When the psychology of the Spy comes to be expounded by some master thinker, one wonders if he will emphasise the fact that, more often than not, there is that in the pedigree and antecedents of the agent of stealth which clearly suggests a mongrel breed. Was it not Tacitus who wrote of the half-caste races who swarmed the Roman Suburra, describing them in the memorable words: "Despectissima pars servientium"—the most despicable of the slave tribe? It was among this class that Marcus Crassus was wont to go in quest of recruits for that grand army of touts, quidnuncs and informers who, by bringing him first-hand intelligence of fires, burglaries, murders and kindred daily occurrences in Rome, most of which were pregnant with the possibilities of profit of some sort, helped to build up the monster fortune that made him one of the most important men of antiquity. Your Stiebers and Schulmeisters, too, all in some vague way convey an impression that they are beings who are not quite human, although not wholly brute; living things which seem to come from an unracial stock without stamp or tradition. To a man who has been accorded the honour of a monument in Westminster Abbey these reflections do not, of course, apply. Nevertheless they suggest themselves, and when one reads in the life of John AndrÉ that "it was not known whether the place of his birth was London or elsewhere in England," one feels disposed not to care particularly whether or not he ever had a father, or if his mother ever changed her name. AndrÉ, too, was by origin a Swiss, and there is invariably lacking in the inhabitants of Switzerland a specific national cachet or clear racial type. His sire had been born in Geneva, while his mother was a Frenchwoman called Girardot, who in 1751 gave birth to the unfortunate British spy.

To add to the complexities of AndrÉ's particular case, no one seems to be very certain where he passed the early years of his education, though it seems correct that the best part of his academic training was obtained in that always very cosmopolitan University of Geneva. We are assured that there he mastered several European tongues, that he became an adept in the social arts and possessed an acquaintance with the best classical literatures. It is only, however, in 1769, the year of his father's death, that we really begin to locate him, and then we find him living at Clapton, where his father, a merchant, resided in the local manor-house. At the time of this gentleman's death, AndrÉ was eighteen years of age and his precociousness seems to be established by the fact that in those days he was paying his addresses to the daughter of a clergyman named Seward, the lady being several years older than himself. Not only that, but Anna Seward was, it appears, a poet and the leader of a salon of sorts at Lichfield, where many well-known literary lights of the day were wont to assemble and discuss the trends of literary and artistic thought and action. Evidently Miss Seward did not take her gallant too seriously, for we hear of him shortly afterwards as a worshipper at the shrine of Honoria Sneyd, who was afterwards to become the mother of Maria Edgeworth. Romance, it is certain, entered generously into the youth of AndrÉ.

It is clear also that the counting-house of a London merchant's establishment was not at all to the taste of the young man. He had always thirsted for military adventure, and it is not surprising to hear that in his twentieth year, he purchased a commission as under-lieutenant in the Royal English Fusiliers. It may be noted in passing that this was a period in which commissions in the Army—since become an easy enough achievement—were practically the monopoly of men who were far superior by birth and social position to the sons of even the most princely merchants, and there is nothing to indicate that AndrÉ's father was at all a man of more than moderate means. The point is interesting, however, inasmuch as it points to the psychological tendencies of the young man's mind. His commission duly obtained, AndrÉ repaired at once to Berlin, where he received considerable insight into the military arts. Berlin, it may be parenthetically observed, was in those days probably the best-organised centre of a vast system of spies, for had not the collector of the famous giant-regiment of Potsdam Guards passed that way a generation before, and was not Frederick the Great still boasting that he had only one cook and a hundred spies? Some authorities incline to the belief that young AndrÉ, while in Berlin, was already an active spy of the British Government. It is clear at any rate that when after a few years' residence in Germany he returned to England, he became known to prominent officers as a man not only more than usually well informed on all matters of a military kind, but also as a soldier who had fitted himself by very special study for the business of probing the military secrets and plans of other countries.

To the man's personality justice must, however, be done, for it is agreed on all hands that a more captivating or picturesque officer had never worn King George's uniform. Unlike Wolfe, also a man of literary parts, though a somewhat dark and silent person, AndrÉ was a conversationalist of such fascination and sparkle that his presence in a drawing-room proved sufficient to attract the larger portion of both sexes to its immediate vicinity. Even his male contemporaries all declare that a more lovable being had rarely crossed the social stage, while the number of women of note and fashion with whom the young officer was said to be on that footing which the French so expressively describe by the term au mieux, can hardly have been inferior to that which favoured handsome John Churchill in a former age. Great facial beauty, a splendid presence, romantic courage, a reputation for brilliancy in an age which was far from being a superficial one—all these were qualities which we expect in the pages of fiction, but which are only occasionally to be met with in actual experience. They are qualities, nevertheless, which have been the possession of most of the distinguished adventurers of history and it is obviously the consciousness of possessing such gifts that turns your born adventurer towards a life to which he has no definite social or traditional right.

It is often pointed out in the way of evidence of AndrÉ's particular mission as a spy having been officially forecast for him, that on leaving England for Quebec, where his regiment was stationed, the young officer travelled thither by the very roundabout route via Philadelphia. Here he arrived in September 1774. His experience as a man who had seen much of the military spy system of Frederick and who was in any case an acute observer of all things were facts of which General Carleton, the Governor-General of Canada, was well aware. That officer, coincidently enough, left England about the same time as AndrÉ, the twain travelling however by different ways. It is assumed, by Americans generally, that Carleton, who foresaw the imminence of the Revolutionary conflict, had directed his subordinate to visit Philadelphia in the capacity of a commissioned spy, in order to learn all he might regarding the condition of public affairs, the temper of the people and, above all, to obtain some clear idea as to the intentions of the leaders of the American forces. Halting a short while and for the accomplishment of his purpose in the old Quaker City, AndrÉ subsequently passed to New York and Boston, ever observant, everywhere transcribing, always on the alert. At Quebec he arrived early in November 1774. On the outbreak of the war AndrÉ was one of the first British officers to be captured by the enemy and for over a year remained a prisoner in several Pennsylvania cities, where his charming personality and accomplishments gave him among the enemy the footing of a privileged guest rather than a captive. He was exchanged at the close of 1776 and rejoined the Army at New York, then commanded by Howe. To that officer AndrÉ came like some visitor from Fortune herself, for during his late captivity, in the course of which he held practically carte blanche to move about the outlying country, the young soldier had always done so with his professional instincts set and with the result that he was able immediately to present Howe with more accurate information as to the military effective, disposition and plans of Washington than the regular Intelligence service could have procured him in three years. A vacancy falling due on the staff of General Grey, Howe procured its reversion to AndrÉ, giving him the rank of Captain. At this time the British Army was moving on Philadelphia.

Literature dealing with the story of Philadelphia in that age presents us with the picture of a city of perennial pageant. The British Army was in occupation in the winter and spring of 1778 and revelry ran long and high in every phase of the social life of Quaker City. Our AndrÉ was here in his very element and among the acquaintances he formed was that of Margaret Shippen, who afterwards became the wife of Benedict Arnold. "No one," wrote Mr Winthropp Sergeant in 1861, "seems to have created such a pleasing impression or to have been so long admiringly remembered as AndrÉ. His name in our own days lingers on the lips of every aged woman whose youth had seen her a belle in the royal lines.... He is described as of five feet nine inches in height and of singularly handsome person—well made, slender, graceful and very active, a dark complexion with a serious and somewhat tender expression; his manners easy and insinuating.... If the serious business of life was a part of his lot, there was yet ample scope for the exercise of those elegant arts in which he excelled. His infirmities, if any there were, sprang like Charles Townshend's from a noble cause—that lust of fame which is the instinct of all great souls; and his comely person, his winning speech, his graceful manners procured him universal acceptance, while his freedom from the grosser passions of his fellows was especially observed." The universal gaiety which prevailed throughout Philadelphia was not without its effect on the Army as a whole and the inevitable demoralisation of all classes of society followed. It remains a lasting tribute to the attractions of the fair maids of Philadelphia that the number of irregular marriages which took place among the lower ranks of the Army alone was so large as to necessitate the organisation of special pickets with the object of preventing the wholesale depletion of regiments through long absence or desertion. As Benjamin Franklin declared at the time: "Howe has not taken Philadelphia, Philadelphia has taken Howe," and it is written that on the evacuation of the city by the British forces, 18,000 strong, at least 1000 privates deserted, returning to their sweethearts and lately married wives in Quaker Town. General Howe himself proved far from a shining example to his subordinates or soldiery, indolence and sensuality being his chief characteristics, while there were not wanting those who accused him of malversation of military funds. "He returned to England richer in money than laurels," while Americans are wont to thank him for having given them America, as they put it. His relations with AndrÉ hardly seem consistent with what we know of that officer's usual discernment. In his honour, AndrÉ, now a major, had composed and stage-managed a kind of allegorical tourney entitled the Mischianza, which was enacted to honour a general who was already under sentence of recall to England. Howe was in due course succeeded by Sir Henry Clinton, to whom AndrÉ, on the departure of General Grey in 1778, became chief aide and secretary, a position in which he so clearly proved his ability that in 1779 he was appointed deputy adjutant-general to the British forces in America with headquarters in New York.

We have seen that during his earlier stay in Philadelphia the young officer had formed a close friendship with Margaret Shippen, daughter of a wealthy resident. By 1779 this lady had become the wife of Benedict Arnold, one of the leading Revolutionary generals who was appointed military governor of Philadelphia on its evacuation by the British. Arnold, it was well known, maintained a sumptuous style of living which was wholly out of keeping with his means or position. A princely retinue, a lavish table, extravagance in all things were sufficient, once the British ascendancy had given way to the staid Quaker rule and custom of Philadelphia, to make him an object of distrust among a naturally suspicious community. Nor was Arnold at all a man of high character, whether domestic or public. Already in 1780 he was formally accused of peculation and, though exonerated on inquiry, was reprimanded by Washington for "imprudent and improper conduct." Arnold, who fully expected a complete vindication by his superiors, never forgave them the last implied stigma on his character. He was suspected even then of disloyal conversation with the enemy under adopted names, and his present wrath was not calculated to weaken any predisposition he may have felt towards the commission of an act of supreme treachery. It seems clear that AndrÉ, an unusually astute judge of character, had fully taken the measure of Arnold and perhaps had already learned something when, on 16th August 1779, he wrote to the General's wife at Philadelphia a rather whimsical letter offering to do some "shopping" for her in New York—a somewhat inconsequent kind of offer if its object was not to discover the condition of the lady's purse. Shortly afterwards a communication was addressed from the Tory side—the Whigs were the Revolutionaries—sounding Arnold and his general disposition, and it is now well established that the correspondence, which ensued thereafter between Clinton and himself, partook of a treasonable character on the part of the American General, who wrote in a disguised hand and assumed the name of "Gustavus" for the purpose of his communications, Clinton not then being aware of the identity or the importance of his correspondent. It seems clear, however, that AndrÉ, as Clinton's secretary, was well aware of that identity and we may suppose the Major to have suggested the transference to himself of the duty of keeping up communication with the traitor, a transference which accordingly took place. Major AndrÉ continued therefore to keep in touch with Arnold, himself writing under the name "John Anderson" in a slightly disguised hand. It is not implausibly maintained by some that in the "shopping" letter which AndrÉ had addressed to Mrs Arnold in August 1779 he had used a disguised handwriting with the object of making clear to her husband—reasonably certain to see the letter—the identity of John Anderson. Shortly after AndrÉ had taken a hand in the intrigue, Arnold began to importune his superiors to give him the command of West Point near New York, urging the costliness of keeping up his position in Philadelphia. The request seemed reasonable and was granted by Washington, Arnold assuming the command at West Point, already, it is certain, resolved to surrender that strong fort to the British who were lying some fifty miles below in New York, and for whom the possession of the Point meant a free communication with Canada.

Up till the contemplated treachery of Arnold, the ascendancy of the British had been well maintained on the American Continent. Charleston had fallen and here AndrÉ had twice risked his life disguised as a spy; the South was in British possession; Gates had been beaten at Camden and Manhattan was in their army's occupation. Arnold astutely chose the proper moment for his act of treachery, certain in that dark hour to produce a strong moral reaction upon the Revolutionaries. In September 1780 the American General forwarded to AndrÉ a letter asking for a personal interview within the American lines, the Major to disguise himself as John Anderson. AndrÉ refused to enter the danger zone and the meeting was arranged to take place at Haverstraw—neutral ground—on 21st September. Thereafter it became a matter of somewhat dangerous rumour that AndrÉ, whose daring men well knew, was about to undertake a perilous enterprise, a successful execution of which must swiftly end the war. A baronetcy, a brigadiership, a large sum of money—these were the rewards Clinton is said to have promised his young Adjutant. It is generally agreed that AndrÉ faced his present mission with anything but that imperturbability which had marked his departure on similar expeditions. He was saddened, it was said, by an indefinable presentiment of death and impending disaster, and left New York to keep his appointment with Arnold, sailing up the Hudson in the British sloop Vulture. Arnold had agreed to send a boat to the sloop at midnight, 21st September, in order to take off the Major, who, on his landing, was led by a friend of the former to the secret tryst on neutral ground. The interview was long, Arnold haggling desperately over the terms of settlement; dawn had already begun to shadow the eastern hill-tops and still the bargain was not square. By five o'clock, however, the men had come to terms, and Arnold, who had horses in waiting, suggested the completion of the details in documentary form at the house of a local farmer, Smith his name. AndrÉ consented reluctantly, well knowing the house in question to be within the American lines. By ten o'clock the deeds were drawn up and signed; AndrÉ was in possession of all necessary information concerning the post to be surrendered. Arnold was to make a show of resistance on the arrival of the British on 25th September, while Washington himself was to be delivered into the hands of the enemy on his return that way on September 27th. Benedict Arnold was to receive some £6500 as a reward for his treachery, a sum which was eventually paid though the surrender of West Point never took place.

On leaving Smith's residence and bidding adieu to Arnold, the Major discovered to his surprise that the Vulture had disappeared. The sloop had been cannonaded during the night and compelled to drop down the river. As the Major considered his difficult position, the vessel returned to its previous moorings and AndrÉ requested Smith to convey him aboard. Smith refused, pleading reasonably enough that he was afraid of the consequences to himself of rendering such a service. No bribe being sufficient apparently to move the farmer, AndrÉ found himself forced to remain where he was and to his undoubted peril, until nightfall. Smith offered to provide the Major with an American uniform, but finding it impossible to procure one, gave him instead an old-fashioned coat of the cavalier style, purple in colour, with faded gold lace. A melancholy beaver hat completed the strange attire of the British officer who covered the whole with an ordinary surtout. Contrary to express instructions from Clinton, AndrÉ took away the papers which Arnold had given him at the farmhouse, concealing them in his top-boots—an entirely senseless as well as purposeless proceeding, which eventually led to his undoing. Accompanied by Smith and a negro, AndrÉ crossed the Hudson at King's Ferry on 22nd September, rode boldly into the American lines, spending, indeed, a night at another farmhouse in the midst of the enemy. On the 23rd, bidding his companions adieu, the Major, following directions given him by Smith, made for so-called neutral ground which swarmed with Tories and where he might feel reasonably safe. Mistaking a turn, however, in the old Tarrytown Road, along which he rode his horse slowly and with some hesitation, he came suddenly upon a group of farmers who were ranging the countryside in quest of suspicious persons. One of them, Paulding by name, wore a Hessian surtout given him by a friend. When AndrÉ came in sight the company was playing cards, and on the Major's approach, Paulding, the master spirit of the gang, stepped to the front, musket in hand, commanding the traveller to halt and account for himself. Seeing the Hessian coat—a garment peculiar to King George's troops—AndrÉ stopped his horse.

"My lads," he said, "you belong to our side, I see."

"What side?" asked Paulding.

"The British side," AndrÉ replied.

"We do," answered Paulding.

AndrÉ was momentarily taken off his guard. "Thank God!" he exclaimed. "I am a British officer out on particular business. I am glad to be among friends once more and I hope you will not detain me."

"We are Americans," cried Paulding, "and you are our prisoner."

Assuming as much composure as he could, AndrÉ drew Arnold's passports from his pocket permitting "Mr John Anderson to pass the guards to the White Plains," only, of course, to confirm the suspicions of the farmers, who thereupon dragged him from his horse, searching him from head to foot, duly to find the incriminating documents which clearly proved their captive a first-class spy. The Major began by offering them in turn, cash, his gold watch, one hundred guineas, and finally made a promise of one thousand guineas, saying he would remain a hostage in their hands till one of the party should return with the money. "We would not let you go for ten thousand guineas," shouted Paulding, and AndrÉ's doom was spoken. He was taken to the nearest American post and delivered to the commandant, Colonel Jameson, under his name John Anderson. AndrÉ at once requested that General Arnold should be notified that his friend "Anderson" was in custody, and the Colonel, an unsuspicious soul, concluded that he could best serve his superior officer by returning the captive to Arnold, under a guard of four troopers in charge of Lieutenant Allen, who was also entrusted with a letter in which the Colonel mentioned that he was "forwarding certain documents found on Anderson forthwith to Washington," and this was accordingly done. AndrÉ, to his joy, set out with his escort on the return journey to Arnold's lines. Before the party had progressed many miles towards West Point, a messenger arrived with orders for their return, and AndrÉ found himself a captive once more in Jameson's lines, the Colonel, on a subordinate's advice, having decided to refer the whole matter to General Washington. In the meanwhile Allen, of his own initiative, had proceeded to Arnold's headquarters with the private letter and report from Jameson to the commander at West Point. For this blunder your true American has never forgiven the simple-minded Colonel.

On 24th September, the day following his capture, Major AndrÉ, of whose real name and rank the American officers were still ignorant, indited his famous letter to Washington, full of rhetoric and self-justification, in which he advanced several considerations for his release from captivity. Mentioning his name and military rank, he only wrote, he said, to vindicate his good fame, not to solicit security. He was not, he vowed with a strange distortion of actuality, accustomed to duplicity. He justified his negotiations with "a person" (Arnold, unnamed) who was to give him intelligence which should prove serviceable to British arms, a fair ruse of war, he thought. Having concluded these negotiations, he proceeded, he was conducted without his knowledge into the American lines. He had thus become a prisoner and was justified in his endeavour to escape by all means available, and having reached neutral ground, through a disguise, he had been arrested by irregulars. There were gentlemen at Charleston, he concluded, in a half-menacing and highly impolitic phrase, whose rank might be set in exchange for his; in any case they were persons whom the treatment he received could not fail to affect. Washington received this communication after the flight of Arnold who, learning from Jameson's letter, duly delivered by Allen, how perilously matters stood for him, had taken refuge on board the British vessel Vulture. The American commander-in-chief gave immediate orders for the transfer of AndrÉ to West Point, where he arrived on 26th September, under the care of a strong escort commanded by Major Tallmadge, the officer who had advised Jameson to countermand the first order sending the prisoner to Arnold. It was to Tallmadge that AndrÉ made the memorable confession that he had engaged in the adventure "for military glory, the applause of his King and country and perhaps a brigadiership." The Major asked the American in what light General Washington was likely to regard him.

"He will regard you," replied Tallmadge simply, "just as the British regarded my old comrade and schoolfellow, Nathan Hale. Your fate will be the same as Hale's."

It is not difficult to understand the fierce indignation of the Americans at this critical time, when the black treachery of a commander on their own side is considered, and it was, from the very first, written in the stars that AndrÉ should receive no mercy, although, indeed, a strong effort was made to exchange him for Arnold whom, in all probability, the Americans would have preferred. In General Washington, above all, there was an elemental severity of the early Roman type which would leave nothing to chance, although the plot had, happily for his own arms, totally miscarried. Nevertheless, with that ideal sense of justice which was found later in his illustrious successor, Lincoln, he convened a military board with the object of making careful inquiries and reporting their "opinion of the light in which the prisoner ought to be considered and what punishment ought to be inflicted." The court consisted of six major-generals and eight brigadier-generals. It was held at Tappan, where Washington had his headquarters. Inevitably AndrÉ was held to be "a spy from the enemy and only death could satisfy his crime." Washington stood by the verdict and sentenced Major AndrÉ to be hanged as a spy on the second day of October at four in the afternoon.

At four accordingly on the second day of October 1780, Major AndrÉ was executed upon an eminence near Tappan village, in the presence of a vast concourse of people. He was dressed in full military costume and white top-boots. A large procession of officers preceded him to the gallows—a cross-piece between two trees. The prisoner's step was firm nor did he falter until he saw the gallows, realising then that, despite his appeal to Washington, he was to die as a felon and not as a soldier. His hesitation was only momentary, however. A baggage-wagon, in which was laid a plain pine coffin, had been driven under the gallows, a grave being dug near by. Into this wagon the prisoner stepped, and taking the rope from the hangman adjusted it to his neck, tying also a white silk handkerchief over his eyes. The Major was then told that he might speak if he wished. Lifting the fold lightly from his eyes and bowing courteously, AndrÉ replied in a firm voice: "All I request of you, gentlemen, is that while I acknowledge the propriety of my sentence, you will bear me witness that I die like a brave man." And taking his last look at the sky, he replaced the bandage on his eyes. The wagon was driven swiftly from under him, and in a few minutes he was no more.