Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes back guest historian Avellina Balestri
As I have increased research and work on my American Revolution trilogy All Ye That Pass By, I have noticed a trend towards making this particular season between the anniversary of Nathan Hale’s hanging (September 22, 1776) and John Andre’s hanging (October 2, 1780) into a strange sort of macabre festival I have dubbed “Hangemtide.” I suppose one could consider it a sort of Halloween for historical enthusiasts, as the autumnal chill starts to creep into the air, greenery dies, and horror releases hit the market. But a strange pseudo-religious reality I have observed is a tendency to treat these hangings as secular passion plays of a kind, connected by a secular Advent calendar of daily memorials, with the overarching takeaway being a strange sense of catharsis for the salvation of a newborn nation.
As a Catholic, I very well know the thematic beats, and I can sense them in an unsettling way in these commemorations. We must have our scapegoat; a man, or two, must die so the nation might live in our origin myth. But though the narrative may comfortably place Hale as the first Christ-figure, it uncomfortably assures that Andre is the second. We as the audience, while intended to shed tears for the first, are meant to bay for the blood of the second. Perhaps we may pity him in passing moments, but never so much that we truly desire him to be spared. His death is a foregone conclusion of the ritual which must be affirmed. We are recalling the traditional readings on Passion Sunday, and hardly realize it. We have, perhaps, lost the much greater plot of Christianity, that in the death of each, the other perishes, and in every death, we partake, in the killing and the dying, and in every human catastrophe, there is planted the original Passion Tree, no less in the past than in the present. History is not safe from our iniquity, nor from grace breaking in upon it, oftentimes painfully.
Touching back upon the historical events being remembered according to our national needs, I have often gently chided friends involved in “Hangentide” that I am ever on call to be the defense lawyer Major Andre never got should they wish to shuttle me into the past on circuit. I do not intend to make that defense the core of my current thesis, but put simply, I believe that if he had received a proper legal defense, Andre may well have had his sentence reduced based on extenuating circumstances. But that was not to be, because it could not be, not in the narrative as it is presented to us over and over again. This was a necessary death; a payment to Justice itself. It is language used to mask what was essentially a revenge hanging for both Hale’s execution at the hands of Crown forces and Arnold’s betrayal of the revolution for hard cold coin. The true foundation stone of “Hangemtide” is a satisfaction we are meant to share in nearly 250-year-old retribution. It is meant to, in some way, bring the country together through our most primal tribal instinct. But does it?
Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes back Jeffrey Collin Wilford Part I, click here. Part II, click here.
Major Andre’s Reckoning
Along the way from Tarrytown, New York, to West Point, Benjamin Tallmadge conversed almost nonstop with the freshly captured British prisoner John André and learned much about the youthful officer. It was perhaps Major Tallmadge’s background as George Washington’s chief intelligence officer as well as recollections illuminated by the light of André’s charisma, that helped begin to paint a picture of an honorable soldier. After countless hours of conversation during their journey north he became convinced that André’s “Head was in fault, & not his heart.” Tallmadge commented later that André was “a most delectable Companion. It often drew tears from my Eyes to find him so pleasant & agreeable in Conversation on different Subjects, when I reflected on his future fate, & that too, as I believed, so near at hand—” In the short time the two spent together Tallmadge seemed to have grown extremely fond of the British Major.
One can sympathize with Tallmadge’s point of view. After all, André was merely another victim of the traitor Arnold. He had intended to meet him on board the Vulture but when Arnold failed to show he was forced to go ashore with Smith. After the Vulture was scared off by artillery and Arnold convinced him to don civilian clothes, plying him with incriminating materials and sending him through enemy territory, the stage was set. In his testimony, he said it was General “Clinton’s directions not to go within an Enemy post or to quit my own dress.“ Even so, by his own admission, it was the ruling of the military Proceedings that “he changed his Dress within our Lines and under a feigned Name and in a Disguished [sic].”
Perhaps Tallmadge’s sympathies toward André were accentuated by his hatred for Arnold. Tallmadge’s characterization of André becomes clearer in a simple personal act from his testimony when he stated that “André kept reviewing his shabby Dress, & finally remarked to me that he was positively ashamed to go to the Head Qrs of the American Army in such a plight. I called my Servant, & directed him to bring my Dragoon Cloak, which I presented to André. This he refused to take for some time, but I insisted on it, & he finally put it on & rode in it to Tappan.”
By the time they made Tappan, André was under heavy guard and imprisoned at Mabie’s Tavern. Just a few hundred feet away, Washington convened 14 of his top military officers who, over two days of testimony, found André guilty and sentenced him to death. On October 1st André personally requested from Washington the honor of a firing squad over a “gibbet.” Knowing the favor could not be granted, Washington opted to ignore the request.
On October 2nd, just before noon, André appeared on the stoop of Mabie’s Tavern. Four officers were present to escort the convicted spy to his final judgment. One of the four officers was Captain Lieutenant John Van Dyk, with just six months separating this moment from his own capture by the British off the coast of New Jersey. “There were about six steps which led into the stoop of the house, on the light of these, one American officer with myself were standing when Major André came out of the front door of the house in regimentals, hooking his arm with the two American officers (his attendants) one on his right and left. He ran down the steps of the stoop as quickly and lively as though no execution was to take place, and immediately fell into the centre of the guard, a place assigned him.”
André exits Mabie’s Tavern on the day of execution. (copyright: New York Public Library)
Escorting André with his four guards was also Major Benjamin Tallmadge. “I walked with him to the place of execution, and parted with him under the gallows, entirely overwhelmed with Grief, that so gallant an officer, & so accomplished a Gentleman should come to such an ignominious End.” Echoing that sentiment in writing nine days after his execution was Alexander Hamilton, saying “Never perhaps did any man suffer death with more justice, or deserve it less.”
Mabie’s Tavern today (Wilford)
When André had turned the corner to see the gallows before him, Van Dyk recorded his statement. “Gentlemen, I am disappointed, I expected my request…would have been granted.” According to Van Dyk, preparations were made and André’s final words when asked if he had any were “I have nothing more to say, gentlemen, but this, you all bear me witness, that I meet my fate as a brave man.” With that came the untimely end of Major John André who was then cut down and not allowed to fall to the ground and “every attention and respect was paid to Major André that it is possible to pay a man in his situation.” He was placed in a simple coffin and buried in a shallow grave close to the site. Over the following 40 years, a peach tree grew above the grave, ostensibly from a peach given to André by a woman as he marched to his execution.
When the Duke of York requested the return of his remains in 1821 it was not without fear of a backlash, specifically from the residents of Tappan. Many felt it was an affront to the memory of George Washington. British consul James Buchanan found that the protestations dissipated quickly after he agreed to buy those who were against the idea a drink at the local inn. The bones were then dug up with the root of the peach growing through the skull’s eye socket. They were placed in a mahogany ossuary and shipped by way of a British mail ship called a packet to New York City where they awaited their return to London.
Captain, now Colonel, John Van Dyk, 67 years old and working for the New York Customs House near the docks of the North (Hudson) River heard about the impending exhumation and, using his connections with influential New Yorker John Pintard, requested a dialog with Buchanan. Through the British consul, he obtained a penned introduction to the captain of the packet where André’s bones lay. Van Dyk made his way to the North River and found the captain just leaving to go back aboard the packet. Upon handing him the introduction from Buchanan, the captain requested that he return at 10 o’clock the following morning and a barge would be waiting to take him to the ship.
Coincidentally, that same day Dr. Valentine Mott, considered by many to be the greatest surgeon of his time, was treating one of Van Dyk’s children and heard of Van Dyk’s plan. Naturally, he was invited along for the next morning’s visit. That day, the two reached the docks just before 10 o’clock and met the barge which took them to the ship. “We went together on board the Packet. The bones were in a superb urn, and we were permitted to handle them. I mentioned the circumstances, as I have related them above, to the Captain [about André’s execution] — bid him goodbye, and we came on shore.” Van Dyk’s motivations for wanting to visit the remains of André are lost to history and probably best understood by those who experienced the emotions of that fateful day in American history.
Amidst a boat of mail destined for England, John André left New York for the last time, traveling back to London where his remains were repatriated. His ossuary was emptied of its contents and his remains were buried in Westminster Abbey with the inscription “universally beloved and esteemed by the Army in which he served, and lamented even by his foes, now lay alongside medieval kings, Renaissance statesmen, and Georgian poets.” Arnold and his wife Peggy lived the rest of their lives post-Revolution in London, reviled by most, and are buried just 3 miles away at St. Mary’s Church in Battersea, in a vault that sits behind a wall in a basement kindergarten classroom.
[Original source: The Papers of George Washington, Revolutionary War Series, vol. 28, 28 August–27 October 1780, edited by William M. Ferraro and Jeffrey L. Zvengrowski, 291–296. Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2020.]
[Original source: The Papers of George Washington, Revolutionary War Series, vol. 28, 28 August–27 October 1780, edited by William M. Ferraro and Jeffrey L. Zvengrowski, 277–283. Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2020.]
[Original source: The Papers of George Washington, Revolutionary War Series, vol. 22, 1 August–21 October 1779, edited by Benjamin L. Huggins, 745–746. Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2013.]
[Original source: The Papers of George Washington, Revolutionary War Series, vol. 28, 28 August–27 October 1780, edited by William M. Ferraro and Jeffrey L. Zvengrowski, 303–311. Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2020.]
Van Dyk, John. “Major André, Letter of Col. Van Dyk to John Pintard, August 27, 1821.” Historical Magazine 7, no. 8 (August 1863): 250-252.
Van Dyk, John. “Major André.” Martinsburg Gazette, August 20, 1835.
Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes back Jeffrey Collin Wilford For Part I, click here.
General Benedict Arnold’s Betrayal
On the morning of September 21, 1780, while Captain John Van Dyk, only recently freed from the prison ship Jersey, was guarding West Point as part of Colonel John Lamb’s artillery unit, the HMS Vulture arrived at Haverstraw Bay and anchored just off Teller’s Point. Two men pressing apples at a cider mill on the shore became alarmed at the presence of a British warship on the river north of the “neutral ground,” and a barge disembarking from it filled with Redcoats. Not knowing their intent, both decided to take matters into their own hands and opened fire on the soldiers. John “Rifle Jack” Peterson, a veteran of the Battle of Saratoga, received his nickname due to his superior marksmanship. The other, Moses Sherwood was just 19 years old and a friend of Jack Peterson. Both were enlisted in the Westchester County militia. Their relationship was very close as Rifle Jack had held Sherwood’s father in his arms as he died at Saratoga three years earlier.
Croton (Teller’s) Point today – (Wilford)
Several of their shots hit their mark, wounding soldiers and prompting the barge to return to the Vulture which opened fire with a barrage of grapeshot on the two men as they crouched behind rocks. This signaled to the pair that the ship was within cannon range and they quickly made their way in the darkness to Fort Lafayette ten miles to the north to secure a cannon from the officer in charge, Colonel James Livingston.
Cannon that fired on the Vulture Peekskill Museum (Wilford)
At Peterson and Sherwood worked with several other soldiers to lug the 4-pounder back to the point while, unbeknownst to them, André slipped away from the Vulture. He made his way from the Vulture to shore, at around midnight, with Loyalist Joshua Hett Smith who had been instructed to gather him from the ship. His destination was a clandestine meeting on the river bank with American General Benedict Arnold, the famous war hero of Saratoga who had been plotting for months to turn against the cause of American independence. What was clear, by André’s account, was that this meeting was to be a fairly quick round-trip between the Vulture and shore under cover of darkness.
Instead, an unraveling of the circumstances dictated that he shed all previous warnings from British General Sir Henry Clinton to stay dressed in his regimental uniform, avoid enemy checkpoints, and not possess any incriminating papers. André admitted this to Clinton in a letter written after his capture and dated September 29, 1780 stating, “The Events of coming within an Enemys 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.” This would force him to become, in his own words, “involuntarily an impostor.”
As negotiations on the riverbank dragged on, likely due to Arnold’s negotiations around rank and compensation, daybreak drew near. Fearing discovery, and clearly against André’s original plan, they moved their talks to the home of Smith, which overlooked the river and the Vulture at anchor. During the meeting at Smith’s house, Arnold eventually handed over the defensive plans of the Continental Army’s citadel, West Point, and the minutes from General George Washington’s September 6th War Council meeting that created a vulnerability for the Americans that could have proved catastrophic.
It is easy to understand why West Point was so significant to the British. It was crucial, not just as a military installation situated on the banks of the Hudson between New England and the Southern Colonies, but as a symbol of American strength and resolve. Perched on the high ground overlooking the Hudson, West Point had been there to thwart British attempts to dominate the 300-mile-long river which would have allowed them to effectively cut off the rebels of New England from the rest of the colonies. Losing West Point would have taken an important strategic foothold away from the Americans. The potential of losing General Washington in the process would have also dealt a severely damaging blow to the American cause, if not ending the war altogether.
While the Arnold and André negotiations were taking place, a contingent of men, along with Peterson and Sherwood, had dragged the 4-pounder to Teller’s Point into position on the riverbank within range of the Vulture.
Early in the morning, awakened by cannon fire, the conspirators at Smith’s house could see the Americans in the distance opening fire on the ship. Though he did not immediately know it, this would permanently separate André from his only means of a safe escape. Hit several times and stranded in the middle of the Hudson by a slack tide and unfavorable winds, the Vulture endured the cannon fire but eventually cut her cables to drift with the currents south to Dobbs Ferry.
As a result of the retreat of the Vulture, an alternative plan was devised to get André back to the British lines. On the morning of the 22nd, in disguise and with a pass written by Arnold to travel unmolested behind American lines under the alias John Anderson, he and Smith began the overland trek back to British-occupied New York City. Arnold returned to his home at West Point. What was clear from André’s later testimony was that he felt like this change of plan made him a victim of circumstance saying he “thought it was settled that in the way I came I was also to return.”
What were the motivations for the thirty-nine-year-old hero of Saratoga, who had risen through the military ranks to become one of Washington’s most effective field generals, to give up not only West Point, but his reputation in history? Much has been written, but what is known is that he had been living a life well beyond his means. His wife Peggy Shippen, half his age and from a prominent Philadelphia Loyalist merchant family, had a taste for luxury. To woo the 19-year-old, Arnold openly lived a life of excess while in Philadelphia which turned more than a few heads, wondering if he had secretly been trading with the British.
Benedict Arnold was also known for his self-assured nature and temper. Infighting within certain circles of the military, and his discovery that several junior officers had received promotions ahead of him, provided him even more motivation to turn. Arnold felt the military did not display the respect that was due a war hero and this sentiment was on display in a letter to Washington on May 5, 1779. “Having made every sacrifice of fortune and blood, and become a cripple in the service of my country, I little expected to meet the ungrateful returns I have received of my countrymen.” Perhaps the influence placed upon him by his relationship with Peggy due to her father’s position, and his criticism of the American cause added more weight to his self-imposed need to betray his country. Consequently, he began to develop a plan to turn over West Point to British General Sir Henry Clinton, with Major John André as the British intermediary.
The second day treading enemy soil was rather uneventful as André and Smith carefully made their way south to the original King’s Ferry which crossed the Hudson between Stony Point and Verplanck, the site of the former Fort Lafayette. The crossing was a nerve-wracking affair for André as this was the main ferry crossing for all Continental troops and supplies just outside of the watchful eye of the British forces in New York City 45 miles to the south. Following the Crom-Pond Road, the journey was slow and deliberate, befitting a spy and his Loyalist guide. As nightfall approached, they bedded down at a farmhouse before continuing their journey early the next morning.
Isaac Underhill House – Where André ate his last breakfast (Wilford)
The pair continued to make their way along the Croton River until reaching the southernmost lines of the Continental Army where Smith left André just after finishing their breakfast at the Isaac Underhill house. By the time André had reached Tarrytown, New York, by way of the Albany Post Road, a road he had been told to avoid, his luck had run out. Isaac Underhill House – Where André ate his last breakfast (Wilford)
At 9 o’clock on the morning of September 23, 1780, André was stopped by three militiamen at Clark’s Kill, a stream that today marks the boundary between Sleepy Hollow and Tarrytown, New York. According to André, he “was taken by three Volunteers who not Satisfied with my pass riffled me and finding papers Made me a prisoner.” Isaac Van Wart, John Paulding, and David Williams would go on to be considered heroes by most, but certainly not by all. One of their leading detractors was the person George Washington entrusted with returning André to West Point and ultimately Tappan for trial, Major Benjamin Tallmadge. Tallmadge was Washington’s chief intelligence officer and he believed the three militiamen were “of that class of person who passed between both armies.” He felt they lacked the very character he would end up heaping upon André.
André Capture Site (Wilford)
While the circumstances surrounding Major John André’s capture unfolded in Tarrytown, General Arnold, aware that his treacherous plot had been uncovered, and leaving behind his baby and a hysterically distraught Peggy Shippen, raced to avoid capture and meet up with the HMS Vulture. Upon his return from a meeting with French General Rochambeau at Hartford Connecticut, Washington, unaware of any involvement by Shippen, allowed her to return to her family in Philadelphia, perhaps letting go of an important bargaining chip in the process. It would later be learned that she might have been complicit in her husband’s treason. While she openly denied it, an admission from Theodosia Burr, Aaron Burr’s wife, that she admitted to her involvement as well as a £500 annual pension from King George III would suggest this.
Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes historian and educator Jeffrey Collin Wilford to theblog. A brief biog is at the bottom of this post. A list of sources will be at the bottom of the concluding Part III.
Major John André and John Van Dyk: Continental Artillery Soldier
Much has been written about the betrayal of America by Benedict Arnold. However, one small but candidly morbid fact buried in the story has not. It relates to the disposition of British Major John André’s remains as they lay in a wooden ossuary on a British mail ship on the banks of the Hudson River while awaiting their return to England in 1821. The only recorded recollection of this event was in a letter written by a 67-year-old former Revolutionary War soldier and published in a Virginia newspaper in 1825. This man also happened to be one of the four officers who escorted André to the gallows in Tappan, New York, on October 2, 1780.
John Van Dyk lived a storied life, serving America as a militiaman, Continental Artillery soldier, customs officer, New York City assessor, and assistant alderman. He came from an old Dutch family that had settled in the original New Amsterdam colony, which would eventually become Manhattan. There is ample evidence that, in 1775, he was actively involved in significant acts of disobedience against British rule with other “Liberty Boys,” as the New York Sons of Liberty preferred to call themselves.
One of these acts was stealing muskets and cannons from the Royal Armory and Fort George. Under the encouragement of Isaac Sears and Marinus Willett, he was one of a crowd of colonists who broke into the Royal Arsenal at City Hall on April 23, 1775, stealing 550 muskets, bayonets, and related munitions. The angry mob had been spurred to act by the attacks on their fellow countrymen the week previous at Lexington and Concord in Massachusetts. Every person who took a musket was required to sign for it, signaling a promise to return it if it was needed to fight against British occupation. That call came on July 4, 1775, when the New York Provincial Congress ordered them recalled to outfit newly commissioned Colonel Alexander McDougall’s 1st New York Regiment. It was relayed that anyone who refused would be deemed an enemy of the state. In all, 434 muskets were returned.
Exactly four months later, Captain John Van Dyk was one of sixty or so men who, under Liberty Boys Colonel John Lasher and Colonel John Lamb, executed the orders of the New York Provincial Congress to remove the cannon from Fort George at the southern tip of Manhattan and drag them back to the area of City Hall. With tensions high in the city, the state leaders feared they would be turned against the colonists if they were left in the hands of the British. One of the militia members assisting in the removal effort was 19-year-old King’s College student Alexander Hamilton of the Hearts of Oak independent militia. By this time, civil unrest had relegated the British colonial government to operating from naval ships anchored in New York Harbor, which made keeping the cannon secure from a more agitated population nearly impossible.
Just before midnight on August 23, 1775, a skirmish ensued between Lasher and Lamb’s men removing the cannon, and a British barge near the shore. It had been sent to monitor the rebels’ activity by Captain George Vandeput from the HMS Asia, a 64-gun British warship anchored near shore. Musket shots rang out, presumably started by the British, which resulted in the killing of a King’s soldier on the barge. As a result, the Asia turned broadside and opened fire with their cannons in a barrage on the city that lasted for three hours. A city whose population had already been diminished by the fear of a coming conflict, shrunk even further due to the terror experienced that night.
John Van Dyk spent most of the next eight years as an officer in General Henry Knox’s artillery while under the command of Colonel John Lamb. During the war, he saw action at Brooklyn, Harlem Heights, White Plains, Trenton, Brandywine, Germantown, Crosswicks Creek, Monmouth, and Short Hills. He was also at both Morristown winter encampments and Valley Forge. In 1780 he was captured by the British off the coast of New Jersey and confined on the prison ship HMS Jersey in Brooklyn before being released that summer.
Van Dyk had spent months out of commission in late 1779 and early 1780 with what, according to his symptoms, was probably malaria or yellow fever. He petitioned General Knox, who, in turn, appealed to General Washington for leave to recuperate. Making his way to West Point to meet with General Washington he was instructed by the Commander-in-Chief’s aide-de-camp to be evaluated by Dr. John Cochran, physician and surgeon general of the army of the Middle Department. On Cochran’s recommendation, General Washington wrote to President Samuel Huntington asking that the Continental Congress grant Van Dyk’s petition for an 8-month Furlow to sea to convalesce, which was common at the time as it was believed the fresh sea air was helpful to healing. Approved, it would take six months before he boarded the brig General Reed with a crew of 120 and 16 guns, a privateer out of Philadelphia commanded by Samuel Davidson. Once aboard ship he was temporarily made a Lieutenant of Marines.
Only two days into the voyage, on April 21, 1780, things took an immediate turn for the worse when they were intercepted and captured by the 28-gun HMS Iris and the 16-gun sloop HMS Vulture. The Iris was the former American warship USS Hancock, captured in July of 1777 and renamed by the British. Van Dyk was brought to Brooklyn and placed on the prison ship Jersey in Wallabout Bay, one of the most notorious and deadly places for holding American prisoners of war. Conditions were so poor that, while approximately 6,800 American soldiers died in battle during the Revolution, over 11,000 prisoners died on the Jersey alone! Fortunately for John Van Dyk, American officers were often traded off the Jersey for British officers who were in the custody of American forces. Within two months he was released and traveled to his temporary home of Elizabethtown, New Jersey to finish recuperating before rejoining Lamb’s artillery in Tappan, New York.
John Van Dyk had experienced many horrors of war in the years and months leading up to the morning of September 21, 1780, when British Major John André, an Adjutant General to British General Sir Henry Clinton, left New York City and sailed up the Hudson River. This pivotal incident would brand one of Washington’s closest generals a traitor and lead to the death of the esteemed and well-liked André. Ironically, Major André traveled on the very same sloop that had assisted in the capture of Captain Van Dyk just six months earlier.
Bio:
Jeffrey Wilford has been an educator in Maine for over 30 years where he holds certifications in history and science. He received a bachelor’s degree in communications with an emphasis in journalism from California State University – Fullerton and a master’s degree in education, teaching and learning, from the University of Maine. In addition to his career teaching, he has worked as a general assignment newspaper reporter and an assistant to the press secretary of former Maine Governor and US Congressman Joseph Brennen. He lives in Maine with his wife Nicolette Rolde Wilford.
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