MAJOR ANDRÉ.
(Vol. viii., pp. 174. 604.)
The following extracts and cuttings from newspapers, relative to the unfortunate Major André, may interest your correspondent Serviens. I believe I have some others, which I will send when I can lay my hand upon them. I inclose a pencil copy of the scarce print of a sketch from a pen-and-ink drawing, made by André himself on Oct. 1, 1780, of his crossing the river when he was taken:
"Visit to the Grave of André.—We stopped at Piermont, on the widest part of Tappan Bay, where the Hudson extends itself to the width of three miles. On the opposite side, in full view from the hotel, is Tarrytown, where poor André was captured. Tradition says that a very large white-wood tree, under which he was taken, was struck by lightning on the very day that news of André's death was received at Tarrytown. As I sat gazing on the opposite woods, dark in the shadows of moonlight, I thought upon how very slight a circumstance often depends the fate of individuals and the destiny of nations. In the autumn of 1780, a farmer chanced to be making cider at a mill on the east bank of the Hudson, near that part of Haverstraw Bay called 'Mother's Lap.' Two young men, carrying muskets, as usual in those troubled times, stopped for a draught of sweet cider, and seated themselves on a log to wait for it. The farmer found them looking very intently on some distant object, and inquired what they saw. 'Hush, hush!' they replied; 'the red coats are yonder, just within the Lap,' pointing to an English gun-boat, with twenty-four men, lying on their oars. Behind the shelter of a rock, they fired into the boat, and killed two persons. The British returned a random shot; but ignorant of the number of their opponents, and seeing that it was useless to waste ammunition on a hidden foe, they returned whence they came with all possible speed. This boat had been sent to convey Major André to the British sloop-of-war Vulture, then lying at anchor off Teller's Point. Shortly after André arrived, and finding the boat gone, he, in attempting to pass through the interior, was captured. Had not those men stopped to drink sweet cider, it is probable that André would not have been hung; the American revolution might have terminated in quite a different fashion; men now deified as heroes might have been handed down to posterity as traitors; our citizens might be proud of claiming descent from Tories, and slavery have been abolished eight years ago, by virtue of our being British Colonies. So much may depend on a draught of cider! But would England herself have abolished slavery had it not been for the impulse given to free principles by the American revolution? Probably not. It is not easy to calculate the consequences involved even in a draught of cider, for no fact stands alone; each has infinite relations. A very pleasant ride at sunset brought us to Orange Town, to the lone field where Major André was executed. It is planted with potatoes, but the plough spares the spot on which was once his gallows and his grave. A rude heap of stones, with the remains of a dead fir tree in the midst, are all that mark it; but tree and stones are covered with names. It is on an eminence commanding a view of the country for miles. I gazed on the surrounding woods, and remembered that on this selfsame spot, the beautiful and accomplished young man walked back and forth, a few minutes preceding his execution, taking an earnest farewell look of earth and sky. My heart was sad within me. Our guide pointed to a house in full view, at half a mile's distance, which he told us was at that time the head-quarters of General Washington. I turned my back suddenly upon it. The last place on earth where I would wish to think of Washington is at the grave of André. I know that military men not only sanction but applaud the deed; and, reasoning according to the maxims of war, I am well aware how much can be said in his defence. That Washington considered it a duty, the discharge of which was most painful to him, I doubt not. But, thank God, the instincts of any childhood are unvitiated by any such maxims. From the first hour I read of the deed, until the present day, I never did, and never could, look upon it as otherwise than cool, deliberate murder. That the theory and practice of war commends the transaction, only serves to prove the infernal nature of war itself.... A few years ago, the Duke of York requested the British Consul to send the remains of Major André to England. At that time two thriving firs were found near the grave, and a peach-tree; which a lady in the neighbourhood had planted there, in the kindness of her heart. The farmers who came to witness the interesting ceremony generally evinced the most respectful tenderness for the memory of the unfortunate dead, and many of the children wept. A few idlers, educated by militia trainings and Fourth of July declaration, began to murmur that the memory of General Washington was insulted by any respect shown to the remains of André; but the offer of a treat lured them to the tavern, where they soon became too drunk to guard the character of Washington. It was a beautiful day, and these disturbing spirits being removed, the impressive ceremony proceeded in solemn silence. The coffin was in good preservation, and contained all the bones, with a small quantity of dust. The roots of the peach-tree had entirely interwoven the skull with their fine network. His hair, so much praised for its uncommon beauty, was tied, on the day of his execution, according to the fashion of the times. When his grave was opened, half a century afterwards, the riband was found in perfect preservation, and sent to his sister in England. When it was known that the sarcophagus containing his remains had arrived in New York, for London, many ladies sent garlands and emblematic devices, to be wreathed around it, in memory of the 'beloved and lamented André.' In their compassionate hearts, the teachings of nature were unperverted by maxims of war, or that selfish jealousy which dignifies itself with the name of patriotism. Blessed be God, that custom forbids women to electioneer or fight. May the sentiment remain till war and politics have passed away! Had not women and children been kept free from their polluting influence, the medium of communication between earth and heaven would have been completely cut off. At the foot of the eminence where the gallows had been erected, we found an old Dutch farm-house, occupied by a man who witnessed the execution, and whose father often sold peaches to the unhappy prisoner. He confirmed the account of André's uncommon personal beauty, and had a vivid remembrance of the pale but calm heroism with which he met his untimely death."—From Miss Child's Letters from New York.
"André.—At the little town of Tappan, the unfortunate Major André, condemned by the council of war as a spy, was executed and buried. His remains were disinterred a few years ago, by order of the English Government, carried to England, and, if I mistake not, deposited in Westminster Abbey; whilst the remains of General Frazer, who fell like a hero, at the head of the King's troops, lie without a monument in the old redoubt near Still Water. The tree that grew over André's grave was likewise sent to England; and, as I was told, planted in the King's Garden, behind Carlton Palace."—Duke of Weimar's Travels.
"Disinterment of Major André.—This event took place at Tappan on Friday, 10th inst., at one p. m., amidst a considerable concourse of ladies and gentlemen that assembled to witness this interesting ceremony. The British Consul, with several gentlemen, accompanied by the proprietor of the ground and his labourers, commenced their operations at eleven o'clock, by removing the heap of loose stones that surrounded and partly covered the grave. Great caution was observed in taking up a small peach-tree that was growing out of the grave, as the Consul stated his intention of sending it to his Majesty, to be placed in one of the Royal Gardens. Considerable anxiety was felt lest the coffin could not be found, as various rumours existed of its having been removed many years ago. However, when at the depth of three feet, the labourers came to it. The lid was broken in the centre, and had partly fallen in, but was kept up by resting on the skull. The lid being raised, the skeleton of the brave André appeared entire; bone to bone, each in its place, without a vestige of any other part of his remains, save some of his hair, which appeared in small tufts; and the only part of his dress was the leather string which tied it.
"As soon as the curiosity of the spectators was gratified, a large circle was formed; when Mr. Eggleso, the undertaker, with his assistants, uncovered the sarcophagus, into which the remains were carefully removed. This superb depository, in imitation of those used in Europe for the remains of the illustrious dead, was made by Mr. Eggleso, of Broadway, of mahogany; the pannels covered with rich crimson velvet, surrounded by a gold bordering; the rings of deep burnished gold; the pannel also crimson velvet, edged with gold; the inside lined with black velvet; the whole supported by four gilt balls.
"The sarcophagus, with the remains, has been removed on board his Majesty's packet; where, it is understood, as soon as some repairs on board are completed, an opportunity will be afforded of viewing it."—From the New York Evening Post of Aug. 11.
"The remains of the lamented Major André have (as our readers already know) been lately removed from the spot where they were originally interred in the year 1780, at Tappan, New York, and brought to England in the Phæton frigate by order of his Royal Highness the Duke of York. Yesterday the sarcophagus was deposited in front of the cenotaph in Westminster Abbey, which was erected by his late Majesty to the memory of this gallant officer. The reinterment took place in the most private manner, the Dean of Westminster superintending in person, Major-Gen. Sir Herbert Taylor attending on the part of his Royal Highness the Commander-in-Chief and Mr. Locker, Secretary to Greenwich Hospital, on behalf of the three surviving sisters of the deceased."—From newspaper of which the name and date have not been preserved.
G. C.
With many thanks for the obliging replies to my Query for information concerning this gentleman, I would desire to repeat it in a more specific form. Can none of your readers inform me whether there do not remain papers, &c. of or concerning Major André, which might without impropriety be at this late day given to the world; and if so, by what means access could be had thereto? Are there none such in the British Museum, or in the State Paper Offices? My name and address are placed with the Editor of this journal, at the service of any correspondent who may prefer to communicate with me privately.
Serviens.
Major André occupied Dr. Franklin's house when the British army was in Philadelphia in 1777 and 1778. When it evacuated the city, André carried off with him a portrait of the Doctor, which has never been heard of since. The British officers amused themselves with amateur theatricals at the South Street Theatre in Southwark, then the only one in Philadelphia, theatres being prohibited in the city. The tradition here is, that André painted the scenes. They were
destroyed with the theatre by fire about thirty-two years ago.
M. E.
Philadelphia.