eminently serve the cause of your country. Per- the public and vindicate Virg'a from suspicions haps I'm mistaken but I fear too great a Byass to Vigor, animation, and all the powers of mind and P. S. Our mutual friend the General wil he hampered if not taken. Some Ge'r throw out alarms that a Cong power b swallowed up everything. My all to you— 1 know how to feel for him.' YWINE. THE FIELD OF BRANDYWINE. IT was near the close of July, 1777, that the British army, commanded by Sir William Howe, with their Hessian auxiliaries, under General Knyphausen, embarked from New York, on their meditated invasion of Pennsylvania. The squadron of ships and transports had a long and unpleasant voyage, notwithstanding the shortness of the distance. Finding the shores of the Delaware too well prepared for defence to admit of a bloodless, if possible, ascent of that river, the British commander bore away for the Chesapeake-thence ascending Elk River into Maryland as far as Turkey Point, the head of navigation. At this place the invaders disembarked, and on the 25th of August took up their march for Philadelphia. In the meantime General Washington returned to Pennsylvania from New Jersey to attempt the defence of that important capital, which public opinion seemed to require should be done, even at the hazard of a pitched battle, an alternative that the American General justly doubted his ability to sustain. Having determined to encounter the risk, however, he threw himself in advance of Philadelphia, and marched upon the Brandywine to intercept the approaching foe, crossing the stream with a part of his forces. The British troops advanced until within two miles of the Americans; but after reconnoitering the enemy on the evening of the 8th of September, Washington, apprehending that the object of Howe was 1: turn his right, and by seizing the heights on the north side of the river cut off his communication with Philadelphia, changed his plans on the morn ing of the 9th by recrossing the river, and taking position on the heights, near Chad's Ford, several miles below Jeffrey's, at the Forks. From the dispositions of the enemy, it was supposed that be would attempt to cross with his whole army at Chad's Ford; but while the Americans were making preparations to receive them at that pent Lord Cornwallis, at the head of a strong column, took an unlooked-for and circuitous march to the left, until he gained the Forks, and crossed at Trimble's and Jeffrey's Ford without difficulty of opposition. Continuing his march eastwardly about three-fourths of a mile, he turned into the h road leading down the river to the south, with the This postscript copied above is on the back of t original letter, and partly destroyed. intention of falling upon the right of the Ameri- He was a spirited and generous youth, as noble cans. This movement was a partial surprise to Washington, but dispositions were at once made to frustrate, if possible, the designs of his Lordship by detaching General Sullivan, with all the forces that could be spared, to meet him. The latter officer took an advantageous position on commanding grounds near the small Quaker meeting house in Birmingham, his left extending toward the Brandywine, his artillery suitably disposed, and both flanks covered with woods. General Wayne's division, with Maxwell's Light Infantry, remained at the lower Ford (Chad's), to keep Knyphausen with his Germans in check; while the division of General Greene, accompanied by the Commander-in-Chief, formed the centre between the right and left wings. At 2 o'clock in the afternoon Cornwallis had approached within two miles of Sullivan's position, though unconscious that such a movement had been made to intercept him; and such was the deliberation and the fancied security of the British commander that he halted for dinner upon the brow of a hill but little more than a mile from the line of the Americans. An old resident who lived near the spot and who was forced into the service of Cornwallis as a guide, was wont to say that the dinner was briefly despatched, but was a frolicksome hour among the officers, particularly the gay juniors in the service. The American troops being nowhere in sight, as the prospect was cut off by an intervening hill, but little apprehension was felt, the younger officers probably supposing that the "Yankee rebels" would scarcely make a stand even when they should come up with them. The return of an officer, however, who had been sent in advance to reconnoitre, rather hastened the dessert, or more probably induced the Earl and his suite to dispense with it that day. "And there was mounting in hot haste; the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war." Among the gayest of the gay, as a volunteer in the staff of one of the British generals, was a sprightly and chivalrous descendant of the house of Northumberland, not the Lord Percy who brought the ill-fated British detachment back from Lexington to Boston, but a still younger man. by nature as by birth, and was present on this expedition to see "how fields were won." He wore a splendid uniform, and rode, like a Percy, a noble horse richly caparisoned. Indeed, it was a goodly array of officers with the Earl, and when the order to horse was suddenly given, and everything was instantly in hurried motion, the spectacle was such as to remind one of the description. of the army of King Henry the Fourth by the Bard of Avon. The column resumed its march at half-past three, and by four o'clock had ascended the intervening hill already mentioned, which brought them in full prospect of the American troops, in battle array, and calmly awaiting the onset. Instant dispositions were made by Cornwallis for battle, for which all seemed panting with eagerness. But as the young Percy came over the brow of the hill, he was observed suddenly to curb in his impatient horse, and the gay smile upon his lively features, changing at first to an unwonted gravity, became sad and pensive, as he glanced his bright eye over the extensive rolling landscape now rife with animation. It was a glorious spectacle. The wide prospect of gentle hill and dale, with forest and farm-house, the bright waters of the Brandywine just appearing through the foliage upon its banks, in a low and beautiful valley on the right, formed of itself a picturesque view for the lover of the simple "garniture of nature." But enlivened as it now was by the presence of two hostile armies, both eager for the onslaught, on that side the American line resting upon their burnished arms in order of battle, and on this, the brisk note of preparation, the displaying of columns, and other manoeuvres necessary to the sudden change of position and circumstances-all combined to make up a scene which it would hardly be supposed would have dampened the ardor or clouded with gloom the features of the young officer, whose proud lip would at any other moment have curled with scorn and his eye kindled with indignation at the remotest intimation of a want of firmness in the hour of trial. Yet with a subdued and half-saddened eye, the young nobleman, who just before was eager to play the hero in the approaching contest, paused for a moment longer. Then calling his servant to his side, and taking his diamond-studded repeater from his pocket, "Here Clifford," said he, "take this, and deliver it to my sister in Northumberland. I have seen this field and this landscape before in England and in a dream. Here I shall fall; and," drawing a heavy purse of gold from his pocket, "take this for yourself." Saying this, he dashed forward with his fellows; the lines were formed, and at four o'clock the battle began. The onset was impetuous, and the Americans received their haughty foes with coolness and courage. But their right wing being overpowered with numbers was compelled to give way; and the remaining divisions, now exposed to a galling fire on the flank, continued to break, until at length the battle terminated in a retreat, amounting almost to a rout, although several strong posts were successively defended with distinguished but unavailing bravery. The most obstinate fighting during the engagement took place near the centre of the American line resting upon the little stone meeting-house of the Quakers and in the contiguous grave-yard walled on all sides by a thick stone mason work, which, with the meeting-house, is yet standing as firmly as during the battle. This enclosure was long and resolutely defended by the Americans; and it was near the northern wall, about the middle of the action, that the presentiment of young Percy was realized by his fall. He was a brave knight, and had he lived the exploits of that day would have opened to him the portals of a bright But believing himself doomed, it is not impossible that the disorder of the mind had the effect of producing the catastrophe. The enclosure consecrated to the repose of the dead was at length scaled and carried by the bayonet. The wounded were taken into the meetinghouse, built by peace-makers for the worship of the God of peace, though now the centre of bloody strife; and the dead were promiscuously interred in one corner of the burying ground in which the greatest portion of thein had been slain. A few years since, in digging a new grave, the remains of a British soldier were uncovered. A part of his shoes and a few pieces of red cloth, which crumbled on being exposed to the air, were discovered, together with a button marked "44th Reg't," and a flattened bullet, probably the messenger of death to the wearer. There is a scrap of unwritten history attached to this little secluded meeting-house-true, though living only in tradition-of an unusual character and singular interest. A few years before the Revolutionary war the obscure Quaker parish of Birmingham was favored on one occasion by the presence of one of the most gifted and eloquer preachers of their peaceable and peculiar sert The spirit moved him to preach, and as he pro ceeded he rose to an unwonted elevation in ts thoughts; an unusual fervor was breathed in eact succeeding sentence, rising in eloquence of erre sion and warmth of feeling, to a degree of emot es without example even in the history of his ow sacred exhortations. He proceeded in large still more glowing and lofty, until his kind! -g eye seemed to catch glimpses of things unseen, and to penetrate the veil which screens from more view things yet to come. At length a son broke upon his rapt senses, and he burst forth .n in language similar to that of Milton: "O, what are these? Death's ministers, not men; who thus deal death Inhumanly to men; and multiply Ten thousand fold the sin of him who slew His brother." He then, in words of inspiration, predicted the coming conflict with its attending scourges, and declared that there, even in that quiet community whose precepts and examples breathed nothing but peace, harmony and brotherly love, where for more than a hundred years they had illustrated by their deportment "how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity," and where there was seemingly so little to incite the attention of battling legions, even there the Angel of Destruction would spread his wings. Evea there the blood would flow to the horses' bridles Even there, within the walls of that little sanctu ary, would be piled up heaps of the dying ad the dead. No human event could have been more improbable at the time it was foretold, and the fulfillment was as exact as the prediction was surprising. The little meeting-house and the grave-yard are open to the examination of visitors, and are viewed with that interest which the associations connected with them naturally inspires. The inclosure for the repose of the dead is of ample size for a country town, but it has been thus occuped for nearly two hundred years. There is no clusten:g of houses adjoining this hallowed spot. There are spreading elms around the enclosure, and a cedar within it, of more than a century's growth, as funereal in its appearance as the yew tree. The whole area is now nearly filled with the little grassy mounds covering the dead; but, in accordance with the usages of that peculiar people, no monumental marble designates the names, individuals, or families of those who sleep below. No sooner had Cornwallis carried the churchyard fortress and defeated the troops of Sullivan, saved only from utter rout by the coolness of Greene who covered their retreat, than Knyphausen, after successively keeping the attention of Wayne's division all day with the apprehension of an attack, which he did not intend, prepared to cross the river. Wayne, however, immediately suspected his intention, and as soon as the German general moved forward, he opened upon him a heavy cannonade from his intrenchments near Chad's house. For a few minutes he kept the greatly superior force of the Hessians at bay, until hearing of the defeat of Sullivan, and discovering another portion of the enemy advancing upon his flank, he ordered a retreat. Having delayed this order for so long, he was unable to fall back in good order, and, accordingly, the retreat became a rout-all his artillery and munitions of war falling into the hands of the victors. Darkness put an end to the conflict, the British remaining upon the field. The retreat of the Americans continued during the whole night, the main army, under Washington, retiring to Germantown, while Wayne, with his division diverged northwardly toward the Lancaster road, and encamped at the Paoli, where his memorable surprise and defeat, at midnight, followed shortly afterwards. serenity produced by faith in the ultimate triumph of the cause-that De Kalb wrote home as follows: "He (Washington) does more every day than could be expected from any general in the world, under the same circumstances, and I think him the only proper person (nobody actually being or serving in America excepted), by his natural and acquired capacity, his bravery, good sense, uprightness and honesty, to keep up the spirits of the army and people, and I look upon him as the sole defender of his country's cause." But Military critics have severely censured Washington for fighting this battle, and had he consulted his own wishes, it is doubtful whether he would have risked an engagement at this juncture. "I could wish," writes Baron De Kalb about this time to Count De Broglie, in speaking of Washington, "that he would take more upon himself, and trust more to his own excellent judgment." the position of the American Commander-in-Chief at this period was peculiarly embarrassing. Conway's infamous cabal was harassing him. His enemies, loud and bold, had "mistaken for want of decision the self-distrust which arose from a consciousness of inexperience;" while the success of Stork at Bennington caused a clamor for such active measures as should produce a corresponding success in the South. The late Civil War furnishes similar instances of disaster brought about by a like public pressure. The "on to Richmond" cry and its consequences are still unforgotten in the land. REMARKS.-We heartily welcome Mr. Stone to the pages of the MONTHLY, as will the readers, and cannot but hope he will often find it convenient to favor us. It is worthy of note that the disaster of Brandywine had some good results to mitigate the evil: the Congress was nerved to renewed exertions, wisely took immediate steps towards the strength The battle of Brandywine is specially noticeable for the number of foreigners engaged in it on the American side. The then gay and gallant Lafayette mounted in hot haste for the fray, and shed in it his young blood. The brave Samatian, Pulaski, was also here battling in the same sacred cause, with the characteristic courage and impetuosity of his country, the land of John Sobieski.ening of the army, and enlarged Washington's The Baron de St. Ouary, serving as a volunteer, was taken prisoner, and Captain Louis de Fleury, the hero of Stony Point, had a horse killed under him. Had it not been, moreover, for an unforeseen occurrence, Lafayette's bosom friend, the ill-fated De Kalb, would also have been in the action. Indeed, it was partly in reference to the serenity of Washington after this disaster-a VOL. VII.-7 authority, partially reinvesting him with the dictatorial prerogatives. The exact numbers engaged. at the Brandywine have never been unquestionably determined; but the British certainly far outnumbered the American forces, doubtless not less than fifty per cent., while the casualties were in the same proportion, only reversing the numbers.EDITOR. THE TRUTH CONCERNING MAJOR ANDRE.' BY FRANCIS S. HOFFMAN. THE paper entitled "Monody on the Death of Major André," in AMERICAN MONTHLY, April, 1876, appears to be so full of errors that I will endeavor to give the facts as they are to be found in the history of our country. In 1770 Richard Lovell Edgeworth was paying a Christmas visit to Lichfield. This was about eighteen months since André and Miss Sneyd first met at Buxton. In his "Memoirs," begun by himself, and concluded by his daughter, Maria Edgeworth, third edition, London, 1844, Mr. Edgeworth thus mentions the impressions he received of the state of affairs between André and Miss Sneyd: "Whilst I was upon this visit Mr. André, afterwards Major André, who lost his life so unfortunately in America, came to Lichfield. . . . The first time I saw Major André, at the palace, I did not perceive from his manner or from that of the young lady, that any attachment subsisted between them. On the contrary, from the great attention which Miss Seward paid to him, and from the constant admiration which Major André bestowed upon her, I thought that though there was a considerable disproportion in their ages, there might exist some courtship between them. Miss Seward, however, undeceived me. I never met Mr. André again; and from all that I then saw, or have since known, I believe that Miss Honora Sneyd was never much disappointed by the conclusion of the attachment. Mr. André appeared to me to be pleased and dazzled by the lady. She admired and esteemed highly his talents, but he did not possess the reasoning mind which she required. Miss Seward, in a note to her Monody on the Death of Major André,' has asserted that Mr. André, in despair upon the marriage of Honora Sneyd quitted his business as a merchant, insinuating that he was 'Out with it,' jilted by that lady, and that in consequence of this disappointment he went into the army and quitted the country." 1 We have a valuable paper on this subject by our esteemed contributor, Charles A. Campbell, which shall appear, probably in the September MONTHLY, The fact is, that Major André's commission was dated March 4, 1771, and Miss Honora Sneyd w married the 17th of July, 1773, that is, two years after Mr. André went into the army. Despair on hearing of the marriage of Honora Sneyd, comid not have driven him to quit his profession and his country, he having quitted both two years before the marriage. Earl Stanhope says (see "Miscellanies," collected and edited by Earl Stanhope, second series, London, 1872): "When in the course of writing my History of England' I had to examine and compare the different authorities on the tragical fate of Mis André, I could not fail to observe the state-de" ti by Miss Anna Seward of a communication on this subject received from General Washington. She first related it briefly in a letter to Miss Ponson, of August 9th, 1798 (Correspondence, Vol. V., page 142, edition of 1811), and then, some three years later, with much more of detail. This last letter was addressed to Mr. Simmons, Surgeon, in Manchester, and bears date January 20, 1801 (Correspondence, Vol. VI., page 1, edition of 1811). Here then, in later form, is the statement that Miss Seward makes: In the first paroxysm of anguish for the fate of my beloved friend, I wrote that Monody under the belief that he was basely murdered, rather than reluctantly sacrificed to belligerent customs and law. I have since understood the subject better. General Washington allowed his and-decamp to return to England after peace was es tablished and American Independence acknowledged, and he commissioned him to see me, and request my attention to the papers he sent for my perusal. 'Copies of letters to André, and Andre's answers in his own hand, were amongst them. Concern, esteem and pity were avowed in those of the General, and warm entreaties that he would urge General Clinton to resign Arnold in exchange for himself, as the only means to avert * This is the letter from which Mr. Carlisle quotes, and in correctly, as I show hereinafter. |