PROLOGUE. Spoken by Mr. Martin.

A Native Bard, a native scene displays,

And claims your candour for his daring lays:

Daring, so soon, in mimic scenes to shew,

What each remembers as a real woe.

Who has forgot when gallant Andre died?

A name by Fate to Sorrow's self allied.

Who has forgot, when o'er the untimely bier,

Contending armies paus'd, to drop a tear.

 Our Poet builds upon a fact to-night;

Yet claims, in building, every Poet's right:

To choose, embellish, lop, or add, or blend,

Fiction with truth, as best may suit his end;

Which, he avows, is pleasure to impart,

And move the passions but to mend the heart.

 O, may no party-spirit blast his views,

Or turn to ill the meanings of the Muse:

She sings of wrongs long past, Men as they were,

To instruct, without reproach, the Men that are;

Then judge the Story by the genius shown,

And praise, or damn it, for its worth alone.

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.

Clapton, October 3, 1769.

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, 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 Boiffier 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 leaft scrap of a letter will be received 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 un say — 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 with 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 roundabout 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 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 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,

Your affectionate and faithful friend,

J. ANDRE.

LETTER II.

London, October 19, 1769.

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 servent 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 cornucopies that disembogue their stores upon his head; Mercuries 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 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,

If here in the city we have nothing but riot,

If the Spitalfield weavers can't be kept quiet.

If the weather is fine, or the streets should be dirty

Or if Mr. Dick Wilson died aged of thirty?

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 — —

Then rustling and bustling the lady comes down,

With a flaming red face, and a broad yellow gown,

And a hobbling out-of-breath gait, and a srown.

This little French cousin of ours, Delariseé, was my sister Mary's play-fellow at Paris. His sprightliness engages my sisters extremely. Doubtles 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 it 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

JOHN ANDRE.

LETTER III.

Clapton, November 1, 1769.

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 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 advance 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 or my part shall be wanting which may induce thee to fulfil thy blossoming promises.

The happy, social circle, Julia, Honora , Miss S---n, 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 being 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 higher, 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 affection under heaven, asked him if he wanted any thing; that he had plenty of nails, ropes, &c. in his cart — — That wretch of 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 highler's countenance.

I know you interest yourself in my destiny — — I have now compietely 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 Henconian 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!

J. ANDRE.

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.'"

In the year 1780 Major André amused himself and his friends by writing the following little Poem, called the Cow Chace ; and Mr. James Rivington, at that time printer to his Britannic Majesty in New-York, says, that the poet gave him the last Canto the day before he left town on the fatal expedition, and that it appeared in the Royal Gazette the morning of the day André was taken. The last stanza has been called prophetic; and the perile idea has been entertained by many, and even adopted by Miss Seward, that this triffling performance influenced the Court-martial in their decision on the trial of its author!

THE COW CHACE.

CANTO I.

To drive the kine one summer's morn,

 The tanner took his way;

The calf shall rue that is unborn

 The jumbling of that day.

And Wayne descending steers shall know,

 And tauntingly deride,

And call to mind in every low

 The tanning of his hide.

Yet Bergen cows still ruminate

 Unconscious in the stall,

What mighty means were used to get

 And loose them after all.

For many heroes bold and brave

 From New-Bridge and Tapaan,

And those that drink Passaick's wave,

 And those that eat soupaan;

And sons of distant Delaware,

 And still remoter Shannon,

And Major Lee, with horses rare,

 And Proctor with his cannon:

All wound'rous proud in arms they came;

 What hero could refuse,

To tread the rugged path to fame,

 Who had a pair of shoes?

At six the host with sweating buff,

 Arrived at freedom's pole;

When Wayne, who thought he'd time enough,

 Thus speechified the whole:

"O ye whom glory doth unite,

 Who freedom's cause espouse,

Whether the wing that's doom'd to fight,

 Or that to drive the cows!

Ere yet you tempt your further way,

 Or into action come,

Hear, soldiers, what I have to say,

 And take a pint of rum.

Intemp'rate valour then will string

 Each nervous arm the better;

So all the land shall IO sing,

 And read the Gen'ral's letter.

Know that some paltry refugees

 Whom I've a mind to fight,

Are playing h---l amongst the trees,

 That grow on younder height.

Their fort and block-houses we'll level,

 And deal a horrid slaughter;

We'll drive the scondrels to the devil,

I, under cover of th' attack,

 Whilst you are all at blows,

From English Neighb'rood and Tinack

 Will drive away the cows.

For well you know the latter is

 The serious operation;

And fighting with the refugees

 Is only demonstration."

His daring words from all the crowd

 Such great applause did gain,

That every man declar'd aloud

 For serious work with Wayne.

Then from the cask of rum once more

 They took a heady jill,

When one and all they loudly swore

 They'd fight upon the hill.

But here — — the Muse has not a strain

 Befitting such great deeds;

Huzza, they cried, huzza for Wayne

CANTO II.

NEAR his meridian pomp the sun

 Had journey's from th' horizon,

When fierce the dusky tribe mov'd on,

 Of heroes drunk as poison.

The sounds confused of boasting oaths,

 Re-echoed thro' the wood;

Some vow'd to sleep in dead men's clothes

 And some to swim in blood.

At Irvine's nod 'twas fine to see

 The left prepare to fight,

The while the drovers, Wayne and Lee,

 Drew off upon the right.

Which Irvine 'twas, Fame don't relate,

 Nor can the Muse assist her,

Whether 'twas he that cocks a hat,

 Or he that

For greatly one was signalized,

 That fought at Chesnut-Hill;

And Canda immortalized

 The vender of the pill.

Yet the attendance upon Proctor,

 They both might have to boast of;

For there was business for the doctor,

 And hats to be disposed of.

Let none uncandidly infer,

 That Stirling wanted spunk;

The self-made peer had sure been there,

 But that the peer was drunk.

But turn we to the Hudson's banks,

 Where stood the modest train,

With purpose firm, tho' slender ranks,

 Nor car'd a pin for Wayne.

For them the unrelenting hand

 Of rebel fury drove,

And tore from ev'ry genial band,

 Of friendship and of love.

And some within a dungeon's gloom,

 By mock tribunals laid;

Had waited long a cruel doom,

 Impending o'er their heads.

Here one bewails a brother's fate,

 There one a sire demands,

Cut off, alas! before their date,

 By ignominious hands.

And silver'd grandsires here appear'd,

 In deep distress serene,

Of reverend manners, that declared

 The better days they'd seen.

Oh curs'd rebellion! these are thine,

 Thine are these tales of woe;

Shall at thy dire insatiate shrine

 Blood never cease to flow?

And now the foe began to lead

 His forces to the attack;

Balls whistling unto balls succeed,

 And make the block-house crack.

No shot could pass if you will take

 The Gen'ral's word for true;

But 'tis a d---ble mistake,

 For ev'ry shot went thro'.

The firmer as the rebels press'd,

 The loyal heroes stand;

Virtue had nerv'd each honest breast,

 And industry each hand.

"In valour's phrenzy, Hamilton

 Rode like a soldier big,

And secretary Harrison,

 With pen stuck in his wig."

"But least their chieftain Washington,

 Should mourn them in the mumps,

The fate of Withrington to shun,

 They fought behind the stumps."

But ah, Thadæus Posset, why

 Should thy poor soul elope?

And why should Titus Hooper die,

 Ah die — without a rope?

Apostate Murphy, thou to whom

 Fair Shela ne'er was cruel,

In death shalt hear her mourn thy doom,

 Auch wou'd you die my jewel?

Thee Nathan Pumpkin I lament,

 Of melancholy fate,

The grey goose stolen as he went,

 In his heart's blood was wet.

Now as the fight was further fought,

 And balls began to thicken,

The fray assum'd, the Gen'rals thought,

 The colour of a licking.

Yet undismay'd the chiefs command,

 And, to redeem the day,

Cry, SOLDIERS CHARGE! they hear, they stand,

 They turn, and run away.

CANTO III.

NOT all delights the bloody spear,

 Or horrid din of battle,

There are, I'm sure, who'd like to hear,

 A word about the cattle.

The chief whom we beheld of late,

 Near Schralenberg haranguing,

At Yan Van Poop's, unconscious sat,

 Of Irvine's hearty banging.

Whilst valiant Lee, with courage wild,

 Most bravely did oppose

The tears of woman and of child,

 Who begg'd he'd leave the cows.

But Wayne, of sympathising heart,

 Required a relief,

Not all the blessings could impart

 Of battle or of beef;

For now a prey to female charms,

 His soul took more delight in

A lovely Hamadryad's arms,

 Than cow driving or fighting:

A nympth, the refugees had drove,

 Far from her native tree,

Just happen'd to be on the move,

 When up came Wayne and Lee.

She in mad Anthony's fierce eye,

 The hero saw poutray'd;

And all in tears she took him by

  — — The bridle of his jade.

Hear, said the nymph, O great commander!

 No human lamentations;

The trees you see them cutting younder,

 Are all my near relations.

And I, forlorn! implore thine aid,

 To free the sacred grove;

So shall thy prowess be repaid

 With an Immortal's love.

Now some, to prove she was a Goddess,

 Said this enchanting fair

Had late retired fore the bodies ,

 In all the pomp of war.

That drums and merry fifes had play'd

 To honor her retreat,

And Cunningham himself convey'd

 The lady thro' the street.

Great Wayne, by soft compassion sway'd,

 To no inquiry stoops,

But takes the fair afflicted maid

  Right into Yan Van Poop's.

So Roman Anthony, they say,

 Disgraced the imperial banner,

And for a gypsy lost the day,

 Like Anthony the tanner.

When drums and colours, cow and calf,

 Came down the read amain:

All in a cloud of dust were seen

 The sheep, the horse, the goat,

The gentle heifer, ass obscene,

 The yearling and the shoat.

And pack-horses with fowls came by,

 Befeather'd on each side,

Like Pegasus, the horse that I

 And other poets ride.

Sublime upon his stirrups rose

 The mighty Lee behind,

And drove the terror-smitten cows

 Like chaff before the wind.

But sudden see the woods above

 Pour down another corps;

All helter skelter in a drove,

 Like that I sung before.

Irvine and terror in the van

 Came flying all abroad;

And cannon, colours, horse and man,

 Ran tumbling to the road.

Still as he fled, 'twas Irvine's cry,

 And his example too,

"Run on, my merry men all — For why?

 The shot will not go thro'."

Five refugees ('tis true) were found

 Stiff on the block-house floor,

But then 'tis thought the shot went round,

 And in at the back door.

As when too kennels in the street,

 Swell'd with a recent rain,

In gushing streams together meet,

 And seek the neighbouring drain:

So met these dung-born tribes in one,

 As swift in their career;

And so to New-Bridge they ran on, —

 But all the cows got clear.

Poor parson — — , all in wonder,

 Saw the returning train,

And mourn'd to Wayne the lack of plunder

 For them to steal again.

For 'twas his right to seize the spoil, and

 To share with each commander,

As he had done at Staten-Island,

 With frost-bit Alexander.

In his dismay the frantic priest

 Began to grow prophetic,

You'd swore, to see his lab'ring breast,

 He'd taken an emetic.

I view a future day, said he,

 Brighter than this day dark is,

And you shall see what you shall see,

 Ha! ha! one pretty Marquis;

And he shall come to Paul's-book,

 And great achievements think on;

And make a bow, and take a look,

 Like mean over Lincoln.

And all the land around shall glory

 To see the Frenchmen caper,

And pretty Susan tell the story

 In the next Chatham paper.

This solemn prophecy, of course,

 Gave all much consolation,

Except to Wayne, who lost his horse

 Upon the great occasion.

His horse that carried all his prog,

 His military speeches,

His corn-stalk whisky for his grog,

 Blue stockings, and brown breeches.

And now I've clos'd my epic strain,

 I tremble as I shew it,

Lest this same warrior-drover, Wayne,

 Should ever catch the poet.

TRIAL OF MAJOR JOHN ANDRE.

Extracts of Letters from General Washington to the President of Congress.

Robinson's House, in the Highlands, Sept. 26, 1780.

SIR,

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 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.

Paramus, October 7, 1780.

SIR,

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 on the Army of the United States of America, respecting Major Ander , Adjutant-General of the British Army, September the 29 th, 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.

Gentlemen,

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 seigned name, and with the enclosed papers concealed upon him. After a careful examination, you will be pleased, as 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.

I have the honor to be, gentlemen, Your most obedient and humble servant, G. WASHINGTON.

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:

Salem, September 24, 1780.

SIR,

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 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 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.

I have the honor to be, with great respect, Sir, Your Excellency's most obedient, and most humble servant, JOHN ANDRE, Adjutant-General.

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 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:

New-York, the 7th Sept . 1780.

SIR,

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 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 risk 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,

Your most obedient humble servant,

JOHN ANDERSON.

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 fanction 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.

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 September, 1780, (inclosing a letter of the same date from Benedict Arnold) to General Washington.

On board the Vulture, Sept. 25, 1780.

SIR,

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.

I have the honor to be, with great regard and esteem, Your Excellency's most obedient humble servant, B. ARNOLD.

His Excellency General Washington.

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.

Vulture, off Sinsinck, Sept. 25, 1780.

SIR,

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 detained 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.

I am, Sir, not forgetting former acquaintance, Your very humble servant, BEV. ROBINSON, Col. Loyal Americans.

His Excellency General Washington.

New-York, Sept. 26, 1780.

SIR,

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 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.

I have the honor to be, your Excellency's most obedient and most humble servant. H. CLINTON.

His Excellency General Washington.

New-York. Sept. 26, 1780.

SIR,

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.

I have the honor to be, your Excellency's most obedient and very humble servant,

His Excellency Sir Henry Clinton.

B.ARNOLD.

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. Knom, 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.

Tappan, Sept 29, 1780.

SIR,

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 circutous 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.

I receive the greatest attention from his Excellency General Washington, and from every person under whose charge I happen to be placed.

I have the honor to be, With the most respectful attachment, Your Excellency's most obedient, and most humble servant,

(Addressed)   JOHN ANDRE, Adjutant-General.

His Excellency Gen. Sir Henry Clinton, K. B.&c. &c.

Copy of a Letter from his Excellency General Washington, to his Excellency Sir Henry Clinton.

Head-Quarters, Sept. 30, 1780.

SIR,

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."

I have the honor to be your Excellency's Most obedient and most humble servant,

(Addressed)   G. WASHINGTON.

His Excellency Sir Henry Clinton.

In this letter, Major André's of the 29th of September to Sir Henry Clinton was transmitted.

New-York, 29 th Sept. 1780.

SIR,

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 duty to make this representation and request.

I am, Sir, your Excellency's Most obedient humble servant, JAMES ROBERTSON, Lieutenant-General.

His Excellency General Washington.

Tappan, Sept. 30, 1780.

SIR,

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.

I am, Sir, Your most obedient humble servant, G. WASHINGTON.

His Excellency Lieut. Gen. Robertson, New-York.

New-York, Sept. 30, 1780.

SIR,

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 Roberson, 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.

I have the honor to be your Excellency's Most obedient and most humble servant, H. CLINTON.

P. S. The Hon. Andrew Elliot, Esq. Lieutenant-Governor, and the Hon. William Smith, Chief-Justice of this provicne, will attend his Excellency Lieutenant-General Robertson.

H. C.

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 Greeue, 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.

New-York, October 1, 1780.

SIR,

I TAKE this opportunity to inform your Excellency, that I consider myself no longer acting under the commission 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.

I have the honor to be, very respectfully, Your Excellency's most obedient humble servant, B. ARNOLD.

His Excellency General Washington.

Greyhound Schooner, Flag of Truce.

Dobb's Ferry, Oct. 2, 1780.

SIR

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 desie, in a boat sent for him with a flag of truce; that he not only came ashor 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 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. 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.

I have the honor to be your Excellency's Most obedient, and most humble servant, JAMES ROBERTSON.

His Excellency General Washington.

New-York, October 1, 1780.

SIR,

THE polite attention shewn by your Excellency and the gentlemen of your family to Mrs. Arnold, when in distress, 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 light 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 duty and honor, to retaliate on such unhappy persons of your army as may fall within my power, that the respect due to 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 Andre.

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.

I have the honor to be, with due respect, Your Excellency's most obedient, and very humble servant, B. ARNOLD.

His Excellency General Washington.

Tappan, October 1, 1780.

SIR,

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 shall experience the operation of these feelings in your breast, by being informed that I am not to die on a gibbet.

I have the honor to be your Excellency's Most obedient, and most humble servant, JOHN ANDRE, Adj. Gen. to the British army.

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.

Published by Order of Congress, CHARLES THOMSON , Secretary.

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 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.

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 infinuating. 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.

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 even to magnify it.

I speak not to Andre'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 Andre. while we could not but condemn him if we were to examine his conduct by the sober rules of philosophy and moral rectitude.