Tales, Traditions and Romance of Border and Revolutionary Times

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

Having disguised himself as a schoolmaster, he crossed the Sound at Fairfield, to Huntingdon, and proceeded thence to Brooklyn. This was in September, 1776. When he arrived at Brooklyn, the enemy had already taken possession of New York. He crossed over to the city, his disguise unsuspected, and pursued the objects of his mission. He examined all their fortifications with care, and obtained every information relative to the number of the enemy, their intentions, etc. Having accomplished all that he could, he left the city, and retraced his steps to Huntingdon. While here, waiting for a boat to convey him across the Sound, his apprehension was effected. There are great discrepancies in the various accounts which are given of his arrest, but all agree that it was through the means of a refugee cousin, who detected his disguise. According to one account, while he was at Huntingdon, a boat came to the shore, which he at first supposed to be one from Connecticut, but which proved to be from an English vessel lying in the Sound. He incautiously approached the boat, and was recognized by his Tory relative, who was in the boat at the time. He was arrested, and sent to New York.

There can not be a more striking proof of the different value set upon the services of André and Hale by their respective nations, than the fact afforded by the different manner of their arrest. There was not a single circumstance connected with the capture of André, but what is known to every reader of history, but in the case of Hale, who stands André's equal in every particular, it is not even known with certainty how he was apprehended. We have a few uncertain legends relative to it, but these are widely different, some making him arrested on the Sound, some on the island, and others on the outskirts of the city. But there was one circumstance connected with Hale's capture, which should enhance our sympathy for him. André fell into the American hands by means of the sagacity, watchfulness, and fidelity of our own soldiers; but Hale was betrayed by the base perfidy and treason of a renegade relative. And what two opposite phases of human nature does the contrast between these two incidents afford! In the first, we find three men, three poor men, so fixed in principle and determined in right, that the most tempting offers—offers when an assent would have given them wealth, ease, and luxury—were refused. Strong honesty overcame temptation, and they were content to struggle on in poverty, oblivion, and privation, with unsullied hearts, rather than feast and riot in luxury. But in the latter incident, we find one of the most execrable acts recorded in history. The betrayal of Hale by his relative, contrasted with the stem integrity of André's captors, affords a most striking picture.

We are all aware of what followed the capture of André. He was tried before an honorable court, and while strict justice demanded his life, the necessity was deplored by his judges, and his fate aroused in every heart the keenest sympathy and the deepest sorrow. But how widely different was the unhappy end of the noble Hale! He was surrendered to the incarnate fiend, Cunningham, the Provost-Marshal, and ordered to immediate execution, without even the formality of a trial.

The twenty-first of September, 1776, was a day to be remembered in New York. From Whitehall to Barclay Street, a conflagration raged along both sides of Broadway, in which, four hundred and ninety-three houses, or about one-third of the city, was laid in ashes. The College Green, and a change of wind, only arrested the swift destruction. On that day, the dignified, harsh, cold, and courtly Howe, had his head-quarters at the Beekman House, (now standing at the corner of Fifty-first Street and First Avenue) on the East River, about three and a quarter miles from the Park. The conflagration, checked, but not subdued, still clouded the air, when a generous youth, of high intelligence, kindly manners, and noble character, was brought into the presence of this stern dignitary. That youth was charged with being a spy, and the allegation was substantiated by some military sketches and notes found on his person. In this court of last resort, Hale dropped all disguises, and at once proclaimed himself an American officer and a spy. He attempted no plea of extenuation; he besought no pardoning clemency; he promised no transfer of allegiance. He waited calmly, with no unmanly fears, the too evident sentence which was to snap his brittle thread of life. Howe kept him not long waiting, but at once wrote a brief order, giving to William Cunningham, Provost Marshal of the Royal army, the care and custody of the body of Nathan Hale, Captain in the rebel army, this day convicted as a spy, and directing him to be hung by the neck until dead, "to-morrow morning at daybreak."

Dare we allow our sad and sympathizing fancies to follow the young hero to the old Provost, where one night only remained to him of earth? It is difficult to conceive a night of greater distress, or more thronged with memories, endurances, and anticipations. Never was prison presided over by a more insatiate monster than this Cunningham. All the surroundings were of the most forbidding character. The coming morning was to conduct the prisoner, through unspeakable contumely, to the portals of eternity. He calmly asked that his hands might be loosed, and that a light and writing materials might be supplied, to enable him to write to his parents and friends. Cunningham denied the request! Hale asked for the use of a Bible, and even this was savagely refused.

Thank God, there was one there with enough of the heart and feelings of a man, to be roused to energetic remonstrance by such malignant inhumanity. The Lieutenant of Hale's guard earnestly and successfully besought that these requests be granted. In the silent hours, so swiftly bearing him on to the verge of his dear and happy life, the strong soul of the martyr was permitted to write, for loved eyes its parting messages. Doubtless, one of these was to the sweet Alice Adams, the maiden to whom he was betrothed. On came the swift and fatal morning, and with it the diabolical Cunningham, eager to luxuriate in another's woe. Hale handed him the letters he had written; Cunningham at once read them, and, growing furious at their high spirit, tore them to pieces before the writer's eyes. He afterward gave, as his reason, "that the rebels should never know they had a man who could die with such firmness."

Confronted by this representative of His Majesty, cheered by no voice of friendship, or even of sympathy, beset by the emblems and ministers of ignominious death, Hale stood on the fatal spot. His youthful face transfigured with the calm peace of a triumphant martyr; a life, suffused with religious sensibilities, and blooming with holy love, then and there culminated.

The ritual of disgrace had been performed, and a single refinement of malice, was all that even Cunningham's ingenuity could devise; he demanded "a dying speech and confession." Humanity had begun to assert itself in the crowd of curious gazers, for pity was swelling up in many hearts, finding expression in stifled sobs. Firm and calm, glowing with purification and self-sacrifice, Hale seemed to gather up his soul out of his body, as, with solemn emphasis, he gave answer to this last demand of malignity:

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

Why have not we a sky-piercing monument, wherein is set a tablet of solid silver, whereon those words are printed in letters of pure gold?