The morning of the second of October broke with a clear sky,
and the promise of a bright autumnal day. The sun rose without
a cloud and gladdened hill, forest, and valley, with his cheering
light. Happiness was written on the face of nature as if
written with the finger of Heaven; but among the inhabitants
of men, sorrow and woe had, as ever, an abiding place. There
was one abode into the windows of which this morning's sun
shone, above all others, melancholy in its character, and most
melancholy for the scenes of human sorrow and wretchedness of
which it was the daily witness. It was a prison. In one of its
gloomiest apartments, sat a young man whose days were numbered—
whose star was about to become extinguished ere it reached
the zenith. It was Major Andre. His judges had doomed him
to die as a spy, taken within the American lines. The sympathising
American Chief would gladly have commuted this harsh
sentence, but military justice demanded the victim! In one hour
he was to be led forth to execution! His countenance was
firm. A delightful calm dwelt on his youthful and noble features,
and an air of repose and resignation marked his bearings. About
him stood a group of officers, foes of his country, but whom his

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virtues had converted into personal friends. Tears were in the
eyes of these stern warriors, and their voices trembled with emotion
as they talked in low tones with each other. He alone was
calm and resigned!

An officer entered and announced, in a subdued tone, that the
hour of execution had arrived. The prisoner rose with dignity
and said:

“Gentlemen, I am ready to wait on you.” Taking the arm of
Major Tallmadge, who had been constantly with him since his
captare, he left his cell with a firm step. In the street he took
the arms of two subaltern officers, and walked between them to
the place of execution. A natural composure pervaded his manner
and his whole deportment was remarkably dignified and self-possessed.

“My emotions are singular,” he said, turning to Major Tallmadge,
who walked near him, “when I reflect that in a very few
minutes I shall be an inhabitant of the world of spirits—so soon
have revealed to me the great secret! But I do not shrink from
it. I am not afraid to die—if I were, wretched, indeed, should
I be at this moment.”

They now came in sight of a gallows surrounded by a large
military force and a great concourse of citizens awaiting the
event—a deep gloom filling all hearts—commiseration visible on
every face.

When the young man saw the degrading instrument of execution
he stopped, and turning to Major Tallmadge said, with an
expression of mingled pain and indignation, “Why is this?”

“Are you ill, sir,” asked the officer, ignorant of the cause of
his emotion.

“Tis nothing, sir,” said the young soldier, recovering his composure;
“I hoped to have met death at least at the hands of soldiers,
and not at those of the common hangman. Move forward,
I am reconciled to death, but I detest the mode.”

In a few minutes afterwards he stood beneath the gallows.
As he looked up at the fatal engine of death, his chest heaved and
there was a choaking in his throat as if he were striving to suppress
feelings struggling to escape. At length the noose was
suspended from the beam and the wagon placed beneath.

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Without assisteace he stepped into it, and then for a moment he appeared
to shrink. The ascendancy of nature was but momentary.
Instantly recovering himself, he looked round upon the sorrowful
faces at the foot of the gallows and said, with a smile:

“It will be but a momentary pang.”

Then, declining the assistance of the provost-marshal, he
bandaged his own eyes with a degree of firmness and resignation
that the eyes of all who gazed were filled with tears, and deep
groans of emotion escaped from the breast of many a stalwart
soldier, that the stern spirit of military laws should demand so
young and noble a victim.

The provost-marshal now loosely pinioned his arms and placed
the noose over the young man's head, who, himself, with perfect
firmness, adjusted it to his neck.

“Major Andre, you have now an opportunity to speak if you
desire it,” said the provost-marshal.

Lifting the handkerchief from his eyes, he looked steadily
around and said, in a firm, clear voice that reached every ear of
the silent multitude:

“I pray you bear me witness that I meet my fate like a brave
man.” There was no vain boasting in his voice or manner, but
his words proceeded from that honorable pride which becomes a
soldier, and which sheds a halo even around the brow of death.
When he had said this, he resumed his former position and
calmly awaited his fate.

The signal was given—the wagon rolled from beneath him,
and the victim of military justice had expiated his offence with
his life.

“Such,” says Mr. Sparks in his `Biography of Arnold,' which
able work we have made free use of in this outline, “such was
the death of a man whose rare accomplishments had procured
for him the friendship and confidence of all to whom he was
known, and opened the happiest passages of a future career of
renown and glory. In ten short days his blooming hopes had
been blighted, and his glowing visions dispersed. But it was his
singular fortune to die, not more beloved by his friends than lamented
by his enemies, whose cause he had sought to ruin, and
by whose hands his life was justly taken. Time has consecrated

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the feeling. There are few Americans, and few will there ever
be, who can look back upon the fate of Andre without deep regret.
His name is embalmed in every generous heart; and they
who shall condemn his great error and applaud the sentence of
his judges, will cherish a melancholy remembrance of the unfortunate
victim, and grieve that a life of so much promise, adorned
with so many elevated and estimable qualities, was destined to
an untimely and ignominious end.” The tears and eulogies that
have followed the memory of this noble gentleman, brave soldier,
and honorable man, eminently show how virtue may ennoble even
the gallows, and demonstrate that it is far better to die well,
though on the gallows, than, like Bededict Arnold, to purchase
life with the scorn and contempt of mankind.

“Still lived he on—his victim doomed to die—
Yet in their different fates behold the homily.”

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