And on the 1st of November, 1878, he was able to report to the directors:
“It is not eighteen months since I purchased from some of your then directors a majority of the stock of your company at such a price that to-day it sells for more than five times as much as it cost me; and at the same time I bought from the same parties a very large amount of bonds, and to-day they sell for more than double what they cost me, including seven per cent. interest to date. The above stock and bonds I purchased on the express condition that the contracts of the company with certain parties to build this road for one million two hundred thousand dollars per mile ($1,200,000), payable one-half in stock and the balance in first mortgage bonds of this company at par, should be cancelled. The amount that has been saved to this company by the cancelling of this contract you all well know.”
William O. McDowell, in Harper’s Magazine for June, 1893, writes:
“At the time of the strike of the engineers on the elevated road in New York I had a part in bringing the representatives of the engineers and the late Cyrus W. Field, a director in the elevated company, to a meeting that resulted in a quick understanding between the conflicting interests and an ending of the strike. Mr. Field was so pleased with the fairness of the committee representing the engineers with whom he had to deal that he invited them at once to dine with him at Delmonico’s, an invitation which their representatives declined for them, fearing that its acceptance might be misunderstood. Mr. Field, however, continued to feel that he wished to extend some social courtesy to the employés of the elevated road, and at a later date, when he was all-powerful in that corporation, he issued a formal invitation to the employés to a reception at his house. To a large number the initials ‘R. S. V. P.’ on the lower corner of the invitation were a great mystery, and, as the story goes, the invited compared notes and sought an explanation of them. At last one bright young man announced that he had discovered what they meant, and he explained to the others that ‘R. S. V. P.’ stood for ‘Reduced salaries very probable.’ ”
This story is true, but the end is not given. The men accepted the invitation, enjoyed their supper, and listened with great interest to a speech made by Mr. Peter Cooper, which lasted over an hour. Mr. Cooper told the men of New York as it was in 1800, and the story of his life.
Dean Stanley preached in Calvary Church on Sunday evening, October 7, 1878. He came to Mr. Field’s home at Irvington the following morning. Soon after breakfast on Tuesday the family realized that their guest was more familiar with the history of this part of the country than they were. It was just above Tarrytown that Major André had been captured; he was executed across the river. That was enough to excite the curiosity of the visitors, and at dinner on Tuesday evening it was proposed to the dean that the next morning he should cross the river to Tappan and find the spot. This was not easily done; no one knew the exact place. There was Washington’s headquarters, and he had closed his shutters so as not to see André hanged, so that the scene of the execution must have been near that house. At last an old man of over ninety came and said that in 1821, when André’s body was removed to England, he had stood by and had seen the grave opened; and that the roots of an apple-tree, which he pointed out, were twisted about the head of the coffin. The drive had been so long that it was past three o’clock before the party returned; and not until dinner did they tell that their search had been successful. It was then that Mr. Field said: “Mr. Dean, if you will write an inscription I will buy the land and put up a stone, and then the place will be known.” His idea was simply to mark an event in the history of the country; but a part of the press insisted that an American had erected a monument to a British spy, and this was reiterated far and wide, and flew from the Atlantic to the Pacific.
Dean Stanley felt this keenly, and wrote:
“If you find that there is really a feeling against it, pray do not think of it. The game is not worth the candle. Poor Major André, engaging as he was, is not worth the rekindling forgotten animosities.”
The monument was twice injured by explosion of dynamite. After the second of these, on November 3, 1885, Mr. Field refused to replace the stone. He said that the spot was now sufficiently marked. On the stone were these words:
Here died, October 2, 1780,
Major John André, of the British Army,
Who, entering the American Lines
On a Secret Mission to Benedict Arnold,
For the Surrender of West Point,
Was taken Prisoner, tried, and condemned as a Spy.
His Death,
Though according to the stern code of war,
Moved even his enemies to pity,
And both armies mourned the fate
Of one so young and so brave.
In 1821 his remains were removed to Westminster Abbey.
A hundred years after the execution
This stone was placed above the spot where he lay
By a citizen of the United States, against which he fought,
Not to perpetuate the record of strife,
But in token of those better feelings
Which have since united two nations
One in race, in language, and one in religion,
With the hope that this friendly union
Will never be broken.