The next day brought a marked coolness in the temperature. In
preparation for the evening’s instructive entertainment, nearly all the
boys spent the time in roaming through the woods, taking notes and
brushing up their knowledge of birds, which were met with only in
moderate numbers.
Mike Murphy told Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes of his singular
experience the night before, and asked their help in solving the puzzle.
“I wish we could aid you,” replied Alvin, “but it is as much a mystery
to us as it is to you. Gordon Calhoun went with us in the other canoe to
the western end of the lake, where we found so romantic a spot that we
ate our lunch there and did not return until after dark.”
“And ye didn’t obsarve anything of thim tramps and their dive
overboord?”
“We must have been deep in the woods when that took place and, of
course, we noticed nothing strange when we paddled back.”
“I’ve tried to pump Uncle Elk, but the valves won’t work. I’m going to
kaap at it till I larn the truth or break a trace.”
“Count us in to give all the help we can,” Alvin assured him.
That evening when the Boy Scouts gathered in the large room of the
bungalow and disposed themselves in their free and easy fashion, a
moderate fire was burning on the hearth and all were on the tiptoe of
expectancy.
“My friends,” said Uncle Elk, “I am going to ask your permission to
reverse the order which I laid out last night. Most of us old persons
are apt to forget that the knowledge which interests us may not be
equally interesting to everyone else. Although I cut short my talk about
American trees, it was still dry in some respects. Now if I should start
in concerning birds you would by and by become weary. Oh, you needn’t
shake your heads. I don’t forget when I was a boy myself. So I have
decided to say nothing about our little brothers of the air until
to-morrow night, when we shall consider nothing else. The time now at my
disposal is to be given to the story I have in mind. If any one has an
objection to make let him do so now or forever after hold his peace.”
He looked around in the bright faces as if he really expected a protest
instead of a general series of smiles. Then with the prefatory remark
that the narrative which he was about to give was true in every respect,
he spoke as follows:
“The cause of American independence never looked more gloomy than in the
summer and autumn of 1776. Washington with his famishing army was in the
city of New York, preparing for the attack that he knew would soon be
made by the British fleet and land forces. The American fortifications
extended from the ferry station of Brooklyn and Gowanus Bay to Wallabout
Bay (now Brooklyn Navy Yard), less than a mile and a half in length.
Generals Sullivan and Stirling were in command, with five thousand
miserably equipped troops. Unfortunately that fine officer General
Greene was ill with a violent fever, and the boastful Sullivan assumed
charge, but Washington soon replaced him with General Putnam. By a fatal
oversight, one of the three roads over any of which the enemy could
advance if it was unguarded, was left invitingly open. Through this the
British soldiers rushed and drove the Americans pell-mell out of their
intrenchments.
“Had Howe flung off his natural indolence, he would have captured the
whole patriot army, including Washington and his officers, but certain
of soon doing so, he wished to save the lives of his men. The Americans
had several hundred killed and lost a thousand prisoners, among the
latter being Generals Sullivan and Stirling. The leading officers were
soon exchanged, but the privates suffered horribly in the hideous Sugar
House and rotten hulks at Wallabout.
“A strange providence saved the Continental army. The fleet was checked
by adverse winds, and a dense fog settled over Brooklyn, but did not
touch the other shore. Thus hidden from sight, the Americans stole back
to New York, unseen by the enemy.
“But, as I said, the outlook could not have been more gloomy. The
situation was critical to the last degree. The army was so demoralized
that little discipline remained; whole companies deserted; the few
recruits who came into camp met double their number going out; those who
stayed clamored for their pay, and the money chest was as empty as an
egg shell. Winter was coming on, and more than once it looked as if the
army would dwindle to nothing. The fourteen thousand troops declared fit
for duty were strung the whole length of Manhattan Island.
“The crisis was imminent and Washington called a council of war
September 7th, to decide whether New York should be abandoned or
defended. The commander, seeing the dread necessity coming, had asked
Congress if he should not burn the city rather than allow it to serve as
the winter quarters of the invaders. He was ordered to use special care
to prevent any damage being done, because that body was sure the place
would soon be recovered. The first council of war decided to stay and
defend New York.
“A few days later, however, another council agreed that the only course
possible was to leave the city and take position on Harlem Heights. The
public stores were to be sent to Dobbs Ferry and the sick carried across
to New Jersey. The main army would march northward and General Putnam
would stay in New York with four thousand troops. If he found his
position untenable, he was to follow Washington.
“At this council the commander-in-chief said:
“‘I know absolutely nothing of the intentions of the enemy. Two
ships-of-war have gone up the East River and others will follow. Their
troops are active everywhere, but I cannot even guess what they mean to
do. Until I have knowledge on that point, I am helpless.’
“In his distressful dilemma, Washington wrote to General Heath at
Kingsbridge, entreating him and General Clinton to aid in securing the
indispensable information. He told them to spare no expense or pains,
adding that not since the beginning of the war had he been so uneasy.
“Shortly after, Washington called his officers together again. He told
them he was still without the least knowledge of the plans of the enemy.
Only one recourse remained to him:—that was to send a spy into the
British lines in quest of the information. Such a man must be
clear-headed, cool, tactful, a good draughtsman and of undaunted
courage. He appealed to Lieutenant-Colonel Knowlton (soon to die the
death of a patriot) to find him the person. Knowlton laid the request
before a conference of his officers, and asked whether any one was
willing to volunteer.
“A spy is very different from a scout and in the eyes of most people is
the most contemptible of creatures, for the essence of his duty is
treachery. To succeed he must play the hypocrite and betray confidence
at every turn. In such scorn is a spy held by civilized nations that he
is not permitted to die the death of a soldier, but is hanged like the
worst of felons.
“The request of Knowlton was succeeded by an indignant hush. The bronzed
faces flushed as if under the sting of an insult, and the officers dared
not trust themselves to reply. In the midst of the strained silence, a
clear voice spoke:
“‘I will go!’
“Every eye was turned in astonishment on the speaker. He was a young man
of athletic figure and handsome face, whose paleness was due to a severe
illness from which he was hardly yet recovered. He wore the uniform of a
captain, and in the whole army there was not a braver or more beloved
officer than he. His words caused a painful shock to his comrades, who,
believing a disgraceful death was certain to follow his mad attempt,
closed around him and protested in the most forceful language at their
command. To all their appeals he smiled and shook his head.
“‘Gentlemen, it is useless. I am touched by your friendship, but all the
arguments you bring forward have already been considered by me. A spy is
looked upon with loathing, but the necessity of one’s country makes
every kind of service honorable. I am not seeking promotion or pecuniary
reward. I go to serve our cause, for which I am ready at any time to
give my life.’
“It was not the words alone, but their emphasis which silenced his
comrades. They saw it was useless to appeal to one whose patriotism
throbbed and burned through his entire being, and inspired every
thought, word and deed.
“And who was the young officer who thus took his life in his hands that
he might serve the cause of liberty?
“He was Captain Nathan Hale, born in Connecticut, in 1755, the sixth
child among twelve, of the strictest Puritan parents. His mental and
athletic gifts were wonderful. None of his playmates could approach him
in running, leaping, swimming, throwing, wrestling and the feats of
strength and agility so much admired by all rugged American youths. Many
a time he would place a row of empty barrels beside one another and with
little effort spring out of one into the other until he had completed
the series. Standing beside a fence whose top rail touched his chin, he
would rest one hand lightly on it and vault over as easily as a deer.
One day, while a student at Yale, in a contest with his friends, he made
so prodigious a leap that the bounds were carefully marked and preserved
for years, the admiration and despair of all subsequent students.
“But, extraordinary as was Nathan Hale’s athletic skill, his mental
powers were more brilliant, while his social qualities made him a
favorite with all. His simplicity, unfailing good nature and readiness
to help others, no matter whom, justified the remark: ‘Every man, woman
and child who knew him were his friends and among them not one was ever
an enemy.’
“He entered Yale College when fifteen years old and was graduated in due
course with the highest honors. This fact attests his scholarship and
ability. He was easily the most popular student, not only with his
classmates, but with the tutors and the faculty of the college and the
best families in New Haven.
“Hale left college in 1773 and engaged in teaching. In 1774, he was made
preceptor in the Union Grammar School at New London. The building is
carefully preserved and is well worth a visit. The institution was of a
high order, and its students were not only grounded thoroughly in an
English education, but were prepared for college. Hale was its first
preceptor, and his success was pronounced from the beginning. Boys like
you have admired and always will admire physical prowess, and there was
never one among them all who could approach their instructor in that
respect. What a star football player he would have made in these later
days! Added to this ability, his mental and social gifts and his
profound religious nature explain his marked success among the youth of
New London.
“On the 21st of April, 1775, a rider dashed into the little town upon
his foaming horse and shouted the news of Lexington and Concord. Pausing
only long enough to rest his panting steed and to snatch a bit of food,
he thundered away for New York with his momentous tidings.
“Instantly New London flamed with excitement. The bells were rung and a
‘town meeting,’ the inalienable recourse of all New Englanders, was
called at the court house for early candle light. Seemingly the whole
town crowded thither. There were burning speeches and Hale’s was the
most impassioned of all.
“The talking being over, he wrote down his name as a volunteer. Others
caught the contagion and elbowed one another in their eagerness to be
among the first to enlist. The next morning, when the boys came together
at the call of the school bell, their teacher offered up an earnest
prayer for the success of the great struggle that had opened, commended
his pupils to the care of their Heavenly Father, shook the hands of each
lad in turn, uttered a few words of advice, and set out for Cambridge.
Some time later, he came back to New London and resumed his duties in
the school.
“The young patriot, however, could not remain idle so long as his
beloved country needed her sons. He enlisted as a lieutenant in Colonel
Charles Webb’s regiment, which had been raised by order of the General
Assembly of Connecticut for home defense and, if needed, for national
protection. In September, the regiment marched to Cambridge and took
part in the siege of Boston. Upon the departure of the British for
Halifax, the American army went to New York. Some months later, when the
team of his company’s enlistment expired, Hale offered to give the men
his month’s pay if they would stay a little while longer.
“The Continentals had been in New York but a short time when Hale became
the hero of a daring exploit. A British supply vessel lay in the East
River under the protection of a frigate of sixty-four guns. He obtained
permission to attempt the capture of the sloop. Selecting a few men as
brave as himself, they stepped into a whale boat, rowed silently out
late at night and drew up beside the vessel undetected by the watch.
Like so many phantoms, the boarders climbed over the side, seized the
sentinel, fastened the crew below the hatches, lifted anchor and took
the prize into Coenties Slip, without raising the slightest alarm. Day
was breaking when Hale, holding the helm, was recognized by his friends,
who received him with hurrahs. For once at least his comrades enjoyed a
‘square meal.’
“In May, 1776, he became captain of a company of Continental Rangers
attached to Lieutenant-Colonel Knowlton’s regiment, called ‘Congress’
Own.’ The young officer’s company was the best drilled and disciplined
of all. Little is known of his actions during those eventful days, but
it cannot be doubted that he did his duty well. Illness kept him in New
York at the time the British invaded Long Island, and still weak and
pale, he joined the troops who retreated toward Harlem Heights early in
September.
“This brings me back to the day when Lieutenant-Colonel Knowlton walked
into the quarters of General Washington and introduced Captain Hale as
the officer who had volunteered to serve him as a spy. The commander
looked admiringly into the blue eyes of the handsome young athlete and
took his hand. The great man was moved and feelingly thanked him for the
inestimable service he hoped he would render his country. He saw without
questioning that Hale was the ideal actor for so perilous a rôle. He
gave him minute instructions, with a written order to the owners of all
American vessels in Long Island Sound to take him to any point on Long
Island where he might wish to go.
“Captain Hale left camp the same evening. He took with him Sergeant
Stephen Hempstead, a member of his company, who was devoted to the
officer, and a servant, Ansel Wright. They had to walk fifty miles to
Norwalk before they found a safe place to cross the Sound, because of
the British cruisers that were ever moving to and fro. At this place,
Hale took off his regimentals and donned a brown cloth suit and a
broad-brimmed hat. He assumed the character of a Quaker school teacher,
who had wearied of the society of the rebels in New York and had started
out to find a situation among more congenial folk.
“The captain instructed his companions to wait at Norwalk until the
20th, upon which day he expected to come back. They were to send a boat
for him on that morning. He left with them his uniform, his commission
and all other papers that might betray his identity. He crossed the
Sound in a sloop and went ashore on the point of Great Neck in
Huntingdon Bay, being rowed thither in a yawl. He landed near a place
called ‘The Cedars,’ not far from a tavern kept by a widow named
Chichester. She was a spiteful Tory and the inn was a lounging place for
those of her neighbors who were of the same mind. In the gray light of
early morning Hale walked past without being noticed. A mile beyond, he
stopped at the farm house of William Johnson, and obtained breakfast and
a bed for several hours’ rest. Thence he went directly into the nearest
British lines, where he was received without suspicion. He was gone for
about two weeks, but what he did, where he went, what adventures befell
him and the various means he used to escape detection can never be
known. It is certain that he visited all the enemy’s encampments near
Brooklyn and twice passed their lines. He made drawings and notes of
what he saw and learned; he went from Brooklyn, then only a ferry
station, to New York City, which the British captured after his
departure, and was equally thorough in every place. The drawings and
memoranda, the latter written in Latin, were hidden under the loose
inner soles of his shoes.
“Having finished his work in New York, Hale recrossed to Brooklyn and
threaded his way through the lines to Huntingdon. By this time he felt
so secure in his disguise that he entered without hesitation the tavern
of Widow Chichester and sat down among a group of loungers, with whom he
talked in his character of a Quaker school teacher. He was happy over
the thought that his dangerous work was over and the important knowledge
he had gained would soon be in the hands of General Washington.
“Among the strangers in the place was one whose face seemed familiar to
Hale, but he could not recall where he had ever met the man. He decided
that the resemblance was one of those accidental ones that are
occasionally seen, and he gave the matter no further thought. By and by
the fellow, who silently studied the beaming young Quaker, slipped out
of doors and did not return.
“Ah, why did Hale fail to see the sinister meaning of all this? After
escaping so many perils, why did he not continue alert and suspicious
until safe within his own lines? Sad to say, not a single misgiving
entered his thoughts, and after awhile he bade the company good night
and went to his room.
“The next morning at dawn he walked to the bay to meet the boat that was
to come for him. With a thrill of delighted expectancy, he saw a craft
containing several men approaching. He sprang lightly down the bank and
then suddenly stopped in consternation. The boat was filled with British
marines under command of an officer!
“He whirled about to flee. Had he discovered his peril sooner and gained
a few minutes’ start, no pursuer could have overtaken him. But six
muskets were leveled, and he was ordered to surrender under threat of
instant death. He paused, came down the bank again and stepped into the
boat, which was rowed out to the British ship _Halifax_. There he was
searched and the fatal papers were found on him.
“The tradition is that the man in the tavern who betrayed Hale was a
distant Tory relative who recognized him as soon as he entered the
place. Upon leaving the inn, he went to a British naval officer in
Huntingdon Bay with the news.
“Captain Hale was taken to New York on the 21st and brought before Lord
Howe, who read the documents that had been captured with the prisoner.
It was useless to try to conceal the truth and Hale denied nothing. He
said he wished no court-martial and was ready to meet his fate.
“Howe was naturally a kind-hearted man, but just then he was greatly
irritated over a fire which had destroyed several hundred houses in New
York, and which he believed had been started by the Americans to prevent
his use of them. He condemned Hale to be hanged at daylight the next
morning and placed him in the custody of William Cunningham, Provost
Marshal and one of the most brutal wretches that ever lived. It is some
consolation to know that this miscreant was hanged himself some years
later for scores of confessed murders to which he had been accessory. He
thrust Hale into a prison cell, and would not have unpinioned him except
for the intercession of a British officer. When the prisoner asked for
the presence of a chaplain, it was refused with curses, as was his
request for a Bible. The same friendly officer obtained permission for
Hale to write letters to his mother, sisters and the girl to whom he was
betrothed. The missives were handed to Cunningham to be forwarded. With
a leer he read each and then tore them up and flung the fragments on the
floor. Hale looked scornfully at him but did not speak.
“The next morning he was led to the gallows, which was the limb of an
apple tree, exactly where is not known. In accordance with the military
custom of those days, a ladder was placed under the branch. The prisoner
climbed two or three rounds, when at a signal the support was turned and
he was left dangling in the air. A moment before, he had looked down in
the faces of the hushed spectators and uttered his last noble words:
“‘I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country!’
“No one knows where the martyr was buried. On November 25, 1893, a
statue to his memory was unveiled in City Hall Park, in the presence of
a vast assemblage and amid impressive ceremonies.”