# Protestant Exiles from France/Volume 2 - Book Third - Chapter 24 - André

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​André. — Jean André was born on 2nd May 1750, and baptized in the French Church of St. Martin-Orgars, in the City of London, on the 16th.
| 1750 Jean André. | Jean André né le 2 May 1750 fils d’Antoine André et de Marie Louise son epouse a eté baptizé le 16 May ayant eté presenté au Bapteme par Mons$^{r.}$ Jean Bristow et par Mons$^{r.}$ Jean André representé par Mr. David André. Pour Marraine Mad$^{e.}$ Marie Girardot femme de Mons$^{r.}$ Paul Girardot de Paris representée par Mad$^{e.}$ Bristow femme de Mr. Jean Bristow. Jaques Eynard, Ministre. |
(See chapter xviii.) His family were of Huguenot descent, and latterly Geneva had been the cradle of rising generations, and it is said that our John André received his early education in Geneva. He began active life in a merchant’s house in London. He had been dissuaded from entering the army, but a tender disappointment revived his first resolution, and he was gazetted on 2nd April 1771 as second-lieutenant in the 26th Foot, a regiment which his younger brother, William Lewis (born in 1760) afterwards joined. John André rose to be captain in his regiment, and in 1780 he was Adjutant General, with the rank of Major, in the British army under Sir Henry Clinton. One of the American Generals, named Benedict Arnold, having resolved to return to allegiance to Great Britain, Major André was employed to conclude the negotiations with him. General Arnold got safely within the British lines, but André was detected and captured by the enemy on the 22nd of September. As he was in disguise, a Board of Officers decided that he was a spy, and that he must suffer death by hanging, and he was executed on the 2nd October. His family justly say of him that he was “a gallant soldier, the idol of his comrades, the admiration of his superiors.” A writer in “The Curious Book” (Edinburgh, 1826) recalls “the vivacity, worth, and warm sensibility of André’s heart, which sparkled with fervour from his expressive and prominent eyes.” The whole army went into mourning for him ; and the Americans were evidently grieved at having, according to martial law, to consign to execution a meritorious officer, “in the bloom of life, and peculiarly engaging in his person and manners.” The importance attached to his apprehension was manifested by the vote of Congress, that each of the three New York Militiamen who took him prisoner should receive a silver medal, to be presented by the Commander-in-Chief, also the thanks of Congress, and a pension of 200 dollars. Major André was buried where he died, and it was not till 1821 that the Americans permitted his remains to be removed to their final resting-place in Westminster Abbey, where a marble monument, designed by Robert Adam, and executed by P. M. Van Gelder, had been placed in 1781. The following was the epitaph:—
Sacred to the Memory of Major John André, who, raised by his merit, at an early period of his life, to the rank of Adjutant-General of the British Forces in America, fell a sacrifice to his zeal for his King and country, on the 2nd of October 1780, aged 29, universally beloved and esteemed by the army in which he served, and lamented even by his foes. His Gracious Sovereign, King George III., has caused this monument to be erected.
Major André’s actual age was thirty. As the monument does not appear in the Parliamentary return of monuments erected at the public expense, we may infer that it was paid for by King George III. out of the Privy Purse. His brother, a captain in his regiment, received a baronetcy as a memento. But Sir William Lewis André died in 1802, unmarried.
After the lapse of half a century, the following gratifying addition was made to the inscription in Westminster Abbey:—
The remains of Major John André were, on the 10th of August 1821, removed from Tappan by James Buchanan, Esq., His Majesty’s Consul at New York, under instructions from His Royal Highness the Duke of York, and, with the permission of the Dean and Chapter, finally deposited in a grave contiguous to this monument, on the 28th of November 1821.
Great Britain and America having thus shaken hands over his grave, I may refer to the case in the light thrown upon it by Alexander Hamilton, Aide-de-Camp to General Washington. Hamilton’s words were:—
“It was among the extraordinary circumstances that attended André that, in the midst of his enemies, he died universally regretted and universally esteemed.” — P. 93.
“Poor André suffers to-day. Everything that is amiable in virtue, in fortitude, in delicate sentiment, and accomplished manners, pleads for him; but hard-hearted policy calls for a sacrifice. . . . I urged a compliance with his request to be shot, and I do not think it would have had an ill effect. . . . When André’s tale comes to be told, and present resentment is over, the refusing him the privilege of choosing the manner of his death will be branded with Too much obstinacy.” — P. 90.
Hamilton’s biographer thus sums up:—
“No one acquainted with the benevolence of Washington’s character can doubt that it must have cost him many a pang, not only to leave André to his fate, but to refuse him even his last request. He acted on the conviction that it was necessary to make an example Nor can it be disputed that he was justified in what he did, by the established principles of military law. Yet it may be questioned whether in this instance the course, which a romantic generosity would have counselled, might not in the end have proved the best and wisest. No incident of the war made such a painful impression in England as the execution of André, and none left behind it such bitter and lasting memories; while to have spared his life would have at once been acknowledged as an act of clemency, would have appealed to all that was noblest in the English character, and would have done more than any other conceivable event to bring about a speedy and complete reconciliation between the two hostile branches of the British race. And, even if this could not be, it would have been in every way expedient to have saved him from the last indignity. No gallows could attach a felon’s shame to the brave young soldier, acting under the orders of his chief and in the service of his country; and his doom, instead of covering him with infamy and striking terror into the breasts of others, only excited a storm of mingled pity and indignation. It was a cruel, because it was a wholly useless, piece of severity. Such, at least, was the opinion of Hamilton.” — P. 87.