Part 16

Never, perhaps, did any 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; asserting that he had been involuntarily an impostor; 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 rigor 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 even embarrass his feelings. On his part, while he carefully concealed every thing that might involve others, he frankly confessed all the facts relating 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 candor and firmness, mixed with a becoming sensibility, which he displayed, than he was penetrated with their liberality and politeness. He acknowledged the generosity of the behavior 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 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, has 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 the supposition of my having 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 imbitter 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, there was still a choice in the mode, which would make a material difference in his feelings; and he would be happy, if 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.

In going to the place of execution, he bowed familiarly as he went along, 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 some 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. ’Tis 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 unlimited 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 was at once precipitated from the summit of prosperity, and saw all the expectations of his ambition blasted, and himself ruined.

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 shades that set off his good qualities. Misfortune cuts down the 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 enjoy a happier lot, are less prone to detract from it, through envy, and are more disposed, by compassion, to give him the credit he deserves, and perhaps even 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 satires 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 examine his conduct by the sober rules of philosophy and moral rectitude. It is, however, a blemish on his fame, that he once intended to prostitute a flag: about this, a man of nice honor ought to have had a scruple; but the temptation was great: let his misfortunes cast a veil over his error.

Several letters from Sir Henry Clinton and others, were received in the course of the affair, feebly attempting to prove, that André came out under the protection of a flag, with a passport from a general officer in actual service; and consequently could not be justly detained. Clinton sent a deputation, composed of Lieutenant-General Robinson, Mr. Elliot, and Mr. William Smith, to represent, as he said, the true state of Major André’s case. General Greene met Robinson, and had a conversation with him; in which he reiterated the pretence of a flag; urged André’s release as a personal favor to Sir Henry Clinton; and offered any friend of ours, in their power, in exchange. Nothing could have been more frivolous than the plea which was used. The fact was, that beside the time, manner, object of the interview, change of dress, and other circumstances, there was not a single formality customary with flags; and the passport was not to Major André, but to Mr. Anderson. But had there been, on the contrary, all the formalities, it would be an abuse of language to say, that the sanction of a flag for corrupting an officer to betray his trust, ought to be respected. So unjustifiable a purpose, would not only destroy its validity, but make it an aggravation.

André, himself, has answered the argument, by ridiculing and exploding the idea, in his examination before the Board of Officers. It was a weakness to urge it.

There was, in truth, no way of saving him. Arnold, or he, must have been the victim: the former was out of our power.

It was by some suspected, Arnold had taken his measures in such a manner, that if the interview had been discovered in the act, it might have been in his power to sacrifice André to his own security. This surmise of double treachery, made them imagine Clinton might be induced to give up Arnold for André; and a gentleman took occasion to suggest this expedient to the latter, as a thing that might be proposed by him. He declined it. The moment he had been capable of so much frailty, I should have ceased to esteem him.

The infamy of Arnold’s conduct previous to his desertion, is only equalled by his baseness since. Beside the folly of writing to Sir Henry Clinton, assuring him that André had acted under a passport from him, and according to his directions while commanding officer at a post; and that, therefore, he did not doubt, he would be immediately sent in; he had the effrontery to write to General Washington in the same spirit; with the addition of a menace of retaliation, if the sentence should be carried into execution. He has since acted the farce of sending in his resignation. This man is, in every sense, despicable. Added to the scene of knavery and prostitution during his command in Philadelphia, which the late seizure of his papers has unfolded; the history of his command at West Point is a history of little, as well as great, villanies. He practised every dirty art of peculation; and even stooped to connections with the suttlers of the garrison, to defraud the public.

To his conduct, that of the captors of André forms a striking contrast. He tempted them with the offer of his watch, his horse, and any sum of money they should name. They rejected his offers with indignation: and the gold that could seduce a man high in the esteem and confidence of his country, who had the remembrance of past exploits, the motives of present reputation and future glory, to prop his integrity, had no charms for three simple peasants, leaning only on their virtue and an honest sense of their duty. While Arnold is handed down, with execration, to future times, posterity will repeat, with reverence, the names of Van Wart, Paulding, and Williams.

I congratulate you, my friend, on our happy escape from the mischiefs with which this treason was big. It is a new comment on the value of an honest man, and if it were possible, would endear you to me more than ever.

Adieu, A. Hamilton.

SCHUYLER TO HAMILTON.

Poughkeepsie, Sept. 10, 1780.

My Dear Sir:

I am very apprehensive the unhappy event, mentioned in your favor of the fifth instant, will draw very serious consequences in its train. It will certainly much embarrass us, and probably retard the termination of the war. It will, however, be attended with one good; the adherents, in Congress, to the gallant Commander, will not have it any longer in their power to play him off against the General. Gracious God! that any rational being should put two men in competition, one of which has _commanded_ an army, the other only been at the head of one; for I aver, that when he was to the northward, he never made a disposition of his troops. Indeed he was incapable: he never saw an enemy, except at a good distance, and from places of perfect security. Indeed, indeed, he has not lost a whit, in my estimation, by this stroke of his.

The General will have shown you extracts from the Senate and Assembly’s Addresses to the Governor. A Committee of both Houses is appointed to report on the proceedings of the Convention: they will certainly adopt and extend the views of that Convention. Some here are for appointing a Dictator, with a Vice Dictator in each State, invested with all the powers conferred formerly by the Roman people on theirs. I made great interest to be left out of the delegation, and obtained it, although not without much difficulty. General M’Dougal is appointed in my stead: but I believe I shall be obliged to go to the eastern Convention. If so, I shall not repair to Rhode Island so soon as I intended.

Colonel Warner is wounded, and two of his officers killed near Fort Edward.

Pray make my respects acceptable to the General, to the gentlemen of the family, the Marquis, and those of his.

Adieu. I am, dear Sir, Very affectionately and sincerely, Your most obedient servant, Ph. Schuyler.

I forgot to inform the General that the Governor had sent him an extract of the proceedings of the Convention which I had promised to transmit.

SCHUYLER TO HAMILTON.

Poughkeepsie, September 16, 1780.

Dear Sir:

The great scarcity of wheat before harvest, and the drought since, has prevented the agent appointed to collect the supply required from this State, to deliver it to the Issuing Commissary; and we are at least ten thousand barrels in arrears; the wheat for all which is already assessed, a considerable quantity of it brought to the mills to be manufactured, and the remainder daily collecting. Hence, unless a second drought should prevail, our deficiency can be made good in the course of a month: and this may be relied on. But should the army actually be in operation, I do not _make a doubt_ but that the hand of Government will be laid on all in the country; and, in that case, a constant supply can be kept up so as to complete to thirty thousand barrels, and perhaps half as much more, should Congress order the quota of Pennsylvania (if she deigns to furnish any) to be sold, and the money transmitted to this State. Exclusive of the wheat already assessed to complete our quota of flour, the inhabitants of Tryon County, and the western part of Albany, are threshing. This the Legislature has ordered to be purchased for a State Magazine, should we not be able to purchase the whole. The whole may, however, be obtained, and without delay, if an operation takes place: to procure flour casks is the greatest difficulty. I wish those at West Point were ordered to be immediately put in order: those, and an aid of bags, may be necessary.

I have communed with the Governor on the subject of M’Henry’s wish. He is very much disposed to use his influence on the occasion, but doubts if he should be able to obtain a Lieutenancy, unless the Ensigns that now are, could all be provided for. If M’Henry merely wants military rank for the campaign, and will not accept of an Ensigncy, the Governor can, and will, give him a Lieutenant-Colonelcy in the State Levies, which will always give him rank in our militia, and, consequently, in the army, when the militia is in the field. But this must be determined before the Legislature rises. Please, therefore, to desire M’Henry to write me on the subject without delay, and to assure him of the best services in my power.

If I knew when you would be at Fishkill, if you pass that way, I would meet you there. Or if I believed it would not be disagreeable to the General, I would go to Hartford, as I wish to see the other Sachem.

A spirit favorable to the common cause, has pervaded almost both Houses. They begin to talk of a Dictator and Vice Dictators, as if it was a thing that was already determined on. To the Convention to be held at Hartford, I believe I shall be sent, with instructions to propose that a Dictator should be appointed.

I have just seen Van Schaick’s whim. There is not one Lieutenancy vacant.

I have had the inclosed several days with me, for want of a conveyance. Please to dispatch the bearer as expeditiously back as you can. Compliments to all.

I am, dear Sir, affectionately yours, etc., Ph. Schuyler.

Colonel Hamilton.

HAMILTON TO GREENE.

25th September, 1780.

Dear Sir:

There has just been unfolded at this place a scene of the blackest treason. Arnold has fled to the enemy--André, the British Adjutant General, is in our possession as a spy. His capture unravelled the mystery.

West Point was to have been the sacrifice. All the dispositions have been made for the purpose, and ’tis possible, though not probable, we may still see the execution. The wind is fair. I came here in pursuit of Arnold, but was too late. I advise your putting the army under marching orders, and detaching a brigade immediately this way.

I am, with great regard, Your most obedient servant, Alex. Hamilton, Aid-de-Camp.

To Major General Greene.

HAMILTON TO MISS SCHUYLER.

September 25, 1780.

Arnold, hearing of the plot being detected, immediately fled to the enemy. I went in pursuit of him, but was much too late; and could hardly regret the disappointment, when, on my return, I saw an amiable woman, frantic with distress for the loss of a husband she tenderly loved; a traitor to his country and to his fame; a disgrace to his connections: it was the most affecting scene I ever was witness to. She, for a considerable time, entirely lost herself. The General went up to see her, and she upbraided him with being in a plot to murder her child. One moment she raved, another she melted into tears. Sometimes she pressed her infant to her bosom, and lamented its fate, occasioned by the imprudence of its father, in a manner that would have pierced insensibility itself. All the sweetness of beauty, all the loveliness of innocence, all the tenderness of a wife, and all the fondness of a mother, showed themselves in her appearance and conduct. We have every reason to believe, that she was entirely unacquainted with the plan, and that the first knowledge of it, was when Arnold went to tell her he must banish himself from his country and from her for ever. She instantly fell into a convulsion, and he left her in that situation.

This morning she is more composed. I paid her a visit, and endeavored to soothe her by every method in my power; though you may imagine she is not easily to be consoled. Added to her other distresses, she is very apprehensive the resentment of her country will fall upon her (who is only unfortunate) for the guilt of her husband.

I have tried to persuade her that her fears are ill founded; but she will not be convinced. She received us in bed, with every circumstance that would interest our sympathy: and her sufferings were so eloquent, that I wished myself her brother, to have a right to become her defender. As it is, I have entreated her to enable me to give her proofs of my friendship. Could I forgive Arnold for sacrificing his honor, reputation, and duty, I could not forgive him for acting a part that must have forfeited the esteem of so fine a woman. At present she almost forgets his crime in his misfortunes; and her horror at the guilt of the traitor, is lost in her love of the man. But a virtuous mind cannot long esteem a base one; and time will make her despise if it cannot make her hate.

A. Hamilton.

HAMILTON TO MISS SCHUYLER.

Tappan, Oct. 2, 1780.

Poor André suffers to-day. Every thing that is amiable in virtue, in fortitude, in delicate sentiment, and accomplished manners, pleads for him: but hard-hearted policy calls for a sacrifice. He must die----. I send you my account of Arnold’s affair; and to justify myself to your sentiments, I must inform you, that I urged a compliance with André’s request to be shot; and I do not think it would have had an ill effect: but some people are only sensible to motives of policy, and sometimes, from a narrow disposition, mistake it.

When André’s tale comes to be told, and present resentment is over; the refusing him the privilege of choosing the manner of his death will be branded with too much obstinacy.

It was proposed to me to suggest to him the idea of an exchange for Arnold; but I knew I should have forfeited his esteem by doing it, and therefore declined it. As a man of honor he could not but reject it; and I would not for the world have proposed to him a thing which must have placed me in the unamiable light of supposing him capable of meanness, or of not feeling myself the impropriety of the measure. I confess to you, I had the weakness to value the esteem of a dying man, because I reverenced his merit.

A. Hamilton.

SCHUYLER TO HAMILTON.

Albany, October 10, 1780.

My Dear Sir:

I am still confined to my room, but believe my disorder has taken a favorable turn, and that I shall soon be tolerably restored.

Colonel Van Schaick informs me that he is ordered down with his regiment. We are so sadly off here for directors, that I most sincerely wish he had been permitted to remain here: his deafness will render him little serviceable with his regiment.

I am informed that some people have recommended, or intend to recommend, to the General, to evacuate Fort Schuyler. I hope it will not take place, as the enemy would immediately occupy the ground, and make it a receptacle for Indians and tories, from whence to pour destruction on the country. A certain Lieutenant Laird, of the militia, who was carried off, or went off voluntarily, with Sir John Johnson, when last in the country, is returned, and advises that about two thousand men were collected at St. John’s to make separate attacks on the Grants, Saratoga, and the Mohawk river. If this be true, it was probably intended as a co-operating plan, if Sir Harry had come up the river. An Express is this moment arrived, announcing that about five hundred men of the enemy are arrived at the Canajoharie Falls. If this should be confirmed, I shall venture to advise Van Schaick to detain his regiment, and hope it will meet the General’s approbation. It is said the enemy are fortifying at Oswego. I hope the garrison for that place will be speedily sent up.