Unknown

I’m again moved, this time near the Continental Army headquarters. I’m given a shed with an ample living room and tiny bedroom under a sloped roof. From the windows I watch a picturesque town that reminds me of England, with its quaint, small-steepled church in the center. Religion means so much more to me now that I suddenly near death’s threshold.

MY HIDING PLACE

Hail, sovereign love, which first began
The scheme to rescue fallen man!
Hail, matchless, free, eternal grace,
Which gave my soul a Hiding Place!

Against the God who built the sky
I fought with hands uplifted high—
Despised the mention of His grace,
Too proud to seek a Hiding Place.

Enwrapt in thick Egyptian night,
And fond of darkness more than light,
Madly I ran the sinful race,
Secure—without a Hiding Place!

But thus the eternal counsel ran:
Almighty love, arrest that man!
I felt the arrows of distress,
And found I had no Hiding Place.

Indignant Justice stood in view;
To Sinai’s fiery mount I flew;
But Justice cried with frowning face,
This mountain is no Hiding Place!

Ere long a heavenly voice I heard,
And mercy’s angel soon appeared:
He led me, with a beaming face,
To Jesus as a Hiding Place.

On Him almighty vengeance fell,
Which must have sunk a world to hell!
He bore it for a sinful race,
And thus became our Hiding Place.

Should sevenfold storms of thunder roll,
And shake this globe from pole to pole,
No thunderbolt shall daunt my face,
For Jesus is my Hiding Place.

A few more setting suns at most
Shall land me on that glorious coast,
Where I shall sing the song of grace,
And see my glorious Hiding Place!

Staring out at the salvation of the old Dutch church, I jump at the sound of cannon fire accompanied with cheers and know that it’s the big shot a town fires off to welcome a high-ranking officer. Washington has arrived and will most likely be coming to speak to me at any moment.

I can’t believe I’m to speak with the man who was the target of so many of our jokes and curses. Minutes later, there is a knock at the door and in steps a much larger and older man than I imagined. He stands at such a great height he’s forced to bow under the lintel, and his loud boots clunk loudly on the scratched-up floor. Following right behind him is a powerful, stout colored man, exceptionally well dressed for a slave, with a bright, red turban atop his regal head. He stands behind Washington when the General sits across from me. It appears as though the chair will buckle under his weight. He removes his gold-fringed tricorn hat and hands it to his man. “Thank you, Billy Lee.”

Billy steps back into the corner, his eyes obediently to the floor, revealing a slightly purple birthmark on his dark right eyelid. I’m surprised that Washington has his hair powdered and tied back as simply as I have mine. His color is immensely pale and, in the light from the window, I can see deep pockmarks that make a once handsome face look ragged. His wide-set, dark eyes seem haggard as he brings his hand up touch the mole beside his eye.

His jaw is somewhat out of sorts, and once he begins to talk, I see a strange jumble and assortment of borrowed teeth within his mouth. “I have heard so much about this gentleman of such great talents he has become the breath of Sir Henry Clinton, the very soul of the British army.”

“Your Excellency.” I bow my head, thinking I’m a great hypocrite for once calling this same man Major Washington. “Any word from General Clinton, sir?”

The general has escaped to us, but we have lost—how shall I tell it to you—poor André. I am distressed beyond words to describe. I have nothing to reproach myself with. I am forced to honor General Arnold’s protection, though I like nothing better than to hang the greedy scoundrel, so as not to discourage more rebel desertions. With my hands tied, I have rounded up twenty American noncombatants on the charge of espionage that I am more than happy to negotiate for Major André’s liberation.

SHC

He leans forward, and I try my best not to be distracted with attempting to guess what species donated his poorly fitted teeth. “Major André, I have suffered from malaria, smallpox, pleurisy and dysentery, all before I was thirty. On my way back from French Fort le Boeuf, I fell off my raft into an icy river and nearly drowned.” I’m wondering why he is saying all this. “Later, in the same trip, I was shot at by an Indian standing less than fifty feet away, who obviously missed. During Braddock’s Defeat in 1755, four bullets punctured my coat and two horses were shot out from under me.”

I could not pretend to follow him or hide how I wished one of those bullets had found him.

He grins and slowly says, “And I’ll be damned if this almost got me. Unfortunately, for King George and yourself, I’m a lucky devil.” He pushes back in his chair.

I can’t restrain my ego and point to Billy. “For someone who believes in the liberties of all men, yet fails to see the glaring hypocrisy standing right behind him.”

Billy Lee’s bright eyes flash to mine for an intimate instant then dart back to their respectful spot on the ground. Washington appears thrown off guard, then says, in solemn tone, “Yes, I know. It is the very thought that has been keeping me awake at night recently.”

He avoids the silence by changing the subject. “I have always said to ‘Guard against the impostures of pretended patriotism,’”—he laughs—“and there Arnold was, right under my wing. I had intelligence that a high-ranking officer was about to defect but had no idea who it was. I could not let myself believe it was Arnold.”

“I apologize for my involvement in your pain, sir, but what are your thoughts concerning my welfare?”

He looks at me and releases his breath quickly. “Fortunately, I have little decision to make here. You will be tried, and if Arnold is protected, I am sorry to say, things do not look good for you.”

This is no surprise to me, and I accept it with a nod. “Can you please tell me of Mrs. Arnold’s wellbeing?”

Concern washes over Washington. “Mrs. Arnold has been locked away for days, racked with terrible and unyielding fits. Slowly, she emerged only to dissolve at the very sight of me, accusing that I had come to kill her child. We have all seen to her care, especially the soldiers who have all fallen in love with her upon sight. She is being sent back to her father as soon as she is fit enough to travel.”

Hoping she is just using her tantrums to play on everyone’s best sympathies, yet knowing that much of her transferred grief is real, I say, “Sir, please be sure to encourage great sympathy for her. She is the greatest victim of this all.”

He stands up, and Billy is there to hand him his hat in the instant. Washington turns to me. “I am not a devout man, but I fear in your case praying might not be a waste of time.”

During my quick trial, I try to keep up a bold front. The guards and officers around me watch in wonderment as I remain jovial. One morning, I’m asked to come for sentencing and those around me sag, pathetically glum. Happy that I’m allowed out, I strut down the sweet lane, past the Dutch church, to the courthouse.

General officers convene inside and one asks, “Major John André, have you anything to say?”

The normally serious board breaks into muffled laughter. I wait until they regain themselves and finish, “I will allow the evidence to operate within the board.”

They read on reluctantly, “Major André, Adjutant General of the British Army, ought to be considered a spy from the enemy, and that, agreeable to the law and usage of nations, it is their opinion he ought to suffer death.”

I clear my thickened throat. “I’d like to thank the board for every mark of indulgence and not pressing me to answer questions that would embarrass my feelings. If I have ever felt any hostility toward Americans, my present experience has obliterated them.”

I hear the familiar loud boots down the walkway outside my cabin as I draw a self-portrait from my reflection in the mirror. Washington again ducks in, with his faithful man, but this time does not sit down. “I regret I have come to inform you that your execution will take place tomorrow at five o’clock p.m.”

Something in his pained expression unhinges me unexpectedly, and I break down. “I foresee my fate, 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 tranquility.”

I swallow my tears and finish, “Sir Henry Clinton has been too good to me. I would not for the world leave a sting in his mind that should embitter his future days.”

“Permission granted to write him, Major,” Washington says as he quickly motions for his slave to open the briefcase he carries with him. Giving me the tools I need, I’m surprised to see him wait there as I write.

Your Excellency,

Is doubtless already apprised of the manner in which I was taken and possibly of the serious light in which my conduct is considered and the rigorous determination that is impending. I wish to remove from your breast any suspicion that I could imagine I was bound by Your Excellency’s ordered to expose myself to what has happened. The events of my coming within an enemy’s posts and of changing my dress, which led me to my present situation, were contrary to my own intentions, as they were to your orders, and the circuitous route which I took to return was imposed without alternative upon me.

I am perfectly tranquil within my mind, and prepared for any fate to which an honest zeal for my King’s service may have devoted me. In addressing myself to Your Excellency on this occasion, the force of all my obligations to you, and of the attachment and gratitude I bear you, occurs to me. With all the warmth of my heart, I give you thanks for Your Excellency’s profuse kindness to me, and I send you the most earnest wishes for your welfare which a faithful, affectionate, and respectful attendant can frame.

I have a mother and three sisters to whom the value of my commission would be an object, as the loss of Grenada has much affected their income; it is needless to be more explicit on this subject; I am persuaded of Your Excellency’s goodness.

Your loyal man of ability,
Major André

I fold up the letter and hand it to him, which he reads right in front of me, and I might have even seen a glimmer in his eye. He sucks his sniffles in quickly, regaining his composure. “Policy requires a sacrifice—”

“I have ordered thousands of men to die for an ideal. Generals, officers, militiamen, and peasants are all shook by this most heinous betrayal. If I were to excuse you from punishment, one man for all of those thousands, I would fear the whole cause would be lost, however charming that one life would be.” He smiles at this, causing me to smile back. “I fear I am betwixt the devil and the deep blue sea here.”

“You do not need to explain your actions to me, Your Excellency,” I say, feeling no hypocrisy this time.

“However, I see, all who have the pleasure to have known you, shall all lament it.”

As he goes to leave, I ask, “Sympathy toward a soldier will surely induce Your Excellency and a military tribunal to adapt the mode of my death to the feelings of a man of honor.” I attempt to change his mind with my most dashing smile.

“Oh, one more thing, sir.” I try to catch him before he closes the door. “Can you please give this letter to Mrs. Arnold, along with this music box. She was terribly fond of it, and I feel so responsible for her anguish.”

“Well,” I reach into my desk and pull out another letter, “For my mother—my father’s watch. Please see it gets to her safely.”