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AN ORATION

Pronounced before the

YOUNG MEN OF WESTCHESTER COUNTY,

COMPLETION OF A MONUMENT,

Erected by them to the

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CAPTORS OF MAJOR ANDRE,

AT TAliRYTOWN, OCT. 7, 1853.

BY HENRY J. RAYMOND

Nr:VV-YORK:

SAMUEL T . C A L L A II A N , I' R 1 N T K IJ , No. l\3 NASSAU ST.

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AN ORATION

Pronounced before the

YOUNG MEN OF WESTCHESTER COUNTY,

COMPLETION OF A MONUMENT,

Erected by them to the

CAPTORS OF MAJOR ANDRE

AT TARRYTOWN, OCT. 7, 1853.

BY HENRY J. RAYMOND

NEW- YORK :

SAMUEL T. CALLAHAN, PRINTER, No. 113 NASSAU STREET.

1853.

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ORATION.

As I happened, a few weeks since, to be wandering through the long drawn aisles and beneath the fretted vaults of Westminster Abbey,— that venerable pile which enshrines the ashes, and consecrates the fame, of England's illustrious and immortal dead,— my eye fell upon a monu- ment, conspicuous by its position, and proclaiming itself " Sacred to the memory of Major John Andre ; who, rais- ed by his merit," (thus the record runs,) " at an early pe- riod of his life, to the rank of Adjutant General of the British forces in America, and employed in an important but hazardous enterprise, fell a sacrifice to his zeal for his King and Country," at the early age of twenty-nine.

Placed thus high upon the hst of England's bravest and noblest men, by the immediate act of her monarch, the name of Andre is handed down to immortahty. He earned that great distinction, for which greater men have toiled through long hves, and performed deeds which have filled the world with admiration, and stamped their im- press upon the whole current of the nation's life, by the single endeavor to give shape and success to the only act of treachery which stains the annals of the Revolution, — to purchase the infamous betrayal of that holy cause which British power had proved unable to conquer, in an

open and a manly fight. The inscription upon his monu- ment justly characterises the enterprise as "important" to his King, and "hazardous" to himself. But its per- sonal hazards fell infinitely below its public importance

Andre entered upon the service doubly armed against its secret perils, first by his character as a British officer, which would shield him, on the neutral ground, from the hostility of adherents to the British camp, and second, by a pass from a General high in the American service, whose bravery had given him fame, whose fidelity was unstained by suspicion, and whose rank would have se- cured, for any one bearing his commands, free passage through ihe American camp, and prompt access to the fa- vor and friendliness of every lover of the American cause. Of danger, then, there could be but little, except what might arise from his own imprudence or lack of self- possession. But the results of the enterprise, if it should prove successful, promised to be of the most brilliant and decisive character. We, whose judgment concerning the events of that dark period of our history, is illuminated by the half century that has succeeded, cannot doubt that In- dependence of Great Britain was the destiny, not then manifest, of these United States. But human vision then could foresee as certain no such issue. The war had been waged with varying success for a series of years ; — the hearts of the most hopeful were beginning to faint ; — Congress, deserted by the strong men whose courage and wisdom had for a time breathed deliberate valor and stead- fast purpose into its counsels, seemed to be halting in the great endeavor ; — reverses had overtaken the American army in the Southern States ; — the British power of twen- ty thousand well appointed troops held New-York, and desired, above all things, first, free communication with

its army in Canada: — second, to obstruct intercourse be- tween the American forces in New-England and those in New-Jersey : — and, third, to gain possession of those large stores, provisions and munitions of war, which the Americans had collected, and without which all further resistance against the British must apparently cease.

All these ends would be attained by possession of the Hudson River, — guarded solely by the cannon that brist- led upon Fort Putnam, and the brave hearts who, under Arnold's orders, manned the fortress perched upon the West Point hills. To wrest that fortress from American hands by superior valor, or by superior power, the British troops had proved unequal. And Andre was commission- ed to buy with gold, what steel could not conquer : to drive a bargain with one ready for a price to become a traitor; — to count out the thirty pieces of silver by which British Generals and British gentlemen were not ashamed to purchase the betrayal of a cause, whose shining virtue repelled their power and dimmed the glory of their arms.

" I would, ancestral England, men might seek All crimson stains upon thy breast — not cheek !"

Far be it from me to cast reproach upon the personal character of Major Andre, or to seek to turn back the tide of sentimental pity and admiration which bears his memo- ry to succeeding times. But, in spite of all this — in spite, too, of the laws and practices of war, which have been justly styled the " satire of human nature," and which are often made to cloak the basest and the meanest deeds — the errand on which Andre was sent, in the light of mo- rality, and even of that chivalry from which modern war pretends to derive its maxims and its rules, was one of in- famy. And as I stood, on that summer day, in that sacred mausoleum of England's mighty dead, before the sarco-

phagus which holds his ashes, and mused upon the act of our great drama in which his part in Hfe had been per- formed, and upon the excess of justice and of fame by which his country has repaid the doubtful service he sought to perform on her behalf, — my thoughts reverted to that sweet spot beyond the sea, on which we stand to-day, hallowed by having been the scene of his defeat ; — to j'^on- der gentle brook which, guarded by patriotic souls, proved to be the Rubicon he could not cross ; — and to the three plain men beneath whose rustic garb beat hearts whose fidelity gold could not corrupt, and to whose noble conduct, un- der severe temptation, Washington, the army, our coun- try and the world owe their escape, from the consumma- tion of one of the foulest schemes of treachery that ever blazoned the baseness of the human heart.

Young Men of Westchester! you have done well to erect this monument, upon a spot so sanctified, in everlasting remembrance of a deed so transcendent in its relations to the freedom of America and of the world. It is among the most pious of the offices of patriotism to perpetuate, by such memorials, the excellence and the dignity of noble acts. Oblivion strenuously struggles for the possession of all things earthly ; and it needs all the aid of letters and of stone — of commemorative festival and of recorded his- tor\' — to scare away the forgetfulness which settles upon good deeds and upon the memories of worthy men. It is only a few, at the best, out of the renowned nations of the dead, whose names and characters are thus handed down to the knowledge and regard of the living that come after. Of that great multitude of noble hearts which up- held the country during our long and strenuous Revolution, — of all those thousands who aided, in the field, in coun- cil, at the hearth, by action or by endurance no less

heroic, with blows, with words, with blood, with tears, in the consummation of that great result, how small is the number whose names have been engraven on any stone, or printed on any page, or preserved in any way among the hallowed recollections of that heroic time. In oblivion and the grave they rest from their labors, and their works do follow them. It is only here and there that affectionate veneration, or a patriotic impulse, snatches one and an- other from the dreary realms of forgetful night, gives them to subsist in lasting monuments, and secures them from oblivion " in preservations below the moon." Fortunate in this, as in the felicity of their useful lives, are the three men whose memory your pious labors will perpetuate ; and fortunate in a higher sense is the country which is to have the undying benefit of their example, thus handed down to the admiration and the emulation of all coming time. To them, indeed, it matters little whether their names shall be heard ever again among men, — whether their bodies shall commingle with the dust, or be scattered by the mourning winds which sweep their native soil :

Tabesne cadavera solvat An rogus, baud refert.

But to their country, and to us their countrymen, inherit- ors of the rich blessings they did so much to secure, and to the generations yet to come to whom in turn they must be transmitted, undefiled, by us, — it is not so. For our use and our country's, this monument has risen beneath your hands. To us and to our children, are its words ad- dressed. And they are words at once of the past and for the future — words of remembrance and of hope, — words of gratitude to God evermore for his protection, and of trust evermore in his guidance and support.

How is it possible, Mr. President and Fellow Citizens,

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that we should be gathered here, on such a day, and for such a purpose, — amidst such environments, and with such attendance, — of the cherished survivors of our second war of independence, of the honored Governor of our State, of this large and imposing array of her organized and officered military power, of the beauty and the strength, the grace and the worth, of this large, fertile, and influential district, every rood of which teems with memories of the Revolu- tion— without remanding our thoughts to the incidents of that act — that most strange and eventful act — in our grand historic drama, which is directly the occasion of our com- ing together !

The eye, from where we stand, can almost take in the whole scene on which it was enacted. The same outward world surrounds us, — the same great objects, in the heavens above and on the earth beneath, changed only in such in- cidental features as the progress of civilization and of cul- ture brings with it, meet our vision, which silently watched the steps of the actors in its successive stages. The lordly Hudson still rolls its waters to the mighty sea, — as when that lone ship, rightly named the Vulture, rode its unsus- pecting breast, to do its work of treacherous and unkingly wrong. The same heavens bend over us, — the same green hills encircle us, — the same bright sun and moon which gave light to them for their work, enlighten us for ours ; and that same steadfast northern star, which, if his soul had been susceptible of such emotions, might have shamed, by its fixed fidelity, the dark purpose of Arnold's traitor heart, as it watched him all that long night of conference with his confederate and tempter, Andre, beneath the cliff, still

Unassailable, holds on his rank, Unshak'd of motion.

We stand upon the very spot where the dark plot was ar- rested,— where the uplifted arm, just raised to strike a fatal and perfidious stab at the liberties of our land, was seized, — where Andre, just upon the verge of safety, within a step, as it were, of his own encampment, laden with the keys of the fortress of American freedom, — by in- caution — fruit of his foreseen and almost grasped security — betrayed himself to three incorruptible American hearts, and was by them returned to the American camp, whose honor he had so assailed. And yonder rise the hills, upon which, with unfaltering step and steadfast heart, he met his fate ; where, amidst the sobs and tears of the very men w^hose betrayal and destruction he had sought to compass, attended by every observance of respect, and every de- monstration of kindness which true nobility of heart could prompt, at the hands of his enemies, he gave up the life, which, not alone by the laws of war, but by the stern re- quisitions of essential justice, for the interests of the coun- try and the cause of freedom, had been rendered forfeit.

I should trespass needlessly upon your patience, were I to consume any of the time devoted to these exercises, in a historical detail of the events connected with the treason of Arnold, or the arrest, trial, and execution of Andre. You have grown up in a familiarity with these events to which I cannot pretend. They form so large a part of the local history of this vicinity — they have entered so deeply and so imperishably into the records of the whole country — and they were so eloquently rehearsed in your hearing when the corner-stone of this memorial was laid, upon the last anniversary of the nation's birth, that Hack all pretext for dwelling upon them now. I propose, therefore, nothing more than such brief reference as the time remaining will permit, to one or two points in connection with them,

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which, from their importance, or from the differences of opinion to which they have given rise, seem most worthy of notice on such an occasion as this.

I have already spoken of the profound pity which was felt for Andre, among those for whose heart-strings and innermost life he had been feeling with treacherous and poisoned weapon, — and of the tide of sympathy, nowhere deeper or stronger in its current than among the American people, which is bearing his memory, as that of an honored and a martyred hero, to succeeding times. Something of this is due to the kindly regard which misfortime always awakens in manly natures ; more, I venture to suspect, to the romantic incidents in which liis character and adven- ture have been clothed, and to the personal (qualities, ac- complishments, and experiences in life connected with his name. He was young, ambitious, accomplished, brave and unfortunate. He had entered the army to escape, in the tumult and excitement of war, painful memories of a lady whom he loved, but who had married his rival. He was handsome, fond of letters, music, and the arts — frank and manl}"^ in his bearing, and zealous for personal distinc- tion in the service of his king. And underneath all this — amid the cares, the labors, the perils of war, through all the stir and anxiety of his outward life — lived ever the memory of his early love ; when taken prisoner at St. John's, on the outlet to Lake Champlain, by the Ameri- cans, under Montgomery, he savetl the picture of his lost HoNORA, and deemed that " compensation enough for all his sorrows ;" and after he had stepped off the brink of that deep descent, from which for him there was no return — during his detention in the American camp awaiting his trial — after even his sentence, waiting only for the sum- mons to meet the last and worst extreme of fate, remem-

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brance of his early sorrow soothed his soul; filled his heart with the resignation of a subdued and chastened courage ; led him to seek relief in cheerful conversation, in kindly thought for others, in exercise of the art he had come to love; and prompted a quick, but not importunate concern for the manner of his death, and the tradition thereof which might go down to the knowledge and the judgment of pos- terity. When have such qualities, such experiences, such misfortunes — consecrated by sudden death — ever failed to stir gentle hearts, beating in the breast of man or woman, to pity and regretful love ? Nor is there any reason why such sentiments should lack indulgence, unless they come in conflict with justice, or prompt to undeserved censure of others, or to a disregard of that higher love of country, which should ever overbear all personal and all sentimen- tal considerations. I venture to think that commiseration for the fate of Andre, both in his land and in our own, has led to such injustice :— that it has stimulated on the one side, and, on the other, secured toleration for, base slanders upon the heroic and deserving dead ;— and that due regard for the patriotic act of the noble Three, whose monument this day rises to record their worth, as well as for the un- stainable whiteness that hangs imperishably over the name of Washington, demands, if not its abatement, at least, some more accurate definition of the limits within which it should be indulged.

And in this connection it is not easy to forget the con- trast presented in the opposing armies, under circumstan- ces essentially the same. From the moment of Andre's arrest he was treated with unvarying kindness and consid- eration. No restraint, not essential to the security of his person, was for a moment imposed ; not a harsh or unfeel- ing expression, from officer, soldier or citizen, ever grated

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on his ears or chilled the youthful current of his heart ; — books, paper and ink were at his command : he wrote freely even to the British Commander-in-Chief; — messa- Qfes of kindness and relics of remembrance to his friends were promptly sent forward ; — and a sad solemnity, full of tenderness and of pity, presided at his execution. — From all that vast multitude, assembled on yonder heights to see him die, arose no word of exultation ; no breath of taunt or triumph broke the sereneness of the surrounding air; melancholy music gave voice to melancholy thoughts; tears dimmed the eyes and wet the cheeks of the peasant soldiers by whom he was surrounded ; and so profound was the impress of the scene upon their patriot hearts, that long succession of years could not wear it out, nor seal the fountains of sorrow it had unclosed.* At an earlier stage of the Revolution, Nathan Hale, Captain in the American army, which he had entered, abandoning bril- liant prospects of professional distinction, for the sole pur- pose of defending the liberties of his countr}^, — gifted, educated, ambitious, — the equal of Andre in talent, in worth, in amiable manners, and in every manl}^ quality, and his superior in that final test of character, — the mo-

* I have heard an anecdote from my friend, Dr. Horace Green, of New- York, which illustrates the profound impression which Andre's ex- ecution made upon the American soldiers who took part in it. In his youth, an old man lived in the town of Rutland, Vt., who had been one of the guard which attended Andre to the scaffold, and whose age he used frequently to solace by playing for him upon the flute. The old man would always insist on his playing a simple and melancholy air, popu- hirly known as the Blue Bird., which was among the music played as a death-march during the execution; and streaming tears and choking 8ol)s always attested the power of the sad remembrances which it awak- ened in his mind.

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tives by which his acts were prompted and his life was guided, — laid aside every consideration personal to him- self, and entered upon a service of infinite hazard to life and honor, because Washington deemed it important to that sacred cause to which both had been sacredly set apart. Like Andre he was found in the hostile camp ; like him, though without a trial, he was adjudged a spy : — and like him he was condemned to death. And here the likeness ends. No consoling word, — no pitying or re- spectful look, cheered the dark hour of his doom. He was met with insult at every turn. The sacred consolations of the minister of God were denied him ; his Bible was taken from him ; with an excess of barbarity hard to be parallel- ed in civilized war, his dying letters of farewell to his mother and sister were destroyed in his presence ; and uncheered by sympathy, mocked by brutal power, and at- tended only by that sense of duty, incorruptible, undefil- ed, which had ruled his life, — finding its fit farewell in the serene and sublime regret that he " had but one life to lose for his country," — he went forth to meet the great dark- ness of an ignominious death. The loving hearts of his early companions have erected a neat monument t(j his memory in his native town ; — but beyond that little circle, where stands his name recorded ? While the Majesty of England, in the person of her Sovereign, sent an embassy across the sea to solicit the remains of Andre at the hands of his foes, that they might be enshrined in that sepulchre where she garnei's the relics of her mighty and renowned sons, — " splendid in their ashes and pompous in the grave" — the -children of Washington have left the body of Hale to sleep in their unknown tomb, though it be on his native soil, — unhonored by any outward observance, unmarked by memorial stone. Monody, eulogy, — monu-

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ments of marble and of brass, and of letters more enduring than all, — have, in his own land and in ours, given the name and the fate of Andre to the sorrowing remem- brance of all time to come. American s^enius has celebra- ted his praises, — has sung of his virtues and exalted to heroic heights his prayer, manly but personal to himself, for choice in the manner of his death, and his dying chal- lenge to all men to witness the courage with which he met his fate. But where, save on the cold page of history, stands the record for Hale V Where is the hymn that speaks to immortality, and tells of the added brightness and enhanced glory, when his equal soul joined its noble host ? And w^here sleeps the Americanism of Americans, — that their hearts are not stirred to solemn rapture at thought of the sublime love of country which buoyed him not alone, ' above the fear of death,' but far beyond all thought of himself, of his fate and his fame, or of anything less than his country, — and which shaped his dying breath into the sacred sentence w^hich trembled at the last upon his unquivering lip '?

It would not, perhaps, befit the proprieties of this occa- sion were I to push the inquiry, into the causes of so great a difference in the treatment which Andre received at the hands of his American captors, whose destruction he had come, not to conquer, but to betray, — and that which the British bestowed upon Nathan Hale. Much of it was, doubtless, due to the difference in the composition of the opposing armies, — the one of hirelings in the service of power, seeking the conquest of freemen, — the other of freemen defending their liberties, and keenly alive to the sensibilities and affections — the love of home, of brethren, of fellow men — which alone sustained them in the unequal strife. I have introduced it now, not for the sake of com-

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plaint, nor even for the worthier purpose of challenging, as unpatriotic and un-American, the habit of allowing all our sympathy and all our tears to be engrossed by an accom- plished and unhappy foe, — who failed in a service of doubtful morality, undertaken for the sake of promotion and of personal glor}' ; — in'oblivion of what is due to one of a nobler stamp, — our own countryman, who knew no object of love but his and our country; — who judged "ev- ery kind of service honorable, which was necessary to the public good ;" and who, by genius, by character, by pat- riotic devotion and by misfortune, has paramount claims upon the love and cherishing remembrance of American hearts. For this injustice partakes but too much of the common lot. " The iniquity of oblivion," saith Sir Tho- mas Browne, " blindly^ scattereth her poppy, and deals with the memory of men without distinction to merit of perpetuity. Who knows whether the best of men be known, or whether there be not more remarkable persons forgot, than any that stand remembered in the known ac- count of time? " But in one or two points, this sympathy for Andre, in its excess, has occasioned gross injustice to character and interests, which it is the duty of Americans to cherish and defend.

The King of England, in the first dispatch to Sir Henry Clinton, after the details of Andre's adventure had been received, lent his sanction to the opinion that he had been " unjustly " put to death ; and that " the public never could be compensated for the vast advantages which must have followed from the success of his plan." British his- torians have carefully echoed the royal sentiment, though they have shrunk from the eulogies by which His Majesty saw fit to welcome and caress the traitor. And the Brit- ish muse, by the lips of a female poet, in lines breathing

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more of malignity than of inspiration, after branding Washington for sanctioning the execution, as the " cool, determined murderer of the brave," ventured a prophecy, which Time has signally failed to fulfil, that

Infamy with livid hand should shed Eternal mildew on his ruthless head.*

Such sentiments, whatever their justice, would not come with grace from the brutal executioners of Nathan Hale. They have long since perished from the general memory ; —

*The reference here is to a Monody on Major Andre by Miss Anna Seward, dedicated to Sir Henry Clinton, and published soon after the execution. Curiosity may be gratified by the following passage from the poem, in which Washington is mentioned in an unusual strain :

" Oh Washington ! I thought thee great and good,

Nor knew thy NsRo-thirst of guiltless blood !

Severe to use the power that Fortune gave.

Thou cool determined Murderer of the Brave ! ******

Remorseless Washington ! the day shall come

Of deep repentance for this barbarous doom !

When injurd Andre's memory shall inspire

A kindling army with resistless fii"e ;

Each falchion sharpen that the Britons wield,

And lead their fiercest Lion to the field !

Then, when each hope of thine shall set in night.

When dubious dread and unavailing flight

Impel your host, thy guilt-upbraided soul

Shall wish untouched the sacred life you stole !

And when thy heart appalled and vanquished pride

Shall vainly ask the mercy they deny'd,

With horror shalt thou meet the fate they gave,

Nor Pity gild the darkness of thy grave !

For Infamy, with livid hand shall shed

Eternal mildew on thy ruthless head."

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and yet there lingers, in here and there a mind, a feehng, that the execution of Andre was needless and therefore cruel; — that his release would have wrought no injury to the American cause ; and that, at all events, his earnest wish for a soldier's rather than a felon's death, might pro- perly have been indulged.

I am persuaded that those in whose minds such suspi- cions find a lodgment, underrate the character of Wash- ington, and have not taken due pains to make real to their apprehensions the circumstances by which he was sur- rounded. The whole remaining strength of the Revolution was gathered on the Hudson. Its last hope, — its sole reliance, rested there. West Point had become the citadel of libert}^, — sole tower not yet overthrown, — around which clustered the anxieties and the labors, the fears and the hopes, of Him on whose right arm for years the American cause had securely reposed. Suddenly, — without note or warning, — more sudden far than any meteor flash upon the brow of night, and more startling than any crashing thun- derbolt from the sunlit sky, — was disclosed a mine which months of treason had prepared, and which another in- stant,— another step of the detected agent in its construc- tion, would have exploded with final ruin to the sacred cause. A General, high in command, renowned for his brilliant exploits in the field, trusted implicitly, and last of all to be suspected of infidelity to the cause in which he had won his honors and shed his blood, was found to have been groping for months in that lowest deep of degradation, — to have been hnggling with the enem}"" for a price for his treason, and finally to have bargained to place the Ame- rican cause for pay at the mercy of the foe. The secrecy with which Arnold, for eighteen months before, had been carrying on negotiations with the British General, through

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Major Andre, and the consummate and accomplished hy- pocrisy by which he had secured, without suspicion, from the hands of Washington, precisely that position which would make his treason most fatal to the cause he pre- tended to love, and thus enhance its price, attest the as- tounding character of the alarming facts then first revealed to the knowledge of the great Commander. On the 12th of September — the very day after that on which he had gone down to Dobbs's Ferry for the purpose of settling, in a conference with Andre, the terms and details of his treason, — Arnold wrote a letter to General Greene, full of patriotic devotion, and pervaded by a thorough zeal for the honor and success of the American cause. That letter, so far as I am aware, has never hitherto been published. I am indebted for it to my esteemed friend. Prof. Greene, a direct descendant of the illustrious officer to whom it was addressed. As it throws still stronger light upon the character of Arnold, — places in still bolder relief the un- matched and unmatchable audacity of that hypocrisy in which he lived and moved and had his being, — perhaps you will permit me to read it, from the original manuscript, which I hold in my hand. It bears date :

Head Quarters, Robinson House, ) Sfptanbcr 12th, 1780. )

Dear Sir : — Your favor of the 7th, conveying to me an account of our misfortunes to the southward, vras delivered me on the 8th.

I am happy to find that General Gates' information was so ill-founded. It is an unfortunate piece of business to that Hero, and may possibly blot his escutcheon with indelible infamy. It may not be right to censure character at a distance, but I cannot avoid remarking that his conduct on this occasion has in no wise disappointed my expectations, or predic- tions on frequent occasions; and notwithstanding the suggestions of his friends, that he had not retreated to the border of Virginia, he must have been at a great distance and fully secure from danger, as he had no ad- vices of the retreat of the Maryland troops for at least four days.

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Yours of the 8th, by Capt. Van der Horst and Lieut. McCall, were delivered me by those gentlemen on the 9th. 1 have endeavored to render their situation pleasing to them, during their short stay with me ; which respect I shall always be happy to pay to any gentleman who entitles himself to your introduction and recommendation.

It is a matter much to be lamented that our Army is permitted to starve in a land of plenty. There is a fault somewhere; it ought to be traced up to its authors, and if it was prepense, they ought to be capitally punished ; that is, in my opinion, the only means left to procure a regular supply to the Army in future.

Where shall I procure paper for the garrison as well as for my office 1 No returns can be made till a supply is sent. Col. Pickering, in a letter of the 28th, informs mc, that he has not yet received the stores in his hands or money to purchase any with.

With sentiments of the most sincere regard and affection, I am, dear Sir, Your obedient and humble servant, Major-General Greene. g ARNOLD.

Consider that this epistle, — burning with indignation at the apparent misconduct of Gates, cordial in the extreme in its personal courtesy towards General Greene, solici- tous for the comfort of the army, resentful towards those whose misconduct had involved it in want, was written the day after his first attempt to hold a personal interview with Major Andre, — upon his return to head quarters from the scene he had appointed for it, and in the midst of such

thoughts as such incidents would naturally engender ;

think upon the impenetrable hypocrisy of the man who, on the instant of returning baffled from such an errand, could coolly speak or dream of any escutcheon but his own being "blotted with indelible infamy;"— and you can judge how secure must have been his hold upon the confi- dence of Washington, and how thick was the dark doubt of all honor and all faith, into which the apprehensive fears of that great leader must have plunged his mind, when the fact of Arnold's treason first broke upon his sight. " Whom can tve trust now?'' were the simple words he ad-

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dressed to La Fayette ; but they imply a dread distrust; — they signalize the beginning of a gloomy despair ;— they point to the fact which imposed on him the supreme duty, from which there was no escape, of crushing by all the terrors of martial law, whatever of vitality might still sur- vive, in either army, of the portentous plot.

By the clearest facts and the plainest law, Major Andre was proved to be a spy. The sophistries by which such a conviction was for a time resisted, vanished before the sound sense of his distinguished judges — were scattered to the winds even by his own confessions. That he was more than this, — that he was a Um'pter as well as a spj/. — that his errand was to corrupt as well as to explore, — that in his possession were found the purchased honor of an Amer- ican general, the sealed compact for the betrayal of the American cause, as well as unlawful knowledge of the position of their troops, was, in the eye of justice as well as of safety, only an infinite aggravation of his offence. That he had been invited by Arnold to the interview and the bargain, — that he only met advances made, and merely aided in ripening treason, of which the seeds had been sown by others, or had sprung spontaneously in congenial soil, could not diminish in the least either the criminality or the audacity of the endeavor, while it augmented vastly its danger to the American cause. Extraordinary pains had been taken by the British to create the belief in the American camp, that other American officers, equally trusted with Arnold, shared his sentiments and would, on proper occasion, imitate his example. The sad inquiry, "Whom can we trust now?" proves that the very ripeness which, without arousing suspicion, the great plot had reached — the boldness with which Andre had gone forward in ar- ranffino; the details of its consummation, had excited in the

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mind of Washington the apprehension that this might be so — and produced the conviction that all embers ot" the conspii-acy must be relentlessly trodden out by the iron heel of martial law. Was this a time for any shrinking from duty, which should encourage another British officer to attempt to gather up the threads of the broken web, and to complete the plot which Andre's capture had disar- ranged? What single reason, then, for clemency existed? What solitary fact, in any aspect of the case, would have excused Washington for softening, by a single shade, the dread sentence of the law which Andre had braved ? Shall it be said that his youth, his accomplishments, his amiable character, his intellectual and professional pro- mise, should have saved his Hfe? What would that be, but to promise impunity, in proportion to the supreme fitness of the emissary for his delicate and important work ? Such pleas, and the anxiety to find them, are honorable to the softer instincts of our nature : — but they consort not with the stern, unbending sense of duty which alone can lead a revolution, or conduct a great nation, through difficult and perilous paths, to independence and lenow n. The holiest cause may be ruined under the holiest of sensibilities. The Hungarian people perished under that softness of heart which spared treason, in sparing life. Washington, fortunately for us, knew no pity that stood in the path of duty; and calmly put aside every sympathy and every sensibility, that tempted him to forgetfulness of his coun- try's weal.

I have said that the ripeness oi the extended plot which the capture of Andre revealed, — the boldness with \a hich he had gone forward in its preparation, — the excess of con- fidence, leading to the momentary loss of self-possession, which alone at the last betrayed his real character, — com-

22

bined to deepen and to strengthen a wide distrust in Amer- ican fidelity, all the more terrible because of its vagueness and calling therefore for all the terrors of martial law. History presents few instances of so great a scheme, cov- ering so large a space, involving such vast results, requiring secresy so profound and at the same time specification so precise, — carried so triumphantly to the very edge of suc- cess,— and then defeated, at the last moment, by the slight- est of all possible causes, and the very one least to have been expected. Andre had been corresponding with Ar- nold for more than a year upon the subject of the medi- tated treason. That, during all that time, no letter should have miscarried, — that nothing should have been said or done to excite suspicion ; that Arnold should have ob- tained from Washington by earnest solicitation, against his original purpose and in direct contradiction to the whole tenor of Arnold's active and brilliant life, command ofa garrison condemned to inactivity, when his services were needed and at first appointed in the field, without awaken- ing in the sagacious mind otthe great commander the least distrust of his motive ; — that Arnold and Andre should have succeeded in appointing a meeting for the 11th of September at Dobbs' Ferry, and that, too, by the most open means, through a third party, and he an American officer ; that both should have gone in open day to the place ap- pointed, under observation of both armies, their actual meeting being prevented by accident, — Washington him- self being immediately apprised by Arnold of the visit he had made to a suspicious point ; — that the whole plot should have been rearranged, a new meeting agreed upon and actually held by night, and all the details of the trea- son, including its price, finally fixed and the precise time and mode of its accomplishment settled between them: —

as

that Andre should have remained within the enemy's Hnes, with the knowledge of several adherents of that enemy's cause, for a day and a night without detec- tion: that he should afterwards have openly crossed

the ferry; met and conversed with various persons ; escaped the vigilance of Col. Livingston ; satisfied the uneasy scruples of the watchful Capt. Boyd; passed a night in his immediate neighborhood; — and then rode on horseback through nearly the whole of that district, the neutral ground, so full of peril, without interruption, and reached safely the very border of the British camp ; — that the great con- spiracy should have thus been carried to the very verge of completion and of execution, without coming to the knowl- edge, or even exciting the slightest suspicion in the breast, of Washington, or any of his associates, is among the most marvelous of the incidents of this strange history. And yet the very completeness of its success thus far, begat that excessive confidence in the mind of Andre, to which his capture and the defeat of his plot were due. And this brings us to the specific act, which this monument you have built is designed to commemorate.

When Andre, you will remember, reached the foot of yonder . hill, he was met, stopped, and his char- acter and business challenged by the three Americans, Paulding, Williams, and Van Wart, whose names have come to be associated imperishably with their coun- try's glory. He had in his possession, couched in the clearest and most explicit terms, a pass from General Ar- nold. That pass had been closely scrutinized by Captain BoYB, and had satisfied his scruples. It was quite certain that it would prove equally potent with any other adher- ent of the American cause. If Andre, then, had answered the challenge of his, unknown captors by producing this

24

pass, his safety would have been secured : — for if they were Americans, the pass would command their obedience : — if they should prove to be British, they would take him at once to the British camp, which it was the sole desire of his heart to reach. In either event, this plain and ob- vious course would have evaded every chance of danger. Why, then, did he not take it? What fatality — call it providence, rather, — led him to give the only answer which would inevitably lead to his destruction? The very confidence which his previous success — liis near ap- proach to the place of safety, had engendered, wrought his undoing. His first words savored of exultation, and committed him beyond all possibility of retraction. " 1 hope," said he, "that you belong to our part}^;" "What party is that," was the prompt inquiry ; and even this did not reveal to him the perils among which he was so rashly pushing. He answered by avowing himself a British offi- cer, out of the country on particular business, and by urg- ing the necessity of his immediate departure.* In an instant

* Capt. HiKAM Paulding, son of John Paulding one of Andre's captors, now a gallant and accomplished officer in the U. S. Navy, has related to me, since the delivery of this address, an incident curious in itself and of some historic interest, as aifording some explanation of An- dre's extraordinary imprudence in assuming his captors to be adherents of the British cause. He states that his father himself ascribed it to the fact that, at the time, he wore the British military coat, — which arose from a singular circumstance. Five or six days Ijefore the capture of Andrk, Paulding had lieen liy a British foraging party, and taken to New- York, where he was confined in the old Dutch Church. Wearing at the time a very good coat, one of the British soldiers present, a refugee, compelled him to exchange with him. Towards night Paulding told one of his comrades that he did not mean to stay there until a high wall, then in process of erection, should be completed, because if he did he

25

the abyss over which he hung was revealed to his sight, — but it was too late to withdraw from its brink. He hud then to encounter the stern patriotism of the men whom he had so thoughtlessly misjudged, and whose fidelity he now tried to overcome. But he soon found the hopelessness of the task. He no longer had to deal with an ambitious, selfish, mercenary officer. He found himself face to face with a new type of character; — he met for the first time in his life the Peasant Patriotism of America, — the con- quering power of the Revolution, — the essential element, then, as now and evermore, of American greatness and American Freedom. Naturally enough, in his ignorance and his eagerness, he thought it could be deceived, or alarmed, or bribed. He produced his pass ; — he menaced his captors with Gen. Arnold's displeasure if they de- tained him longer ; — and he offered any sum they might name as the price of his ransom. But he stood in pres- ence of a power which he little understood. From the stern integrity, — the calm, courageous love of country, which filled the hearts of the plain men into whose hands

should never get out : he meant to escape that night. He cHmbed the wall and got into a narrow alley, and asked a negro woman to conceal him. She said she would, because she was^ Whig ; and she accordingly hid him until the next night, when he left and reached the Spuyten Devil Creek, where another negro helped him across, and he eventually reached the quarters of his company. With six others he then obtained permission to go upon a scouting expedition to watch the roads for sus- picious persons, or for cattle and other provisions, passing towards the British camp — a service which a law of the State authorized and reward- ed. When Andre came along, Paulding thus had on a British coat ; and Capt. Paulding stated it as his father's opinion that this was the circumstance which led Andre to suppose them British, and to declare himself, so thoughtlessly and rashly, a British officer.

4

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he had chanced to fall, his threats and his bribes rebounded as the glancing blow from the shining coat of mail.

This monument rises beneath your grateful hands, in commemoration of the virtue and the patriotism which proved thus equal to the crisis by which they were tested, and which saved our country from the long-meditated, well-aimed, disastrous blow. Such acts, such characters, deserve all the immortality which stone and brass, the spoken and the written praise, — the grateful remembrance of millions through the coming eras, can confer upon them. I perform a, painful duty when I recall to 3^our recollection the attempt, already noticed, to cloud the glory of the transcendent deed, and stain the fame of the Three by whom, with such infinite and acknowledged advantage to the country and the world, it was performed.

The gratitude of Congress, acting upon the recommend- ation of Washington, and with the ehdm-ing applause ot the whole country, bestowed upon Paulding, Williams, and Van Wart, not only medals in honoi'able testimony of their signal fidelity to the American cause, but more substantial rewards in the torm of pensions for life. Not the faintest whisper of doubt as to the justice of this award, or the merit of the men who received it, was heard at that day, or for long years that followed after. But in 1817, — thirty-seven years after the occurrences, — when the pa- triotism and virtue of the captors of Andre had come to be among the choicest and most proudly cherished of the treasures of the country, — they were assailed in the most direct and emphatic language, on the floor of Congress, by Major Tallmadge, — who had been a faithful and highly trusted officer of the Revolution, — ^by whose urgent remon- strance Lieutenant-Colonel Jameson was induced to fore- go his first purpose of sending Andre directly to Arnold,

27

— who commanded the escort to which the captured officer was entrusted, attended him to the scaffold, and had fre- quent opportunities of free communication with him. With such and so many titles to credit, Major Tallmadge as- serted that the men who had captured Andre were of that class of people, known as Cow-boys, who passed between both armies, — as often in one camp as the other, — friendly to each as their interests might prompt, and without at- tachment or preference to either ; — that he had been told by Andre that, in his opinion, their search of his person was for plunder, and not for evidence of his character ; — that if he could have paid the sum demanded by them, he would have been released ; — and that their onlv motive in returning him to the American camp was the hope of a large reward.

A very few words, — a brief recurrence to the slightness of the authority adduced in support of it, and to the strength of the evidence arrayed against it, will dismiss this slander to the reprobation it deserves.

The charge is simply that o^ sel/isli motives in the perform- ance of a worthy and a useful act ; and it rests exclusively, not upon any facts, but upon the opinions of two men. First, that of Major Tallmadge, as to the general charac- ter of the parties concerned, from which, even if correct, their bad motives in this particular case would not be mat- ter of necessary inference ; and second, that of Major Andre, who is represented as having declared it as his opinion, that they would have released him, if he could have se- cured to them payment of the reward demanded.

As to the character of the men concerned. Major Tall- madge did not state a single fact in support of his opinion that they were " as often in one camp as the other," and that " their only object was to pillage from both." Serious

as it is, the allegation stands simply as his opinion, unsup- ported by a single fact, and fortunately repelled b}' con- clusive proof. In the first place, immediatel}^ upon the ap- pearance of the statement, sixteen inhabitants of the county of Westchester, aged and respected men, — of whose de- scendants some may be here to-day,— ^united in declaring that during the Revolutionary War they were well ac- quainted with Isaac Van Wart, David Williams, and John Paulding, who arrested Major Andre ; and that "at no time during the war was any suspicion eve?' enfer- tained by their neighbors or acquaintances that they, or either of them, held any undue intercourse with the enemy ; but that, on the contrary, they were universally esteemed, and taken to be ardent and faithful in the cause of the country." Certainly so far as opinion goes, this testimony of their neighbors and acquaintances, men who lived by their side and knew their daily walk, must be held 1o far outweigh that of an officer from a neighboring State, whose station, in subordinate command, was some miles north of their homes; who, as far as appears, had never seen or heard of any one of them before ; and whose judgment, unconsciously perhaps to himself, was undoubtedly influ- enced in no slight degree by sympathy for the young, frank, ambitious, and unfortunate officer who, while in his custody, had secured his cordial friendship and love. But in the second place, we have the declaration of Van Wart, given in his old age under oath, denying expressly that he had ever visited the British camp, or held any un- lawful traffic or any intercourse whatever with the enemy, and appealing solemnly to that omniscient Being before whose tribunal he was soon to appear, in declaring that all accusations charging him therewith were utterly untrue. And in the third place, in regard to Paulding, we have

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the known, established facts, that, far from being neutral between the two armies, he was three times taken prisoner by the British while in the American service, — twice be- fore and once after the capture of Andre, — the second time only four days before that event, — escaping both times and instantly in arms again ; — and that the last time, he was wounded and lay in the New York Hospital, until discharged on arrival of the news of peace. Certainly, in the face of such facts as these, — in the face of Washing- ton's commendation, the grateful action of Congress and the New York Legislature, the loud, unanimous applause of their cotemporaries, and the unbroken testimony of nearly forty years, — the bare opinion of Major Tallmadge, however sincere it might have been, as it doubtless was, should not operate for a single moment to their disparage- ment.

As to the specific opinion of Major Andre, conveyed to Major Tallmadge, and by him rashly and hastily adopt- ed, that he believed they would have released him if he could have secured them payment of money, we have to say first, that the British Acljutant displayed but little of the magnanimity for which he is so highly lauded, in thus striving to revenge his failure by stabbing the character, and blackening the fame of the men to whom it was due ; — and next, that while it is not strange he should have so believed, the opinion was quite as groundless as that which he had formed of their character from the beginning. He took them to be British ; in this, he found himself mistak- en. He then believed that Arnold's pass would lay asleep their vigilance : — this hope also proved abortive — He offered them money and large rewards for his release, and believed he could thus secure it. That opinion too, he was compelled to relinquish. What, then, more natu-

ral than that he should still cling to the faith with which he had set out, that their fidelity could be overcome, — and take refuge from his failure, in his own inability to give them required security ? And yet this opinion, upon a moment's though*:, is seen to be quite as baseless as the rest. He had it in his j)ower to give security. He offered, indeed, to remain in their custody, secreted wherever they might place him, until a messenger should go to New- York and return with any sum of money on which as a ransom they might agree. What better security could they desire than this? What greater reward — if this was their motive, — could they hope for from the American camp, destitute as it was of money and provisions, even for the immediate necessities of the troops, than the ran- som of a British officer would be sure to extort from the British Commander-in-Chief"? *

Nothing is easier — nothing, 1 may add, is more unjust — than to disparage the worth and excellence of useful acts, by throwing distrust upon the motives of the men by whom they have been performed. There is no name so lofty that it cannot be thus assailed — no character so clear that it ma}^ not thus be stained. But if motives are to be judg- ed by facts, by attendant circumstances, and by character — and I know no other test so decisive and so just — I can recall none of the actors in our Revolutionary history who may defy the utmost scrutiny of such an inquisition, more fearlessly or more safely than the captors of Major Andre. Their past lives, their labors, and their sufferings, attest tfieir devotion to their country's cause. At the moment of their meeting Andre, they were engaged in the perform- ance of a legalized and a useful service. Not a fact has

■•&'

* See Appendix.

ever been cited to disprove the averment that their search of his> person, and their conversation with him, were for the sole purpose of deciding his character, and thus upon the course it would be proper for them to take ; and the}^ returned him to the American camp, in spite of the most tempting offers which the peril of his position could prompt; in ignorance of the real importance of his rank and mission; without any ground for expecting any great re- ward; and, so far as an unprejudiced judgment can decide, from the sole motive of guarding the country and the cause they served from the unknown peril which his presence seemed to threaten. If the bare opinion, unsupported by a single fact, of their chagrined and baffled captive — pro- nounced, with unmanly resentment, on his way to that scaffold, which their detection of his crime had erected for him — is to outweigh all these considerations, and reverse the verdict of fifty years, then, indeed, is an honorable name among men one of the most precarious and unsub- stantial of earthier possessions.

But I am conscious of giving more notice to this matter than it deserves. If I were in some distant land, a vindi- cation of the captors of Andre might be needed : but here in Westchester; amid the descendants of those who knew them well; — in presence of this large multitude assembled to do them honor ; — on the very spot made sacred by their heroic and undying act ; and in shadow of the monument you have erected to perpetuate the remembrance of it through all coming time, I know it cannot be required : — I only hope it may be excused.

And now, Friends and Fellow-Citizens, your work of pat- riotism and of duty has been performed. This monument — simple, substantial, unpretending, — fit emblem of the men it honors, stands complete. It commemorates no

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brilliant or renowned exploit ; but it signalizes an honest and a manly act, which turned the adverse tide of a nation's struggle for independence, and produced results of vast beneficence in that nation's history. Richly have the men by whom it was performed, deserved this mark of your patriotic and grateful recollection. Their memory will be cherished, and the story of their virtue will be rehearsed, when generations to come shall vainly seek to trace their names on this crumbling stone ; for what is this great na- tion, with its large and beneficent liberty, its growing grandeur, its advancing power, its uncounted blessings, and its bright example, but a mighty monument to the pa- triots who won its freedom, and laid the deep foundations of its tame? Loftier than the Pyramids, — grander than the Pantheon, — holier than that sacred temple where Eng- land garners up the immortal treasures of her heart, — is the mausoleum where their ashes rest : — for they repose in the soil redeemed by their blood ; the heavens, that smiled on their toil, in benignity bend over their grave ; — the freedom and the happiness of the millions they blessed, sound unceasingly their anthem of praise : And,

" So sojiulehred, in such pomp they lie, That kings for such a tomb might wish to die."

APPENDIX.

So long a time has elapsed since the documents here referred to were originally published, that they have been very generally forgotten ; — and as they are important to a correct judgment of the conduct and mo- tives of the captors of Andre, on vfhich even Mr. Sparks, with less than his usual scrupulous regard for exact justice, has thrown unmerited dis- trust, it may not be amiss to reprint them in this connection. They were originally published in February and March 1817, immediately after the remarks of Major Tallmadge in Congress : —

CERTIFICATE OF INHABITANTS OF WESTCHESTER COUNTY.

We, the subscribers, inhabitants, of the County of Westchester, do cer- tify, that during the Revolutionary War, we were well acquainted Avith Isaac Van Wart, David Williams, and John Paulding, who arrested Major Andre: and that at no time during the revolutionary war, was any suspicion entertained by their neighbors or acquaintances, that they or either of them held any uwiue intercourse with the enemy. On the contrary, they were universally esteemed, and taken to be ardent and faithful in the cause of the country. We further certify, that the said Paulding and Williams are not now resident among us, but that Isaac Van Wart is a respectable freeholder of the town of Mount Pleasant ; that we are well acquainted with him: and we do not hesitate to declare our belief, that there is not an individual in the county of Westchester, acquainted with Isaac Van Wart, who would hesitate to describe him as a man whose integrity is as unimpeachable as his veracity is undoubted. In these respects no man in the county of Westchester is his superior.

JoHNATHAN G. ToMPKiNS, aged 31 years. Jacob Purdy, aged 77 years. John Odei.l, aged 60 years. John Boyce, aged 72 years. J. Requa, aged 57 years. 5

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William Paulding, aged 81 years. John Requa, aged 54 years. Archer Read, aged 64 years. George Comb, aged 72 years. Gilbert Dean, aged 70 years. Jonathan Odell, aged 87 years. Cornelius Vantassel, aged 71 years, Thomas Boyce, aged 71 years. Tunis Lynt, aged 71 years. Jacobus Dyckman, aged 68 years. William Hammond. John Romer.

ISAAC VAN wart's AFFIDAVIT.

Isaac Van Wart, of the town of Mount Pleasant, in the County of Westchester, being duly sworn, doth depose and say, that he is one of the three persons who arrested Major Andre, during the American revo- lutionary war, and conducted him to the American camp. That he, this deponent, together with David Williams and John Paulding, had secret- ed themselves at the side of the highway, for the purpose of detecting any persons coming from or having unlawful intercourse with the enemy, being between the two armies ; a service not uncommon in those times. That this deponent and his companions were armed with muskets ; and upon seeing Major Andre approach the place where they were concealed they rose and presented their muskets at him, and required him to stop, which he did. He then asked them whether they belonged to his party ; and then they asked him which was his party ? to which he replied, the lower party. Upon which they, deeming a little stratagem, under such circumstances, not only justifiable, but necessary, gave him to under- stand that they were of his party : upon which he joyfully declared him- self to be a British officer, and told them that he had been out upon very particular business. Having ascertained thus much, this deponent and his companions undeceived him as to their characters, declaring them- selves Americans, and that he must consider himself their prisoner. Up- on this, with seeming unconcern, he said he had a pass from General

*^

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Arnold, which he exhibited, and then insisted on their permitting him to proceed. But they told him that as he had confessed himself to be a British officer, they deemed it to be their duty to convey him to the American-camp ; and then took him into a wood, a short distance from the highway, in order to guard against being surprised by parties of the enemy, who were frequently reconnoitering in that neighborhood. That when they had him in the wood, they proceeded to search him, for the purpose of ascertaining who and what he was, and found inside of his stockings and boots, next to his bare feet, papers, which satisfied them that he was a spy. Major Andre now showed them his gold watch, and remarked, that it was evidence of his boing a gentleman, and also prom- ised to make them any reward they might name, if they would but per- mit him to proceed, which they refused. He then told them, that if they doubted the fulfillment of his promise, they might conceal him in some secret place, and keep h im there until they could send to New- York and re- ceive their reward. And this deponent expressly declares that every offer made by Major Andi-e to them was promptly and resolutely refused. — And as for himself, he solemnly declares, that he had not, and he does most sincerely believe that Paulding and Williams had not, ariy intention of plundering their prisoner ; nor did they confer with each other, or even hesitate whether they should accejJt his promises, h\it, on the contrary, they were, in the opinion of this deponent, governed, like himself, by a deep interest in the cause of the country, and a strong sense of duty. And this deponent further says that he never visited the British camp, nor does he believe or suspect that either Paulding or Williams ever did, ex- cept that Paulding was once before Andre's capture, and once after- wards, made a prisoner by the British, as this deponent has been informed and believes. And this deponent for himself expressly denies that he ever held any unlawful traffic, or any intercourse whatever with the enemy. And — appearing solemnly to that omniscient Being, at whose tribunal he must soon appear — he doth expressly declare that all accusa- tions, charging him therewith, are utterly untrue.

ISAAC VAN WART.

Sworn before me, this 28th day of January, 1817.

Jacob Radcliff, Mayor.

36

JOHN PAULDING'S AFFIDAVIT.

John Paulding, of the county of Westchester, one of the persons who took Major Andre, being duly sworn, saith, that he was three times, dur- ing the revolutionary war, a prisoner with the enemy ; — the first time he was taken at the White Plains, when under the command of Captain Requa, and carried to New- York and confined in the Sugar House. The second time he was taken near Tarrytown, when under the command of Lieutenant Peacock, and confined in the North Dutch Church, in New- York ; that both these times he escaped, and the last of them only four days before the capture of Andre ,• that the last time he was taken he was wounded, and lay in the hospital in New-York, and was discharged on the arrival of the news of peace there ; that he and his companions. Van Wart and Williams, among other articles which they took from Major Andre, were his watch, liorse, saddle and bridle, and which they retain- ed as prize ; that they delivered over Andre, Avith the papers found on him, to Col. Jameson, who commanded on the lines; that shortly there- after they were summoned to appear as witnesses at the head-quarters of General Washington, at Tappan ; that they were at Tappan some days, and examined as witnesses before the court-martial on the trial of Smith, who brought Andre ashore from on broad the sloop of war ; that while there, Col. William S. Smith redeemed the watch from them for thirty guineas; which and the money received for the horse, saddle and bridle, they divided equally among themselves and four other persons, who belonged to their party, but when Andre was taken, were about half a mile off, keeping a look-out on a hill ; that Andre had no gold or silver money with him, but only some continental bills, to the amount of about eighty dollars ; that the medals given to him and Van Wart and Williams, by Congress, were presented to them by General Washington, when the army was encamped at Verplanck's Point, and that they on the occasion dined at his table ; that Williams removed some years ago from Westchester County to the northern part of the State, but where, particularly, the doponent does not know. And the deponent, referring to the affidavit of Van Wart, taken on the 28th of January last, and which he has read, says that the same is in substance true.

JOHN PAULDING. Sworn before me this Gth day of May, 1817.

Charles G. Van Wyck. Master in Chancery.

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