they were handed to the provost-marshal to cause them to be forwarded, that officer read them. He grew furious as he perceived the noble spirit which breathed in every sentence, and with coarse oaths and foul epithets he tore them into shreds before the face of his young victim. Hale gave Cunningham a withering glance of scorn, and then resumed his usual calmness and dignity of demeanor. Tho provost-marshal afterward said that he destroyed the epistles "that the rebels should never know that they had a man who could die with such firmness."

Cunningham destroying Hale's Letters.

It was in the morning twilight of a beautiful September day that Hale was led out to execution. The gallows was the limb of an apple-tree in Colonel Rutgers's orchard.[6] Even at that early hour quite a large number of men and women had gathered to witness the sad scene. Cunningham watched every arrangement with evident satisfaction; and, when everything was ready for the last scene in the tragedy, he scoffingly demanded of his victim his "last dying speech and confession!"

The soul of the young martyr, patriot, and hero, who was standing upon the fatal ladder[7] with his eyes turned heavenward, was then in secret communion with his Maker, and his mortal ears seemed closed to earthly sounds. He did not notice the insulting words of the human fiend. A moment afterward he looked benignly upon the evidently sympathetic spectators, and with a calm, clear voice pronounced the last words uttered by him:

"I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country!"

The women wept; some of them sobbed audibly. The sublime and burning words of the victim about to be sacrificed upon the altar of liberty, and the visible tokens of sympathy among those who witnessed the scene, maddened the coarse-natured and malignant provost-marshal.[8] He cried out in a voice hoarse with anger, "Swing the rebel off!" and cursed the tearful women with foul imprecations, calling them rebels and harlots!

So ended, in an atmosphere of mingled Christian faith, fortitude, and hope, and of savage barbarism and brutality, the beautiful life-drama of Nathan Hale, the early martyr for the cause of human freedom in the grand struggle for the independence of our country. It is a cause for just reproach of our people that their history, poetry, oratory, and art have, for more than a century, neglected to erect a fitting memorial to his memory—either in the literature of the land he so loved that he freely gave his young life a sacrifice for its salvation from bondage, or in bronze or marble. Nowhere in our broad domain, stretching from sea to sea, teeming with almost sixty million freemen, is there even a mural tablet seen with the name of Nathan Hale upon it, excepting a small monument in his native town, overlooking the graves of his kindred, in an obscure church-yard, which was erected forty years ago.

The body of the martyr was laid in the earth near the spot where his spirit left it. A British officer was sent to acquaint Washington with his fate. A rude stone placed by the side of the grave of his father, in the burial-ground of the Congregational Church in his native town, for long years revealed to passers-by the fact that it was in commemoration of "Nathan Hale, Esq., a captain in the army of the United States, who was born June 6, 1755, received the first honors of Yale College, September, 1773," and "resigned his life a sacrifice to his country's liberty at New York, September 22, 1776, aged twenty-two." An entry of his death was made upon the town records of Coventry.

Late in November, 1837—sixty-one years after his sacrifice—the citizens of Coventry formed a "Hale Monument Association" for the purpose of raising funds for the erection of a suitable memorial to the memory of the young patriot. The association applied in vain to Congress for aid. By fairs, tea-parties, private dramatic performances, and other social appliances, carried on chiefly by the gentler sex, and a grant of twelve hundred dollars by the State of Connecticut, a sufficient sum was secured in 1846 to erect the desired monument.

At one of the fairs, a poem, addressed to "The Daughters of Freedom," and printed on white satin, was offered for sale, and was widely distributed. It contained the following verses:

"Ye come with hearts that oft have glowed
At his soul-stirring tale,
To wreath the deathless evergreen
Around the name of Hale.

"Here his memorial stone shall rise
In freedom's hallowed shade,
Prouder than André's trophied tomb
'Mid mightiest monarchs laid."

The Hale Monument at Coventry.

The Hale memorial stands upon elevated ground near the Congregational Church in South Coventry, and by the side of the old burial-ground in which repose the remains of his nearest kindred. Toward the north it overlooks the beautiful Lake Waugumbaug, in the pellucid waters of which Hale angled in his boyhood and early youth.

The monument was designed by Henry Austin, of New Haven, and was erected under the superintendence of Solomon Willard, the architect of the Bunker's Hill Monument. It was completed in the summer of 1846, at a cost of three thousand seven hundred and thirty-four dollars. The material is Quincy granite. Its form is seen in the engraving. The height is forty-five feet, and it is fourteen feet square at its base. The pedestal bears on its four sides the following inscriptions:

North side: "Captain Nathan Hale, 1776." West side: "Born at Coventry, June 6, 1755." East side: "Died at New York, September 22, 1776." South side: "I regret that I have but one life to lose for my country."

The fate of young Hale produced universal sorrow in the Continental army and among the patriotic people. In the Whig newspapers of the day tributes to his worth as a man and a patriot appeared in both prose and verse.[9] During the War of 1812'-15, a little fort, erected upon Black Rock, at the entrance to New Haven Harbor, on the site of a smaller one, built during the Revolution, was named Fort Hale, the first monument of stone that commemorated him. It has long been in ruins. Then followed the simple structure built by his neighbors at Coventry. Brief notices of the martyr have been given from time to time in occasional poetic effusions and in oratory. Timothy Dwight, Hale's tutor at Yale College, and afterward president of that institution, wrote:

"Thus while fond Virtue wished in vain to save,
Hale, bright and generous, found a hapless grave;
With genius' living flame his bosom glowed,
And Science lured him to her sweet abode.
In Worth's fair path his feet adventured far,
The pride of peace, the rising hope of war;
In duty firm, in danger calm as even,
To friends unchanging, and sincere to Heaven.
How short his course, the prize how early won!
While weeping Friendship mourns her favorite gone."

I.W. Stuart, in his little biography of Hale,[10] has preserved fragments of several poetic effusions. A short time after Hale's death, an unknown personal friend of the martyr wrote a poem of one hundred and sixty lines, in which he described the personal appearance of the young soldier—tall and with "a beauteous face." Of his qualities of temper and conduct he wrote:

"Removed from envy, malice, pride, and strife,
He walked through goodness as he walked through life;
A kinder brother Nature never knew,
A child more duteous or a friend more true."

Of Hale's motives in becoming a spy he wrote:

"Hate of oppression's arbitrary plan,
The love of freedom, and the rights of man;
A strong desire to save from slavery's chain
The future millions of the Western main."

The poet follows him in his career until he enters upon his perilous mission under instructions from Washington. Of the final scene he wrote:

"Not Socrates or noble Russell died.
Or gentle Sidney, Britain's boast and pride,
Or gen'rous Moore, approached life's final goal,
With more composed, more firm and stable soul."

J.S. Babcock, of Coventry, wrote in the metre of Wolfe's "Sir John Moore":

"He fell in the spring of his early prime,
With his fair hopes all around him;
He died for his birth-land—a 'glorious crime'—
Ere the palm of his fame had crowned him.
"He fell in her darkness—he lived not to see
The noon of her risen glory;
But the name of the brave, in the hearts of the free,
Shall be twined in her deathless glory."

In a poem delivered before the Linonian Society of Yale College, at its centennial anniversary in 1853, a society of which Hale was a member, Francis M. Finch said, in allusion to the martyr:

"To drum-beat and heart-beat,
A soldier marches by;
There is color on his cheek,
There is courage in his eye;
Yet to drum-beat and heart-beat
In a moment he must die.
"By starlight and moonlight
He seeks the Briton's camp;
He hears the rustling flag,
And that armèd sentry's tramp;
And the starlight and moonlight
His silent wanderings lamp.
"With slow tread, and still tread,
He scans the tented-line;
And he counts the battery-guns
By the gaunt and shadowy pine;
And his slow tread and still tread
Gives no warning sign.
"The dark wave, the plumed wave,
It meets his eager glance,
And it sparkles 'neath the stars
Like the glimmer of a lance;
A dark wave, a plumed wave,
On an emerald expanse.

"With calm brow, steady brow,
He listens to his doom;
In his look there is no fear,
Nor a shadow trace of gloom;
And with calm brow and steady brow
He robes him for the tomb.
"In the long night, the still night,
He kneels upon the sod;
And the brutal guards withhold
E'en the solemn Word of God!
In the long night, the still night,
He walks where Christ hath trod!

"'Neath the blue morn, the sunny morn,
He dies upon the tree;
And he mourns that he can lose
But one life for Liberty;
And in the blue morn, the sunny morn
His spirit-wings are free!

"From fame-leaf and angel-leaf,
From monument and urn,
The sad of earth, the glad of heaven,
His tragic fate shall learn;
And on fame-leaf and angel-leaf
The name of Hale shall burn!"

At the dedication of a monument in 1853, erected on the spot near Tarrytown where André was captured, the late Henry J. Raymond, in an address on the occasion, said:

"At an early stage of the Revolution, Nathan Hale, captain in the American army, which he had entered, abandoning brilliant prospects of professional distinction for the sole purpose of defending the liberties of his country—gifted, educated, ambitious—the equal of André in talent, in worth, in amiable manners, and in every manly quality, and his superior in that final test of character—the motives by which his acts were prompted and his life was guided—laid aside every consideration personal to himself, and entered upon a service of infinite hazard to life and honor, because Washington deemed it important to the sacred cause to which both had been sacredly set apart. Like André, he was found in the hostile camp; like him, though without trial, he was adjudged as a spy; and, like him, he was condemned to death.

"And here the likeness ends. No consoling word, no pitying or respectful look, cheered the dark hours of his doom. He was met with insult at every turn. The sacred consolations of the minister of God were denied him; the Bible was taken from him; with an excess of barbarity hard to be paralleled in civilized war, his dying letters of farewell to his mother and sisters were destroyed in his presence; and, uncheered by sympathy, mocked by brutal power, and attended only by that sense of duty, incorruptible, undefiled, which had ruled his life—finding a fit farewell in the serene and sublime regret that he had 'but one life to lose for his country'—he went forth to meet the great darkness of an ignominious death.

"The loving hearts of his early companions have erected a neat monument to his memory in his native town; but, beyond that little circle, where stands his name recorded? While the majesty of England, in the person of her sovereign, sent an embassy across the sea to solicit the remains of André at the hands of his foes, that they might be enshrined in that sepulchre where she garners the relics of her mighty and renowned sons—

'Splendid in their ashes, pompous in the grave,'

the children of Washington have left the body of Hale to sleep in its unknown tomb, though it be on his native soil, unhonored by any outward observance, unmarked by any memorial stone. Monody, eulogy, monument of marble or of brass, and of letters more enduring than all, have in his own land and in ours given the name and fate of André to the sorrowing remembrance of all time to come. American genius has celebrated his praises, has sung of his virtues, and exalted to heroic heights his prayer, manly but personal to himself, for choice in the manner of death—his dying challenge to all men to witness the courage with which he met his fate. But where, save on the cold page of history, stands the record of Hale? Where is the hymn that speaks to immortality, and tells of the added brightness and enhanced glory when his soul joined its noble host? And where sleep the American of Americans, that their hearts are not stirred to solemn rapture at the thought of the sublime love of country which buoyed him not alone 'above the fear of death,' but far beyond all thought of himself, of his fate and his fame, or of anything less than his country—and which shaped his dying breath into the sacred sentence which trembled at the last upon his quivering lip?"

These eloquent words have a deeper significance to-day than when they were uttered a generation ago. It is a just reproach to a nation of nearly sixty million freemen, rich and powerful beyond any other people on the globe, that the memory of Nathan Hale, their self-sacrificing benefactor in purpose, and a true and noble martyr in the cause of the liberty they enjoy, has been, until lately, absolutely neglected by them; that no "monody, eulogy, monument of marble or of brass," dedicated to him by the public voice, appears anywhere in our broad land. But there are now abundant promises that this reproach will be speedily removed. An earnest effort was begun by the "Daily Telegraph," a morning journal of New York city, late in 1885, to procure funds by half-dime or "nickel" subscriptions, sufficient to erect a suitable monument to the memory of Nathan Hale, in the city of New York, where he suffered martyrdom. There is also a project on foot for the erection of a statue of Hale in the Connecticut State Capitol at Hartford. For this purpose the State of Connecticut has appropriated five thousand dollars.

Let the conscience of our people, inspired by gratitude and patriotism, be fairly awakened to the propriety of the undertaking, and funds will speedily be forthcoming sufficient to erect a magnificent monument in memory of Nathan Hale, in the city where he died for his country. I recommend, as a portion of the inscription upon the monument, the subjoined epitaph, written fully thirty years ago, by George Gibbs, the ripe scholar and antiquary, who was at one time the librarian of the New York Historical Society:[11]

STRANGER, BENEATH THIS STONE
LIES THE DUST OF
A SPY,
WHO PERISHED UPON THE GIBBET;
YET
THE STORIED MARBLES OF THE GREAT,
THE SHRINES OF HEROES,
ENTOMBED NOT ONE MORE WORTHY OF
HONOR
THAN HIM WHO HERE
SLEEPS HIS LAST SLEEP.
NATIONS
BOW WITH REVERENCE BEFORE THE DUST
OF HIM WHO DIES
A GLORIOUS DEATH,
URGED ON BY THE SOUND OF THE
TRUMPET
AND THE SHOUTS OF
ADMIRING THOUSANDS.
BUT WHAT REVERENCE, WHAT HONOR,
IS NOT DUE TO ONE
WHO FOR HIS COUNTRY ENCOUNTERED
EVEN AN INFAMOUS DEATH,
SOOTHED BY NO SYMPATHY,
ANIMATED BY NO PRAISE!

FOOTNOTES:

[5] Her name was Alice Adams. She was a native of Canterbury, Connecticut, and was distinguished both for her intelligence and personal beauty. After Hale's death she married Eleazar Ripley, who left her a widow, with one child, at the age of eighteen years. The child died about a year after its father's death, and the mother subsequently married William Lawrence, of Hartford, where she lived until September, 1845, when she died at the age of eighty-eight years. She possessed a miniature of Hale and many of his letters. The miniature and the letters disappeared many years ago, and there is no likeness of the young martyr extant. The last words uttered by Hale's betrothed were, "Write to Nathan!"—Stuart's "Life of Nathan Hale," p. 28.

[6] The place of Hale's execution has been a subject of conjecture. Some have supposed that it occurred near the Beekman mansion, Howe's headquarters; others, that he was taken from the Provost Prison (now the Hall of Records), in the City Hall Park, to the usual place of execution of state criminals, at the Barracks near Chambers Street; and others, on the farm of Colonel Rutgers, whose country mansion was near the East River—at Pike and Monroe Streets.

In 1849 I visited the venerable Jeremiah Johnson, ex-Mayor of Brooklyn, who was living at his farm-house not far from the Navy-Yard, then between the city of Brooklyn and the village of Williamsburgh. Among other interesting facts concerning the Revolution, of his own experience and observation, which he had treasured in his memory, was that his father was present at the execution of Hale. Like other Long Island farmers at that time, he went to New York occasionally with truck. On the day of the great fire he was there, when himself and his team were pressed into the service of the British. He was with the detachment on Colonel Rutgers's farm at the time of the execution, and saw the martyr hanged upon the limb of an apple-tree in Rutgers's orchard. It was at the west side, not far from the line of (present) East Broadway.

[7] The method employed at military executions at that time was to place a ladder against the gallows-beam or limb, cause the prisoner to ascend it a few feet, and, at a given signal, turn the ladder and leave the victim suspended.

[8] The pen of every writer who has noticed the career of William Cunningham, the notorious provost-marshal of the British army in New York and Philadelphia, has portrayed him as a most detestable character. To the credit of the commander with whom he served, be it said that it is satisfactorily proven that he was employed directly by the British ministry, and was independent of the authority of Howe and Clinton. He was a large, burly, red-haired, red-faced Irishman, sixty years of age, addicted to strong drink to excess, and with most forbidding features. His cruelties and crimes committed while in charge of prisoners of war in New York were notorious and monstrous. Upon the scaffold in England, after the war, he confessed that he had caused the death of fully two thousand prisoners under his charge by starvation and otherwise. He put poison into their food at times, and sold their rations for his own benefit, allowing the prisoners to starve!

[9] A ballad was written and published, soon after Hale's death, which was very popular at the time. It was evidently written by one who was not well informed as to the true history of the matter. Of his arrest the ballad says:

"Cooling shades of the night were coming apace,
The tattoo had beat, the tattoo had beat,
The noble one sprang from his dark lurking-place,
To make his retreat, to make his retreat.

"He warily trod on the dry, rustling leaves
As he passed through the wood, as he passed through the wood,
And silently gained his rude launch on the shore,
As she played with the flood, as she played with the flood.

"The guards of the camp on that dark, dreary night
Had a murderous will, a murderous will;
They took him and bore him afar from the shore,
To a hut on the hill, to a hut on the hill."

[10] "Life of Captain Nathan Hale, the Martyr Spy of the American Revolution." By I.W. Stuart, Hartford, 1856.

[11] A statue in plaster, modeled from a description of Hale's features and person, has been made by E.S. Wood, sculptor. It represents an athletic young man, with his coat and vest removed, his neck and upper portion of his chest bared by the turning down of the collar of his ruffled shirt, and holding in his right hand, which is resting upon his hip, the rope with which he is about to be suspended from the tree. The face of the martyr is an excellent ideal of the character of the young hero.

John André

JOHN ANDRÉ.

CHAPTER I.

It is not known whether the place of John André's nativity was in London or elsewhere in England. His father was a Switzer, born in Geneva. He was a merchant in London, where he married a pretty French maiden named Girardot, a native of that city, who in the year 1751 became the mother of the famous British spy.

Of André's childhood and early youth very little is known, even of the scenes of his primary education. Later, we find him at the University in Geneva; and, when he was approaching young manhood, he was distinguished for many accomplishments and solid acquirements. He had mastered several European languages, and was an expert mathematician. He was versed in military science, and had a wide acquaintance with belles-lettres literature. He was an adept in music, dancing, and the arts of design, and was specially commended for his military drawings.

André had a taste and a desire for military life; but, before he was seventeen years of age, he was called home to take a place in his father's counting-room. At that time his family lived at the Manor House, Clapton, where his father died in the spring of 1769. The family then consisted of the widow, two sons, and three daughters. Of these John was the oldest and Anna was the youngest—the "tuneful Anna," as Miss Seward calls her in her "Monody," because of her poetic genius.

John, though so young, was now a chief manager of his father's business and the head of his mother's household. The summer of 1769 was spent by the family at little villages in the interior of England, in the picturesque region of Lichfield, a famous cathedral town, in which Dr. Johnson was born, and at its grammar-school he and Addison and Garrick received their earlier education.

In that delightful neighborhood young André formed an acquaintance with Miss Anna Seward, the bright and charming daughter of Rev. Thomas Seward, canon-resident of Lichfield Cathedral, who lived in the bishop's palace. His daughter, then twenty-two years of age, was already distinguished as a poet. Her home was the gathering-place of the local literary celebrities of that day—Dr. Erasmus Darwin, author of "The Botanic Garden," and grandfather of the champion of the doctrine of evolution in our day; Thomas Hayley, author of "The Triumphs of Temper"; Sir Brooke Boothby, who wrote "Fables and Satires"; Richard Lovell Edgeworth, a "gay Lothario," with some literary pretensions; Thomas Day, an eccentric philosopher, who wrote the story of "Sandford and Merton," once as popular as "Robinson Crusoe"; the blind and ill-humored Miss Anna Williams, the biographer of the Emperor Julian; and other residents or occasional sojourners.

Miss Seward was the central figure in this literary circle. Her personal beauty, vivacity, wit, and charming conversational powers, were very fascinating. Into that galaxy John André was introduced and gave it additional luster.

The young London merchant also became acquainted with another maiden near his own age. She is represented as exceedingly lovely in person and character. Her eyes were blue, her hair was of a golden color, and her complexion was brilliant, heightened in its charms, perhaps, by a hectic glow upon her cheek—the sad prophecy of the early fading of youthful beauty and of life. The maiden was Honora Sneyd, an inmate of the family of Canon Seward, and the loved companion of Anna.

Honora Sneyd.—(From a painting by Romney.)[12]

André was then eighteen years of age; a handsome, slender, graceful, and vivacious youth, with features as delicate as those of a girl, and accomplished beyond most young men of his time. He was five feet nine inches in height, dark complexion, dark eyes, brown hair, with a somewhat serious and tender expression. His manners were easy and insinuating. The young couple fell desperately in love with each other at their first meeting.

Anna was delighted, and she fostered the passion. The lovers were betrothed before the summer was over; but "Love's young dream" was disturbed. The father of Miss Sneyd and the mother of André decided that both were too young for wedlock then, and it was agreed that at least two years should intervene between betrothal and nuptials. It was also deemed proper that they should be kept apart as much as possible during that period, in order to test the strength and reality of their attachment, and for other prudential reasons.

With this understanding André returned to his desk in London, a hundred and twenty miles away. He had sketched two miniatures of Miss Sneyd. One he gave to Anna Seward, the other he placed in a locket and carried it in his bosom. He also arranged for a correspondence between Miss Seward and himself, of which Honora was to be the chief burden. Three of these letters have been preserved, and are printed in this volume. "His epistolary writings," says Dr. Sparks, "so far as specimens of them have been preserved, show a delicacy of sentiment, a playfulness of imagination, and an ease of style, which could proceed only from native refinement and a high degree of culture."

André had an aversion to mercantile pursuits, and had told his Lichfield friends that he greatly preferred the military profession. Miss Seward urged him to stick to his desk, as the only sure promise of a competence which would enable him to marry Honora. Her persuasion prevailed, and he resolved to remain a merchant, for a time at least. In one of his letters to her he wrote:

"I know you will interest yourself in my destiny. I have now completely subdued my aversion to the profession of a merchant, and hope, in time, to acquire an inclination for it.... When an impertinent consciousness whispers in my ear that I am not of the right stuff for a merchant, I draw my Honora's picture from my bosom, and the sight of that dear talisman so inspirits my industry that no toil seems oppressive."

This correspondence was kept up several months, but André's suit did not prosper. Distance, separation, and various circumstances cooled the ardor of Miss Sneyd's love for her young admirer, and correspondence between them ceased. She had other suitors; and, in 1773, she married Richard Lovell Edgeworth, a gay young widower of twenty-five, who possessed a handsome fortune in the form of a fine estate in Ireland. Honora became the mother of Maria Edgeworth, the novelist. She died of consumption a few years afterward. In compliance with her dying request, her husband married her sister Elizabeth for his third wife.

André remained faithful to his first love, and carried Honora's miniature in his bosom until he died. He abandoned the mercantile business in 1771, joined the royal army with the commission of lieutenant in 1772, and went over to Germany. He joined his regiment—the Royal English Fusileers—in Canada, late in 1774, having made a farewell visit to his stanch friend Miss Seward before he sailed for America. During that visit a singular circumstance occurred. Miss Seward took André a little distance from Lichfield to call upon two literary friends, Mr. Cunningham, and a curate, the Rev. Mr. Newton. She had apprised them of the intended visit.

Mr. Cunningham afterward related to Miss Seward a singular dream he had on the night before this visit. He was in a great forest. A horseman approached at full speed. As he drew near, three men suddenly sprang from their concealment in bushes, seized the rider, and took him away. The appearance of the captive's face was deeply impressed upon the dreamer's memory. He awoke, fell asleep again, and dreamed. He was now in a vast crowd of people, near a great city. The man whom he saw captured in the forest was now brought forth and hanged. This dream was related to the curate the next morning, and when, a while afterward, Miss Seward with her friend arrived, Mr. Cunningham recognized in André the person he saw captured and hanged.

Other presaging visions concerning André's fate have been related, some of them being undoubtedly pure fiction. For example: Soon after the evacuation of Philadelphia by the British in 1778, and the Americans had taken possession of the city, some of the Continental officers gave a dinner-party to Washington at a spacious mansion in the suburbs, once belonging to one of the Penn family. At that banquet were two ladies who had known Major André during the British occupation, and had dined with him at this Penn mansion. As they were passing through a grove near the house on that occasion, they both saw at the same moment the body of a man suspended from a limb, and recognized his features as those of André. They spoke of the vision at the table, and were laughed at; even Washington joining in the merriment. This ghost-story may be thus disposed of: Washington was not in Philadelphia at any time in the year 1778. At the time above mentioned he was chasing Sir Henry Clinton across New Jersey.

The following account appears to be well authenticated: A feminine friend of Miss Mary Hannah, a sister of André, shared a bed with her one night at about the time of her brother's execution. The friend was awakened by the loud sobs of Miss André, who said she had seen her brother made a prisoner. Her friend soothed her into quiet, and both fell asleep. Soon Miss André again awoke her friend, and said she had again seen her brother on trial as a spy. She described the scene with great particularity. Again she was quieted, and both fell asleep. Again she aroused her friend by screaming, "They are hanging him!" They both made a memorandum of the affair. The next mail brought the sad news of André's execution at about the time when his sister, Mary Hannah, saw him in her vision.

Lieutenant André journeyed from England to Quebec, by way of Philadelphia. Why did he take this roundabout course? He arrived at Philadelphia in September (1774), just after the first Continental Congress began its session there. His abilities as a keen observer of men and things were well known to General Carleton, the Governor of Canada, who arrived at Quebec from England while André was in Philadelphia. May not that astute officer have directed André, before he left England, to go to Philadelphia as a spy, to learn what he could of the condition of public affairs, and the temper of the people in the disturbed colonies, and especially the designs of the Continental Congress? From Philadelphia he went to New York and Boston, and thence by water to Quebec, everywhere traveling, without recognition, in citizen's dress. He undoubtedly carried to Carleton much valuable information which that wide-awake officer desired to know. André arrived at Quebec early in November.

A year later Lieutenant André was made a prisoner of war when Montgomery captured the fort at St. Johns, on the Sorel. "I have been taken a prisoner by the Americans," André wrote to Miss Seward, "and stripped of everything except the picture of Honora, which I concealed in my mouth. Preserving this, I yet think myself fortunate." He and his fellow-prisoners were taken first to Connecticut, and then to Lancaster and Carlisle in Pennsylvania. There he made many friends by his urbanity, his refined tastes, and his accomplishments. He taught the children of citizens the art of drawing in a free and easy style; and he was a welcome guest in the higher social circles, was made a participant in all their pleasure-parties, and so added to their own enjoyments.

Toward the close of 1776 André was exchanged and joined the British army in New York, then commanded by General Howe. To that officer he presented a memoir on the existing war, which was very favorably received. He had kept a journal ever since he came to America, in which both pen and pencil were jointly employed in the delineation and description of everything of interest which came under his observation, and this furnished him with much material for his memoir. Howe was delighted with his young soldier, and as soon as a vacancy occurred he gave him the position of aide on the staff of General Grey, with the rank of captain. He was now fairly in the line of promotion which his signal abilities entitled him to receive.

André served with distinction as a staff-officer. He was the soul of the military social circle during the occupation of Philadelphia by the British army in the winter and spring of 1778. His pen, his pencil, and his brush, were continually busy in satirizing and caricaturing the "rebel" officers, or in dramatic exhibitions. He was a leader in all the social amusements of the army, the chief of which were theatrical performances. In these André was dramatist, actor, song-writer, and manager. He wrote prologues and localized plays, and was the chief manager of weekly balls. In a word, he was leader in setting on foot scenes of gayety and extravagance that were long remembered and lamented. André occupied the house of Dr. Franklin for several months. He carried away some valuable books.

Many of the young officers were scions of the British nobility, and possessed ample means for the gratification of any desire. The infection of demoralization that spread through the army and society was fearful. The army suffered much. Dr. Franklin said, "Howe did not take Philadelphia—Philadelphia took Howe." Cupid scattered his darts so widely and with such effect among the soldiers, that in the flight of the British army across New Jersey, on the evacuation of Philadelphia, fully six hundred soldiers deserted and returned to their sweethearts and lately married wives.

Many of the fair daughters of the Philadelphia loyalists were captivated by the young British officers. Among the latter was not one more fascinating than Major André, and no one was more welcome into the best society. He formed warm friendships with several leading families; among others, that of Edward Shippen, one of the wealthiest and most cultivated citizens, whose youngest daughter married General Benedict Arnold.

Late in May, 1778, General Howe surrendered the command of the army into the hands of Sir Henry Clinton, and prepared to return to England. The officers of the army, who were very much attached to him, resolved to give him a spectacular parting entertainment which should eclipse in novelty and splendor anything ever seen in America. In the conception and preparation of the entertainment the genius of André, in all its phases, was brought into requisition. He designed the decorations, the costumes to be worn, even the ticket of admission to the show. The entertainment was called Mischianza—a medley. It was given at the country-seat of Thomas Wharton, a Philadelphia Quaker—a fine, stately mansion, with spacious grounds around it, standing near the present navy-yard.

FOOTNOTES:

[12] In a letter to the Right Honorable Lady Butler, dated Lichfield, June 4, 1798, Miss Seward speaks of the picture as follows: "Honora Sneyd, after she became Mrs. Edgeworth, sat to Smart, at that time a celebrated miniature-painter. He totally missed the likeness which Major André had, from his then inexperience in the art, so faintly and with so little justice to her beauty, caught. Romney accidentally, and without ever having beheld her, produced it completely. Yes, he drew, to represent the Serena of the 'Triumph of Temper,' his own abstract idea of perfect loveliness, and the form of the face of Honora Sneyd rose beneath his pencil." Serena is represented reading by candle-light.

CHAPTER II.

In a letter to his friend Miss Seward, dated Philadelphia, May 23, 1778, Major André gave the following account of the great fête in honor of General Howe:

"That our sentiments might be the more unreservedly and unequivocally known, it was resolved among us that we should give him as splendid an entertainment as the shortness of the time and our present situation would allow us. For the expenses the whole army would most cheerfully have contributed; but it was requisite to draw the line somewhere, and twenty-two field-officers joined in a subscription adequate to a plan they meant to adopt. I know your curiosity will be raised on this occasion; I shall, therefore, give you as particular an account of our Mischianza[13] as I have been able to collect.

The Mischianza Ticket.—(Drawn by Major André.)[14]

"From the name you will perceive that it was made up from a variety of entertainments. Four of the gentlemen subscribers were appointed managers—Sir John Wrottesley, Colonel O'Hara, Major Gardiner, and Montressor, the chief engineer. On the tickets of admission which they gave out for Monday, the 18th, was engraved, in a shield, a view of the sea, with the setting sun, and in a wreath the words 'Luceo discedens, aucto splendore resurgam.' At top was the general's crest, with 'vive! vale!' All round the shield ran a vignette, and various military trophies filled up the ground.[15]

Lady's Head-Dress.
(Drawn by Major André.)

"A grand regatta began the entertainment. It consisted of three divisions. In the first place was the Ferret galley, having on board several general officers and a number of ladies. In the center was the Hussar galley, with Sir William and Lord Howe, Sir Henry Clinton, the officers of their suite, and some ladies. The Cornwallis galley brought up the rear, having on board General Knyphausen and his suite, the British generals, and a party of ladies. On each quarter of these galleys, and forming their division, were five flat-boats, lined with green cloth, and filled with ladies and gentlemen. In front of the whole were three flat-boats, with a band of music in each. Six barges rowed about each flank, to keep off the swarm of boats that covered the river from side to side. The galleys were dressed out in a variety of colors and streamers, and on each flat-boat was displayed the flag of its own division. In the stream opposite the center of the city the Fanny, armed ship, magnificently decorated, was placed at anchor; and at some distance ahead lay his Majesty's ship Roebuck, with the admiral's flag hoisted at the foretopmast-head. The transport ships, extending in a line the whole length of the town, appeared with colors flying and crowded with spectators, as were also the openings of the several wharves on the shore, exhibiting the most picturesque and enlivening scene the eye could desire. The rendezvous was at Knight's wharf, at the north end of the city."[16]

After giving an account of the aquatic procession down the river, André continues:

"The landing-place was the Old Fort, a little to the southward of the town,[17] fronting the building prepared for the reception of the company, about four hundred yards from the water by a gentle ascent. As soon as the general's barge was seen to push for the shore, a salute of seventeen guns was fired from the Roebuck, and, after some interval, by the same number by the Vigilant. The company, as they disembarked, arranged themselves into a line of procession, and advanced through an avenue formed by the two files of grenadiers, and a line of light horse supporting each file. This avenue led to a square lawn of two hundred and fifty yards on each side, lined with troops, and properly prepared for the exhibition of a tilt and tournament, according to the customs and ordinances of ancient chivalry. We proceeded through the center of the square. The music, consisting of all the bands of the army, moved in front. The managers, with favors of white and blue ribbons on their breasts, followed next in order. The general, admiral, and the rest of the company, succeeded promiscuously.

"In front of the building, bounding the view through a vista formed by two triumphal arches, erected at proper intervals in a line with the landing-place, two pavilions, with rows of benches rising one above another, and serving as the wings of the first triumphal arch, received the ladies, while the gentlemen ranged themselves in convenient order on each side. On the front seat of each pavilion were placed seven of the principal young ladies of the country, dressed in Turkish habits, and wearing on their turbans the favors with which they meant to reward the several knights who were to contend in their honor. These arrangements were scarcely made, when the sound of trumpets was heard at a distance; and a band of knights, dressed in ancient habits of white and red silk, and mounted on gray horses, richly caparisoned in trappings of the same colors, entered the lists, attended by their esquires on foot, in suitable apparel, in the following order:

"Four trumpeters, properly habited, their trumpets decorated with small pendent banners. A herald in his robes of ceremony; on his tunic was the device of his band, two roses intertwined, with the motto—'We droop when separated.'

"Lord Cathcart, superbly mounted on a managed horse, appeared as chief of these knights; two young black slaves, with sashes and drawers of blue and white silk, wearing large silver clasps round their necks and arms, their breasts and shoulders bare, held his stirrups. On his right hand walked Captain Harard, and on his left Captain Brownlow, and his two esquires, the one bearing his lance, the other his shield. His device was Cupid riding on a lion; the motto—'Surmounted by Love.' His lordship appeared in honor of Miss Auchmuty.[18]

"Then came in order the knights of his band, each attended by his 'squire, bearing his lance and shield.

"First knight, Hon. Captain Cathcart,[19] in honor of Miss N. White.—'Squire, Captain Peters.—Device, a heart and sword; motto—'Love and Honor.'

"Second knight, Lieutenant Bygrove, in honor of Miss Craig.—'Squire, Lieutenant Nichols.—Device, Cupid tracing a circle; motto—'Without End.'

"Third knight, Captain André, in honor of Miss P. Chew.[20]—'Squire, Lieutenant André.[21]—Device, two game-cocks fighting; motto—'No rival.'

"Fourth knight, Captain Horneck, in honor of Miss N. Redmond.—'Squire, Lieutenant Talbot.—Device, a burning heart; motto—'Absence can not extinguish.'

"Fifth knight, Captain Mathews, in honor of Miss Bond.—'Squire, Lieutenant Hamilton.—Device, a winged heart; motto—'Each fair by turns.'

"Sixth knight, Lieutenant Sloper, in honor of Miss M. Shippen.[22]—'Squire, Lieutenant Brown.—Device, a heart and sword; motto—'Honor and the fair.'"

The Joust at the Tournament.

After they had made the circuit of the square, and saluted the ladies as they passed before the pavilion, they ranged themselves in a line with that in which were the ladies of their device; and their herald (Mr. Beaumont) advancing into the center of the square, after a flourish of trumpets, proclaimed the following challenge:

"The Knights of the Blended Rose, by me, their herald, proclaim and assert that the Ladies of the Blended Rose excel in wit, beauty, and every accomplishment, those of the whole world; and should any knight or knights be so hardy as to dispute or deny it, they are ready to enter the lists with them, and maintain their assertions by deeds of arms, according to the laws of ancient chivalry."

At the third repetition of this challenge, the sound of trumpets was heard from the opposite side of the square; and another herald, with four trumpeters, dressed in black-and-orange, galloped into the lists. He was met by the Herald of the Blended Rose, and, after a short parley, they both advanced in front of the pavilions, when the black herald (Lieutenant Moore) ordered his trumpets to sound, and thus proclaimed defiance to the challenge in the following words:

"The Knights of the Burning Mountain present themselves here, not to contest by words, but to disprove by deeds, the vainglorious assertions of the Knights of the Blended Rose, and enter these lists to maintain that the Ladies of the Burning Mountain are not excelled in beauty, virtue, or accomplishments, by any in the universe."

He then returned to the part of the barrier through which he had entered, and shortly afterward the Black Knights, attended by their 'squires, rode into the lists in the following order:

"Four trumpeters preceding the herald, on whose tunic was represented a mountain sending forth flames; motto—'I burn forever.'

"Captain Watson, of the Guards, as chief, dressed in a magnificent suit of black-and-orange silk, and mounted on a black managed horse, with trappings of the same color with his own dress, appeared in honor of Miss Franks. He was attended in the same manner with Lord Cathcart. Captain Scott bore his lance and Lieutenant Lytton his shield. The device, a heart, with a wreath of flowers; motto—'Love and glory.'

"First knight, Lieutenant Underwood, in honor of Miss S. Shippen.—'Squire, Ensign Haserkam.—Device, a pelican feeding her young; motto—'For those I love.'

"Second knight, Lieutenant Wingard, in honor of Miss R.P. Shippen.—'Squire, Captain Boscawen.—Device, a bay-leaf; motto—'Unchangeable.'

"Third knight, Lieutenant Deleval, in honor of Miss B. Bond.—'Squire, Captain Thorne.—Device, a heart, aimed at by several arrows, and struck by one; motto—'Only one pierces me.'

"Fourth knight, Monsieur Montluissent (Lieutenant of the Hessian Chasseurs), in honor of Miss B. Redman.—'Squire, Captain Campbell.—Device, a sunflower turning toward the sun; motto—'Je vise à vous.'

"Fifth knight, Lieutenant Hobart, in honor of Miss S. Chew.—'Squire, Lieutenant Briscoe.—Device, Cupid piercing a coat-of-mail with his arrow; motto—'Proof to all but love.'

"Sixth knight, Brigade-Major Tarleton, in honor of Miss W. Smith.—'Squire, Captain Heart.—Device, a light dragoon; motto—'Swift, vigilant, and bold.'

"After they had rode round the lists, and made their obeisance to the ladies, they drew up, fronting the White Knights; and the chief of them having thrown down his gauntlet, the Chief of the Black Knights directed his esquire to take it up. The knights then received their lances from their esquires, fixed their shields on their left arms, and, making a general salute to each other by a very graceful movement of their lances, turned round to take their career, and, encountering in full gallop, shivered their spears. In the second and third encounter they discharged their pistols. In the fourth they fought with swords. At length the two chiefs, spurring forward into the center, engaged furiously in single combat, till the marshal of the field (Major Gwyne) rushed in between the chiefs and declared that the Fair Damsels of the Blended Rose and Burning Mountain were perfectly satisfied with the proofs of love and the signal feats of valor given by their respective knights; and commanded them, as they prized the future favors of their mistresses, that they would instantly desist from further combat. Obedience being paid by the chiefs to the order, they joined their respective bands. The White Knights and their attendants filed off to the left, the Black Knights to the right, and, after passing each other at the lower side of the quadrangle, moved up alternately till they approached the pavilion of the ladies, where they gave a general salute.

"A passage being now opened between the pavilions, the knights, preceded by their 'squires and the bands of music, rode through the first triumphal arch and arranged themselves to the right and left. This arch was erected in honor of Lord Howe. It presented two fronts, in the Tuscan order; the pediment was adorned with various naval trophies, and at the top was a figure of Neptune, with a trident in his right hand. In a niche on each side stood a sailor with a drawn cutlass. Three plumes of feathers were placed on the summit of each wing, and on the entablature was this inscription: 'Laus illi debetur, et a me gratia major.' The interval between the two arches was an avenue three hundred feet long and thirty-four broad. It was lined on each side with a file of troops; and the colors of all the army, planted at proper distances, had a beautiful effect in diversifying the scene.

"Between these colors the knights and 'squires took their stations. The bands continued to play several pieces of martial music. The company moved forward in procession, with the ladies in the Turkish habits in front: as these passed they were saluted by their knights, who then dismounted and joined them; and in this order we were all conducted into a garden that fronted the house, through the second triumphal arch dedicated to the general. This arch was also built in the Tuscan order. On the interior part of the pediment were painted a Plume of Feathers and various military trophies. At the top stood the figure of Fame, and on the entablature these words—'I, bone, quo virtuo tua le vocet; I pede fausto.' On the right-hand pillar was placed a bomb-shell, and on the left a flaming heart. The front next the house was adorned with preparations for a fire-work.

"From the garden we ascended a flight of steps covered with carpets, which led into a spacious hall; the panels, painted in imitation of Sienna marble,[23] inclosing portions of white marble; the surbase and all below were black. In this hall, and in the adjoining apartments, were prepared tea, lemonade, and other cooling liquors, to which the company seated themselves; during which time the knights came in, and on the knee received their favors from their respective ladies. One of these rooms was afterward appropriated to the use of the Pharaoh table. As you entered it you saw, in a panel over the chimney, a cornucopia, exuberantly filled with flowers of the richest colors. Over the door, as you went out, another presented itself, shrunk, reversed, and emptied.

"From these apartments we were conducted up to a ballroom, decorated in a light, elegant style of painting. The ground was a pale blue, paneled with a small gold bead, and in the interior filled with dropping festoons of flowers in their natural colors. Below the surface the ground was of rose-pink, with drapery festooned in blue. These decorations were heightened by eighty-five mirrors, decked with rose-pink silk ribbons and artificial flowers; and in the intermediate spaces were thirty-four branches with wax-lights, ornamented in a similar manner. On the same floor were four drawing-rooms, with sideboards of refreshments, decorated and lighted in the same style and taste as the ballroom.

"The ball was opened by the knights and their ladies, and the dances continued till ten o'clock, when the windows were thrown open, and a magnificent bouquet of rockets began the fire-works. These were planned by Captain Montressor, the chief-engineer, and consisted of twenty different exhibitions, displayed under his directions with the happiest success and in the highest style of beauty. Toward the conclusion the interior part of the triumphal arch was illuminated amid an uninterrupted flight of rockets and bursting balloons. The military trophies on each side assumed a variety of transparent colors. The shell and flaming heart on the wings sent forth Chinese fountains, succeeded by fire-works. Fame appeared at the top, spangled with stars, and from her trumpet blowing the following device in letters of light: 'Les lauriers sont immortels.' A sauteur of rockets bursting from the pediment concluded the feu d' artifice.

"At twelve supper was announced, and large folding-doors, hitherto artfully concealed, being suddenly thrown open, discovered a magnificent saloon of two hundred and ten feet by forty, and twenty-two in height, with three alcoves on each side, which served for sideboards. The ceiling was the segment of a circle, and the sides were painted of a light straw-color, with vine-leaves and festoon-flowers, some in a bright and some in a darkish green. Fifty-six large pier-glasses, ornamented with green silk, artificial flowers, and ribbons; a hundred branches with three lights in each, trimmed in the same manner as the mirrors; eighteen lusters, each with twenty-four lights, suspended from the ceiling, and ornamented as the branches; three hundred wax-tapers disposed along the supper-tables; four hundred and thirty covers; twelve hundred dishes; twenty-four black slaves, in Oriental dresses, with silver collars and bracelets, ranged in two lines and bending to the ground as the general and admiral approached the saloon—all these, forming together the most brilliant assemblage of gay objects, and appearing at once as we entered by an easy ascent, exhibited a coup d'œil beyond description magnificent.

"Toward the end of the supper the Herald of the Blended Rose, in his habit of ceremony, attended by his trumpeters, entered the saloon, and proclaimed the king's health, the queen and royal family, the army and navy, with their respective commanders, the knights and their ladies, and the ladies in general. Each of these toasts was followed by a flourish of music. After supper we returned to the ballroom and continued to dance until four o'clock."

FOOTNOTES:

[13] This account was printed in the "Lady's Magazine," with which Miss Seward had a literary connection, in August, 1778.

[14] This is one half the size of the original.

[15] I copied this ticket from one of the originals in the Franklin Library, at Philadelphia, in 1848. It is attached, with drawings of a head-dress for the Mischianza, and a portrait of Captain Cathcart, a son of Lord Cathcart, to his manuscript "Annals of Philadelphia," deposited with this institution by the late John F. Watson, Esq. The designs for the ticket and the other sketches were made by André; and a silhouette of Sir John Wrottesley, one of the managers, was cut by André. They were presented to Mr. Watson by Miss Craig, a participant in the fête. She was the chosen lady of the Second Knight of the Blended Rose. André's drawings for the costumes of the Ladies of the Blended Rose and Burning Mountain are preserved. The form was a polonaise, or a flowing robe of white silk, with a spangled pink sash and spangled shoes and stockings; a veil spangled and trimmed with silver lace, and a towering head-dress of pearls and jewels. The Ladies of the Burning Mountain had their polonaises and white sashes bound with black. The engraving shows the style of the head-dress, copied from André's drawing.

[16] A little above Vine Street.

[17] A little below the present navy-yard.

[18] Miss Auchmuty was the only English maiden present. She was about to become the bride of Captain Montressor, the chief engineer. Watson says there were not more than fifty unmarried American ladies present; the rest were all married.

[19] Captain Cathcart, the son of Lord Cathcart, married a daughter of Andrew Eliot, once a collector of customs at Philadelphia. The young officer had been making love most vehemently to Miss Eliot all winter. She was pretty, lively, and well educated. The captain wrote her many letters, avowing his love for her, but much of his conduct seems to have been mere coquetry. Miss Eliot was in earnest, and received his attentions and his letters as genuine tokens of his love. When it became evident that he meant to deceive her, her father laid his letters before Sir Henry Clinton, of whose military family young Cathcart was a member. Clinton advised the young man to marry Miss Eliot. Cathcart wished to postpone it until the end of the war. Clinton told him he had gone so far that he must marry her speedily or leave his family. They were married in April, 1779. She was afterward "Lady Cathcart," and appeared at court when her husband became an earl.

[20] A daughter of Chief-Justice Chew.

[21] A brother of Captain André, then nineteen years of age. After André's death, he was knighted by the king.

[22] Afterward the wife of Benedict Arnold.

[23] The painting was done in distemper upon canvas, in the manner of theatrical scene-painting. André was assisted in his art-work by Captain Oliver De Lancey, of New York, an energetic leader of loyalists. He married a daughter of David Franks. She was active in the Mischianza affair. Her sister married Colonel Johnson, of the British army, who was in command at Stony Point, on the Hudson, when it was captured by General Wayne in the summer of 1779.

CHAPTER III.

The Mischianza was severely criticised in Great Britain and America, as an undeserved compliment to an incompetent officer. Howe was an indolent procrastinator, and fond of sensual indulgence; and he had not only effected nothing of importance for his country in America, but had hindered more competent men. He was charged by Galloway, a Philadelphia Tory then in London, with "a vanity and presumption unparalleled in history, after his indolence and wretched blunders," in accepting from a few officers "a triumph more magnificent than would have become the conqueror of America, without the consent of his sovereign or approbation of his country."

It is asserted that at Philadelphia Howe was openly licentious, kept a mistress, loved his bottle inordinately, and engaged secretly in business transactions for his own gain, similar to those with which Benedict Arnold was charged, and caused him to be reprimanded by order of Congress. Horace Walpole said, "He returned to England richer in money than in laurels." Another said, "The only bays he possessed were those that drew his carriage"; and still another, that "he has given America to the Americans." And yet staid men, as well as romantic enthusiasts like André, did not hesitate to award him honors which only great heroes and most virtuous men deserve. André even wrote a fulsome poetic address to be read to Howe during the fête. The general exercised good sense by forbidding its utterance.

The extreme folly of the Mischianza, under the peculiar circumstances, was deplored by sensible men in and out of the army. When an old British major of artillery, in Philadelphia, was asked by a young person what was the distinction between the "Knights of the Burning Mountain" and the "Knights of the Blended Rose," the veteran replied: "The 'Knights of the Burning Mountain' are tom-fools, and the 'Knights of the Blended Rose' are damned fools! I know of no other distinction between them." The old soldier, though a Briton, greatly admired Washington. Placing a hand upon each knee, he added, in a tone of deep mortification, "What will Washington think of this?"

Just one month after this grand show at Philadelphia, a far grander and more important spectacle was exhibited at that city. It was the sudden flight of the whole British army from the town, across the Delaware and over New Jersey, eagerly pressing toward New York; also the speedy entrance of Continental troops into Philadelphia, and the return of Congress.

Sir Henry Clinton, now in chief command of the British army, was making preparations for a vigorous campaign, when orders came from the ministers to evacuate Philadelphia at once, to prevent a blockade of the army and navy on the Delaware by a French fleet under D'Estaing, then on its way to America. Clinton obeyed. Washington, with his recuperated army at Valley Forge, pursued and overtook the fugitives near Monmouth Court-House. There, on a very hot Sunday in June (28th), a sanguinary but indecisive battle was fought. That night Clinton secretly stole away with his whole force (while the wearied Americans slept on their arms), and escaped to New York.

Lord Howe had scarcely left the Capes of the Delaware, when D'Estaing appeared. Howe sailed for New York, and anchored his fleet in Raritan Bay. D'Estaing's larger vessels could not enter the shallow waters of the bay, and sailed away for Rhode Island, to assist American troops in expelling the British from that domain. A storm dispersed the two fleets. The attempt at expulsion was a failure. Clinton sailed with four thousand troops to strengthen British power on Rhode Island. Thence he sent General Grey on a marauding expedition to New Bedford and its vicinity. André accompanied him, and afterward wrote an amusing poem, to the tune of "Yankee Doodle," entitled "Yankee Doodle's Expedition to Rhode Island."[24] He also wrote a poem, in eighteen stanzas, giving an amusing account of a duel between Christopher Gadsden, of South Carolina, and General Robert Howe, of the Continental army. This poem may be found in Sargent's "Life and Career of Major André." Other poems, evidently from André's pen, ridiculing the "rebels," frequently appeared in Rivington's "Royal Gazette," until the tragedy that ended his life in the fall of 1780.

Late in 1778 General Grey returned to England, when André took the position of aide to General Clinton, with the rank of provincial major. He evinced such eminent clerical and executive ability that early in 1779 he was made deputy adjutant-general of the British forces in America.

The city of New York continued to be the headquarters of the British army until the close of the war. Clinton made his quarters at No. 1 Broadway, a spacious house, with a garden extending to the Hudson River. He also occupied the fine Beekman mansion at Turtle Bay as a summer residence.

The British officers made the city a theatre of great gayety. They were continually engaged in every kind of amusement, to while away their time when not on active duty. In these amusements Major André was ever conspicuous, especially in dramatic performances; and there he freely indulged his love for good-natured satirical writing. He wrote much for Rivington's "Gazette" in prose and verse—political squibs, satires, and lampoons—the "rebels" and their doings being his chief theme.

It was at No. 1 Broadway that André wrote his best-known poem, "The Cow-Chase," in imitation of "Chevy Chase." There he also wrote his most elaborate prose composition, "A Dream." This he read aloud at a social gathering, and it was published in Rivington's paper. In his position on Clinton's staff he was able to exercise his ever-kindly disposition toward the unfortunate, and never left unimproved an opportunity to do so.

Major André was with Sir Henry Clinton on an expedition up the Hudson in May, 1779, when the British captured the American post of Stony Point, and Fort Lafayette, on Verplanck's Point, opposite. When the batteries of Fort Lafayette were silenced, André was sent to receive the surrender of the garrison and the works. A few weeks later he wrote a friendly letter to Margaret Shippen (then the wife of General Benedict Arnold), in whose family the major had been a great favorite while in Philadelphia. The letter was dated "Headquarters, New York, the 16th of August, 1779." He offered to do some "shopping" in New York for Mrs. Arnold, saying:

"It would make me very happy to become useful to you here. You know the Mischianza made me a complete milliner. Should you not have received supplies for your fullest equipment for that department, I shall be glad to enter into the whole detail of cap-wire, needles, gauze, etc., and to the best of my ability render you in these trifles services from which I hope you would infer a zeal to be further employed. I beg you would present my best respects to your sisters, to the Miss Chews, and to Mrs. Shippen and Mrs. Chew.

"I have the honor to be, with the greatest regard, madam, your most obedient and most humble servant,

"John André."

General Arnold had been made military governor of Philadelphia after the American troops and Congress repossessed it. He lived most extravagantly. He kept a coach-and-four, with a coachman in livery; gave sumptuous dinner parties, and charmed the gayer portion of Philadelphia society by his princely display. He was keenly watched by men who knew his character well, or envied his success as a soldier, and he was hated by persons in exalted positions for his many bad qualities. Among the latter was General Joseph Reed, then President of the Executive Council of Pennsylvania. Early in 1779 that Council submitted to Congress charges against Arnold of being guilty of malfeasance in office. Congress referred the charges to a committee of inquiry, whose report exculpated the general from all criminality in the matter charged against him.

Arnold promptly asked Congress to investigate the charges. He regarded this report of the committee as a vindication of his character; but he immediately urged Congress to act speedily upon the report. Instead of doing so, the report was referred to a joint committee of Congress and the Executive Council of Pennsylvania. They passed a resolution to refer some of the charges to a court-martial, to be appointed by Washington. When the charges were so referred, Arnold was indignant, but was compelled to submit. He urged prompt action, but a court-martial to try him was not convened until December following. They gave their decision on the 26th of January, 1780. The accused was acquitted of several of the charges, and of "all intentional wrong" in the whole matter of the other charges; but it was decided that, for "imprudent and improper conduct," he should be reprimanded by the commander-in-chief. This was done in the most delicate manner by Washington; but, as it implied a stigma upon his character, Arnold was exceedingly indignant. This act doubtless stimulated him in his treasonable undertaking, in which he appears to have been already engaged for fully nine months. Dr. Sparks says: "He [Arnold] had already made secret advances to the enemy under a feigned name, intending to square his conduct according to circumstances; and prepared, if the court decided against him, to seek revenge at any hazard."

There appears to be clear evidence that overtures were first made by the other side, probably by Beverly Robinson,[25] to whom is attributed a letter given by Marbois, who was attached to the French legation at Philadelphia.[26] Be that as it may, it is known that correspondence between General Arnold and Sir Henry Clinton began so early as the spring of 1779. Arnold wrote in a disguised hand, and under the assumed name of "Gustavus." The tenor of the correspondence was of a commercial character, so as to mislead others.

After the exchange of two or three letters, and with the impression that "Gustavus" was an officer of high rank in the American army, Clinton committed the task of carrying on the correspondence to Major André, who wrote over the signature of "John Anderson," in a slightly disguised hand. Not doubting that "Gustavus" was General Arnold, André probably wrote the letter to Mrs. Arnold in August for the purpose of making clear to her husband the name and character of "John Anderson" by means of his handwriting:

Fac-simile of Arnold's Disguised Handwriting.

Fac-simile of André's Disguised Handwriting.