Here died, October 2, 1780 Major John André of the British Army, Who, entering the American lines On a secret mission to Benedict Arnold, For the surrender of West Point, Was taken prisoner, tried and condemned as a spy. His death Though according to the stern rule of war, Moved even his enemies to pity; And both armies mourned the fate Of one so young and so brave. In 1821 his remains were removed to Westminster Abbey. A hundred years after the execution This stone was placed above the spot where he lay, By a citizen of the United States against which he fought, Not to perpetuate the record of strife, But in token of those friendly feelings Which have since united two nations, One in race, in language, and in religion, With the hope that this friendly union Will never be broken.
On the other side are these words of Washington:
"He was more unfortunate than criminal." "An accomplished man and gallant officer."
The first of the two lines was from a letter of Washington to Count de Rochambeau, dated October 10, 1780. The second is from a letter written by Washington to Colonel John Laurens on October 13 of the same year.
In the year 1853 some Americans who believe that all historic spots in our land should be marked by permanent memorials, erected a monument at Tarrytown, New York, in honor of the captors of André. Hon. Henry J. Raymond made the address at its dedication. Mr. Raymond was born in 1820 and was graduated from the University of Vermont in 1840. He assisted Horace Greeley in the conduct of the _Tribune_ and other newspapers. He founded the _New York Times_ in 1851 and died in 1869.
In the address just mentioned, Mr. Raymond, contrasting the halo that surrounded André's name with the oblivion then seemingly the fate of Nathan Hale, closed with these impassioned words:
"Where sleeps the Americanism of Americans, that their hearts are not stirred to solemn rapture at thought of the sublime love of country which buoyed him [Hale] not alone above 'the fear of death,' but far beyond all thought of himself, of his fate, and his fame, or of anything less than his country, and which shaped his dying breath into the sacred sentence which trembled at the last upon his unquivering lip?"