Chapter VII: Part 7

The general idea I have of a plan, is, that a respectable man should be appointed by the State, in each county, to collect the taxes and form magazines; that Congress should have, in each State, an officer to superintend the whole; and that the State collectors should be subordinate and responsible to them. This Continental Superintendent might be subject to the general direction of the Quarter-Master-General, or not, as might be deemed best; but if not subject to him, he should be obliged to make monthly returns to the President at War, who should instruct him what proportion to deliver to the Quarter-Master-General. It may be necessary, that the Superintendents should sometimes have power to dispose of the articles in their possession, on public account; for it would happen, that the contributions, in places remote from the army, could not be transported to the theatre of operations without too great expense; in which case it would be eligible to dispose of them, and purchase, with the money so raised, in the countries near the immediate scene of war.

I know the objections which may be raised to this plan; its tendency to discourage industry, and the like. But necessity calls for it. We cannot proceed without it: and less evils must give place to greater. It is, besides, practised with success in other countries, and why not in this? It may be said, the examples cited are from nations under despotic governments; and that the same would not be practicable with us. But I contend, where the public good is evidently the object, more may be effected in governments like ours, than in any other. It has been a constant remark, that free countries have ever paid the heaviest taxes. The obedience of a free people to general laws, however hard they bear, is ever more perfect than that of slaves to the arbitrary will of a prince. To this may be added, that Sweden was always a free government; and is so now, in a great degree, notwithstanding the late revolution. How far it may be practicable to erect a Bank on the joint credit of the public and of individuals, can only be certainly determined by the experiment. But it is of so much importance, that the experiment ought to be fully tried. When I saw the subscriptions going on to the Bank established for supplying the army, I was in hopes it was only the embryo of a more permanent and extensive establishment. But I have reason to believe I shall be disappointed. It does not seem to be at all conducted on the true principles of a Bank.

The Directors of it are purchasing with their Stock, instead of Bank notes, as I expected: in consequence of which, it must turn out to be a mere subscription of a particular sum of money for a particular purpose.

Paper credit never was long supported in any country, on a national scale, where it was not founded on a joint basis of public and private credit. An attempt to establish it on public credit alone, in France, under the auspices of Mr. Law, had nearly ruined the kingdom. We have seen the effects of it in America; and every successive experiment, proves the futility of the attempt. Our new money is depreciating almost as fast as the old; though it has, in some States, as real funds as paper money ever had. The reason is, that the moneyed men have not an immediate interest to uphold its credit. They may even, in many ways, find it their interest to undermine it. The only certain manner to obtain a permanent paper credit, is to engage the moneyed interest immediately in it, by making them contribute the whole, or part of the Stock, and giving them the whole, or part of the profits.

The invention of Banks, on the modern principle, originated in Venice. There the public, and a Company of moneyed men, are mutually concerned. The Bank of England unites public authority and faith with private credit: and hence we see, what a vast fabric of paper credit is raised on a visionary basis. Had it not been for this, England would never have found sufficient funds to carry on her wars: but, with the help of this, she has done, and is doing, wonders. The Bank of Amsterdam is on a similar foundation. And why can we not have an American Bank? Are our moneyed men less enlightened to their own interest, or less enterprising in the pursuit? I believe the fault is in Government, which does not exert itself to engage them in such a scheme. It is true, the individuals in America are not very rich; but this would not prevent their instituting a Bank; it would only prevent its being done with such ample funds as in other countries. Have they not sufficient confidence in the Government, and in the issue of the cause? Let the Government endeavor to inspire that confidence, by adopting the measures I have recommended, or others equivalent to them. Let it exert itself to procure a solid Confederation; to establish a good plan of executive administration; to form a permanent military force; to obtain, at all events, a foreign loan. If these things were in a train of vigorous execution, it would give a new spring to our affairs; Government would recover its respectability, and individuals would renounce their diffidence.

The object I should propose to myself, in the first instance, from a Bank, would be an auxiliary mode of supplies; for which purpose, contracts should be made, between Government and the Bank, on terms liberal and advantageous to the latter. Every thing should be done, in the first instance, to encourage the Bank. After it gets well established, it will take care of itself; and Government may make the best terms it can, for itself.

The first step to establishing the Bank, will be to engage a number of moneyed men of influence to relish the project, and make it a business. The subscribers to that lately established, are the fittest persons that can be found; and their plan may be interwoven.

The outlines of my plan would be, to open subscriptions in all the States; for the Stock, which we will suppose to be one million of pounds. Real property of every kind, as well as specie, should be deemed good Stock; but at least a fourth part of the subscription should be in specie, or plate. There should be one great Company, in three divisions: in Virginia, Philadelphia, and at Boston; or two at Philadelphia and Boston. The Bank should have a right to issue Bank notes, bearing two per cent. interest, for the whole of their stock; but not to exceed it. These notes may be payable every three months, or oftener: and the faith of government must be pledged for the support of the Bank. It must therefore have a right, from time to time, to inspect its operations, and must appoint inspectors for the purpose.

The advantages of the Bank may consist in this: in the profits of the contracts made with Government, which should bear interest to be annually paid in specie; in the loan of money at interest, say six per cent.; in purchasing lives by annuities, as practised in England, etc. The benefit resulting to the Company, is evident from the consideration, that they may employ, in circulation, a great deal more money than they have specie in Stock, on the credit of the real property which they will have in other use. This money will be employed, either in fulfilling their contracts with the public, by which also they will gain a profit; or in loans at an advantageous interest, or in annuities.

The Bank may be allowed to purchase plate and bullion, and coin money; allowing Government a part of the profit. I make the Bank notes bear interest, to obtain a readier currency, and to induce the holders to prefer them to specie, to prevent too great a run upon the Bank, at any time, beyond its ability to pay.

If Government can obtain a foreign loan, it should lend to the Bank, on easy terms, to extend its influence, and facilitate a compliance with its engagements. If Government could engage the States to raise a sum of money in specie, to be deposited in Bank in the same manner, it would be of the greatest consequence. If Government could prevail on the enthusiasm of the people, to make a contribution in plate for the same purpose, it would be a master-stroke. Things of this kind sometimes succeed in popular contests; and, if undertaken with address, I should not despair of its success: but I should not be sanguine.

The Bank may be instituted for a term of years by way of trial; and the particular privilege of coining money, be for a term still shorter. A temporary transfer of it to a particular Company, can have no inconvenience, as the Government are in no condition to improve this resource; nor could it, in our circumstances, be an object to them; though, with the industry of a knot of individuals, it might be a valuable one to them. A Bank of this kind, even in its commencement, would answer the most valuable purposes to Government and to the proprietors: in its progress, the advantages will exceed calculation. It will promote commerce, by furnishing a more extensive medium, which we greatly want, in our circumstances. I mean a more extensive valuable medium. We have an enormous nominal one at this time, but it is only a name.

In the present unsettled state of things in this country, we can hardly draw inferences from what has happened in others; otherwise I should be certain of the success of this scheme: but I think it has enough in its favor to be worthy of trial.

I have only skimmed the surface of the different subjects I have introduced. Should the plans recommended come into contemplation, in earnest, and you desire my further thoughts, I will endeavor to give them more form and particularity. I am persuaded a solid Confederation, a permanent army, a reasonable prospect of subsisting it, would give us treble consideration in Europe, and produce a peace this winter.

If a Convention is called, the minds of all the States, and the people, ought to be prepared to receive its determinations by sensible and popular writings, which should conform to the views of Congress. There are epochs in human affairs when _novelty_ even is useful. If a general opinion prevails that the old way is bad, whether true or false, and this obstructs or relaxes the operations of the public service, a change is necessary, if it be but for the sake of change. This is exactly the case now. ’Tis a universal sentiment, that our present system is a bad one, and that things do not go right on this account. The measure of a Convention would revive the hopes of the people, and give a new direction to their passions, which may be improved in carrying points of substantial utility. The eastern States have already pointed out this mode to Congress: they ought to take the hint and anticipate the others.

And, in future, my dear sir, two things let me recommend, as fundamental rules for the conduct of Congress: to attach the army to them by every motive; to maintain an air of authority (not domineering) in all their measures with the States. The manner in which a thing is done, has more influence than is commonly imagined. Men are governed by opinion: this opinion is as much influenced by appearances as by realities. If a Government appears to be confident of its own powers, it is the surest way to inspire the same confidence in others. If it is diffident, it may be certain there will be a still greater diffidence in others; and that its authority will not only be distrusted, controverted, but contemned.

I wish, too, Congress would always consider, that a kindness consists as much in the manner as in the thing. The best things done hesitatingly, and with an ill grace, lose their effect, and produce disgust rather than satisfaction or gratitude. In what Congress have at any time done for the army, they have commonly been too late. They have seemed to yield to importunity, rather than to sentiments of justice or to a regard to the accommodation of their troops. An attention to this idea, is of more importance than it may be thought. I, who have seen all the workings and progress of the present discontents, am convinced, that a want of this has not been among the most inconsiderable causes.

You will perceive, my dear sir, this letter is hastily written, and with a confidential freedom: not as to a member of Congress, whose feelings may be sore at the prevailing clamors; but as to a friend, who is in a situation to remedy public disorders; who wishes for nothing so much as truth; and who is desirous of information, even from those less capable of judging than himself. I have not even time to correct and copy; and only enough to add, that I am, very truly and affectionately, dear sir,

Your most obedient servant,
A. Hamilton.

SCHUYLER TO HAMILTON.

1780.

My Dear Sir:

Your favor of the 17th I received on that day. That of the 13th has taken a tour to Albany and was delivered me this moment.

Commissioners will be appointed to meet the Eastern Convention; I believe Judge Hubbard, Mr. Benson, the Attorney General, and myself, will go; the two gentlemen I have mentioned are as deeply impressed as men can be with the necessity of more power in the directing councils, or what would be better in our present situation, ----. The lower house are for it, but the upper timid, although heartily disposed to every measure which will give vigor.

I was too much indisposed to undertake the journey to Hartford, and continue so much so that I am obliged to quit this before the Legislature rises.

I am informed Gates is to have the thanks of the Senate for not despairing of the Commonwealth, but that they do not mean to tread wholly in the steps of the Romans, and confine him to subordinate commands; he is to have a potent army, and to drive Cornwallis and his crew into the sea with more rapidity than he flew to Hillsborough.

Pray entreat the General and the gentlemen of his family to accept of my best wishes, in which you always partake.

I am, dear Sir,
Affectionately yours, etc.,
P. Schuyler.

Col. Hamilton.

HAMILTON TO MISS SCHUYLER.

September 6, 1780.

Most people here are groaning under a very disagreeable piece of intelligence just come from the southward, that Gates has had a total defeat near Camden, in South Carolina. Cornwallis and he met in the night of the fifteenth, by accident, marching to the same point. The advanced guards skirmished, and the two armies halted and formed till morning. In the morning a battle ensued, in which the militia, and Gates with them, immediately ran away, and left the Continental troops to contend with the enemy’s whole force.

They did it obstinately, and probably are most of them cut off. Gates, however, who writes to Congress, seems to know very little what has become of his army. He showed that age and the long labors and fatigues of a military life had not in the least impaired his activity, for in three days and a half he reached Hillsborough, one hundred and eighty miles from the scene of action, leaving all his troops to take care of themselves, and get out of the scrape as well as they could.

He has confirmed, in this instance, the opinion I always had of him. This event will have very serious consequences to the southward. People’s imaginations have already given up North Carolina and Virginia; but I do not believe either of them will fall. I am certain Virginia cannot. This misfortune affects me less than others, because it is not in my temper to repine at evils that are past, but to endeavor to draw good out of them, and because I think our safety depends on a total change of system, and this change of system will only be produced by misfortune.

A. Hamilton.

HAMILTON TO DUANE.

September 6, 1780.

My Dear Sir:

The letter accompanying this has lain by two or three days for want of an opportunity. I have heard since of Gates’s defeat: a very good comment on the necessity of changing our system. His passion for militia, I fancy, will be a little cured, and he will cease to think them the best bulwark of American liberty. What think you of the conduct of this great man? I am his enemy personally, for unjust and unprovoked attacks upon my character; therefore what I say of him ought to be received as from an enemy, and have no more weight than as it is consistent with fact and common sense. But did ever any one hear of such a disposition or such a flight? His best troops placed on the side strongest by nature, his worst on that weakest by nature, and his attack made with these. ’Tis impossible to give a more complete picture of military absurdity. It is equally against the maxims of war and common sense. We see the consequences. His left ran away, and left his right uncovered. His right wing turned on the left has in all probability been cut off. Though, in truth, the General seems to have known very little what became of his army.

Had he placed his militia on his right, supported by the morass, and his Continental troops on his left, where it seems he was most vulnerable, his right would have been more secure, and his left would have opposed the enemy; and instead of going backward when he ordered to attack, would have gone forward. The reverse of what has happened might have happened.

But was there ever an instance of a General running away, as Gates has done, from his whole army? And was there ever so precipitous a flight? One hundred and eighty miles in three days and a half. It does admirable credit to the activity of a man at his time of life. But it disgraces the General and the soldier. I always believed him to be very far short of a Hector, or a Ulysses. All the world, I think, will begin to agree with me.

But what will be done by Congress? Will he be changed or not? If he is changed, for God’s sake overcome prejudice, and send Greene. You know my opinion of him. I stake my reputation on the events, give him but fair play.

But, above all things, let us have, without delay, a vigorous, government, and a well constituted army for the war.

Adieu, my dear Sir,
A. Hamilton.

COL. FLEURY TO HAMILTON.

Boston, September 7, 1780.

If you do write to me, direct your letters to General Heath, and under his cover. I cannot tell why till I see you; I want it much.

The enemy have left Martha’s Vineyard. It is reported they sailed to the southward.

I beg you would remember me to my friend Laurens; I have written to him, but he keeps silent.

I do not like your situation at Lee’s Fort: you throw the glove to Clinton; he will take it, and we are not near enough to be your seconds. Our sick increase; not much; but they increase.

Farewell, your servant and friend,
F * * y.

HAMILTON TO LAURENS.

September, 1780.

Since my return from Hartford, my dear Laurens, my mind has been too little at ease to permit me to write to you sooner. It has been wholly occupied by the affecting and tragic consequences of Arnold’s treason. My feelings were never put to so severe a trial. You will no doubt have heard the principal facts before this reaches you. But there are particulars, to which my situation gave me access, that cannot have come to your knowledge from public report, which I am persuaded you will find interesting.

From several circumstances, the project seems to have originated with Arnold himself, and to have been long premeditated. The first overture is traced back to some time in June last. It was conveyed in a letter to Colonel Robinson; the substance of which was, that the ingratitude he had experienced from his country, concurring with other causes, had entirely changed his principles; that he now only sought to restore himself to the favor of his king, by some signal proof of his repentance; and would be happy to open a correspondence with Sir Henry Clinton for that purpose. About this period he made a journey to Connecticut: on his return from which to Philadelphia, he solicited the command of West Point; alleging that the effects of his wounds had disqualified him for the active duties of the field. The sacrifice of this important post was the atonement he intended to make. General Washington hesitated the less to gratify an officer who had rendered such eminent services, as he was convinced the post might be safely intrusted to one who had given so many distinguished specimens of his bravery. In the beginning of August he joined the army and renewed his application. The enemy, at this juncture, had embarked the greatest part of their forces on an expedition to Rhode Island; and our army was in motion to compel them to relinquish the enterprise, or to attack New-York in its weakened state. The General offered Arnold the left wing of the army, which he declined, on the pretext already mentioned, but not without visible embarrassment. He certainly might have executed the duties of such a temporary command; and it was expected from his enterprising temper, that he would gladly have embraced so splendid an opportunity. But he did not choose to be diverted a moment from his favorite object; probably from an apprehension that some different disposition might have taken place, which would have excluded him. The extreme solicitude he discovered to get possession of the post, would have led to a suspicion of treachery, had it been possible, from his past conduct, to have supposed him capable of it.

The correspondence thus begun, was carried on between Arnold and Major André, Adjutant-General to the British army, in behalf of Sir Henry Clinton, under feigned signatures, and in a mercantile disguise. In an intercepted letter of Arnold’s, which lately fell into our hands, he proposes an interview, “to settle the risks and profits of the copartnership;” and, in the same style of metaphor, intimates an expected augmentation of the garrison; and speaks of it as the means of extending their traffic. It appears, by another letter, that André was to have met him on the lines, under the sanction of a flag, in the character of Mr. John Anderson. But some cause or other, not known, prevented this interview.

The twentieth of last month, Robinson and André went up the river in the Vulture sloop-of-war. Robinson sent a flag to Arnold with two letters; one to General Putnam, inclosed in another to himself; proposing an interview with Putnam, or, in his absence, with Arnold, to adjust some private concerns. The one to General Putnam, was evidently meant as a cover to the other, in case, by accident, the letters should have fallen under the inspection of a third person.

General Washington crossed the river, on his way to Hartford, the day these dispatches arrived. Arnold, conceiving he must have heard of the flag, thought it necessary, for the sake of appearances, to submit the letters to him, and ask his opinion of the propriety of complying with the request. The General, with his usual caution, though without the least surmise of the design, dissuaded him from it, and advised him to reply to Robinson, that whatever related to his private affairs, must be of a civil nature, and could only properly be addressed to the civil authority. This reference fortunately deranged the plan; and was the first link in the chain of events that led to the detection. The interview could no longer take place in the form of a flag, but was obliged to be managed in a secret manner.

Arnold employed one Smith to go on board the Vulture the night of the twenty-second, to bring André on shore, with a pass for Mr. John Anderson. André came ashore accordingly; and was conducted within a picket of ours to the house of Smith, where Arnold and he remained together in close conference all that night and the day following. At daylight in the morning, the commanding officer at King’s Ferry, without the privity of Arnold, moved a couple of pieces of cannon to a point opposite to where the Vulture lay, and obliged her to take a more remote station. This event, or some lurking distrust, made the boatmen refuse to convey the two passengers back, and disconcerted Arnold so much, that by one of those strokes of infatuation which often confound the schemes of men conscious of guilt, he insisted on André’s exchanging his uniform for a disguise, and returning in a mode different from that in which he came. André, who had been undesignedly brought within our posts in the first instance, remonstrated warmly against this new and dangerous expedient. But Arnold persisting in declaring it impossible for him to return as he came, he at length reluctantly yielded to his direction, and consented to change his dress, and take the route he recommended. Smith furnished the disguise, and in the evening passed King’s Ferry with him, and proceeded to Crompond, where they stopped the remainder of the night, at the instance of a militia officer, to avoid being suspected by him. The next morning they resumed their journey, Smith accompanying André a little beyond Pine’s Bridge, where he left him. He had reached Tarrytown, when he was taken up by three militia men, who rushed out of the woods and seized his horse.

At this critical moment, his presence of mind forsook him. Instead of producing his pass, which would have extricated him from our parties, and could have done him no harm with his own, he asked the militia men, if they were of the _upper_ or _lower_ party; distinctive appellations known among the enemy’s refugee corps. The militia men replied, they were of the lower party; upon which he told them he was a British officer, and pressed them not to detain him, as he was upon urgent business. This confession removed all doubts; and it was in vain he afterwards produced his pass. He was instantly forced off to a place of greater security, where, after a careful search, there were found, concealed in the feet of his stockings, several papers of importance, delivered to him by Arnold! Among these, were a plan of the fortifications of West Point; a memorial from the engineer on the attack and defence of the place; returns of the garrison, cannon, and stores; copy of the minutes of a council of war held by General Washington a few weeks before. The prisoner, at first, was inadvertently ordered to Arnold; but on recollection, while still on the way, he was countermanded, and sent to Old Salem. The papers were inclosed in a letter to General Washington, which, having taken a route different from that by which he returned, made a circuit that afforded leisure for another letter, through an ill-judged delicacy, written to Arnold with information of Anderson’s capture, to get to him an hour before General Washington arrived at his quarters; time enough to elude the fate that awaited him. He went down the river in his barge to the Vulture with such precipitate confusion, that he did not take with him a single paper useful to the enemy. On the first notice of the affair, he was pursued, but much too late to be overtaken.

There was some color for imagining it was a part of the plan to betray the General into the hands of the enemy. Arnold was very anxious to ascertain from him the precise day of his return; and the enemy’s movements seem to have corresponded to this point. But if it was really the case, it was very injudicious. The success must have depended on surprise; and as the officers at the advanced posts were not in the secret, their measures might have given the alarm; and General Washington, taking the command of the post, might have rendered the whole scheme abortive. Arnold, it is true, had so dispersed the garrison, as to have made a defence difficult, but not impracticable; and the acquisition of West Point was of such magnitude to the enemy, that it would have been unwise to connect it with any other object, however great, which might make the obtaining of it precarious.

Arnold, a moment before the setting out, went into Mrs. Arnold’s apartment, and informed her that some transactions had just come to light, which must for ever banish him from his country. She fell into a swoon at this declaration: and he left her in it, to consult his own safety, till the servants, alarmed by her cries, came to her relief. She remained frantic all day; accusing every one who approached her, with an intention to murder her child (an infant in her arms); and exhibiting every other mark of the most genuine and agonizing distress. Exhausted by the fatigue and tumult of her spirits, her phrensy subsided towards evening, and she sank into all the sadness of affliction. It was impossible not to have been touched with her situation. Every thing affecting in female tears, or in the misfortunes of beauty; every thing pathetic in the wounded tenderness of a wife, or in the apprehensive fondness of a mother; and, till I have reason to change the opinion, I will add, every thing amiable in suffering innocence; conspired to make her an object of sympathy to all who were present. She experienced the most delicate attentions, and every friendly office, till her departure for Philadelphia.

André was, without loss of time, conducted to the head quarters of the army, where he was immediately brought before a Board of General Officers, to prevent all possibility of misrepresentation, or cavil on the part of the enemy. The Board reported, that he ought to be considered as a spy, and, according to the laws of nations, to suffer death; which was executed two days after.

Never, perhaps, did any 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; asserting that he had been involuntarily an impostor; 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 rigor 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 even embarrass his feelings. On his part, while he carefully concealed every thing that might involve others, he frankly confessed all the facts relating 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 candor and firmness, mixed with a becoming sensibility, which he displayed, than he was penetrated with their liberality and politeness. He acknowledged the generosity of the behavior 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, has 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 the supposition of my having 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 imbitter 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, there was still a choice in the mode, which would make a material difference in his feelings; and he would be happy, if 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.

In going to the place of execution, he bowed familiarly as he went along, 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 some 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. ’Tis 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 insinuating. By his merit, he had acquired the unlimited 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 was at once precipitated from the summit of prosperity, and saw 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 shades that set off his good qualities. Misfortune cuts down the 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 enjoy a happier lot, are less prone to detract from it, through envy, and are more disposed, by compassion, to give him the credit he deserves, and perhaps even to magnify it.

I speak not of André’s conduct in this affair as a philosopher, but as a man of the world. The authorized maxims and practices of war, are the satires 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 André; while we could not but condemn him, if we were to examine his conduct by the sober rules of philosophy and moral rectitude. It is, however, a blemish on his fame, that he once intended to prostitute a flag: about this, a man of nice honor ought to have had a scruple; but the temptation was great: let his misfortunes cast a veil over his error.

Several letters from Sir Henry Clinton and others, were received in the course of the affair, feebly attempting to prove, that André came out under the protection of a flag, with a passport from a general officer in actual service; and consequently could not be justly detained. Clinton sent a deputation, composed of Lieutenant-General Robinson, Mr. Elliot, and Mr. William Smith, to represent, as he said, the true state of Major André’s case. General Greene met Robinson, and had a conversation with him; in which he reiterated the pretence of a flag; urged André’s release as a personal favor to Sir Henry Clinton; and offered any friend of ours, in their power, in exchange. Nothing could have been more frivolous than the plea which was used. The fact was, that beside the time, manner, object of the interview, change of dress, and other circumstances, there was not a single formality customary with flags; and the passport was not to Major André, but to Mr. Anderson. But had there been, on the contrary, all the formalities, it would be an abuse of language to say, that the sanction of a flag for corrupting an officer to betray his trust, ought to be respected. So unjustifiable a purpose, would not only destroy its validity, but make it an aggravation.

André, himself, has answered the argument, by ridiculing and exploding the idea, in his examination before the Board of Officers. It was a weakness to urge it.

There was, in truth, no way of saving him. Arnold, or he, must have been the victim: the former was out of our power.

It was by some suspected, Arnold had taken his measures in such a manner, that if the interview had been discovered in the act, it might have been in his power to sacrifice André to his own security. This surmise of double treachery, made them imagine Clinton might be induced to give up Arnold for André; and a gentleman took occasion to suggest this expedient to the latter, as a thing that might be proposed by him. He declined it. The moment he had been capable of so much frailty, I should have ceased to esteem him.

The infamy of Arnold’s conduct previous to his desertion, is only equalled by his baseness since. Beside the folly of writing to Sir Henry Clinton, assuring him that André had acted under a passport from him, and according to his directions while commanding officer at a post; and that, therefore, he did not doubt, he would be immediately sent in; he had the effrontery to write to General Washington in the same spirit; with the addition of a menace of retaliation, if the sentence should be carried into execution. He has since acted the farce of sending in his resignation. This man is, in every sense, despicable. Added to the scene of knavery and prostitution during his command in Philadelphia, which the late seizure of his papers has unfolded; the history of his command at West Point is a history of little, as well as great, villanies. He practised every dirty art of peculation; and even stooped to connections with the suttlers of the garrison, to defraud the public.

To his conduct, that of the captors of André forms a striking contrast. He tempted them with the offer of his watch, his horse, and any sum of money they should name. They rejected his offers with indignation: and the gold that could seduce a man high in the esteem and confidence of his country, who had the remembrance of past exploits, the motives of present reputation and future glory, to prop his integrity, had no charms for three simple peasants, leaning only on their virtue and an honest sense of their duty. While Arnold is handed down, with execration, to future times, posterity will repeat, with reverence, the names of Van Wart, Paulding, and Williams.

I congratulate you, my friend, on our happy escape from the mischiefs with which this treason was big. It is a new comment on the value of an honest man, and if it were possible, would endear you to me more than ever.

Adieu,
A. Hamilton.

SCHUYLER TO HAMILTON.

Poughkeepsie, Sept. 10, 1780.

My Dear Sir:

I am very apprehensive the unhappy event, mentioned in your favor of the fifth instant, will draw very serious consequences in its train. It will certainly much embarrass us, and probably retard the termination of the war. It will, however, be attended with one good; the adherents, in Congress, to the gallant Commander, will not have it any longer in their power to play him off against the General. Gracious God! that any rational being should put two men in competition, one of which has _commanded_ an army, the other only been at the head of one; for I aver, that when he was to the northward, he never made a disposition of his troops. Indeed he was incapable: he never saw an enemy, except at a good distance, and from places of perfect security. Indeed, indeed, he has not lost a whit, in my estimation, by this stroke of his.

The General will have shown you extracts from the Senate and Assembly’s Addresses to the Governor. A Committee of both Houses is appointed to report on the proceedings of the Convention: they will certainly adopt and extend the views of that Convention. Some here are for appointing a Dictator, with a Vice Dictator in each State, invested with all the powers conferred formerly by the Roman people on theirs. I made great interest to be left out of the delegation, and obtained it, although not without much difficulty. General M’Dougal is appointed in my stead: but I believe I shall be obliged to go to the eastern Convention. If so, I shall not repair to Rhode Island so soon as I intended.

Colonel Warner is wounded, and two of his officers killed near Fort Edward.

Pray make my respects acceptable to the General, to the gentlemen of the family, the Marquis, and those of his.

Adieu.
I am, dear Sir,
Very affectionately and sincerely,
Your most obedient servant,
Ph. Schuyler.

I forgot to inform the General that the Governor had sent him an extract of the proceedings of the Convention which I had promised to transmit.

SCHUYLER TO HAMILTON.

Poughkeepsie, September 16, 1780.

Dear Sir:

The great scarcity of wheat before harvest, and the drought since, has prevented the agent appointed to collect the supply required from this State, to deliver it to the Issuing Commissary; and we are at least ten thousand barrels in arrears; the wheat for all which is already assessed, a considerable quantity of it brought to the mills to be manufactured, and the remainder daily collecting. Hence, unless a second drought should prevail, our deficiency can be made good in the course of a month: and this may be relied on. But should the army actually be in operation, I do not _make a doubt_ but that the hand of Government will be laid on all in the country; and, in that case, a constant supply can be kept up so as to complete to thirty thousand barrels, and perhaps half as much more, should Congress order the quota of Pennsylvania (if she deigns to furnish any) to be sold, and the money transmitted to this State. Exclusive of the wheat already assessed to complete our quota of flour, the inhabitants of Tryon County, and the western part of Albany, are threshing. This the Legislature has ordered to be purchased for a State Magazine, should we not be able to purchase the whole. The whole may, however, be obtained, and without delay, if an operation takes place: to procure flour casks is the greatest difficulty. I wish those at West Point were ordered to be immediately put in order: those, and an aid of bags, may be necessary.

I have communed with the Governor on the subject of M’Henry’s wish. He is very much disposed to use his influence on the occasion, but doubts if he should be able to obtain a Lieutenancy, unless the Ensigns that now are, could all be provided for. If M’Henry merely wants military rank for the campaign, and will not accept of an Ensigncy, the Governor can, and will, give him a Lieutenant-Colonelcy in the State Levies, which will always give him rank in our militia, and, consequently, in the army, when the militia is in the field. But this must be determined before the Legislature rises. Please, therefore, to desire M’Henry to write me on the subject without delay, and to assure him of the best services in my power.

If I knew when you would be at Fishkill, if you pass that way, I would meet you there. Or if I believed it would not be disagreeable to the General, I would go to Hartford, as I wish to see the other Sachem.

A spirit favorable to the common cause, has pervaded almost both Houses. They begin to talk of a Dictator and Vice Dictators, as if it was a thing that was already determined on. To the Convention to be held at Hartford, I believe I shall be sent, with instructions to propose that a Dictator should be appointed.

I have just seen Van Schaick’s whim. There is not one Lieutenancy vacant.

I have had the inclosed several days with me, for want of a conveyance. Please to dispatch the bearer as expeditiously back as you can. Compliments to all.

I am, dear Sir, affectionately yours, etc.,
Ph. Schuyler.

Colonel Hamilton.

HAMILTON TO GREENE.

25th September, 1780.

Dear Sir:

There has just been unfolded at this place a scene of the blackest treason. Arnold has fled to the enemy--André, the British Adjutant General, is in our possession as a spy. His capture unravelled the mystery.

West Point was to have been the sacrifice. All the dispositions have been made for the purpose, and ’tis possible, though not probable, we may still see the execution. The wind is fair. I came here in pursuit of Arnold, but was too late. I advise your putting the army under marching orders, and detaching a brigade immediately this way.

I am, with great regard,
Your most obedient servant,
Alex. Hamilton,
Aid-de-Camp.

To Major General Greene.

HAMILTON TO MISS SCHUYLER.

September 25, 1780.

Arnold, hearing of the plot being detected, immediately fled to the enemy. I went in pursuit of him, but was much too late; and could hardly regret the disappointment, when, on my return, I saw an amiable woman, frantic with distress for the loss of a husband she tenderly loved; a traitor to his country and to his fame; a disgrace to his connections: it was the most affecting scene I ever was witness to. She, for a considerable time, entirely lost herself. The General went up to see her, and she upbraided him with being in a plot to murder her child. One moment she raved, another she melted into tears. Sometimes she pressed her infant to her bosom, and lamented its fate, occasioned by the imprudence of its father, in a manner that would have pierced insensibility itself. All the sweetness of beauty, all the loveliness of innocence, all the tenderness of a wife, and all the fondness of a mother, showed themselves in her appearance and conduct. We have every reason to believe, that she was entirely unacquainted with the plan, and that the first knowledge of it, was when Arnold went to tell her he must banish himself from his country and from her for ever. She instantly fell into a convulsion, and he left her in that situation.

This morning she is more composed. I paid her a visit, and endeavored to soothe her by every method in my power; though you may imagine she is not easily to be consoled. Added to her other distresses, she is very apprehensive the resentment of her country will fall upon her (who is only unfortunate) for the guilt of her husband.

I have tried to persuade her that her fears are ill founded; but she will not be convinced. She received us in bed, with every circumstance that would interest our sympathy: and her sufferings were so eloquent, that I wished myself her brother, to have a right to become her defender. As it is, I have entreated her to enable me to give her proofs of my friendship. Could I forgive Arnold for sacrificing his honor, reputation, and duty, I could not forgive him for acting a part that must have forfeited the esteem of so fine a woman. At present she almost forgets his crime in his misfortunes; and her horror at the guilt of the traitor, is lost in her love of the man. But a virtuous mind cannot long esteem a base one; and time will make her despise if it cannot make her hate.

A. Hamilton.

HAMILTON TO MISS SCHUYLER.

Tappan, Oct. 2, 1780.

Poor André suffers to-day. Every thing that is amiable in virtue, in fortitude, in delicate sentiment, and accomplished manners, pleads for him: but hard-hearted policy calls for a sacrifice. He must die----. I send you my account of Arnold’s affair; and to justify myself to your sentiments, I must inform you, that I urged a compliance with André’s request to be shot; and I do not think it would have had an ill effect: but some people are only sensible to motives of policy, and sometimes, from a narrow disposition, mistake it.

When André’s tale comes to be told, and present resentment is over; the refusing him the privilege of choosing the manner of his death will be branded with too much obstinacy.

It was proposed to me to suggest to him the idea of an exchange for Arnold; but I knew I should have forfeited his esteem by doing it, and therefore declined it. As a man of honor he could not but reject it; and I would not for the world have proposed to him a thing which must have placed me in the unamiable light of supposing him capable of meanness, or of not feeling myself the impropriety of the measure. I confess to you, I had the weakness to value the esteem of a dying man, because I reverenced his merit.

A. Hamilton.

SCHUYLER TO HAMILTON.

Albany, October 10, 1780.

My Dear Sir:

I am still confined to my room, but believe my disorder has taken a favorable turn, and that I shall soon be tolerably restored.

Colonel Van Schaick informs me that he is ordered down with his regiment. We are so sadly off here for directors, that I most sincerely wish he had been permitted to remain here: his deafness will render him little serviceable with his regiment.