ANDRE; A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS: AS PERFORMED BY THE OLD AMERICAN COMPANY, NEW-YORK, MARCH 30, 1798.
TO WHICH ARE ADDED AUTHENTIC DOCUMENTS RESPECTING MAJOR ANDRE; CONSISTING OF LETTERS TO MISS SEWARD, THE COW CHACE, PROCEEDINGS OF THE COURT MARTIAL, &c.
COPY RIGHT SECURED.
NEW-YORK: Printed by T. & J. SWORDS, No. 99 Pearl-street. —1798.—
PREFACE.
MORE than nine years ago the Author made choice of the death of Major André as the subject of a Tragedy, and part of what is now offered to the public was written at that time. Many circumstances discouraged him from finishing his Play, and among them must be reckoned a prevailing opinion that recent events are unfit subjects for tragedy. These discouragements have at length all given way to his desire of bringing a story on the Stage so eminently fitted, in his opinion, to excite interest in the breasts of an American audience.
In exhibiting a stage representation of a real transaction, the particulars of which are fresh in the minds of many of the audience, an author has this peculiar difficulty to struggle with, that those who know the events expect to see them all recorded; and any deviation from what they remember to be fact, appears to them as a fault in the poet; they are disappointed, their expectations are not fulfilled, and the writer is more or less condemned, not considering the difference between the poet and the historian, or not knowing that what is intended to be exhibited is a free poetical picture, not an exact historical portrait.
Still further difficulties has the Tragedy of André to surmount, difficulties independent of its own demerits, in its way to public favor. The subject necessarily involves political questions; but the Author presumes that he owes no apology to any one for having shewn himself an American. The friends of Major André (and it appears that all who [Page iv] knew him were his friends) will look with a jealous eye on the Poem, whose principal incident is the sad catastrophe which his misconduct, in submitting to be an instrument in a transaction of treachery and deceit, justly brought upon him: but these friends have no cause of offence; the Author has adorned the poetical character of André with every virtue; he has made him his Hero; to do which, he was under the necessity of making him condemn his own conduct, in the one dreadfully unfortunate action of his life. To shew the effects which Major André's excellent qualities had upon the minds of men, the Author has drawn a generous and amiable youth, so blinded by his love for the accomplished Briton, as to consider his country, and the great commander of her armies, as in the commission of such horrid injustice, that he, in the anguish of his soul, disclaims the service. In this it appears, since the first representation, that the Author has gone near to offend the veterans of the American army who were present on the first night, and who not knowing the sequel of the action, felt much disposed to condemn him: but surely they must remember the diversity of opinion which agitated the minds of men at that time, on the question of the propriety of putting André to death; and when they add the circumstances of André's having saved the life of this youth, and gained his ardent friendship, they will be inclined to mingle with their disapprobation, a sentiment of pity, and excuse, perhaps commend, the Poet, who has represented the action without sanctioning it by his approbation.
As a sequel to the affair of the cockade, the Author has added the following lines, which the reader is requested to insert, page 55, between the 5th and 15th lines, instead of the lines he will find there, which were printed before the piece was represented.—
This alteration, as well as the whole performance, on the second night, met the warm approbation of the audience.
To the performers the Author takes this opportunity of returning his thanks for their exertions in his behalf; perfectly convinced, that on this, as on former occasions, the members of the Old American Company have anxiously striven to oblige him.
If this Play is successful, it will be a proof that recent events may be so managed in tragedy as to command popular [Page vi] attention; if it is unsuccessful, the question must remain undetermined until some more powerful writer shall again make the experiment. The Poem is now submitted to the ordeal of closet examination, with the Author's respectful assurance to every reader, that as it is not his interest, so it has not been his intention to offend any; but, on the contrary, to impress, through the medium of a pleasing stage exhibition, the sublime lessons of Truth and Justice upon the minds of his countrymen.
PROLOGUE.
CHARACTERS.
- General, dress, American staff uniform, blue, faced with buff, large gold epaulets, cocked hat, with the black and white cockade, indicating the union with Frence, buff waistcoat and breeches, boots,
- Mr. Hallam.
- McDonald, a man of forty years of age, uniform nearly the same of the first,
- Mr. Tyler.
- Seward, a man of thirty years of age, staff uniform,
- Mr. Martin.
- André, a man of twenty-nine years of age, full British uniform after the first scene,
- Mr. Hodgkinson.
- Bland, a youthful but military figure, in the uniform of a Captain of horse—dress, a short blue coat, faced with red, and trimmed with gold lace, two small epaulets, a white waistcoat, leather breeches, boots and spurs; over the coat, crossing the chest from the right shoulder, a broad buff belt, to which is suspended a manageable huffar sword; a horseman's helmet on the head, decorated as usual, and the union cockade affixed,
- Mr. Cooper.
- Melville, a man of middle age, and grave deportment; his dress a Captain's uniform when on duty; a blue coat, with red facings, gold epaulet, white waistcoat and breeches, boots and cocked hat, with the union cockade,
- Mr. Williamson.
- British Officer,
- Mr. Hogg.
- American Officer,
- Mr. Miller.
- Children,
- Master Stockwell and Miss Hogg.
- American Sergeant,
- Mr. Seymour.
- American Officers and Soldiers, &c.
- Mrs. Bland,
- Mrs. Melmoth.
- Honora,
- Mrs. Johnson.
Scene, the Village of Tappan, Encampment, and adjoining Country. Time, ten hours.
ANDRE.
ACT FIRST.
SCENE FIRST.
A friend.
Advance and give the countersign.
Hudson.
What, Bland!
Melville, my friend, you here?
Why waited not yourself?
Prosper, kind heaven▪ and recompence his cares.
You're from the South, if I presume aright?
Justice is ours; what shall prevail against her?
Blest, blest be heaven! whatever was the cause!
What warded off the blow?
And how is call'd this—honorable spy?
André's his name.
André!
Aye, Major André.
Good wishes go with you.
I'll save my friend!
SCENE, the Encampment, by star-light.
They know to whom they owe their present safety.
McDonald never spares to lash our pride.
And met it like a man, my brave McDonald.
O, freely, freely! you I never rail on.
No thanks for that; you've courtesy for office.
You slander me.
ACT SECOND.
SCENE, a Prison.
Who calls me friend?
Young Arthur Bland.
It was thy duty so to serve thy country.
Damnation!!
Thou shalt not die!
SCENE, the General's Quarters.
What spur now goads thy warm imagination?
Mere theoretic dreaming!
Dreams, dreams! Man can know nought but ill on earth.
Folly's chimeras rather: guides to error.
Pacquets for the General.
Seward, my friend!
I will lead you to him.
I will not cross your purpose.
SCENE, a Chamber.
Here we are, Mama, up, and dress'd already.
And why were ye so early?
Why, did not you tell us that Papa was to be home to-day?
I said, perhaps.
Perhaps!
I don't like perhaps's.
No, nor I neither; nor "may be so's."
O! don't say so, Mama, for I'm sure I hardly ever ask you any thing but you answer me with "may be so,"— "perhaps,"—or "very likely."—"Mama, shall I go to the camp to-morrow, and see the General?" "May be so, my dear." Hang "may be so," say I.
Well said, Sir Pertness.
But I am sure, Mama, you said, that, to-day, Papa would have his liberty.
So, your dear father, by his letters, told me.
Why, then, I am sure he will be here to-day. When he can come to us, I'm sure he will not stay among those strange Englishmen and Hessians. I often wish'd that I had wings to fly, for then I would soon be with him.
Dear boy!
An express, Madam, from New-York to Head-quarters, in passing, delivered this.
Papa's coming home to-day, John.
ACT THIRD.
SCENE, the General's Quarters.
Brief, my young friend, briefly, your purpose.
Captain, no more.
SCENE, a Village.
Read, Melville.
Do not cry, Mama, for I'm sure if Papa said he would come home to-day he will come yet: for he always does what he says he will.
He cannot come, dear love; they will not let him.
Why, then they told him lies; O, fye upon them!
My Arthur, O, my Arthur!
My mother!
What mean'st thou, Madam? Why these tears?
My father and my friend!!
SCENE, the General's Quarters.
Weigh consequences.
Hear this! hear this, mankind!
Thus am I answered?
Express from Colonel Bland.
With your permission.
Your pleasure, Sir. It may my mission further.
O, Bland! my countryman, surely I know thee!
'Tis short: I will put form aside, and read it.
"Excuse me, my Commander, for having a moment doubted your virtue: but you love me. If you waver, let this confirm you. My wife and children, to you and my country. Do your duty."
Report this to your General.
I shall, Sir.
O, Bland! my countryman!
SCENE, the Prison.
Is there that state on earth which friendship cannot cheer?
Little I bring to cheer thee, André!
What is 't o'clock?
'Tis past the stroke of nine.
Our General hath received another flag.
Soliciting for me?
On thy behalf.
I have been ever favor'd.
The best of men.
That father dies for thee.
What mean'st thou, André?
To the last thyself!
ACT FOURTH.
SCENE, the Encampment.
Detested sophistry!—'Twas André sav'd me!
Boy, boy!
I know him one. Thou hast acknowledg'd it.
Thou liest!
If thou could'st make me one, I then might grieve.
Thy coolness goes to freezing: thou'rt a coward.
Thou knowest thou tell'st a falsehood.
Hast thou no sense of honor?
I will proclaim thee through the camp a coward.
Think better of it! Proclaim not thine own shame.
I'll brand thee—Damnation!
O, my good friend!
SCENE, the Prison.
Some one approaches.
I hope it—but I yet have no assurance.
Well, well!
I must see him.
Where is he?
'Tis she!!
It is enough! He lives, and I shall save him.
She revives—André—soft, bend her forward.
André—!
Lov'd excellence!
Yes, it is André!
What meanest thou?
Did'st thou not marry him?
Marry!
O, never, never!
Not married?
To none but thee, and but in will to thee.
Lady, I have no power.
Thou grantest my request.
ACT FIFTH.
SCENE, the Encampment.
You need not cry, Mama, the General will do it I am sure; for I saw him cry. He turn'd away his head from you, but I saw it.
Colonel, I used thee ill this morning.
How all men tower above me!
It shall be so.
SCENE, the General's Quarters.
O, it is false!
Why, why, my country, did I hesitate!
SCENE, the Prison.
Come, come, it matters not.
No more, as thou dost love me.
I have a sword, and arm, that never fail'd me.
If thou wilt not my aid—take it thyself.
Go thou and guide Honora from this spot.
Break my heart!
Indeed, I feel not much in spirits. I wept but now.
Say nothing.
I am ready.
Where is this lovely victim?
Thanks, my mother.
SCENE, the Encampment.
SCENE draws and discovers the distant view of the Encampment.
O, name it not!
What means that cannon's sound?
AUTHENTIC DOCUMENTS RELATIVE TO MAJOR ANDRE.
Presuming that the readers of the foregoing Drama would be gratified by an account of the Hero, divested of all ornament, and separated from poetic fiction, I have collected every thing relative to him which has been made public, and shall state it in the fullest and most simple manner, according to the natural order of time.
LETTERS
Addressed to Miss SEWARD by Major ANDRE, when he was a youth of eighteen.
FROM their agreeable excursion to Shrewsbury my friends are by this time returned to their beloved Lichfield. Once again have they beheld those fortunate spires, the constant witnesses of all their pains and pleasures. I can well conceive the emotions of joy which their first appearance, from the neighbouring hills, excites after absence;—they seem to welcome you home, and invite you to reiterate those hours of happiness, of which they are a species of monument. I shall have an eternal love and reverence for them. Never shall I forget the joy that danced in HONORA'S eyes, when she first shewed them to me from the Needwood Forest, on our return with you from Buxton to Lichfield. I remember she called them the Ladies of the Valley—their lightness and elegance deserve the title. Oh! how I lov'd them from that instant! My enthusiasm concerning them is carried farther even than your's and HONORA'S, for every object that has a pyramidal form, recalls them to my recollection, [Page 64] with a sensation, that brings the tear of pleasure into my eyes.
How happy must you have been at Shrewsbury! only that you tell me, alas! that dear HONORA was not so well as you wished during your stay there.—I always hope the best. My impatient spirit rejects every obtruding idea, which I have not fortitude to support—Doctor Darwin's skill, and your tender care, will remove that sad pain in her side, which makes writing troublesome and injurious to her; which robs her poor Cher Jean * of those precious pages, with which he flatters himself, she would otherwise have indulged him.
So, your happiness at Shrewsbury scorn'd to be indebted to public amusements—five virgins—united in the soft bonds of friendship!—How I should have lik'd to have made the sixth!—But you surprize me by such an absolute exclusion of the Beaux—I certainly thought that when five wise virgins were watching at midnight, it must have been in expectation of the bridegroom's coming. We are at this instant five virgins, writing round the same table—my three sisters, Mr. Ewer, and myself. I beg no reflections injurious to the honor of poor Cher Jean. My mother is gone to pay a visit, and has left us in possession of the old coach; but as for nags, we can boast of only two long-tails, and my sisters say they are sorry cattle, being no other than my friend Ewer and myself, who, to say truth, have enormous pig-tails.
My dear Boissier is come to town; he has brought a little of the soldier with him; but he is the same honest, warm, intelligent friend I always found him. He sacrifices the town diversions, since I will not partake of them.
We are jealous of your correspondents, who are so numerous—yet, write to the Andrés often, my dear JULIA, for who are they that will value your letters quite as much as we value them?—The least scrap of a letter will be received [Page 65] with the greatest joy—write, therefore, though it were only to give us the comfort of having a piece of paper which has recently passed through your hands—HONORA will put in a little postscript, were it only to tell me that she is my very sincere friend, who will neither give me love nor comfort —Very short, indeed, HONORA, was thy last postscript!— But I am too presumptuous; I will not scratch out, but I unsay—from the little there was I received more joy than I deserve. This Cher Jean is an impertinent fellow, but he will grow discreet in time—you must consider him as a poor novice of eighteen, who, for all the sins he may commit, is sufficiently punished in the single evil of being 120 miles from Lichfield.
My mother and sisters will go to Putney in a few days, to stay some time—We none of us like Clapton—I need not care, for I am all day long in town; but it is avoiding Scylla to fall into Charybdis. You paint to me the pleasant vale of Stow in the richest autumnal colouring: In return I must tell you, that my zephyrs are wafted through cracks in the wainscot; for murmuring streams I have dirty kennels; for bleating flocks, grunting pigs; and squalling cats for birds that incessantly warble—I have said something of this sort in my letter to Miss Spearman, and am twing'd with the idea of these epistles being confronted, and that I shall recall to your memory the fat knight's love letters to Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page.
JULIA, perhaps thou fanciest I am merry—Alas! But I do not wish to make you as doleful as myself; and besides, when I would express the tender feelings of my soul, I have no language which does them any justice; if I had, I should regret that you could not have it fresher, and that whatever one communicates by letter must go such a round-about way, before it reaches one's correspondent; from the writer's heart through his head, arm, hand, pen, ink, paper, over many a weary hill and dale, to the eye, head, and heart of the reader. I have often regretted our not possessing a sort of faculty which should enable our sensations, remarks, &c. to arise from their source in a sort of exhalation, and [Page 66] fall upon our paper in words and phrases properly adapted to express them, without passing through an imagination whose operations so often fail to second those of the heart. Then what a metamorphose should we see in people's stile! How eloquent those who are truly attached! How stupid they who falsely profess affection! Perhaps the former had never been able to express half their regard; while the latter, by their flowers of rhetoric, had made us believe a thousand times more than they ever felt; but this is whimsical moralizing.
My sisters' Penserosos were dispersed on their arrival in town, by the joy of seeing Louisa and their dear little brother Billy again, our kind and excellent uncle Giradot, and uncle Lewis André. I was glad to see them; but they complained, not without reason, of the gloom upon my countenance: Billy wept for joy that we were returned, while poor Cher Jean was ready to weep for sorrow. Louisa is grown still handsomer since we left her. Our sisters, Mary and Anne, knowing your partiality to beauty, are afraid that when they shall introduce her to you, she will put their noses out of joint. Billy is not old enough for me to be afraid of in the rival way, else I should keep him aloof, for his heart is formed of those affectionate materials, so dear to the ingenuous taste of JULIA and her HONORA.
I sympathize in your resentment against the Canonical Dons, who stumpify the heads of those good green people,* beneath whose friendly shade so many of your happiest hours have glided away; but they defy them; let them stumpify as much as they please; time will repair the mischief; their verdant arms will again extend, and invite you to their shelter.
The evenings grow very long; I hope your conversation round the fire will sometimes fall on the Andrés; it will be a great comfort that they are remembered. We chink our glasses to your healths at every meal; here's to our Lichfieldian friends, says Nanny;—Oh—ho, says Mary; with [Page 67] all my soul, says I; alons, cries my mother; and the draught seems nectar. The libation made us begin our uncloying theme, and so beguile the gloomy evening.
Mr. and Mrs. Seward will accept my most affectionate respects—My male friend at Lichfield will join in your conversation on the Andrés. Among the numerous good qualities he is possessed of, he certainly has gratitude, and then he cannot forget those who so sincerely love and esteem him; I, in particular, shall always recall with pleasure the happy hours I have passed in his company; my friendship for him, and for your family, has diffused itself, like the precious ointment from Aaron's beard, on every thing which surrounds you; therefore I beg you would give my amities to the whole town. Persuade HONORA to forgive the length and ardour of the inclosed, and believe me truly,
LETTER II.
FROM the midst of books, papers, bills, and other implements of gain, let me lift up my drowsy head a while, to converse with dear JULIA. And first, as I know she has a fervent wish to see me a quill-driver, I must tell her, that I begin, as most people are wont to do, to look upon my future profession with great partiality. I no longer see it in so disadvantageous a light. Instead of figuring a merchant as a middle aged man, with a bob wig, a rough beard, in snuff coloured clothes, grasping a guinea in his red hand; I conceive a comely young man, with a tolerable pig-tail, wielding a pen with all the noble fierceness of the Duke of Marlborough brandishing a truncheon upon a sign post, surrounded with types and emblems, and canopied with cornucopiaes that disembogue their stores upon his head; Mercuries [Page 68] reclin'd upon bales of goods; Genii playing with pens, ink and paper; while, in perspective, his gorgeous vessels "launch'd on the bosom of the silver Thames," are wafting to distant lands the produce of this commercial nation. Thus all the mercantile glories crowd on my fancy, emblazoned in the most refulgent colouring of an ardent imagination—Borne on her soaring pinions, I wing my flight to the time when Heaven shall have crowned my labours with success and opulence. I see sumptuous palaces rising to receive me. I see orphans and widows, and painters, fidlers, and poets, and builders, protected and encouraged; and when the fabrick is pretty near finished by my shattered pericranium, I cast my eyes around, and find John André, by a small coal fire, in a gloomy compting-house in Warnford court, nothing so little as what he has been making himself, and in all probability never to be much more than he is at present. But oh! my dear HONORA! it is for thy sake only I wish for wealth. You say she was somewhat better at the time you wrote last. I must flatter myself that she will soon be without any remains of this threatening disease.
It is seven o'clock; you and HONORA, with two or three more select friends, are now probably encircling your dressing-room fire-place. What would I not give to enlarge that circle! The idea of a clean hearth, and a snug circle round it, formed by a few sincere friends, transports me. You seem combined together against the inclemency of the weather, the hurry, bustle, ceremony, censoriousness, and envy of the world. The purity, the warmth, the kindling influence of fire, to all for whom it is kindled, is a good emblem of the friendship of such amiable minds as JULIA'S and her HONORA'S. Since I cannot be there in reality, pray imagine me with you; admit me to your conversations; think how I wish for the blessing of joining them! and be persuaded that I take part in all your pleasures, in the dear hope, that e'er it be very long, your blazing hearth will burn again for me. Pray keep me a place; let the poker, tongs, or shovel represent me; but you [Page 69] have Dutch tiles, which are infinitely better; so let Moses, or Aaron, or Balaam's ass, be my representative.
But time calls me to Clapton. I quit you abruptly till to-morrow: when, if I do not tear the nonsense I have been writing, I may perhaps increase its quantity. Signora Cynthia is in clouded majesty. Silvered with her beams I am about to jog to Clapton upon my own stumps; musing as I homeward plod my way. Ah! need I name the subject of my contemplation!
Thursday.
I had a sweet walk home last night, and found the Claptonians, with their fair guest, a Miss Mourgue, very well. My sisters send their amities, and will write in a few days.
This morning I returned to town. It has been the finest day imaginable. A solemn mildness was diffused throughout the blue horizon; its light was clear and distinct, rather than dazzling; the serene beams of the autumnal sun, gilded hills, variegated woods, glittering spires, ruminating herds, bounding flocks, all combined to enchant the eyes, expand the heart, and "chace all sorrow but despair." In the midst of such a scene, no lesser grief can prevent our sympathy with nature—A calmness, a benevolent disposition seizes us with sweet insinuating power. The very brute creation seem sensible of these beauties; there is a species of mild cheerfulness in the face of a lamb, which I have but indifferently expressed in a corner of my paper; and a demure contented look in an ox, which, in the fear of expressing still worse, I leave unattempted.
Business calls me away. I must dispatch my letter. Yet, what does it contain? No matter, you like any thing better than news. Indeed, you never told me so, but I have an intuitive knowledge upon the subject, from the sympathy which I have constantly perceived in the taste of JULIA and Cher Jean. What is it to you or me,
[Page 70]But, if I was to hearken to the versifying grumbling I feel within me, I should fill my paper, and not have room left to intreat that you would plead my cause to HONORA more eloquently than the inclosed letter has the power of doing. Apropos of verses, you desire me to recollect my random description of the engaging appearance of the charming Mrs. —. Here it is at your service—
This little French cousin of ours, Delariseé, was my sister Mary's play-fellow at Paris. His sprightliness engages my sisters extremely. Doubtless they talk much of him to you in their letters.
How sorry I am to bid you adieu! Oh let me not be forgot by the friends most dear to you at Lichfield! Lichfield! Ah! of what magic letters is that little word composed! How graceful it looks when it is written! Let nobody talk to me of its original meaning. "The field of blood!" Oh! no such thing! It is the field of joy! "The beautiful city, that lifts up her fair head in the valley, and says, I am, and there is none beside me!" Who says she is vain? JULIA will not say so—nor yet HONORA; and least of all their devoted
LETTER III.
MY ears still ring with the sounds of oh Jack! oh Jack▪ How do the dear Lichfieldians?—What do they say?— What are they about?—What did you do while you were with them?—Have patience, said I, good people; and began [Page 71] my story, which they devoured with as much joyful avidity as Adam did Gabriel's tidings of heaven.—My mother and sisters are all very well, and delighted with their little Frenchman, who is a very agreeable lad.
Surely you applaud the fortitude with which I left you! Did I not come off with flying colours?—It was a great effort; for, alas! this recreant heart did not second the smiling courage of the countenance; nor is it yet as it ought to be, from the hopes it may reasonably entertain of seeing you all again e'er the winter's dreary hours are past.— JULIA, my dear JULIA, gild them with tidings of our beloved HONORA!—Oh that you may be enabled to tell me that she regains her health, and her charming vivacity! Your sympathizing heart partakes all the joys and pains of your friends.—Never can I forget its kind offices, which were of such moment to my peace!—Mine is formed for friendship; and I am blest in being able to place so well the purest passion of an ingenuous mind!—How am I honored in Mr. and Mrs. Seward's attachment to me!—Charming were the anticipations which beguiled the long tracts of hill, and dale, and plain, that divide London from Lichfield!—With what delight my eager eyes drank their first view of the dear spires!—What rapture did I not feel on entering your gates! in flying up the hall steps! in rushing into the dining-room! in meeting the gladdened eyes of dear JULIA and her enchanting friend!—That instant convinced me of the truth of Rousseau's observation, "That there are moments worth ages." Shall not those moments return? Ah JULIA! the cold hand of absence is heavy upon the heart of your poor Cher Jean—he is forced to hammer into it perpetually every consoling argument that the magic wand of hope can conjure up, viz. that every moment of industrious absence advances his journey, you know whither.—I may sometimes make excursions to Lichfield, and bask in the light of my HONORA'S eyes!—Sustain me hope! nothing on my part shall be wanting which may induce thee to fulfil thy blossoming promises.
The happy, social circle, JULIA, HONORA, Miss S—n, [Page 72] Miss B—n, her brother, Mr. S—e, Mr. R—n, &c. &c. are now, perhaps, enlivening your dressing-room, the dear blue region, as HONORA calls it, with the sensible observation, the tasteful criticism, or the elegant song; dreading the iron tongue of the nine o'clock bell, which disperses the beings whom friendship and kindred virtues had drawn together.—My imagination attaches itself to all, even the inanimate objects which surround HONORA and her JULIA; that have beheld their graces and virtues expand and ripen; my dear HONORA'S, from their infant bud.
The sleepy Claptonian train are gone to bed, somewhat wearied with their excursion to Enfield, whither they have this day carried their little Frenchman; so great a favorite, the parting was quite tragical. I walked hither from town, as usual, to-night—no hour of the twenty-four is so precious to me as that devoted to this solitary walk.—Oh, my friend! I am far from possessing the patient frame of mind which I so continually invoke!— Why is Lichfield an hundred and twenty miles from me?—There is no moderation in the distance! Fifty or sixty miles had been a great deal too much; but then there would have been less opposition from authority to my frequent visits.—I conjure you supply the want of these blessings by frequent letters. I must not, will not ask them of HONORA, since the use of the pen is forbid to her declining health. I will content myself, as usual, with a postscript from her in your epistles.—My sisters are charmed with the packet which arrived yesterday, and which they will answer soon.
As yet I have said nothing of our journey. We met an entertaining Irish gentleman at Dunchurch, and being fellow sufferers in cold and hunger, joined interests, ordered four horses, and stuffed three in a chaise.—It is not to you I need apologize for talking in raptures of an higler, whom we met on our road. His cart had passed us, and was at a considerable distance, when looking back, he perceived that our chaise had stopped, and that the driver seemed mending something. He ran up to him, and with a face full of honest anxiety, pity, good nature, and every sweet [Page 73] affection under heaven, asked him if he wanted any thing; that he had plenty of nails, ropes, &c. in his cart—That wretch of a postilion made no other reply than, "We want nothing, master." From the same impulse, the good Irishman, Mr. Till, and myself, thrust our heads instantly out of the chaise, and tried to recompence to the honest creature the surly reply, by every kind and grateful acknowledgment, and by forcing upon him a little pecuniary tribute. My benevolence will be the warmer, while I live, for the treasured remembrance of this higler's countenance.
I know you 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.—Yet, God forbid I should ever love what I am to make the object of my attention!—that vile trash, which I care not for, but only as it may be the future means of procuring the blessing of my soul—Thus all my mercantile calculations go to the tune of dear HONORA.—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 inspires my industry, that no toil appears oppressive.
The poetic task you set me is in a sad method—My head and heart are too full of other matters to be engrossed by a draggle-tailed wench of the Heliconian puddle.
I am going to try my interest in Parliament—How you stare!—It is to procure a frank.—Be so good to give the enclosed to HONORA—it will speak to her—and do you say every thing that is kind of me to every other distinguished friend of the dressing-room circle—encourage them in their obliging desire of scribbling in your letters; but do not let them take HONORA'S corner of the sheet.
Adieu!—May you all possess that cheerfulness denied to your Cher Jean. I fear it hurts my mother to see my musing moods; but I can neither help nor overcome them. The near hopes of another excursion to Lichfield could alone disperse every gloomy vapour of my imagination.
Again, and yet again, adieu!
WE find annexed to Miss SEWARD'S Monody on Major André this note:—
‘Miss HONORA S—, to whom Mr. André's attachment was of such singular constancy, died, in a consumption, a few months before he suffered death at Tappan. She had married another gentleman four years after her engagement with Mr. André had been dissolved by parental authority.’
By another note we are informed, that, on receiving the tidings of HONORA'S marriage, Mr. André quitted his profession as a merchant, and joined the British army in America.
Another note has these words:—
‘A letter from Major André to one of his friends, written a few years ago, contained the following sentence:— I have been taken prisoner by the Americans, and stript of every thing except the picture of HONORA, which I concealed in my mouth. Preserving that, I yet think myself fortunate.’
THE COW CHACE.
CANTO I.
CANTO II.
CANTO III.
TRIAL OF MAJOR JOHN ANDRE.
Extracts of Letters from General WASHINGTON to the President of Congress.
I HAVE the honor to inform Congress, that I arrived here yesterday about twelve o'clock, on my return from Hartford. Some hours previous to my arrival, Major-General Arnold went from his quarters, which were this place, and, as it was supposed, over the river to the garrison at West-Point, whither I proceeded myself, in order to visit the post▪ I found General Arnold had not been there during the day; and, on my return to his quarters, he was still absent. In the mean time, a packet had arrived from Lieut. Colonel Jameson, announcing the capture of a John Anderson, who was endeavouring to go to New-York, with several interesting and important papers, all in the hand-writing of General Arnold. This was also accompanied with a letter from the prisoner, avowing himself to be Major John André, Adjutant-General to the British army, relating the manner of his capture, and endeavouring to shew that he did not come under the description of a spy. From these several circumstances, and information that the General seemed to be thrown into some degree of agitation, on receiving a letter a little time before he went from his quarters, I was led to conclude immediately that he had heard of Major André's captivity, and that he would, if possible, escape to the enemy; and accordingly took such measures as appeared the most probable [Page 86] to apprehend him. But he had embarked in a barge, and proceeded down the river, under a flag, to the Vulture ship of war, which lay at some miles below Stony and Verplanck's Points. He wrote me a letter after he got on board.—Major André is not yet arrived, but I hope he is secure, and that he will be here to-day. I have been, and am taking precautions, which I trust will prove effectual, to prevent the important consequences which this conduct, on the part of General Arnold, was intended to produce. I do not know the party that took Major André, but it is said that it consisted only of a few militia, who acted in such a manner upon the occasion, as does them the highest honor, and proves them to be men of great virtue. As soon as I know their names, I shall take pleasure in transmitting them to Congress.
I have the honor to enclose Congress a copy of the proceedings of a Board of General Officers in the case of Major André, Adjutant-General to the British army. This officer was executed, in pursuance of the opinion of the Board, on Monday, the 2d instant, at twelve o'clock, at our late camp, at Tappan. Besides the proceedings, I transmit copies of sundry letters respecting the matter, which are all that passed on the subject, not included in the proceedings.
I have now the pleasure to communicate the names of the three persons who captured Major André, and who refused to release him, notwithstanding the most earnest importunities and assurances of a liberal reward on his part. Their names are, John Paulding, David Williams, and Isaac Van Wert.
Proceedings of a Board of General Officers, held by order of his Excellency General WASHINGTON, Commander in Chief of the Army of the United States of America, respecting Major ANDRE, Adjutant-General of the British Army, September the 29th, 1780, at Tappan, in the State of New-York.
- Major-General Green, President.
- Major-General Lord Stirling,
- Major-General St. Clair,
- Major-General the Marquis la Fayette,
- Major-General Howe,
- Major-General the Baron de Steuben,
- Brigadier-General Parsons,
- Brigadier-General Clinton,
- Brigadier-General Knox,
- Brigadier-General Glover,
- Brigadier-General Patterson,
- Brigadier-General Hand,
- Brigadier-General Huntington,
- Brigadier-General Starke,
- John Lawrence, Judge-Advocate-General.
MAJOR ANDRE, Adjutant-General to the British army, was brought before the Board, and the following letter from General Washington to the Board, dated Headquarters, Tappan, September 29, 1780, was laid before them, and read.
Major André, Adjutant-General to the British army, will be brought before you for your examination. He came within our lines in the night, on an interview with Major-General Arnold, and in an assumed character, and was taken within our lines, in a disguised habit, with a pass under a feigned name, and with the enclosed papers concealed upon him. After a careful examination, you will be pleased, as [Page 88] speedily as possible, to report a precise state of his case, together with your opinion of the light in which he ought to be considered, and the punishment that ought to be inflicted. The Judge-Advocate will attend to assist in the examination, who has sundry other papers, relative to this matter, which he will lay before the Board.
The Board of General Officers convened at Tappan.
The names of the officers composing the Board were read to Major André, and on his being asked whether he confessed the matters contained in the letter from his Excellency General Washington to the Board, or denied them, he said, "in addition to his letter to General Washington, dated Salem, the 24th September, 1780," which was read to the Board, and acknowledged by Major André to have been written by him, which letter is as follows:
WHAT I have as yet said concerning myself, was in the justifiable attempt to be extricated; I am too little accustomed to duplicity to have succeeded.
I beg your Excellency will be persuaded that no alteration in the temper of my mind, or apprehension for my safety, induces me to take the step of addressing you, but that it is to secure myself from an imputation of having assumed a mean character, for treacherous purposes or self-interest—A conduct incompatible with the principles that actuated me, as well as with my condition in life.
It is to vindicate my fame that I speak, and not to solicit security.
The person in your possession is Major John André, Adjutant-General to the British army.
The influence of one commander in the army of his adversary, is an advantage taken in war. A correspondence [Page 89] for this purpose I held; as confidential (in the present instance) with his Excellency Sir Henry Clinton.
To favor it, I agreed to meet upon ground not within posts of either army, a person who was to give me intelligence: I came up in the Vulture man of war, for this effect, and was fetched, by a boat from the shore, to the beach: Being there, I was told that the approach of day would prevent my return, and that I must be concealed until the next night. I was in my regimentals, and had fairly risked my person.
Against my stipulation, my intention, and without my knowledge before hand, I was conducted within one of your posts. Your Excellency may conceive my sensation on this occasion, and will imagine how much more I must have been affected, by a refusal to reconduct me back the next night, as I had been brought. Thus become a prisoner, I had to concert my escape. I quitted my uniform, was passed another way in the night without the American posts to neutral ground, and informed I was beyond all armed parties, and left to press for New-York. I was taken at Tarry-Town by some volunteers.
Thus, as I have had the honor to relate, was I betrayed (being Adjutant-General of the British army) into the vile condition of an enemy in disguise within your posts.
Having avowed myself a British officer, I have nothing to reveal but what relates to myself, which is true on the honor of an officer and a gentleman.
The request I have to make your Excellency, and I am conscious I address myself well, is, that in any rigor policy may dictate, a decency of conduct towards me may mark, that though unfortunate, I am branded with nothing dishonorable, as no motive could be mine but the service of my King, and as I was involuntarily an impostor.
Another request is, that I may be permitted to write an open letter to Sir Henry Clinton, and another to a friend for clothes and linen.
I take the liberty to mention the condition of some gentlemen at Charleston, who being either on parole or under [Page 90] protection, were engaged in a conspiracy against us. Tho' their situation is not similar, they are objects who may be set in exchange for me, or are persons whom the treatment I receive might affect.
It is no less, Sir, in a confidence in the generosity of your mind, than on account of your superior station, that I have chosen to importune you with this letter.
His Excellency General Washington, &c. &c. &c.
That he came on shore from the Vulture sloop of war, in the night of the twenty-first of September instant, somewhere under the Haverstraw Mountain: That the boat he came on shore in carried no flag; and that he had on a surtout coat over his regimentals, and that he wore his surtout coat when he was taken: That he met General Arnold on the shore, and had an interview with him there. He also said, that when he left the Vulture sloop of war, it was understood that he was to return that night; but it was then doubted, and if he could not return, he was promised to be concealed on shore in a place of safety, until the next night, when he was to return in the same manner he came on shore; and when the next day came, he was solicitous to get back, and made inquiries in the course of the day how he should return, when he was informed he could not return that way, and he must take the route he did afterwards. He also said, that the first notice he had of his being within any of our posts, was, being challenged by the sentry, which was the first night he was on shore. He also said, that the evening of the twenty-second of September instant, he passed King's-Ferry, between our posts of Stony and Verplanck's Points, in the dress he is at present in, and which he said was not his regimentals, and which dress he procured, after he landed from the Vulture, and when he was within our post; and that he was proceeding to New-York, but was taken on his [Page 91] way at Tarry-Town, as he has mentioned in his letter, on Saturday the twenty-third of September instant, about nine o'clock in the morning.
The following papers were laid before the Board and shewn to Major André, who confessed to the Board, that they were found on him when he was taken, and said they were concealed in his boot, except the pass:—
A pass from General Arnold to John Anderson, which name Major André acknowledged he assumed.
Artillery orders, September 5, 1780.
Estimate of the force at West-Point and its dependencies, September, 1780.
Estimate of men to man the works at West-Point, &c.
Return of ordnance at West-Point, September, 1780.
Remarks on works at West-Point.
Copy of a state of matters laid before a council of war, by his Excellency General Washington, held the 6th of September, 1780.
A letter signed John Anderson, dated September 7, 1780, to Colonel Sheldon,* was also laid before the Board, and shewn to Major André, which he acknowledged to have been written by him, and is as follows:
I AM told my name is made known to you, and that I may hope your indulgence in permitting me to meet a friend near your out-posts. I will endeavour to obtain permission to go out with a flag, which will be sent to Dobb's Ferry on Monday next, the 11th, at twelve o'clock, when I shall [Page 92] be happy to meet Mr. G—.* Should I not be allowed to go, the officer who is to command the escort, between whom and myself no distinction need be made, can speak on the affair.
Let me intreat you, Sir, to favor a matter so interesting to the parties concerned, and which is of so private a nature, that the public on neither side can be injured by it.
I shall be happy on my part in doing any act of kindness to you, in a family or property concern of a similar nature
I trust I shall not be detained, but should any old grudge be a cause for it, I shall rather [...]k that, than neglect the business in question, or assume a mysterious character to carry on an innocent affair, and, as friends have advised, get to your lines by stealth. I am, Sir, with all regard.
Col. Sheldon.
Major André observed that this letter could be of no force in the case in question, as it was written in New-York, when he was under the orders of General Clinton; but that it tended to prove that it was not his intention to come within our lines.
The Board having interrogated Major André about his conception of his coming on shore under the sanction of a flag, he said, that it was impossible for him to suppose he came on shore under that sanction; and added, that if he came on shore under that sanction, he certainly might have returned under it.
Major André having acknowledged the preceding facts▪ and being asked whether he had any thing to say respecting them, answered, he left them to operate with the Board.
The examination of Major André being concluded, he was remanded into custody.
[Page 93]The following letters were laid before the Board, and read:—Benedict Arnold's letter to General Washington, dated September 25, 1780; Colonel Robinson's letter to General Washington, dated September 25, 1780; and General Clinton's letter, dated 26th Semptember, 1780, (inclosing a letter of the same date from Benedict Arnold) to General Washington.
THE heart which is conscious of its own rectitude, cannot attempt to palliate a step which the world may censure as wrong; I have ever acted from a principle of love to my country, since the commencement of the present unhappy contest between Great-Britain and the colonies; the same principle of love to my country actuates my present conduct, however it may appear inconsistent to the world, who very seldom judge right of any man's actions.
I have no favor to ask for myself. I have too often experienced the ingratitude of my country to attempt it; but from the known humanity of your Excellency, I am induced to ask your protection for Mrs. Arnold, from every insult and injury that the mistaken vengeance of my country may expose her to. It ought to fall only on me; she is as good and as innocent as an angel, and is incapable of doing wrong. I beg she may be permitted to return to her friends in Philadelphia, or to come to me, as she may choose: from your Excellency I have no fears on her account, but she may suffer from the mistaken fury of the country.
I have to request that the inclosed letter may be delivered to Mrs. Arnold, and she permitted to write to me.
I have also to ask that my clothes and baggage, which are of little consequence, may be sent to me; if required, their value shall be paid for in money.
His Excellency General Washington.
[Page 94]N. B. In justice to the gentlemen of my family, Colonel Varick and Major Franks, I think myself in honor bound to declare, that they, as well as Joshua Smith, Esq. (who I know is suspected) are totally ignorant of any transactions of mine, that they had reason to believe were injurious to the public.
I AM this moment informed that Major André, Adjutant-General of his Majesty's army in America, is detained as a prisoner by the army under your command: it is, therefore, incumbent on me to inform you of the manner of his falling into your hands. He went up with a flag at the request of General Arnold, on public business with him, and had his permit to return by land to New-York. Under these circumstances Major André cannot be [...]ined by you, without the greatest violation of flags, and contrary to the custom and usage of all nations; and▪ as I imagine you will see this matter in the same point of view as I do, I must desire that you will order him to be set at liberty, and allowed to return immediately. Every step Major André took was by the advice and direction of General Arnold, even that of taking a feigned name, and of course not liable to censure for it.
His Excellency General Washington.
BEING informed that the King's Adjutant-General in America has been stopt under Major-General Arnold's passports, and is detained a prisoner in your Excellency's army, I have the honor to inform you, Sir, that I permitted Major André to go to Major-General Arnold, at the particular request of that general officer. You will perceive, Sir, by the inclosed paper, that a flag of truce was sent to receive Major André, and passports granted for his [Page 95] return: I therefore can have no doubt but your Excellency will immediately direct, that this officer has permission to return to my orders at New-York.
His Excellency General Washington.
IN answer to your Excellency's message, respecting your Adjutant-General, Major André, and desiring my idea of the reasons why he is detained, being under my passports, I have the honor to inform you, Sir, that I apprehend a few hours must return Major André to your Excellency's orders, as that officer is assuredly under the protection of a flag of truce sent by me to him, for the purpose of a conversation which I requested to hold with him relating to myself, and which I wished to communicate through that officer to your Excellency.
I commanded at the time at West-Point, had an undoubted right to send my flag of truce for Major André, who came to me under that protection, and having held my conversation with him, I delivered him confidential papers in my own hand-writing, to deliver to your Excellency. Thinking it much properer he should return by land, I directed him to make use of the feigned name of John Anderson, under which he had, by my direction, come on shore, and gave him my passports to go to the White Plains, on his way to New-York. This officer cannot therefore fail of being immediately sent to New-York, as he was invited to a conversation with me, for which I sent him a flag of truce, and finally gave him passports for his safe return to your Excellency; all which I had then a right to do, being in the actual service of America, under the orders of General Washington, and commanding general at West-Point and its dependencies.
His Excellency Sir Henry Clinton.
[Page 96]The Board having considered the letter from his Excellency General Washington respecting Major André, Adjutant-General to the British army, the confession of Major André, and the papers produced to them, REPORT to his Excellency the Commander in Chief, the following facts, which appear to them relative to Major André.
First, That he came on shore from the Vulture sloop of war, in the night of the twenty-first of September instant, on an interview with General Arnold, in a private and secret manner.
Secondly, That he changed his dress within our lines, and under a feigned name, and in a disguised habit, passed our works at Stony and Verplanck's Points, the evening of the twenty-second of September instant, and was taken the morning of the twenty-third of September instant, at Tarry-Town, in a disguised habit, being then on his way to New-York; and when taken, he had in his possession several papers, which contained intelligence for the enemy.
The Board having maturely considered these facts, DO ALSO REPORT to his Excellency General Washington, that Major André, Adjutant-General to the British army, ought to be considered as a Spy from the enemy, and that agreeable to the law and usage of nations, it is their opinion, he ought to suffer death.
- Nathaniel Green, Major-General, President.
- Stirling, Major-General.
- Ar. St. Clair, Major-General.
- La Fayette, Major-General.
- R. Howe, Major-General.
- Steuben, Major-General.
- Samuel H. Parsons, Brigadier-General.
- James Clinton, Brigadier-General.
- H. Knox, Brigadier-General of Artillery.
- John Glover, Brigadier-General.
- John Patterson, Brigadier-General.
- Edward Hand, Brigadier-General.
- J. Huntington, Brigadier-General.
- John Starke, Brigadier-General.
- John Lawrence, Judge-Advocate-General.
APPENDIX.
Copy of a Letter from Major André, Adjutant-General, to Sir Henry Clinton, K. B. &c. &c.
YOUR Excellency is doubtless already apprized of the manner in which I was taken, and possibly of the serious light in which my conduct is considered, and the rigorous determination that is impending.
Under these circumstances, I have obtained General Washington's permission to send you this letter; the object of which is, to remove from your breast any suspicion, that I could imagine I was bound by your Excellency's orders to expose myself to what has happened. The events of coming within an enemy's posts, and of changing my dress, which led me to my present situation, were contrary to my own intentions, as they were to your orders; and the circuitous route, which I took to return, was imposed (perhaps unavoidably) without alternative upon me.
I am perfectly tranquil in mind, and prepared for any fate to which an honest zeal for my King's service may have devoted me.
In addressing myself to your Excellency on this occasion, the force of all my obligations to you, and of the attachment and gratitude I bear you, recurs to me. With all the warmth of my heart, I give you thanks for your Excellency's profuse kindness to me; and I send you the most earnest wishes for your welfare, which a faithful, affectionate, and respectful attendant can frame.
I have a mother and three sisters, to whom the value of my commission would be an object, as the loss of Grenada has much affected their income. It is needless to be more explicit on this subject; I am persuaded of your Excellency's goodness.
[Page 98]I receive the greatest attention from his Excellency General Washington, and from every person under whose charge I happen to be placed.
(Addressed) His Excellency Gen. Sir Henry Clinton, K. B. &c. &c. &c.
Copy of a Letter from his Excellency General Washington, to his Excellency Sir Henry Clinton.
IN answer to your Excellency's letter of the 26th instant, which I had the honor to receive, I am to inform you, that Major André was taken under such circumstances as would have justified the most summary proceedings against him. I determined, however, to refer his case to the examination and decision of a Board of General Officers, who have reported, on his free and voluntary confession and letters, "That he came on shore from the Vulture sloop of war, in the night of the twenty-first of September instant," &c. &c. as in the report of the Board of General Officers.
From these proceedings, it is evident Major André was employed in the execution of measures very foreign to the objects of flags of truce, and such as they were never meant to authorise or countenance in the most distant degree; and this gentleman confessed, with the greatest candor, in the course of his examination, "That it was impossible for him to suppose he came on shore under the sanction of a flag."
(Addressed) His Excellency Sir Henry Clinton.
In this letter, Major André's of the 29th of September to Sir Henry Clinton was transmitted.
PERSUADED that you are inclined rather to promote than prevent the civilities and acts of humanity, which the rules of war permit between civilized nations, I find no difficulty in representing to you, that several letters and messages sent from hence have been disregarded, are unanswered, and the flags of truce that carried them, detained. As I have ever treated all flags of truce with civility and respect, I have a right to hope, that you will order my complaint to be immediately redressed.
Major André, who visited an officer commanding in a district at his own desire, and acted in every circumstance agreeable to his direction, I find is detained a prisoner; my friendship for him leads me to fear he may suffer some inconvenience for want of necessaries; I wish to be allowed to send him a few, and shall take it as a favor if you will be pleased to permit his servant to deliver them. In Sir Henry Clinton's absence, it becomes a part of my [...] make this representation and request.
His Excellency General Washington.
I HAVE just received your letter of the 29th. Any delay which may have attended your flags, has proceeded from accident and the peculiar circumstances of the occasion, not from intentional neglect or violation. The letter that admitted of an answer, has received one as early as it could be given with propriety, transmitted by a flag this morning. As to messages, I am uninformed of any that have been sent.
The necessaries for Major André will be delivered to him, agreeable to your request.
His Excellency Lieut. Gen. Robertson, New-York.
FROM your Excellency's letter of this date, I am persuaded the Board of General Officers▪ to whom you referred the case of Major André, cannot have been rightly informed of all the circumstances on which a judgment ought to be formed. I think it of the highest moment to humanity, that your Excellency should be perfectly apprized of the state of this matter, before you proceed to put that judgment in execution.
For this reason, I send his Excellency Lieutenant-General Robertson, and two other gentlemen, to give you a true state of facts, and to declare to you my sentiments and resolutions. They will set out to-morrow, as early as the wind and tide will permit, and wait near Dobb's Ferry for your permission and safe conduct, to meet your Excellency, or such persons as you may appoint, to converse with them on this subject.
P. S. The Hon. Andrew Elliot, Esq. Lieutenant-Governor, and the Hon. William Smith, Chief-Justice of this province, will attend his Excellency Lieutenant-General Robertson.
His Excellency General Washington.
Lieut. General Robertson, Mr. Elliot, and Mr. Smith, came up in a flag vessel to Dobb's Ferry, agreeable to the above letter. The two last were not suffered to land. General Robertson was permitted to come on shore, and was met by Major-General Greene, who verbally reported that General Robertson mentioned to him in substance what is contained in his letter of the 2d of October to General Washington.
I TAKE this opportunity to inform your Excellency, that I consider myself no longer acting under the commission [Page 101] of Congress: Their last to me being among my papers at West-Point, you, Sir, will make such use of it as you think proper.
At the same time, I beg leave to assure your Excellency, that my attachment to the true interest of my country is invariable, and that I am actuated by the same principle which has ever been the governing rule of my conduct, in this unhappy contest.
His Excellency General Washington.
A NOTE I have from General Greene, leaves me in doubt if his memory had served him to relate to you, with exactness, the substance of the conversation that had passed between him and myself, on the subject of Major André. In an affair of so much consequence to my friend, to the two armies, and humanity, I would leave no possibility of a misunderstanding, and therefore take the liberty to put in writing the substance of what I said to General Greene.
I offered to prove, by the evidence of Colonel Robinson, and the officers of the Vulture, that Major André went on shore at General Arnold's desire, in a boat sent for him with a flag of truce; that he not only came ashore with the knowledge, and under the protection of the general who commanded in the district, but that he took no step, while on shore, but by the direction of General Arnold, as will appear by the inclosed letter from him to your Excellency. Under these circumstances I could not, and hoped you would not, consider Major André as a spy, for any improper phrase in his letter to you.
The facts he relates correspond with the evidence I offer; but he admits a conclusion that does not follow. The change of clothes and name was ordered by General Arnold, under whose direction he necessarily was, while within his command. [Page 102] As General Greene and I did not agree in opinion, I wished that disinterested gentlemen of knowledge of the law of war and nations, might he asked their opinion on the subject, and mentioned Monsieur Knyphausen and General Rochambault.
I related that a Captain Robinson had been delivered to Sir Henry Clinton as a spy, and undoubtedly was such; but that it being signified to him that you were desirous that this man should be exchanged, he had ordered him to be exchanged.
I wished that an intercourse of such civilities as the rules of war admit of, might take off many of its horrors. I admitted that Major André had a great share of Sir Henry Clinton's esteem, and that he would be infinitely obliged by his liberation; and that if he was permitted to return with me, I would engage to have any person you would be pleased to name, set at liberty.
I added, that Sir Henry Clinton had never put to death any person for a breach of the rules of war, though he had, and now has, many in his power. Under the present circumstances, much good may arise from humanity, much ill from the want of it. If that could give any weight, I beg leave to add, that your favorable treatment of Major André will be a favor I should ever be intent to return to any you hold dear.
My memory does not retain with the exactness I could wish, the words of the letter which General Greene shewed me from Major André to your Excellency. For Sir Henry Clinton's satisfaction, I beg you will order a copy of it to be sent to me at New-York.
His Excellency General Washington.
THE polite attention shewn by your Excellency and the gentlemen of your family to Mrs. Arnold, when in distress, [Page 103] demands my grateful acknowledgment and thanks, which I beg leave to present.
From your Excellency's letter to Sir Henry Clinton, I find a board of general officers have given it as their opinion, that Major André comes under the description of a spy. My good opinion of the candor and justice of those gentlemen leads me to believe, that if they had been made fully acquainted with every circumstance respecting Major André▪ that they would by no means have considered him in the [...]ight of a spy, or even of a prisoner. In justice to him, I think it my duty to declare, that he came from on board the Vulture at my particular request, by a flag sent on purpose for him by Joshua Smith, Esq. who had permission to go to Dobb's Ferry, to carry letters, and for other purposes not mentioned, and to return. This was done as a blind to the spy boats. Mr. Smith at the same time had my private instructions to go on board the Vulture, and bring on shore Colonel Robinson, or Mr. John Anderson, which was the name I had requested Major André to assume: at the same time I desired Mr. Smith to inform him that he should have my protection, and a safe passport to return in the same boat, as soon as our business was completed. As several accidents intervened to prevent his being sent on board, I gave him my passport to return by land. Major André came on shore in his uniform (without disguise), which, with much reluctance, at my particular and pressing instance, he exchanged for another coat. I furnished him with a horse and saddle, and pointed out the route by which he was to return. And, as commanding officer in the department, I had an undoubted right to transact all these matters, which, if wrong, Major André ought by no means to suffer for them.
But if, after this just and candid representation of Major André's case, the board of general officers adhere to their former opinion, I shall suppose it dictated by passion and resentment; and if that gentleman should suffer the severity of their sentence, I shall think myself bound, by every tie of [Page 104] duty and honor, to retaliate on such unhappy persons of your army as may fall within my power, that the respect due [...] flags, and to the law of nations, may be better understood and observed.
I have further to observe, that forty of the principal inhabitants of South-Carolina have justly forfeited their lives, which have hitherto been spared by the clemency of his Excellency Sir Henry Clinton, who cannot in justice extend his mercy to them any longer, if Major André suffers; which, in all probability, will open a scene of blood at which humanity will revolt.
Suffer me to intreat your Excellency for your own and the honor of humanity, and the love you have of justice, that you suffer not an unjust sentence to touch the life of Major André.
But if this warning should be disregarded, and he suffer, I call heaven and earth to witness, that your Excellency will be justly answerable for the torrent of blood that may be spilt in consequence.
His Excellency General Washington.
BUOY'D above the terror of death, by the consciousness of a life devoted to honorable pursuits, and stained with no action that can give me remorse, I trust that the request I make to your Excellency at this serious period, and which is to soften my last moments, will not be rejected.
Sympathy towards a soldier will surely induce your Excellency and a military tribunal, to adapt the mode of my death to the feelings of a man of honor.
Let me hope, Sir, that if aught in my character impresses you with esteem towards me, if aught in my misfortunes marks me as the victim of policy and not of resentment, I [Page 105] shall experience the operation of these feelings in your breast, by being informed that I am not to die on a gibbet.
His Excellency General Washington.
The time which elapsed between the capture of Major André, which was on the morning of the 23d of September, and his execution, which did not take place till twelve o'clock on the second of October; the mode of trying him; his letter to Sir Henry Clinton, K. B. on the 29th of September, in which he said, "I receive the greatest attention from his Excellency General Washington, and from every person under whose charge I happen to be placed;" not to mention many other acknowledgments which he made of the good treatment he received; must evince that the proceedings against him were not guided by passion or resentment. The practice and usage of war were against his request, and made the indulgence he solicited, circumstanced as he was, inadmissible.
EXTRACT from a LETTER which appeared in the Pennsylvania Gazette, dated October 25, 1780. The Author supposed to be Colonel HAMILTON, Aid-de-Camp to General WASHINGTON.
NEVER, perhaps, did a man suffer death with more justice, or deserve it less. The first step he took after his capture was to write a letter to General Washington, conceived in terms of dignity without insolence, and apology without meanness. The scope of it was to vindicate himself from the imputation of having assumed a mean character, for treacherous or interested purposes; that, contrary to his intention, which was to meet a person for intelligence, on neutral ground, he had been betrayed within our posts, and forced into the vile condition of an enemy in disguise; soliciting only, that to whatever rigour policy might devote him, a decency of treatment might be observed due to a person who, though unfortunate, had been guilty of nothing dishonorable. His request was granted in its full extent; for, in the whole progress of the affair, he was treated with the most scrupulous delicacy. When brought before the Board of Officers, he met with every mark of indulgence, and was required to answer no interrogatory which could embarrass his feelings. On his part, while he carefully concealed every thing that might involve others, he frankly confessed all the facts relative to himself; and, upon his confession, without the trouble of examining a witness, the Board made their report. The members of it were not more impressed with the candour and modest firmness, mixed with a becoming sensibility, which he displayed, than he was penetrated with their liberality and politeness. He acknowledged the generosity of the behaviour towards him in every respect, but particularly in this, in the strongest terms of manly gratitude. In a conversation with a gentleman who visited him after his trial, he said, he flattered himself he had never been illiberal; but if there were [Page 107] any remains of prejudice in his mind, his present experience must obliterate them.
In one of the visits I made to him (and I saw him several times during his confinement) he begged me to be the bearer of a request to the General, for permission to send an open letter to Sir Henry Clinton. "I foresee my fate," said he, "and though I pretend not to play the hero, or to be indifferent about life, yet I am reconciled to whatever may happen, conscious that misfortune, not guilt, will have brought it upon me. There is only one thing that disturbs my tranquillity. Sir Henry Clinton has been too good to me; he has been lavish of his kindness. I am bound to him by too many obligations, and love him too well, to bear the thought that he should reproach himself, or that others should reproach him, on a supposition that I had conceived myself obliged by his instructions to run the risk I did. I would not for the world leave a sting in his mind that should embitter his future days." He could scarce finish the sentence, bursting into tears in spite of his efforts to suppress them, and with difficulty collected himself enough afterwards to add, "I wish to be permitted to assure him I did not act under this impression, but submitted to a necessity imposed upon me, as contrary to my own inclination as to his orders."—His request was readily complied with, and he wrote the letter annexed, with which I dare say you will be as much pleased as I am, both for the diction and sentiment.
When his sentence was announced to him, he remarked, that since it was his lot to die, as there was a choice in the mode, which would make material difference to his feelings, he would be happy, if it were possible to be indulged with a professional death. He made a second application by letter, in concise but persuasive terms. It was thought this indulgence, being incompatible with the customs of war; could not be granted; and it was therefore determined in both cases to evade an answer, to spare him the sensations which a certain knowledge of the intended mode would inflict.
[Page 108]When he was led out to the place of execution, as he went along, he bowed familiarly to all those with whom he had been acquainted in his confinement. A smile of complacency expressed the serene fortitude of his mind. Arrived at the fatal spot, he asked, with emotion, "Must I then die in this manner?" He was told it had been unavoidable. "I am reconciled to my fate," said he, "but not to the mode." Soon, however, recollecting himself, he added, "It will be but a momentary pang;" and, springing upon the cart, performed the last offices to himself, with a composure that excited the admiration, and melted the hearts of the beholders. Upon being told the final moment was at hand, and asked if he had any thing to say, he answered, "Nothing, but to request you will witness to the world that I die like a brave man." Among the extraordinary circumstances that attended him, in the midst of his enemies, he died universally esteemed, and universally regretted.
There was something singularly interesting in the character and fortunes of André. To an excellent understanding, well improved by education and travel, he united a peculiar elegance of mind and manners, and the advantage of a pleasing person. It is said he possessed a pretty taste for the fine arts, and had himself attained some proficiency in poetry, music and painting. His knowledge appeared without ostentation, and embellished by a diffidence that rarely accompanies so many talents and accomplishments, which left you to suppose more than appeared. His sentiments were elevated, and inspired esteem; they had a softness that conciliated affection. His elocution was handsome; his address easy, polite, and insinuating. By his merit he had acquired the confidence of his General, and was making a rapid progress in military rank and reputation. But in the height of his career, flushed with new hopes from the execution of a project, the most beneficial to his party that could be devised, he is at once precipitated from the summit of prosperity, sees all the expectations of his ambition blasted, and himself ruined.
[Page 109]The character I have given of him is drawn partly from what I saw of him myself, and partly from information. I am aware that a man of real merit is never seen in so favorable a light, as through the medium of adversity. The clouds that surround him are so many shadows that set off his good qualities. Misfortune cuts down little vanities, that, in prosperous times, serve as so many spots in his virtues, and gives a tone of humility that makes his worth more amiable. His spectators, who enjoyed a happier lot, are less prone to detract from its true envy; and are more disposed by compassion to give him the credit he deserves, and perhaps ever to magnify it.
I speak not of André's conduct in this affair as a philosopher, but as a man of the world. The authorized maxims and practices of war are the sators of human nature. They countenance almost every species of seduction as well as violence; and the general who can make most traitors in the army of his adversary, is frequently most applauded. On this scale we acquit André, while we could not but condemn him if we were to exemine his conduct by the sober rules of philosophy and moral rectitude.
THE FOLLOWING PLAYS, Written by the Author of André, Are for sale at the Book-stores of Gaine and Ten Eyck, T. Allen, T. and J. Swords, and J. Fellows, THE ARCHERS, OR MOUNTAINEERS OF SWITZERLAND: AN OPERA IN THREE ACTS.
As performed by the Old American Company in New-York.
TO WHICH IS ADDED, A BRIEF HISTORICAL ACCOUNT OF SWITZERLAND, From the Dissolution of the Roman Empire to the final Establishment of the Helvetic Confederacy, by the Battle of Sempach.
TELL TRUTH AND SHAME THE DEVIL: A COMEDY, IN TWO ACTS.
As performed by the Old American Company in New-York.
[Page]T. & J. Swords have for sale, at their Book-store and Printing-office, No. 99 Pearl-street, AN ASSORTMENT OF BOOKS, STATIONARY, JEWELLERY, PLATED WARE, &c. &c.
AND A NUMBER OF ELEGANT PRINTS.