, Captain Second Company,
Third Regiment of Pennsylvania Foot, has herewith permission
to visit Major André.
Third Regiment of Pennsylvania Foot, has herewith permission
to visit Major André.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v17 - Mai to Mom
— dies; never mind: that gentle
clasp of her fingers, as she steals behind you, telling you not
to weep — it is worth ten friends!
Your sister, sweet one, is dead — buried. The worms are busy
with all her fairness. How it makes you think earth nothing but
a spot to dig graves upon!
It is more: she, she says, will be a sister; and the waving
curls as she leans upon your shoulder, touch your cheek, and
your wet eye turns to meet those other eyes. — God has sent his
angel, surely.
Your mother, alas for it, she is gone! Is there any bitterness
to a youth, alone and homeless, like this ?
But you are not homeless; you are not alone: she is there;
- her tears softening yours, her smile lighting yours, her grief
killing yours; and you live again, to assuage that kind sorrow of
hers.
Then – those children, rosy, fair-haired; no, they do
, not
disturb you with their prattle now — they are yours ! Toss
away there on the greensward-never mind the hyacinths, the
–
snowdrops, the violets, if so be any are there: the perfume of
their healthful lips is worth all the flowers of the world. No
need now to gather wild bouquets to love and cherish: flower,
tree, gun, are all dead things; things livelier hold your soul.
And she, the mother, sweetest and fairest of all, watching,
tending, caressing, loving, till your own heart grows pained with
tenderest jealousy, and cures itself with loving.
You have no need now of any cold lecture to teach thankful-
ness: your heart is full of it. No need now, as once, of burst-
ing blossoms, of trees taking leaf, and greenness, to turn thought
## p. 10122 (#550) ##########################################
IOI 22
DONALD G. MITCHELL
kindly and thankfully: forever beside you there is bloom, and
ever beside you there is fruit, - for which eye, heart, and soul
are full of unknown, and unspoken, because unspeakable, thank-
offering
And if sickness catches you, binds you, lays you down — no
lonely moanings, and wicked curses at careless-stepping nurses.
The step is noiseless, and yet distinct beside you, . The white
curtains are drawn, or withdrawn by the magic of that other
presence; and the soft cool hand is upon your brow.
No cold comfortings of friend-watchers, merely come in to
steal a word away from that outer world which is pulling at
their skirts; but ever the sad shaded brow of her whose lightest
sorrow for your sake is your greatest grief,- if it were not a
greater joy.
The blaze was leaping light and high, and the wood falling
under the growing heat.
So, continued I, this heart would be at length itself; striving
with everything gross, even now as it clings to grossness.
Love
would make its strength native and progressive. Earth's cares
would fly. Joys would double. Susceptibilities be quickened.
Love master Self; and having made the mastery, stretch onward
and upward toward Infinitude.
And if the end came, and sickness brought that follower-
Great Follower— which sooner or later is sure to come after,
then the heart and the hand of Love, ever near, are giving to
your tired soul, daily and hourly, lessons of that love which con-
soles, which triumphs, which circleth all and centreth in all -
Love Infinite and Divine!
Kind hands none but hers — will smooth the hair upon your
brow as the chill grows damp and heavy on it; and her fingers
none but hers—will lie in yours as the wasted flesh stiffens
and hardens for the ground. Her tears — you could feel no
others, if oceans fell — will warm your drooping features once
more to life; once more your eye, lighted in joyous triumph,
kindle in her smile, and then
The fire fell upon the hearth; the blaze gave a last leap -a
flicker — then another -- caught a little remaining twig - blazed
up— wavered
- went out.
There was nothing but a bed of glowing embers, over which
the white ashes gathered fast. I was alone with only my dog
for company.
## p. 10123 (#551) ##########################################
10123
S. WEIR MITCHELL
(1829-)
R. Weir Mitchell has won distinction in two very different
fields. He has international reputation as a specialist in
nervous diseases, while as a writer of fiction and poetry he
has done work of dignity and worth.
Silas Weir Mitchell — he has dropped the first baptismal name
is the son of the Rev. Dr. I. K. Mitchell of Philadelphia, in which
city Weir was born February 15th, 1829. He was educated at the
University of Pennsylvania, and at Jefferson Medical College, whence
he was graduated in 1850. He soon did
notable work in the study of snake poisons;
and as army surgeon in the Philadelphia
hospital for injuries to the nerves, his studies
of nervous affections gave him a high place
in his profession. Besides more technical
publications, his medical works include a
number of popular treatises.
In view of his strenuous and success-
ful labor in medicine, Dr. Mitchell has
displayed a remarkable activity in pure lit-
erature. His works in fiction and poetry
count up to a dozen or more volumes. His
first fiction, Hephzibah Guinness,' a volume S. WEIR MITCHELL
containing three short stories, appeared in
1880; and it was followed by 'In War Time) in 1884, Roland Blake
in 1886, and Characteristics in 1893,— the latter not fiction strictly,
but rather a series of conversations, full of suggestive ideas, and
often brilliant in reflection or characterization. It was not until the
novel (Hugh Wynne, Free Quaker,' in 1897, that Dr. Mitchell revealed
his full power as a story-writer, producing a powerful and skillfully
wrought art-work. Quaker life and war life have in his earlier fic-
tion been leading themes of interest; and in this fine historical study
of Revolutionary times in America, these blended in a story of much
picturesqueness, movement, and dramatic force. The book, while full
of accurate delineations of the bygone day, is written in a roman-
tic spirit which gives it color and charm. The analysis of human
nature is keen,- that of one who knows men and women in their
)
## p. 10124 (#552) ##########################################
10121
S. WEIR MITCHELL
normal and morbid manifestations, but who, by force of the poetic
imagination, avoids in his treatment the unpleasantly realistic or
pessimistic. Hugh Wynne certainly must be included among the
larger works of American historical-romantic fiction.
Dr. Mitchell began to print verse in 1882, with a volume entitled
(The Hill of Stones'; and the seven books which he has subsequently
published were gathered in 1896 into the single volume of his Col-
lected Poems. ) He demonstrates a genuine gift as a verse-writer;
and in a kind less often cultivated with success by modern poets —
the dramatic — he has done fine things. His historical pieces, Francis
Drake' and Philip Vernon,' are very vigorous and pleasing, and
show a sympathetic comprehension of Elizabethan models, a skillful
handling of blank verse, and a virile imagination. These poems are
dramatic in more than name and aim. The lyrics herewith printed
show Dr. Mitchell's happy touch in lighter forms.
A striking figure in the social and intellectual life of his city, a
rugged personality impressing those with whom it comes in contact,
an American of distinction, Weir Mitchell's contribution to letters is
sufficient to give him honorable enrollment among the literary men of
his land.
(
ANDRÉ'S FATE
From Hugh Wynne, Free Quaker. Copyright 1897, by the Century
Company
O"
N THE 20th of September I was desired by my colonel to con-
duct two companies from Newark, where we lay, through
the gap at Ramapo, New Jersey, to the main army, which
at this date was camped, as I have said, about Tappan. Being
stout and well, I was glad to move, and glad of a chance to see
the great river Hudson. We were assigned camp-ground near to
Piermont, on a hill slope, in a long-settled country, where since
early in the seventeenth century the Dutch had possessed the
land. Having no tents, on arriving we set to work at the old
business of hut-building; so that it was not until the 26th of Sep-
tember that I had an idle hour in which to look up Jack, who
lay somewhere between Tappan and the river.
It was, as usual, a joyous meeting, and we never did less
lack for talk. Jack told me that he was ordered on an unpleas-
ant bit of business, and asked if I could not get leave to go with
him. Orders were come from West Point to seize and destroy all
periaguas, canoes, and boats in the possession of the few and
## p. 10125 (#553) ##########################################
S. WEIR MITCHELL
10125
often doubtfully loyal people between us and King's Ferry. He
had for this duty two sail-rigged dories with slide-keels, and
would take two soldiers in each.
Upon his representing my skill as a sailor, and the need for
two officers, I was allowed to turn over my command to the
junior captain and to join Jack.
We set off on the 27th of September with provender and two
small tents, and went away up the river with a fine wind. The
water was a dull gray, and the heavens clouded. The far shore
of Dobbs' Ferry and Tarrytown was already gayly tinted with
the hues of the autumn, and to south the bleak gray lines of the
Palisades below Sneedon's Landing lay sombre and stern under
a sunless sky. One of my men was a good sailor, and I was
thus enabled to spend most of the day in Jack's boat.
I mention all these details because of a curious coincidence.
I said to Jack - I was steering — that I had had since dawn a
- I —
feeling that some calamity was about to happen. Now this was,
as I recall it, a notion quite new to me, and far more like Jack
himself. He laughed and said it was the east wind. Then after
a pause he added: "I was trying to recall something I once
heard, and now I have it. This waiting for an idea is like fish-
ing in the deep waters of the mind: sometimes one gets only a
nibble, and sometimes a bite; but I have my fish. It was Dr.
Rush who told me that the liver was the mother of ghosts and
presentiments. When I told him I was afflicted with these latter,
he put on his glasses, looked at me, and said I was of a presen-
timental temperament. ”
“And he was right,” said I, laughing. Then Jack declared
the weather was sorry enough to account for my notion. I made
answer, as I remember, that I was not subject to the rule of the
weathercock, like some fellows I knew, nor to thinking I was
going to be shot. This shut up Jack for a while, and we got off
on to our own wise plans for capturing Sir Henry and all his
host.
At last we ran ashore at a settled point, called Nyack, and
thence we went to and fro wherever we saw the smoke of men's
homes. We broke up or burned many boats and dugouts, amid
the lamentations of their owners, because with the aid of these
they were enabled to take fish, and were ill off for other diet.
We had an ugly task, and could only regret the sad but inexor-
able necessities of war.
## p. 10126 (#554) ##########################################
101 26
S. WEIR MITCHELL
As we ap-
We camped ten miles above Piermont; and next day, near to
dusk, got as far as King's Landing, having pretty thoroughly
attended to our ungracious task.
As the tall promontory of Stony Point rose before us, dim in
the evening light, we talked of Wayne's gallant storming of this
formidable fort, and of his affection for the bayonet, which, he
said, was to be preferred to the musket because it was always
loaded.
“We of our State had most of that glory,” said Jack; "and
all our best generals, save the great chief, are men of the
North,” which was true and strange.
We had at this place a strong force of horse and foot; and
here we meant to pass the night with some of our officers,
friends of Jack's.
It was quite dark, when, running in with a free sheet, we
came close to a large barge rowed by six men.
proached I heard a stern order to keep off; and recognized in
the boat, where were also armed men, Major Tallmadge, whom
I knew. I called to him, but as he only repeated his order, I
answered, “Very well, sir ;” and we drew in to the shore some
hundred feet away.
Jack said it was queer: what could it mean? We walked
toward the small blockhouse in time to see Tallmadge and several
soldiers conduct a cloaked prisoner into the fort. A little later
the major came out, and at once asked me to excuse his abrupt-
ness, saying that he had in charge Sir Henry Clinton's adjutant-
general, who had been caught acting as a spy, and was now
,
about to be taken to Tappan. I exclaimed, “Not Major André! ”
"Yes,” he returned, "André. A bad business. ” And I was
hastily told the miserable story of Arnold's treason and flight.
I turned to Jack. « There it is,” said I. «What of my presenti.
ment? ” He was silent. “You know, I added, “that to this
man I owed my life at the Mischianza ball: here he is in the
same trap from which his refusal to aid my cousin saved me. ”
I was terribly distressed; and at my urgent desire, in place of
remaining at the fort, we set out after supper and pulled down
the river against the food-tide, while my unfortunate friend
André was hurried away to Tappan, guarded by a strong escort
of light horse.
We reached Sneedon's Landing about 5 A, M. , and I went
up with Jack to his hut. Here I got a bit of uneasy sleep, and
(
1
## p. 10127 (#555) ##########################################
S. WEIR MITCHELL
10127
thence set off to find Hamilton; for the whole staff, with his
Excellency, had made haste to reach the camp at Tappan so soon
as the general felt reassured as to the safety of West Point.
I walked a half-mile up a gentle rise of ground to the main
road, about which were set, close to the old Dutch church, a few
modest one-story stone houses, with far and near the canton-
ments of the armies. At the bridge over Piermont Creek, I was
stopped by sentries set around a low brick building, then used as
headquarters. It stood amid scattered apple-trees on a slight rise
of ground, and was, as I recall it, built of red and black brick.
Behind the house was the little camp of the mounted guard, and
on all sides were stationed sentinels, who kept the immediate
grounds clear from intrusion. For this there was need; soldiers
and officers were continually coming hither in hopes to gather
fresh news of the great treason, or curious as to this strange
capture of Sir Henry Clinton's adjutant. General officers came
and went with grave faces; aides mounted and rode away in
haste; all was excitement and anxious interest, - every one asking
questions, and none much the wiser. With difficulty I succeeded
in sending in a note to Hamilton along with Jack's report. This
was nigh to nine in the morning, but it was after midday before
I got a chance to see my friend.
Meanwhile I walked up and down in a state of such agitation
and distress as never before nor since have I known. When I
had seen Major Tallmadge, he knew but little of those details of
Arnold's treason which later became the property of all men;
but he did tell me that the correspondence had been carried on
for Sir Henry by André in the name of Anderson, and this
brought to my mind the letter which the Quaker farmer declined
to surrender to me at the time I was serving as Arnold's aide.
I went back at last to Jack's hut in the valley near the river,
and waited. I leave Jack to say how I felt and acted that day
and evening, as I lay and thought of André and of poor Mar-
garet Shippen, Arnold's wife: -
“Never have I seen my dear Hugh in such trouble. Here
was a broken-hearted woman, the companion of his childhood;
and André, who, at a moment which must have called upon his
every instinct as a soldier, held back and saved my friend from
a fate but too likely to be his own. Hugh all that evening lay
in our hut, and now and then would break out declaring he must
do something; but what, he knew not, nor did I. He was even
## p. 10128 (#556) ##########################################
10128
S. WEIR MITCHELL
so mad as to think he might plan some way to assist André
to escape. I listened, but said nothing, being assured from long
knowledge that his judgment would correct the influence of the
emotion which did at first seem to disturb it.
"Now all this miserable business is over, I ask myself if our
chief would have tried to buy an English general; or if so, would
I or Hugh have gone on such an errand as André's. To be a
spy is but a simple duty, and no shame in it; but as to the
shape this other matter took, I do not feel able to decide. ”
Still later he adds:
“Nor is my mind more fully settled as to it to-day; some
think one way, some another. I had rather André had not gone
on this errand with the promise of a great reward. Yet I think
he did believe he was only doing his duty. ”
After an hour or more of fruitless thinking, not hearing from
Mr. Hamilton, I walked back to headquarters. Neither in the
joy and pride of glad news, nor when disaster on disaster fell on
us, have I ever seen anything like the intensity of expectation
and of anxiety which at this time reigned in our camps. The
capture of the adjutant-general was grave enough; his fate hung
in no doubtful balance: but the feeling aroused by the fall of a
great soldier, the dishonor of one greatly esteemed in the ranks,
the fear of what else might come, all served to foster uneasiness
and to feed suspicion. As the great chief had said, whom now
could he trust, or could we? The men talked in half-whispers
about the camp-fires; an hundred wild rumors were afloat; and
now and again eager eyes looked toward the low brick church
where twelve general officers were holding the court-martial
which was to decide the fate of my friend.
It was evening before the decision of the court-martial became
generally known. I wandered about all that day in the utmost
depression of mind. About two in the afternoon of this 29th of
September, I met Hamilton near the creek. He said he had
been busy all day, and was free for an hour: would I come
and dine at his quarters ? what was the matter with me?
I was
glad of the chance to speak freely. We had a long and a sad
talk, and he then learned why this miserable affair affected
me so deeply. He had no belief that the court could do other
than condemn Mr. André to die. I asked anxiously if the chief
were certain to approve the sentence. He replied gloomily, "As
surely as there is a God in heaven. ”
1
## p. 10129 (#557) ##########################################
S. WEIR MITCHELL
T0129
I could only wait. A hundred schemes were in my mind,
each as useless as the others, In fact, I knew not what to do.
On the 30th his Excellency signed the death-warrant; and all
hope being at an end, I determined to make an effort to see the
man to whom I believe I owed my life. When I represented
the matter to Mr. Hamilton and to the Marquis de Lafayette, I
put my request on the ground that Mr. André had here no one
who could be called a friend, excepting only myself; and that to
refuse me an interview were needlessly cruel. I wrote my appli-
cation with care, the marquis, who was most kind throughout,
charging himself with the business of placing it favorably before
our chief.
The execution had been ordered for October ist; but upon
receipt of some communication from Sir Henry Clinton, it was
postponed until noon on October 2d.
On the 30th I rode out into the hills back of Tappan, and
tried to compose myself by my usual and effective remedy of a
hard ride. It was useless now. I came back to my friend's
quarters and tried to read, finding a stray volume of the Ram-
bler on his table. It was as vain a resort.
Never at any time in my memory have I spent two days of
such unhappiness. I could get no rest and no peace of mind.
To be thus terribly in the grip of events over which you have
no control, is to men of my temper a maddening affliction. My
heart seemed all the time to say, “Do something,” and my rea-
son to reply, “There is nothing to do. ” It was thus in the jail
when my cousin was on my mind; now it was as to André, and
as to the great debt I owed him, and how to pay it. People who
despair easily do not fall into the clutches of this intense cray-
ing for some practical means of relief where none can be. It is
the hopeful, the resolute, and such as are educated by success,
who suffer thus. But why inflict on others the story of these
two days, except to let those who come after me learn how one
of their blood looked upon a noble debt, which, alas! like many
debts, must go to be settled in another world, and in other ways
than ours.
Hamilton, who saw my agitation, begged me to prepare for
disappointment. I, however, could see no reason to deny a man
access to one doomed, when no other friend was near.
Nor was
I wrong. About seven in the evening of the ist, the marquis
came in haste to find me. He had asked for my interview with
XVII-634
## p. 10130 (#558) ##########################################
.
10130
S. WEIR MITCHELL
Mr. André as a favor to himself. His Excellency had granted
the request in the face of objections from two general officers,
whom the marquis did not name.
As I thanked him he gave
me this order:
“To Major Tallmadge :
“The bearer, Hugh Wynne, Esq.
, Captain Second Company,
Third Regiment of Pennsylvania Foot, has herewith permission
to visit Major André.
“GEOWASHINGTON.
"October ist, 1780. "
I went at once — it was now close to eight in the evening -
to the small house of one Maby, where the prisoner was kept.
It was but an hundred yards from his Excellency's quarters. Six
sentries marched to and fro around it, and within the room two
officers remained day and night with drawn swords.
My pass
was taken at the door of the house, while I waited on the road
without. In a few minutes an officer came to me with Major
Tallmadge's compliments, and would I be pleased to enter?
I sometimes think it strange how, even in particulars, the
natural and other scenery of this dark drama remains distinct
in my memory, unaffected by the obliterating influence of the
years, which have effaced so much else I had been more glad
to keep
I can
see to-day the rising moon, the yellowish road, the
long gray stone farm-house of one story, with windows set in an
irregular frame of brickwork. The door opens, and I find myself
in a short hall, where two officers salute as I pass. My con-
ductor says, “This way, Captain Wynne ”; and I enter a long,
cheerless-looking apartment, the sitting-room of a Dutch farm-
house. Two lieutenants, seated within at the doorway, rose as I
entered, and saluting me, sat down again. I stood an instant
looking about me. A huge log fire roared on the hearth, so
lighting the room that I saw its glow catch the bayonet tips of
the sentinels outside, as they went and came. There were a half-
dozen wooden chairs, and on a pine table four candles burning,
a bottle of Hollands, a decanter and glasses. In a high-backed
chair sat a man with his face to the fire. It was André. He
was tranquilly sketching, with a quill pen, a likeness of himself. *
* My acquaintance, Captain Tomlinson, has it.
## p. 10131 (#559) ##########################################
S. WEIR MITCHELL
JO131
He did not turn or leave off drawing until Captain Tomlinson,
one of the officers in charge, seeing me pause, said:-
"Your pardon, major. Here is a gentleman come to visit
you. ”
»
As he spoke the prisoner turned, and I was at once struck by
the extreme pallor of his face, even as seen in the red light of
the fire. His death-like whiteness at this time brought out the
regular beauty of his features, as his usual ruddiness of color
never did. I have since seen strong men near to certain death,
but I recall no one who, with a serene and untroubled visage,
was yet as white as was this gentleman.
The captain did not present me; and for a moment I stood
with a kind of choking in the throat, which came, I suppose, of
the great shock André's appearance gave me. He was thus the
first to speak.
“Pardon me,” he said as he rose: “the name escaped me. ”
“Mr. Hugh Wynne,” I said, getting myself pulled together -
it was much needed.
"O Wynne! ” he cried quite joyously: "I did not know you.
How delightful to see a friend; how good of you to come! Sit
down. Our accommodations are slight. Thanks to his Excel-
lency, here are Madeira and Hollands: may I offer you a
glass ? »
“No, no," I said, as we took chairs by the fire; on which he
cast a log, remarking how cold it was. Then he added:
"Well, Wynne, what can I do for you ? ” And then, smiling,
Pshaw! what a thing is habit! What can I do for you, or
indeed, my dear Wynne, for any one ? But Lord! I am as glad
as a child. ”
It was all so sweet and natural that I was again quite over-
come.
“My God! ” I cried, I am so sorry, Mr. André! I came down
from King's Ferry in haste when I heard of this, and have been
three days getting leave to see you. I have never forgotten your
great kindness at the Mischianza. If there be any service I can
render you, I am come to offer it. ”
He smiled and said, “How strange is fate, Mr. Wynne!
Here am I in the same sad trap in which you might have been.
I was thinking this very evening of your happier escape. ” Then
he went on to tell me that he had instantly recognized me at
the ball, and also — what in my confusion at the time I did not
## p. 10132 (#560) ##########################################
10132
S. WEIR MITCHELL
hear - that Miss Peniston had cried out as she was about to
faint, "No, no, Mr. André! » Afterward he had wondered at
what seemed an appeal to him rather than to my cousin.
At last he said it would be a relief to him if he might speak
to me out of ear-shot of the officers. I said as much to these
gentlemen; and after a moment's hesitation, they retired outside
of the still open doorway of the room, leaving us freer to say
what we pleased. He was quiet, and as always, courteous to a
fault; but I did not fail to observe that at times, as we talked
and he spoke a word of his mother, his eyes filled with tears.
In general he was far more composed than I.
He said:-"Mr. Wynne, I have writ a letter, which I am
allowed to send to General Washington. Will you see that he
has it in person ? It asks that I may die a soldier's death. All
else is done. My mother — but no matter. I have wound up
my earthly affairs. I am assured, through the kindness of his
Excellency, that my letters and effects will reach my friends and
those who are still closer to me. I had hoped to see Mr. Hamil-
ton to-night, that I might ask him to deliver to your chief the
letter I now give you. But he has not yet returned, and I must
trust it to you to make sure that it does not fail to be consid-
ered. That is all, I think. ”
I said I would do my best, and was there no more - no
errand of confidence – nothing else?
"No," he replied thoughtfully; "no, I think not.
,
(I
I shall
never forget your kindness. Then he smiled and added, "My
never' is a brief day for me, Wynne, unless God permits us to
remember in the world where I shall be to-morrow. ”
I hardly recall what answer I made. I was ready to cry
like a child, He went on to bid me say to the good Attorney.
General Chew that he had not forgotten his pleasant hospitalities;
and he sent also some amiable message to the women of his
house, and to my aunt, and to the Shippens, speaking with the
ease and unrestraint of a man who looks to meet you at dinner
next week, and merely says a brief good-by.
I promised to charge myself with his messages, and said at
last that many officers desired me to express to him their sorrow
at his unhappy situation; and that all men thought it hard that
the life of an honest soldier was to be taken in place of that of
a villain and coward, who, if he had an atom of honor, would
give himself up.
(
(
)
## p. 10133 (#561) ##########################################
S. WEIR MITCHELL
10133
»
“May I beg of you, sir,” he returned, "to thank these gentle-
I
men of your army? 'Tis all I can do: and as to General Arnold
- no, Wynne, he is not one to do that; I could not expect it. ”
Before I rose to go on his errand I said, - and I was a little
embarrassed, - “May I be pardoned, sir, if I put to you a quite
personal question ? »
"Assuredly,” he returned. «What is it, and how can a poor
devil in my situation oblige you? ”
I said: "I have but of late learned that the exchanges were
all settled when I met my cousin Arthur Wynne at Amboy.
Could it have been that the letter I bore had anything to do
with this treason of General Arnold ? Within a day or two this
thought has come to me. ”
Seeing that he hesitated, I added, “Do not answer me unless
you see fit: it is a matter quite personal to myself. ”
"No," he replied: "I see no reason why I should not. Yes,
it was the first of the letters sent to Sir Henry over General
Arnold's signature. Your cousin suggested you as a messenger,
whose undoubted position and name would insure the safe car-
riage of what meant more to us than its mere contents seemed
to imply. Other messengers had become unsafe; it was needful
at once to find a certain way to reply to us.
The letter you
bore was such as an officer might carry, as it dealt seemingly
with nothing beyond questions of exchange of prisoners. For
these reasons, on a hint from Captain Wynne, you were selected
as a person beyond suspicion. I was ill at the time, as I believe
Mr. Wynne told you. "
“It is only too plain,” said I. It must have been well
known at our headquarters in Jersey that this exchange business
was long since settled. Had I been overhauled by any shrewd
or suspicious officer, the letter might well have excited doubt and
have led to inquiry. ”
“Probably: that was why you were chosen, -as a man of
known character. By the way, sir, I did not know of the selec-
tion, nor how it came about, until my recovery.
I had no part
in it. ”
I thanked him for thus telling me of his having no share in
the matter.
« You were ordered,” he continued, “as I recall it, to avoid
your main army in the Jerseys: you can now see why. There
is no need of further concealment. ”
»
(
a
## p. 10134 (#562) ##########################################
IO134
S. WEIR MITCHELL
It was clear enough. "I owe you,” I said, “my excuses for
intruding a business so personal. "
"And why not? I am glad to serve you.
It is rather a
relief, sir, to talk of something else than my own hopeless case.
Is there anything else? Pray, go on: I am at your service. ”
“ You are most kind. I have but one word to add: Arthur
Wynne was nay, must have been — deep in this business ? »
"Ah, now you have asked too much,” he replied; “but it is I
who am to blame. I had no right to name Captain Wynne. ”
“You must not feel uneasy. I owe him no love, Mr. André;
but I will take care that you do not suffer. His suggestion that
.
I should be made use of, put in peril not my life but my honor.
It is not to my interest that the matter should ever get noised
abroad. "
"I see,” he said. « Your cousin must be a strange person.
Do with what I have said as seems right to you. I shall be - or
rather,” and he smiled quite cheerfully, "I am content. One's
grammar forgets to-morrow sometimes. )
His ease and quiet seemed to me amazing. But it was getting
late, and I said I must go at once.
As I was in act to leave, he took my hand and said: There
are no thanks a man about to die can give that I do not offer
you, Mr. Wynne. Be assured your visit has helped me. It is
much to see the face of a friend. All men have been good to
me and kind, and none more so than his Excellency.
If to-
morrow I could see, as I go to death, one face I have known in
happier hours
it is much to ask — I may count on you, I am
sure. Ah, I see I can! And my letter you will be sure to do
your best ? »
(
“Yes,” I said, not trusting myself to speak further, and only
adding, “Good-by," as I wrung his hand. Then I went out into
the cold October starlight.
It was long after ten when I found Hamilton. I told him
briefly of my interview, and asked if it would be possible for me
to deliver in person to the general Mr. André's letter. I had in
fact that on my mind, which, if but a crude product of despair,
I yet did wish to say where alone it might help or be consid-
ered.
Hamilton shook his head. “I have so troubled his Excellency
as to this poor fellow that I fear I can do no more. Men who
do not know my chief cannot imagine the distress of heart this
c
## p. 10135 (#563) ##########################################
S. WEIR MITCHELL
10135
business has caused. I do not mean, Wynne, that he has or had
the least indecision concerning the sentence, but I can tell you
this,- the signature of approval of the court's finding is tremu-
lous and unlike his usual writing. We will talk of this again.
Will you wait at my quarters ? I will do my best for you. ”
I said I would take a pipe, and walk on the road at the foot
of the slope below the house in which Washington resided. With
this he left me.
The night was clear and beautiful; from the low hills far and
near the camp bugle-calls and the sound of horses neighing filled
the air. Uneasy and restless, I walked to and fro up and down
the road below the little farm-house. Once or twice I fancied I
saw the tall figure of the chief pass across the window-panes. A
hundred yards away was the house I had just left. There sat
a gallant gentleman awaiting death. Here, in the house above
me, was he in whose hands lay his fate. I pitied him too, and
wondered if in his place I could be sternly just. At my feet the
little brook babbled in the night, while the camp noises slowly
died away. Meantime, intent on my purpose, I tried to arrange
in my mind what I would say, or how plead a lost cause. I have
often thus prearranged the mode of saying what some serious
occasion made needful. I always get ready; but when the time
comes I am apt to say things altogether different, and to find,
too, that the wisdom of the minute is apt to be the better wis-
dom.
At last I saw Hamilton approaching me through the gloom.
“Come,” he said. “His Excellency will see you, but I fear it
will be of no use. He himself would agree to a change in the
form of death; but Generals Greene and Sullivan are strongly of
opinion that to do so in the present state of exasperation would
be unwise and impolitic. I cannot say what I should do were
I he. I am glad, Wynne, that it is not I who have to decide. I
lose my sense of the equities of life in the face of so sad a busi-
At least I would give him a gentleman's death.
erals who tried the case say that to condemn a man as a spy, and
not at last to deal with him as Hale was dealt with, would be
impolitic, and unfair to men who were as gallant as the poor
fellow in yonder farm-house. ”
« It is only too clear,” I said.
“Yes, they are right, I suppose; but it is a horrible business. ”
ness.
The gen-
## p. 10136 (#564) ##########################################
10136
S. WEIR MITCHELL
As we discussed, I went with him past the sentinels around
the old stone house and through a hall, and to left into a large
room.
« The general sleeps here,” Hamilton said in a lowered voice.
“We have but these two apartments; across the passage is his
dining-room, which he uses as his office. Wait here;” and so say-
ing, he left me. The room was large, some fifteen by eighteen
feet, and so low-ceiled that the Dutch builder had need to con-
trive a recess in the ceiling to permit of a place for the tall
Dutch clock he had brought from Holland. Around the chimney-
piece were Dutch tiles. Black Billy, the general's servant, sat
asleep in the corner, and two aides slumbered on the floor; tired
out, I fancy. I walked to and fro over the creaking boards, and
watched the Dutch clock. As it struck eleven, the figure of
Time, seated below the dial, swung a scythe and turned a tiny
hour-glass. A bell rang; an orderly came in and woke up an
aide: «Dispatch for West Point, sir, in haste. ” The young fel-
”
low groaned, stuck the paper in his belt, and went out for his
long night ride.
At last my friend returned. « The general will see you pres-
ently, Wynne; but it is a useless errand. Give me André's let- .
clasp of her fingers, as she steals behind you, telling you not
to weep — it is worth ten friends!
Your sister, sweet one, is dead — buried. The worms are busy
with all her fairness. How it makes you think earth nothing but
a spot to dig graves upon!
It is more: she, she says, will be a sister; and the waving
curls as she leans upon your shoulder, touch your cheek, and
your wet eye turns to meet those other eyes. — God has sent his
angel, surely.
Your mother, alas for it, she is gone! Is there any bitterness
to a youth, alone and homeless, like this ?
But you are not homeless; you are not alone: she is there;
- her tears softening yours, her smile lighting yours, her grief
killing yours; and you live again, to assuage that kind sorrow of
hers.
Then – those children, rosy, fair-haired; no, they do
, not
disturb you with their prattle now — they are yours ! Toss
away there on the greensward-never mind the hyacinths, the
–
snowdrops, the violets, if so be any are there: the perfume of
their healthful lips is worth all the flowers of the world. No
need now to gather wild bouquets to love and cherish: flower,
tree, gun, are all dead things; things livelier hold your soul.
And she, the mother, sweetest and fairest of all, watching,
tending, caressing, loving, till your own heart grows pained with
tenderest jealousy, and cures itself with loving.
You have no need now of any cold lecture to teach thankful-
ness: your heart is full of it. No need now, as once, of burst-
ing blossoms, of trees taking leaf, and greenness, to turn thought
## p. 10122 (#550) ##########################################
IOI 22
DONALD G. MITCHELL
kindly and thankfully: forever beside you there is bloom, and
ever beside you there is fruit, - for which eye, heart, and soul
are full of unknown, and unspoken, because unspeakable, thank-
offering
And if sickness catches you, binds you, lays you down — no
lonely moanings, and wicked curses at careless-stepping nurses.
The step is noiseless, and yet distinct beside you, . The white
curtains are drawn, or withdrawn by the magic of that other
presence; and the soft cool hand is upon your brow.
No cold comfortings of friend-watchers, merely come in to
steal a word away from that outer world which is pulling at
their skirts; but ever the sad shaded brow of her whose lightest
sorrow for your sake is your greatest grief,- if it were not a
greater joy.
The blaze was leaping light and high, and the wood falling
under the growing heat.
So, continued I, this heart would be at length itself; striving
with everything gross, even now as it clings to grossness.
Love
would make its strength native and progressive. Earth's cares
would fly. Joys would double. Susceptibilities be quickened.
Love master Self; and having made the mastery, stretch onward
and upward toward Infinitude.
And if the end came, and sickness brought that follower-
Great Follower— which sooner or later is sure to come after,
then the heart and the hand of Love, ever near, are giving to
your tired soul, daily and hourly, lessons of that love which con-
soles, which triumphs, which circleth all and centreth in all -
Love Infinite and Divine!
Kind hands none but hers — will smooth the hair upon your
brow as the chill grows damp and heavy on it; and her fingers
none but hers—will lie in yours as the wasted flesh stiffens
and hardens for the ground. Her tears — you could feel no
others, if oceans fell — will warm your drooping features once
more to life; once more your eye, lighted in joyous triumph,
kindle in her smile, and then
The fire fell upon the hearth; the blaze gave a last leap -a
flicker — then another -- caught a little remaining twig - blazed
up— wavered
- went out.
There was nothing but a bed of glowing embers, over which
the white ashes gathered fast. I was alone with only my dog
for company.
## p. 10123 (#551) ##########################################
10123
S. WEIR MITCHELL
(1829-)
R. Weir Mitchell has won distinction in two very different
fields. He has international reputation as a specialist in
nervous diseases, while as a writer of fiction and poetry he
has done work of dignity and worth.
Silas Weir Mitchell — he has dropped the first baptismal name
is the son of the Rev. Dr. I. K. Mitchell of Philadelphia, in which
city Weir was born February 15th, 1829. He was educated at the
University of Pennsylvania, and at Jefferson Medical College, whence
he was graduated in 1850. He soon did
notable work in the study of snake poisons;
and as army surgeon in the Philadelphia
hospital for injuries to the nerves, his studies
of nervous affections gave him a high place
in his profession. Besides more technical
publications, his medical works include a
number of popular treatises.
In view of his strenuous and success-
ful labor in medicine, Dr. Mitchell has
displayed a remarkable activity in pure lit-
erature. His works in fiction and poetry
count up to a dozen or more volumes. His
first fiction, Hephzibah Guinness,' a volume S. WEIR MITCHELL
containing three short stories, appeared in
1880; and it was followed by 'In War Time) in 1884, Roland Blake
in 1886, and Characteristics in 1893,— the latter not fiction strictly,
but rather a series of conversations, full of suggestive ideas, and
often brilliant in reflection or characterization. It was not until the
novel (Hugh Wynne, Free Quaker,' in 1897, that Dr. Mitchell revealed
his full power as a story-writer, producing a powerful and skillfully
wrought art-work. Quaker life and war life have in his earlier fic-
tion been leading themes of interest; and in this fine historical study
of Revolutionary times in America, these blended in a story of much
picturesqueness, movement, and dramatic force. The book, while full
of accurate delineations of the bygone day, is written in a roman-
tic spirit which gives it color and charm. The analysis of human
nature is keen,- that of one who knows men and women in their
)
## p. 10124 (#552) ##########################################
10121
S. WEIR MITCHELL
normal and morbid manifestations, but who, by force of the poetic
imagination, avoids in his treatment the unpleasantly realistic or
pessimistic. Hugh Wynne certainly must be included among the
larger works of American historical-romantic fiction.
Dr. Mitchell began to print verse in 1882, with a volume entitled
(The Hill of Stones'; and the seven books which he has subsequently
published were gathered in 1896 into the single volume of his Col-
lected Poems. ) He demonstrates a genuine gift as a verse-writer;
and in a kind less often cultivated with success by modern poets —
the dramatic — he has done fine things. His historical pieces, Francis
Drake' and Philip Vernon,' are very vigorous and pleasing, and
show a sympathetic comprehension of Elizabethan models, a skillful
handling of blank verse, and a virile imagination. These poems are
dramatic in more than name and aim. The lyrics herewith printed
show Dr. Mitchell's happy touch in lighter forms.
A striking figure in the social and intellectual life of his city, a
rugged personality impressing those with whom it comes in contact,
an American of distinction, Weir Mitchell's contribution to letters is
sufficient to give him honorable enrollment among the literary men of
his land.
(
ANDRÉ'S FATE
From Hugh Wynne, Free Quaker. Copyright 1897, by the Century
Company
O"
N THE 20th of September I was desired by my colonel to con-
duct two companies from Newark, where we lay, through
the gap at Ramapo, New Jersey, to the main army, which
at this date was camped, as I have said, about Tappan. Being
stout and well, I was glad to move, and glad of a chance to see
the great river Hudson. We were assigned camp-ground near to
Piermont, on a hill slope, in a long-settled country, where since
early in the seventeenth century the Dutch had possessed the
land. Having no tents, on arriving we set to work at the old
business of hut-building; so that it was not until the 26th of Sep-
tember that I had an idle hour in which to look up Jack, who
lay somewhere between Tappan and the river.
It was, as usual, a joyous meeting, and we never did less
lack for talk. Jack told me that he was ordered on an unpleas-
ant bit of business, and asked if I could not get leave to go with
him. Orders were come from West Point to seize and destroy all
periaguas, canoes, and boats in the possession of the few and
## p. 10125 (#553) ##########################################
S. WEIR MITCHELL
10125
often doubtfully loyal people between us and King's Ferry. He
had for this duty two sail-rigged dories with slide-keels, and
would take two soldiers in each.
Upon his representing my skill as a sailor, and the need for
two officers, I was allowed to turn over my command to the
junior captain and to join Jack.
We set off on the 27th of September with provender and two
small tents, and went away up the river with a fine wind. The
water was a dull gray, and the heavens clouded. The far shore
of Dobbs' Ferry and Tarrytown was already gayly tinted with
the hues of the autumn, and to south the bleak gray lines of the
Palisades below Sneedon's Landing lay sombre and stern under
a sunless sky. One of my men was a good sailor, and I was
thus enabled to spend most of the day in Jack's boat.
I mention all these details because of a curious coincidence.
I said to Jack - I was steering — that I had had since dawn a
- I —
feeling that some calamity was about to happen. Now this was,
as I recall it, a notion quite new to me, and far more like Jack
himself. He laughed and said it was the east wind. Then after
a pause he added: "I was trying to recall something I once
heard, and now I have it. This waiting for an idea is like fish-
ing in the deep waters of the mind: sometimes one gets only a
nibble, and sometimes a bite; but I have my fish. It was Dr.
Rush who told me that the liver was the mother of ghosts and
presentiments. When I told him I was afflicted with these latter,
he put on his glasses, looked at me, and said I was of a presen-
timental temperament. ”
“And he was right,” said I, laughing. Then Jack declared
the weather was sorry enough to account for my notion. I made
answer, as I remember, that I was not subject to the rule of the
weathercock, like some fellows I knew, nor to thinking I was
going to be shot. This shut up Jack for a while, and we got off
on to our own wise plans for capturing Sir Henry and all his
host.
At last we ran ashore at a settled point, called Nyack, and
thence we went to and fro wherever we saw the smoke of men's
homes. We broke up or burned many boats and dugouts, amid
the lamentations of their owners, because with the aid of these
they were enabled to take fish, and were ill off for other diet.
We had an ugly task, and could only regret the sad but inexor-
able necessities of war.
## p. 10126 (#554) ##########################################
101 26
S. WEIR MITCHELL
As we ap-
We camped ten miles above Piermont; and next day, near to
dusk, got as far as King's Landing, having pretty thoroughly
attended to our ungracious task.
As the tall promontory of Stony Point rose before us, dim in
the evening light, we talked of Wayne's gallant storming of this
formidable fort, and of his affection for the bayonet, which, he
said, was to be preferred to the musket because it was always
loaded.
“We of our State had most of that glory,” said Jack; "and
all our best generals, save the great chief, are men of the
North,” which was true and strange.
We had at this place a strong force of horse and foot; and
here we meant to pass the night with some of our officers,
friends of Jack's.
It was quite dark, when, running in with a free sheet, we
came close to a large barge rowed by six men.
proached I heard a stern order to keep off; and recognized in
the boat, where were also armed men, Major Tallmadge, whom
I knew. I called to him, but as he only repeated his order, I
answered, “Very well, sir ;” and we drew in to the shore some
hundred feet away.
Jack said it was queer: what could it mean? We walked
toward the small blockhouse in time to see Tallmadge and several
soldiers conduct a cloaked prisoner into the fort. A little later
the major came out, and at once asked me to excuse his abrupt-
ness, saying that he had in charge Sir Henry Clinton's adjutant-
general, who had been caught acting as a spy, and was now
,
about to be taken to Tappan. I exclaimed, “Not Major André! ”
"Yes,” he returned, "André. A bad business. ” And I was
hastily told the miserable story of Arnold's treason and flight.
I turned to Jack. « There it is,” said I. «What of my presenti.
ment? ” He was silent. “You know, I added, “that to this
man I owed my life at the Mischianza ball: here he is in the
same trap from which his refusal to aid my cousin saved me. ”
I was terribly distressed; and at my urgent desire, in place of
remaining at the fort, we set out after supper and pulled down
the river against the food-tide, while my unfortunate friend
André was hurried away to Tappan, guarded by a strong escort
of light horse.
We reached Sneedon's Landing about 5 A, M. , and I went
up with Jack to his hut. Here I got a bit of uneasy sleep, and
(
1
## p. 10127 (#555) ##########################################
S. WEIR MITCHELL
10127
thence set off to find Hamilton; for the whole staff, with his
Excellency, had made haste to reach the camp at Tappan so soon
as the general felt reassured as to the safety of West Point.
I walked a half-mile up a gentle rise of ground to the main
road, about which were set, close to the old Dutch church, a few
modest one-story stone houses, with far and near the canton-
ments of the armies. At the bridge over Piermont Creek, I was
stopped by sentries set around a low brick building, then used as
headquarters. It stood amid scattered apple-trees on a slight rise
of ground, and was, as I recall it, built of red and black brick.
Behind the house was the little camp of the mounted guard, and
on all sides were stationed sentinels, who kept the immediate
grounds clear from intrusion. For this there was need; soldiers
and officers were continually coming hither in hopes to gather
fresh news of the great treason, or curious as to this strange
capture of Sir Henry Clinton's adjutant. General officers came
and went with grave faces; aides mounted and rode away in
haste; all was excitement and anxious interest, - every one asking
questions, and none much the wiser. With difficulty I succeeded
in sending in a note to Hamilton along with Jack's report. This
was nigh to nine in the morning, but it was after midday before
I got a chance to see my friend.
Meanwhile I walked up and down in a state of such agitation
and distress as never before nor since have I known. When I
had seen Major Tallmadge, he knew but little of those details of
Arnold's treason which later became the property of all men;
but he did tell me that the correspondence had been carried on
for Sir Henry by André in the name of Anderson, and this
brought to my mind the letter which the Quaker farmer declined
to surrender to me at the time I was serving as Arnold's aide.
I went back at last to Jack's hut in the valley near the river,
and waited. I leave Jack to say how I felt and acted that day
and evening, as I lay and thought of André and of poor Mar-
garet Shippen, Arnold's wife: -
“Never have I seen my dear Hugh in such trouble. Here
was a broken-hearted woman, the companion of his childhood;
and André, who, at a moment which must have called upon his
every instinct as a soldier, held back and saved my friend from
a fate but too likely to be his own. Hugh all that evening lay
in our hut, and now and then would break out declaring he must
do something; but what, he knew not, nor did I. He was even
## p. 10128 (#556) ##########################################
10128
S. WEIR MITCHELL
so mad as to think he might plan some way to assist André
to escape. I listened, but said nothing, being assured from long
knowledge that his judgment would correct the influence of the
emotion which did at first seem to disturb it.
"Now all this miserable business is over, I ask myself if our
chief would have tried to buy an English general; or if so, would
I or Hugh have gone on such an errand as André's. To be a
spy is but a simple duty, and no shame in it; but as to the
shape this other matter took, I do not feel able to decide. ”
Still later he adds:
“Nor is my mind more fully settled as to it to-day; some
think one way, some another. I had rather André had not gone
on this errand with the promise of a great reward. Yet I think
he did believe he was only doing his duty. ”
After an hour or more of fruitless thinking, not hearing from
Mr. Hamilton, I walked back to headquarters. Neither in the
joy and pride of glad news, nor when disaster on disaster fell on
us, have I ever seen anything like the intensity of expectation
and of anxiety which at this time reigned in our camps. The
capture of the adjutant-general was grave enough; his fate hung
in no doubtful balance: but the feeling aroused by the fall of a
great soldier, the dishonor of one greatly esteemed in the ranks,
the fear of what else might come, all served to foster uneasiness
and to feed suspicion. As the great chief had said, whom now
could he trust, or could we? The men talked in half-whispers
about the camp-fires; an hundred wild rumors were afloat; and
now and again eager eyes looked toward the low brick church
where twelve general officers were holding the court-martial
which was to decide the fate of my friend.
It was evening before the decision of the court-martial became
generally known. I wandered about all that day in the utmost
depression of mind. About two in the afternoon of this 29th of
September, I met Hamilton near the creek. He said he had
been busy all day, and was free for an hour: would I come
and dine at his quarters ? what was the matter with me?
I was
glad of the chance to speak freely. We had a long and a sad
talk, and he then learned why this miserable affair affected
me so deeply. He had no belief that the court could do other
than condemn Mr. André to die. I asked anxiously if the chief
were certain to approve the sentence. He replied gloomily, "As
surely as there is a God in heaven. ”
1
## p. 10129 (#557) ##########################################
S. WEIR MITCHELL
T0129
I could only wait. A hundred schemes were in my mind,
each as useless as the others, In fact, I knew not what to do.
On the 30th his Excellency signed the death-warrant; and all
hope being at an end, I determined to make an effort to see the
man to whom I believe I owed my life. When I represented
the matter to Mr. Hamilton and to the Marquis de Lafayette, I
put my request on the ground that Mr. André had here no one
who could be called a friend, excepting only myself; and that to
refuse me an interview were needlessly cruel. I wrote my appli-
cation with care, the marquis, who was most kind throughout,
charging himself with the business of placing it favorably before
our chief.
The execution had been ordered for October ist; but upon
receipt of some communication from Sir Henry Clinton, it was
postponed until noon on October 2d.
On the 30th I rode out into the hills back of Tappan, and
tried to compose myself by my usual and effective remedy of a
hard ride. It was useless now. I came back to my friend's
quarters and tried to read, finding a stray volume of the Ram-
bler on his table. It was as vain a resort.
Never at any time in my memory have I spent two days of
such unhappiness. I could get no rest and no peace of mind.
To be thus terribly in the grip of events over which you have
no control, is to men of my temper a maddening affliction. My
heart seemed all the time to say, “Do something,” and my rea-
son to reply, “There is nothing to do. ” It was thus in the jail
when my cousin was on my mind; now it was as to André, and
as to the great debt I owed him, and how to pay it. People who
despair easily do not fall into the clutches of this intense cray-
ing for some practical means of relief where none can be. It is
the hopeful, the resolute, and such as are educated by success,
who suffer thus. But why inflict on others the story of these
two days, except to let those who come after me learn how one
of their blood looked upon a noble debt, which, alas! like many
debts, must go to be settled in another world, and in other ways
than ours.
Hamilton, who saw my agitation, begged me to prepare for
disappointment. I, however, could see no reason to deny a man
access to one doomed, when no other friend was near.
Nor was
I wrong. About seven in the evening of the ist, the marquis
came in haste to find me. He had asked for my interview with
XVII-634
## p. 10130 (#558) ##########################################
.
10130
S. WEIR MITCHELL
Mr. André as a favor to himself. His Excellency had granted
the request in the face of objections from two general officers,
whom the marquis did not name.
As I thanked him he gave
me this order:
“To Major Tallmadge :
“The bearer, Hugh Wynne, Esq.
, Captain Second Company,
Third Regiment of Pennsylvania Foot, has herewith permission
to visit Major André.
“GEOWASHINGTON.
"October ist, 1780. "
I went at once — it was now close to eight in the evening -
to the small house of one Maby, where the prisoner was kept.
It was but an hundred yards from his Excellency's quarters. Six
sentries marched to and fro around it, and within the room two
officers remained day and night with drawn swords.
My pass
was taken at the door of the house, while I waited on the road
without. In a few minutes an officer came to me with Major
Tallmadge's compliments, and would I be pleased to enter?
I sometimes think it strange how, even in particulars, the
natural and other scenery of this dark drama remains distinct
in my memory, unaffected by the obliterating influence of the
years, which have effaced so much else I had been more glad
to keep
I can
see to-day the rising moon, the yellowish road, the
long gray stone farm-house of one story, with windows set in an
irregular frame of brickwork. The door opens, and I find myself
in a short hall, where two officers salute as I pass. My con-
ductor says, “This way, Captain Wynne ”; and I enter a long,
cheerless-looking apartment, the sitting-room of a Dutch farm-
house. Two lieutenants, seated within at the doorway, rose as I
entered, and saluting me, sat down again. I stood an instant
looking about me. A huge log fire roared on the hearth, so
lighting the room that I saw its glow catch the bayonet tips of
the sentinels outside, as they went and came. There were a half-
dozen wooden chairs, and on a pine table four candles burning,
a bottle of Hollands, a decanter and glasses. In a high-backed
chair sat a man with his face to the fire. It was André. He
was tranquilly sketching, with a quill pen, a likeness of himself. *
* My acquaintance, Captain Tomlinson, has it.
## p. 10131 (#559) ##########################################
S. WEIR MITCHELL
JO131
He did not turn or leave off drawing until Captain Tomlinson,
one of the officers in charge, seeing me pause, said:-
"Your pardon, major. Here is a gentleman come to visit
you. ”
»
As he spoke the prisoner turned, and I was at once struck by
the extreme pallor of his face, even as seen in the red light of
the fire. His death-like whiteness at this time brought out the
regular beauty of his features, as his usual ruddiness of color
never did. I have since seen strong men near to certain death,
but I recall no one who, with a serene and untroubled visage,
was yet as white as was this gentleman.
The captain did not present me; and for a moment I stood
with a kind of choking in the throat, which came, I suppose, of
the great shock André's appearance gave me. He was thus the
first to speak.
“Pardon me,” he said as he rose: “the name escaped me. ”
“Mr. Hugh Wynne,” I said, getting myself pulled together -
it was much needed.
"O Wynne! ” he cried quite joyously: "I did not know you.
How delightful to see a friend; how good of you to come! Sit
down. Our accommodations are slight. Thanks to his Excel-
lency, here are Madeira and Hollands: may I offer you a
glass ? »
“No, no," I said, as we took chairs by the fire; on which he
cast a log, remarking how cold it was. Then he added:
"Well, Wynne, what can I do for you ? ” And then, smiling,
Pshaw! what a thing is habit! What can I do for you, or
indeed, my dear Wynne, for any one ? But Lord! I am as glad
as a child. ”
It was all so sweet and natural that I was again quite over-
come.
“My God! ” I cried, I am so sorry, Mr. André! I came down
from King's Ferry in haste when I heard of this, and have been
three days getting leave to see you. I have never forgotten your
great kindness at the Mischianza. If there be any service I can
render you, I am come to offer it. ”
He smiled and said, “How strange is fate, Mr. Wynne!
Here am I in the same sad trap in which you might have been.
I was thinking this very evening of your happier escape. ” Then
he went on to tell me that he had instantly recognized me at
the ball, and also — what in my confusion at the time I did not
## p. 10132 (#560) ##########################################
10132
S. WEIR MITCHELL
hear - that Miss Peniston had cried out as she was about to
faint, "No, no, Mr. André! » Afterward he had wondered at
what seemed an appeal to him rather than to my cousin.
At last he said it would be a relief to him if he might speak
to me out of ear-shot of the officers. I said as much to these
gentlemen; and after a moment's hesitation, they retired outside
of the still open doorway of the room, leaving us freer to say
what we pleased. He was quiet, and as always, courteous to a
fault; but I did not fail to observe that at times, as we talked
and he spoke a word of his mother, his eyes filled with tears.
In general he was far more composed than I.
He said:-"Mr. Wynne, I have writ a letter, which I am
allowed to send to General Washington. Will you see that he
has it in person ? It asks that I may die a soldier's death. All
else is done. My mother — but no matter. I have wound up
my earthly affairs. I am assured, through the kindness of his
Excellency, that my letters and effects will reach my friends and
those who are still closer to me. I had hoped to see Mr. Hamil-
ton to-night, that I might ask him to deliver to your chief the
letter I now give you. But he has not yet returned, and I must
trust it to you to make sure that it does not fail to be consid-
ered. That is all, I think. ”
I said I would do my best, and was there no more - no
errand of confidence – nothing else?
"No," he replied thoughtfully; "no, I think not.
,
(I
I shall
never forget your kindness. Then he smiled and added, "My
never' is a brief day for me, Wynne, unless God permits us to
remember in the world where I shall be to-morrow. ”
I hardly recall what answer I made. I was ready to cry
like a child, He went on to bid me say to the good Attorney.
General Chew that he had not forgotten his pleasant hospitalities;
and he sent also some amiable message to the women of his
house, and to my aunt, and to the Shippens, speaking with the
ease and unrestraint of a man who looks to meet you at dinner
next week, and merely says a brief good-by.
I promised to charge myself with his messages, and said at
last that many officers desired me to express to him their sorrow
at his unhappy situation; and that all men thought it hard that
the life of an honest soldier was to be taken in place of that of
a villain and coward, who, if he had an atom of honor, would
give himself up.
(
(
)
## p. 10133 (#561) ##########################################
S. WEIR MITCHELL
10133
»
“May I beg of you, sir,” he returned, "to thank these gentle-
I
men of your army? 'Tis all I can do: and as to General Arnold
- no, Wynne, he is not one to do that; I could not expect it. ”
Before I rose to go on his errand I said, - and I was a little
embarrassed, - “May I be pardoned, sir, if I put to you a quite
personal question ? »
"Assuredly,” he returned. «What is it, and how can a poor
devil in my situation oblige you? ”
I said: "I have but of late learned that the exchanges were
all settled when I met my cousin Arthur Wynne at Amboy.
Could it have been that the letter I bore had anything to do
with this treason of General Arnold ? Within a day or two this
thought has come to me. ”
Seeing that he hesitated, I added, “Do not answer me unless
you see fit: it is a matter quite personal to myself. ”
"No," he replied: "I see no reason why I should not. Yes,
it was the first of the letters sent to Sir Henry over General
Arnold's signature. Your cousin suggested you as a messenger,
whose undoubted position and name would insure the safe car-
riage of what meant more to us than its mere contents seemed
to imply. Other messengers had become unsafe; it was needful
at once to find a certain way to reply to us.
The letter you
bore was such as an officer might carry, as it dealt seemingly
with nothing beyond questions of exchange of prisoners. For
these reasons, on a hint from Captain Wynne, you were selected
as a person beyond suspicion. I was ill at the time, as I believe
Mr. Wynne told you. "
“It is only too plain,” said I. It must have been well
known at our headquarters in Jersey that this exchange business
was long since settled. Had I been overhauled by any shrewd
or suspicious officer, the letter might well have excited doubt and
have led to inquiry. ”
“Probably: that was why you were chosen, -as a man of
known character. By the way, sir, I did not know of the selec-
tion, nor how it came about, until my recovery.
I had no part
in it. ”
I thanked him for thus telling me of his having no share in
the matter.
« You were ordered,” he continued, “as I recall it, to avoid
your main army in the Jerseys: you can now see why. There
is no need of further concealment. ”
»
(
a
## p. 10134 (#562) ##########################################
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S. WEIR MITCHELL
It was clear enough. "I owe you,” I said, “my excuses for
intruding a business so personal. "
"And why not? I am glad to serve you.
It is rather a
relief, sir, to talk of something else than my own hopeless case.
Is there anything else? Pray, go on: I am at your service. ”
“ You are most kind. I have but one word to add: Arthur
Wynne was nay, must have been — deep in this business ? »
"Ah, now you have asked too much,” he replied; “but it is I
who am to blame. I had no right to name Captain Wynne. ”
“You must not feel uneasy. I owe him no love, Mr. André;
but I will take care that you do not suffer. His suggestion that
.
I should be made use of, put in peril not my life but my honor.
It is not to my interest that the matter should ever get noised
abroad. "
"I see,” he said. « Your cousin must be a strange person.
Do with what I have said as seems right to you. I shall be - or
rather,” and he smiled quite cheerfully, "I am content. One's
grammar forgets to-morrow sometimes. )
His ease and quiet seemed to me amazing. But it was getting
late, and I said I must go at once.
As I was in act to leave, he took my hand and said: There
are no thanks a man about to die can give that I do not offer
you, Mr. Wynne. Be assured your visit has helped me. It is
much to see the face of a friend. All men have been good to
me and kind, and none more so than his Excellency.
If to-
morrow I could see, as I go to death, one face I have known in
happier hours
it is much to ask — I may count on you, I am
sure. Ah, I see I can! And my letter you will be sure to do
your best ? »
(
“Yes,” I said, not trusting myself to speak further, and only
adding, “Good-by," as I wrung his hand. Then I went out into
the cold October starlight.
It was long after ten when I found Hamilton. I told him
briefly of my interview, and asked if it would be possible for me
to deliver in person to the general Mr. André's letter. I had in
fact that on my mind, which, if but a crude product of despair,
I yet did wish to say where alone it might help or be consid-
ered.
Hamilton shook his head. “I have so troubled his Excellency
as to this poor fellow that I fear I can do no more. Men who
do not know my chief cannot imagine the distress of heart this
c
## p. 10135 (#563) ##########################################
S. WEIR MITCHELL
10135
business has caused. I do not mean, Wynne, that he has or had
the least indecision concerning the sentence, but I can tell you
this,- the signature of approval of the court's finding is tremu-
lous and unlike his usual writing. We will talk of this again.
Will you wait at my quarters ? I will do my best for you. ”
I said I would take a pipe, and walk on the road at the foot
of the slope below the house in which Washington resided. With
this he left me.
The night was clear and beautiful; from the low hills far and
near the camp bugle-calls and the sound of horses neighing filled
the air. Uneasy and restless, I walked to and fro up and down
the road below the little farm-house. Once or twice I fancied I
saw the tall figure of the chief pass across the window-panes. A
hundred yards away was the house I had just left. There sat
a gallant gentleman awaiting death. Here, in the house above
me, was he in whose hands lay his fate. I pitied him too, and
wondered if in his place I could be sternly just. At my feet the
little brook babbled in the night, while the camp noises slowly
died away. Meantime, intent on my purpose, I tried to arrange
in my mind what I would say, or how plead a lost cause. I have
often thus prearranged the mode of saying what some serious
occasion made needful. I always get ready; but when the time
comes I am apt to say things altogether different, and to find,
too, that the wisdom of the minute is apt to be the better wis-
dom.
At last I saw Hamilton approaching me through the gloom.
“Come,” he said. “His Excellency will see you, but I fear it
will be of no use. He himself would agree to a change in the
form of death; but Generals Greene and Sullivan are strongly of
opinion that to do so in the present state of exasperation would
be unwise and impolitic. I cannot say what I should do were
I he. I am glad, Wynne, that it is not I who have to decide. I
lose my sense of the equities of life in the face of so sad a busi-
At least I would give him a gentleman's death.
erals who tried the case say that to condemn a man as a spy, and
not at last to deal with him as Hale was dealt with, would be
impolitic, and unfair to men who were as gallant as the poor
fellow in yonder farm-house. ”
« It is only too clear,” I said.
“Yes, they are right, I suppose; but it is a horrible business. ”
ness.
The gen-
## p. 10136 (#564) ##########################################
10136
S. WEIR MITCHELL
As we discussed, I went with him past the sentinels around
the old stone house and through a hall, and to left into a large
room.
« The general sleeps here,” Hamilton said in a lowered voice.
“We have but these two apartments; across the passage is his
dining-room, which he uses as his office. Wait here;” and so say-
ing, he left me. The room was large, some fifteen by eighteen
feet, and so low-ceiled that the Dutch builder had need to con-
trive a recess in the ceiling to permit of a place for the tall
Dutch clock he had brought from Holland. Around the chimney-
piece were Dutch tiles. Black Billy, the general's servant, sat
asleep in the corner, and two aides slumbered on the floor; tired
out, I fancy. I walked to and fro over the creaking boards, and
watched the Dutch clock. As it struck eleven, the figure of
Time, seated below the dial, swung a scythe and turned a tiny
hour-glass. A bell rang; an orderly came in and woke up an
aide: «Dispatch for West Point, sir, in haste. ” The young fel-
”
low groaned, stuck the paper in his belt, and went out for his
long night ride.
At last my friend returned. « The general will see you pres-
ently, Wynne; but it is a useless errand. Give me André's let- .
