I had imposed upon me so painful a duty as communicating this fact to the young and gallant officer.  He saw my embarrassment and feelings, and, rising from his seat, said:  ’Colonel, I thank you for the generous interest you have taken in my case.  It has proved of no avail; yet I am none the less grateful.’  He paused a moment, when he continued:  ’It is hard to die, and to die thus.  My time is short, and I must employ it in writing to my family, and must request that you will see my letters forwarded to headquarters.’  I promised; when he extended his hand, and, grasping mine, asked:  ‘Is this our last parting, or shall I see you to-morrow?’ I told him it had been made my duty to superintend his execution.  ’We will part at the grave,’ he said, and, covering his face with his hands, sank, sobbing, into his chair.

“I went away sorrowing, and spent a sleepless night.  When the hour had arrived, I waited on him in his prison, and found him cool and prepared for the sacrifice.  We both felt too much for words, and there was little said.  I remember he asked me to procure his watch, which had been taken from him, if possible, and send it to headquarters.  He desired his family to have it.”

“Did you ever get it?” I asked.

The colonel bit his lip in shame for him who had it, and only answered:  “Never.”

“The grave was prepared near the gallows, and the open coffin was by it.  As Andre approached, he saw it, and a shudder ran through his frame.  Turning to me, he said:  ’I am to be buried there.  One more request, colonel.  Mark it; so that when this cruel conflict shall have ended, my friends may find it!’ He then shook hands with me, and, with unfaltering steps, went to the scaffold.”

I heard this narrative many times, and with its ending the white kerchief about the old man’s neck was loosed, and the moisture from his eyes told that the feelings as well as the memory of that day still survived.  He would a moment after continue:  “Washington was a stern man—­he was a hard man—­slow to form opinions or resolutions; but once formed, there was no power under heaven to move him.  He never formed either until his judgment was convinced of the right.  There was less of impulse in his nature than in that of any man I ever knew.  I served by his side for years, and I never saw the least manifestation of passion or surprise.  He received the information of Arnold’s treachery with the same apparent indifference that he would an orderly’s report; and with the same indifference of manner signed the death-warrant of Andre.

“This indifference was marked with a natural sternness, which forbid all familiarity to all men.  Even Colonel Hamilton, who was naturally facetious, never ventured, during his long service, the slightest intimacy.  Hamilton, whom he esteemed above all men, and to whom he gave his entire confidence, always observed in his private intercourse, as in his public, the strictest etiquette.  This cool sternness was