A few more words on the subject of burying the dead under churches, and in the midst of a dense population. If men would adopt the language of the prologue to Addison’s Cato—“dare to have sense yourselves”—the folly and madness of this practice would be sufficiently apparent. Upon some simple subjects, one grain of common sense is better, than any quantity of the uncommon kind. But it is hard to make men think so.They prefer walking by faith—they must consult the savans—the doctors. Now I think very well of a good, old-fashioned doctor—one doctor I mean—but, when they get to be gregarious, my observation tells me, no good can possibly come of it. At post mortems, and upon other occasions, I have, in my vocation, seen them assembled, by half dozens and dozens, and I have come to the conclusion, that no body of men ever look half so wise, or feel half so foolish.
Some of the faculty were consulted, in this city, about thirty years ago, upon the question of burying under churches; and, on the strength of the opinion given, a large church, not then finished, was provided with tombs, and the dead have been buried therein, ever since. Now I think the public good would have been advanced, had those doctors set their faces against the selfish proposition. That it is a nuisance, I entertain not the slightest doubt. The practice of burying in their own houses, among the ancients, gave place to burying without the city, or to cremation. The unhealthiness, consequent upon such congregations of the dead, was experienced at Rome. The inconvenience was so severely felt, in a certain quarter, that Augustus gave a large part of one of the cemeteries to Mæcenas, who so completely purified it, and changed its character, that it became one of the healthiest sites in Rome, and there he built a splendid villa, to which Augustus frequently resorted, for fresh air and repose. Horace alludes to this transformation, Sat. 8, lib. 1, v. 10, and the passage reminds one of the change, which occurred in Philadelphia, when the Potter’s field was beautifully planted, and transformed into Washington Square.
Hoc miseræ plebi stabat commune sepulchrum,Pantolabo scurræ; Nomentanoque nepoti.Mille pedes in fronte, trecentos cippus in agrumHic dabat, heredes monumentum ne sequeretur.Nunc licet Esquiliis habitare salubribus, atqueAggere in apprico spatiari, quâ modo tristesAlbis informem spectabant ossibus agrum.
Millingen, in his work on Medical jurisprudence, page 54, remarks—“From time immemorial medical men have pointed out to municipal authorities the dangers, that arise from burying the dead, within the precincts of cities, or populous towns.”
The early Christians buried their martyrs, and afterwards eminent citizens, in their temples. Theodosius, in his celebrated code, forbade the practice, because of the infectious diseases.
Theodolphus, the Bishop of Orleans, complained to Charlemagne, that vanity and the love of lucre had turned churches into charnel houses, disgraceful to the church, and dangerous to man.
Cuthbert, Archbishop of Canterbury, first sanctioned the use of churches, for charnel houses, in 758—though Augustine had previously forbidden the practice. As Sterne said, in another connection, “they manage these matters much better, in France;” there Maret, in 1773, and Vicq d’Azyr, in 1778, pointed out the terrible consequences, so effectually, that none, but dignitaries, were suffered to be buried in churches. In 1804, inhumation, in the cities of France, was wholly forbidden, without any exception. The arguments produced, at that time, are not uninteresting, at this, or any other. In Saulien, about 140 miles from Paris, in the year 1773, the corpse of a corpulent person was buried, March 3, under the church of St Saturnin. April 20, following, a woman was buried near it. Both had died of a prevailing fever, which had nearly passed away. At the last interment a foul odor filled the church, and out of 170 persons present, 149 were attacked with the disease. In 1774 at Nantes, several coffins were removed, to make room for a person of note; and fifteen of the bystanders died of the emanation, shortly after. In the same year, one third of the inhabitants of Lectouse died of malignant fever, which appeared, immediately after the removal of the dead from a burial-ground, to give place to a public structure.
The public mind is getting to be deeply impressed, upon this subject. Cities, and the larger towns are, in many instances, building homes for the dead, beyond the busy haunts of the living. The city of London has, until within a few years, been backward, in this sanatory movement. At present, however, there are six public cemeteries, in the suburbs of that city, of no inconsiderable area: the Kensall Green Cemetery, established by act 2 and 3 of William IV., in 1832, containing 53 acres—the South Metropolitan, by act 6 and 7 William IV., 1836, containing 40 acres—the Highgate and Kentish Town, by act 7 and 8 William IV., containing 22 acres—the Abney Park, at Stoke Newington, containing 30 acres, 1840—the Westminster, at Earlscourt, Kensington road, 1840—and the Nunhead, containing 40 acres, 1840. Paris has its beautiful Père La Chaise, covering the site of the house and extensive grounds, once belonging tothe Jesuit of that name, the confessor of Louis XIV., who died in 1709. New York has its Greenwood; Philadelphia its Laurel Hill; Albany its Rural Cemetery; Baltimore its Green Mount; Rochester its Mount Hope; we our Mount Auburn; and our neighboring city of Roxbury has already selected—and well selected—a local habitation for the dead, and wants nothing but a name, which will not long be wanting, nor a graceful arrangement of the grounds, from the hands of one, to whom Mount Auburn is indebted, for so much of all that is admirable there. I shall rejoice, if the governors of this cemetery should decree, that notombshould ever be erected therein—but that the dead should be laid in theirgraves.
My experience has supplied me with good and sufficient reasons—one thousand and one—against the employment of tombs, some of which reasons I may hereafter produce, though the honor of our craft may constrain me to keep silence, in regard to others. Some very bitter family squabbles have arisen, about tombs. Two deacons, who were half brothers, had a serious and lasting dispute, respecting a family tomb. They became almost furious; one of them solemnly protesting, that he would never consent to be buried there, while he had his reason, and the other declaring, that he would never be put into that tomb, while God spared his life. This, however, is not one of those one thousand and one reasons, against tombs.
The origin of the catacombs of Paris is very interesting, and not known to many. The stone, of which the ancient buildings of Paris were constructed, was procured from quarries, on the banks of the river Bièore. No system had been adopted in the excavation; and, for hundreds of years, the material had been withdrawn, until the danger became manifest. There was a vague impression, that these quarries extended under a large part of the city. In 1774 the notice of the authorities was called to some accidents, connected with the subject. The quarries were then carefully examined, by skilful engineers; and the startling fact clearly established, that the southern parts of Pariswere actually undermined, and in danger of destruction. In 1777 a special commission was appointed, to direct such works, as might be necessary. On the very day of its appointment, the necessity became manifest—a house, in the Rue d’Enfer, sunk ninety-two feet. The alarm—the fear of a sudden engulphment—was terrible. Operatives were set at work, to prop the streets, roads, palaces, and churches. The supports, left by the quarriers, without any method or judgment, were insufficient—in some instances, they had given way, and the roof had settled. Great fear was felt for the aqueduct of Arcueil, which supplied the fountains of Paris, and which passed over this ground, for it had already suffered some severe shocks; and it was apprehended, not simply that the fountains would be cut off, but that the torrent would pour itself into these immense caverns. And now the reader will inquire, what relation has this statement to the catacombs? Let us reply.
For hundreds of years, Paris had but one place of interment, the Cemetery des Innocens. This was once a part of the royal domains; it lay without the walls of Paris; and was given, by one of the earlier kings, to the citizens, for a burying-place. It is well known, that this gift to the people was intended to prevent the continuance of the practice, then common in Paris, of burying the dead, in cellars, courts, gardens, streets, and public fields, within the city proper. In 1186 this cemetery was surrounded with a high wall, by Philip Augustus, the forty second king of France. It was soon found insufficient for its purpose; and, in 1218, it was enlarged, by Pierre de Nemours, Bishop of Paris. Generation after generation was deposited there, stratum super stratum, until the surrounding parishes, in the fifteenth century, began to complain of the evil, as an insufferable nuisance. Such a colossal mass of putrescence produced discomfort and disease. Hichnesse speaks of several holes about Paris, of great size and depth, in which dead bodies were deposited, and left uncovered, till one tier was filled, and then covered with a layer of earth, and so on, to the top. He says these holes were cleared, once in thirty or forty years, and the bones deposited, in what was called “le grand charnier des Innocens;” this was an arched gallery, surrounding the great cemetery.
With what affectionate respect we cherish the venerated name of François Pontraci!Magnum et venerabile nomen!He was the last—the last of the grave-diggers ofle grand charnier desInnocens! In the days of my novitiate, I believed in the mathematical dictum, which teaches, that two things cannot occupy the same place, at the same time. But that dictum appears incredible, while contemplating the operations of Pontraci. He was a most accomplished stevedore in his department—the Napoleon of the charnel house, the very king of spades. All difficulties vanished, before his magic power. Nothing roused his indignation so much, as the suggestion, that a cemetery wasfull—c’est impossible!was his eternal reply. To use the terms of another of the fine arts, the touch of Pontraci was irresistible—hishandlingmasterly—hisgroupingunsurpassed—and hisfore-shorteningaltogether his own.Condense!that word alone explained the mystery of his great success. Knapsacks are often thrown aside,en route, in the execution of rapid movements. In the grand march of death, Pontraci considered coffins an encumbrance. Those wooden surtouts he thought well enough for parade, but worse than useless, on a march. He had a poor opinion of an artist, who could not find room, for twenty citizens, heads and heels, in one common grave. Madame Pontraci now and then complained, that the fuel communicated a problematical flavor to the meat, while roasting—“c’est odeur, qui a rapport à une profession particulière, madame,” was the reply of Pontraci. The register, kept by this eminent man, shows, that, in thirty years, he had deposited, in this cemetery, ninety thousand bodies. It was calculated, that twelve hundred thousand had been buried there, since the time of Philip Augustus. In 1805, the Archbishop of Paris, under a resolve of the Council of State, issued a decree, that the great cemetery should be suppressed and evacuated. It was resolved to convert it into a market place. The happy thought of converting the quarries into catacombs fortunately occurred, at that period, to M. Lenoie, lieutenant general of police. Thus a receptacle was, at once, provided for the immense mass of human remains, to be removed from the Cemetery des Innocens. A portion of the quarries, lying under thePlaine de Mont Souris, was assigned, for this purpose. A house was purchased with the ground adjoining, on the old road to Orleans. It had, at one time, belonged to Isouard, a robber, who had infested that neighborhood. A flight of seventy-seven steps was made, from the house down into the quarries; and a well sunk to the bottom, down which the bones were to be thrown. Workmen were employed, in constructing pillars tosustain the roof, and in walling round the part, designed forle charnier. The catacombs were then consecrated, with all imaginable pomp.
In the meantime, the vast work of removing the remains went forward, night and day, suspended, only, when the hot weather rendered it unsafe to proceed. The nocturnal scenes were very impressive. A strange resurrection, to be sure! Bonfires burnt brightly amid the gloom. Torches threw an unearthly glare around, and illuminated these dealings with the dead. The operatives, moving about in silence, bearing broken crosses, and coffins, and the bones of the long buried, resembled the agents of an infernal master. All concerned had been publicly admonished, to reclaim the crosses, tombstones, and monuments of their respective dead. Such, as were not reclaimed, were placed in the field, belonging to the house of Isouard. Many leaden coffins were buried there, one containing the remains of Madame de Pompadour. Duringtherevolution, the house and grounds of Isouard were sold as national domain, the coffins melted, and the monuments destroyed. The catacombs received the dead from other cemeteries; and those, who fell, in periods of commotion, were cast there. When convents were suppressed, the dead, found therein, were transferred to this vast omnibus.
During the revolution, the works were neglected—the soil fell in; water found its way to the interior; the roof began to crumble; and the bones lay, in immense heaps, mixed with the rubbish, and impeding the way. And there, for the present, we shall leave them, intending to resume this account of the catacombs of Paris, in a future number.
In 1810, the disgusting confusion, in the catacombs of Paris, was so much a subject of indignant remark, that orders were issued to put things in better condition. A plan was adopted, for piling up the bones. In some places, these bones were thirty yards in thickness; and it became necessary to cut galleries through the masses, to effect the object proposed.
There were two entrances to the catacombs—one near thebarrier d’Enfer, for visitors—the other, near the old road to Orleans, for the workmen. The staircase consisted of ninety steps, which, after several windings, conducted to the western gallery, from which others branched off, in different directions. A long gallery, extending beneath the aqueduct of Arcueil, leads to the gallery of Port Mahon, as it is called. About a hundred yards from this gallery, the visitor comes again to the passage to the catacombs; and, after walking one hundred yards further, he arrives at the vestibule, which is of an octagonal form. This vestibule opens into a long gallery, lined with bones, from top to bottom. The arm, leg, and thigh bones are in front, compactly and regularly piled together. The monotony of all this is tastefully relieved, by three rows of skulls, at equal distances, and the smaller bones are stowed behind. How very French! This gallery leads to other apartments, lined with bones, variously and fancifully arranged. In these rooms are imitation vases and altars, constructed of bones, and surmounted with skulls, fantastically arranged. This really seems to be the work of some hybrid animal—a cross, perhaps, between the Frenchman and the monkey.
These crypts, as they are called, are designated by names, strangely dissimilar. There is the Crypte de Job, and the Crypte d’Anacreon—the Crypte de La Fontaine, and the Crypte d’Ezekiel—the Crypte d’Hervey, and the Crypte de Rousseau. An album, kept here, is filled with mawkish sentimentality, impertinent witticism, religious fervor, and infidel bravado.
The calculations vary, as to the number of bodies, whose bones are collected here. At the lowest estimate, the catacombs are admitted to contain the remains of three millions of human beings.
While contemplating the fantastical disposition of these human relics, one recalls the words of Sir Thomas Browne, in his Hydriotaphia—“Antiquity held too light thoughts from objects of mortality, while some drew provocatives of mirth from anatomies, and jugglers showed tricks with skeletons.”
Here then, like “broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show,” are the broken skeletons of more than three millions of human beings, paraded for public exhibition! Most of them, doubtless, received Christian burial, and were followed to their graves, and interred, with more or less of the forms and ceremonies of the Catholic church, and deposited in the earth, there to repose inpeace, till the resurrection! How applicable here the language of the learned man, whom we just quoted—“When the funeral pyre was out, and the last valediction over, men took a lasting adieu of their interred friends, little expecting the curiosity of future ages should comment upon their ashes; and having no old experience of the duration of their relics, held no opinion of such after-considerations. But who knows the fate of his bones, or how often he is to be buried! Who hath the oracle of his ashes, or whither they are to be scattered?” How little did the gay and guilty Jeane Antoinette Poisson, Marquise de Pompadour, imagine this rude handling of her mortal remains! She was buried in the Cemetery des Innocens, in 1764—and shared the common exhumation and removal in 1805.
It seems to have been the desire of mankind, in every age and nation, to repose in peace, after death. In conformity with this desire, the cemeteries of civilized nations, the morais of the Polynesian isles, and the cities of the dead, throughout the world, have been, from time immemorial, consecrated and tabooed. So deep and profound has been the sentiment of respect, for the feelings of individuals, upon this subject, that great public improvements have been abandoned, rather than give offence to a single citizen.
Near forty years ago, a meeting was held in Faneuil Hall, to consider a proposition for some change, in the Granary burying-ground, which proposition, was rejected, by acclamation. During the Mayoralty, of the elder Mr. Quincy, it was the wish of very many to continue the mall, through the burial-ground, in the Common. The consent of all, but two or three, was obtained. They were offered new tombs, and the removal of their deceased relatives, under their own supervision, at the charge of the city. These two or three still objected, and this great public improvement was abandoned; and with manifest propriety. The basis of this sentiment is a deep laid and tender respect for the ashes of the dead, and an earnest desire, that they may rest, undisturbed, till the resurrection; and this is the very last thing, which is likely to befall the tenant of aTOMB; for the owner—and tombs, like other tenements, will change owners—in the common phraseology of leases, has a right to enter, “to view, and expel the lessee”—if no survivor is at hand to prevent, and the new proprietor has other tenants, whom he prefers for the dark and gloomy mansion. And they, in process of time, shallbe served, in a similar manner, by another generation. This is no exception; it is the general rule, the common course of dealing with the dead. A tomb, containing the remains of several generations, may become, by marriage, the property of a stranger. His wife dies. He marries anew. New connections beget new interests. The tomb isuseless, to him, because it isfull. A general clearance is decreed. A hole is dug in the bottom of the tomb; the coffins, with an honorable exception, in respect to his late beloved, are broken to pieces; and the remains cast into the pit, and covered up. The tablet, overhead, perpetuates the lie—“Sacred to the memory,” &c. However, the tomb is white-washed, and swept out, and a nice place he has made of it! All this, have I seen, again and again.
When a tomb is opened, for a new interment, dilapidated coffins are often found lying about, and bones, mud, and water, on the bottom. We always make the best of it, and stow matters away, as decently as we can. We are often blamed for time’s slovenly work. Grossman said, that a young spendthrift, who really cared for nothing but his pleasures, was, upon such an occasion, seized with a sudden fit of reverence for his great grandfather, and threatened to shoot Grossman, unless he produced him, immediately. He was finally pacified by a plain statement, and an exhibition of the old gentleman’s bones behind the other coffins. We could not be looked upon, more suspiciously, by certain inconsiderate persons, if we were the very worms that did the mischief. As a class, we are as honorable as any other. There are bad men, in every calling. There is no crime, in the decalogue, or out of it, which has not been committed, by some apostle, in holy orders. Doctors and even apothecaries are, occasionally, scoundrels. And, in a very old book, now entirely out of print, I have read, that there was, in the olden time, a lawyer,rara avis, who was suspected of not adhering, upon all occasions, to the precise truth. Tombs are nuisances. I will tell you why.
Tombs are obviously more liable to invasion, with and without assistance, from the undertaker and his subalterns, than graves. There may be a few exceptions, where the sexton does not cooperate. If a grave be dug, in a suitable soil, of a proper depth, which is some feet lower than the usual measure, the body will, in all probability, remain undisturbed, for ages, and until corruption and the worm shall have done their work, upon flesh and blood, and decomposition is complete. An intelligent sexton, who keeps an accurate chart of his diggings, will eschew that spot. On the other hand, every coffin is exposed to view, when a tomb is opened for a new comer. On such occasions, we have, sometimes, full employment, in driving away idlers, who gather to the spot, to gratify a sickly curiosity, or to steal whatever may be available, however “sacred to the memory,” &c. The tomb is left open, for many hours, and, not unfrequently, over night, the mouth perhaps slightly closed, but not secured against intruders. During such intervals, the dead are far less protected from insult, and the espionage of idle curiosity, than the contents of an ordinary toy-shop, by day or night. Fifty years ago, curiosity led me to walk down into a vault, thus left exposed. No person was near. I lifted the lid of a coffin—the bones had nearly all crumbled to pieces—the skull remained entire—I took it out, and, covering it with my handkerchief, carried it home. I have, at this moment, a clear recollection of the horror, produced in the mind of our old family nurse, by the exhibition of the skull, and my account of the manner, in which I obtained it. “What an awful thing it would be,” the dear, good soul exclaimed, “if the resurrection should come this very night, and the poor man should find his skull gone!” My mother was informed; and I was ordered to take it back immediately: it was then dark; and when I arrived at the tomb, in company with our old negro, Hannibal, to whom the office was in no wise agreeable, the vault was closed. I deposited the skull on the tomb, and walked home in double quick time, with my head over my shoulder, the whole way. I relate this occurrence, to show how motiveless such trespasses may be.
There is a morbid desire, especially in women, which is rather difficult of analysis, to descend into the damp and drearytomb—to lift the coffin lid—and look upon the changing, softening, corrupting features of a parent or child—to gaze upon the mouldering bones; and thus to gather materials, for fearful thoughts, and painful conversations, and frightful dreams!
A lady lost her child. It died of a disease, not perfectly intelligible to the doctor, who desired a post mortem examination, which the mother declined. He urged. She peremptorily refused. The child was buried in the Granary ground. A few months after, another member of the same family was buried in the same vault. The mother, notwithstanding the remonstrances of her husband, descended, to look upon the remains of her only daughter; and, after a careful search, returned, in the condition of Rachel, who would not be comforted, because it was not. In a twofold sense, it wasnot. The coffin and its contents had been removed. The inference was irresistible. The distress was very great, and fresh, upon the slightest allusion, to the end of life. Cases of premature sepulture are, doubtless, extremely rare. That such, however, have sometimes occurred, no doubt has been left upon the mind, upon the opening of tombs. These are a few only of many matters, which are destined, from time to time, to be brought to light, upon the opening oftombs, and which are not likely to disturb the feelings of those whose deceased relatives and friends are committed to well-madegraves. On all these occasions, ignorance is bliss.
Tombs, not only such as are constructed under churches, but in common cemeteries, are frequently highly offensive, on the score of emanation. They are liable to be opened, for the admission of the dead, at all times; and, of course, when the worms are riotous, and corruption is rankest, and the pungent gases are eminently dangerous, and disgusting. Even when closed, the intelligible odor, arising from the dissolving processes, which are going on within, is more than living flesh and blood can well endure. Again and again, visitors at Mount Auburn have been annoyed, by this effluvium from the tombs. By the universal adoption of well-made graves, this also may be entirely avoided.
When a family becomes, or is supposed to be, extinct, or has quitted the country, their dead kindred are usually permitted to lie in peace, in theirgraves. It is not always thus, if they have had the misfortune to be buried intombs. To cast forth a dead tenant, from a solitarygrave, that room might be found for a newcomer, would scarcely be thought of; but the temptation to seize five or sixtombs, at once, for town’s account, on the pretext, that they were the tombs of extinct families, has, once, at least, proved irresistible, and led to an outrage, so gross and revolting, in this Commonwealth, that the whole history of cemeteries in our country cannot produce a parallel. In April, 1835, the board of health, in a town of this Commonwealth, gave notice, in asinglepaper, that certain tombs were dilapidated; that no representative of former owners could be found; and that, if not claimed and repaired, within sixty days, those tombs would be sold, to pay expenses, &c. In fulfilment of this notice, in September following, the entire contents of five tombs were broken to pieces, and shovelled out. In one of these tombs there were thirty coffins, the greater part of which were so sound, as to be split with an axe. A portion of the silver plate, stolen by the operatives employed by the board of health, was afterwards recovered, bearing date, as recently as 1819. The board of health then advertised these tombs for sale, intwonewspapers. Nothing of these brutal proceedings was known to the relatives, until the deed of barbarity was done. Now it can scarcely be credited, that, in that very town, a few miles from it, and in this city, there were then living numerous descendants, and relatives of those, whose tombs had thus been violated. Some of the dead, thus insulted, had been the greatest benefactors of that town, so much so, that a narrative of their donations has been published, in pamphlet form. Among the direct descendants were some of the oldest and most distinguished families of this city, whose feelings were severely tried by this outrage. The ashes of the dead are common property. The whole community bestirs itself in their defence. The public indignation brought those stupid and ignorant officials to confession and atonement, if not to repentance. They passed votes of regret; replaced the ashes in proper receptacles within the tombs; and put them in order, at the public charge. A meagre and miserable atonement, for an injury of this peculiar nature; and, though gracelessly accorded,—extorted by the stringency of public sentiment, and the fear of legal process,—yet, on the whole, the only satisfaction, for a wrong of this revolting and peculiar character. The insecurity of tombs is sufficiently apparent. An empty tomb may be attached by creditors; but, by statute of Mass., 1822, chap. 93, sec. 8, it cannot be, while inuse, as a cemetery. But no law, of man or nature, can prevent the disgusting effects, and mortifying casualties, and misconstructions of power, which have arisen, and will forever continue to arise, from the miserable practice of burying the dead, intombs.
There is, doubtless, something not altogether agreeable, in the thought of being buried alive. Testamentary injunctions are not uncommon, for the prevention of such a calamity. As far, as my long experience goes, the percentage is exceedingly small. About twenty-five years ago, some old woman was certain, that a person, lately buried, was not exactly dead. She gave utterance to this certainty—there was noevidence, and ample room therefore forfaith. The defunct had a little property—it was a clear case, of course—his relatives had buried him alive, to get possession! A mob gathered, in King’s Chapel yard; and, to appease their righteous indignation, the grave was opened, the body exposed, doctors examined, and the mob was respectfully assured, that the man was dead—dead as a door nail. A proposition to bury the old woman, in revenge, was rejected immediately. But she did not give up the point—they never do. She admitted, that the party was dead, but persisted, that his death was caused, by being buried alive.
Some are, doubtless, still living, who remember the affair in the Granary yard. Groans had been heard there, at night. Some person had been buried alive, beyond all doubt. A committee was appointed to visit the spot. Upon drawing near, subdued laughter and the sounds of vulgar merriment arose, from one of the tombs—a light was seen glimmering from below—the strong odor, not of corruption, but of mutton chops, filled the air. Some vagabonds had cleared the tomb, and taken possession, and, with broken coffins for fuel, had found an appetite, among the dead. The occupation of tombs, by the outcasts of society, was common, long before the Christian era.
That the living have been buried, unintentionally, now and then, is undoubtedly true. Such has probably been the case, sometimes, under catalepsy or trance, the common duration ofwhich is from a few hours, to two or three days; but of which Bonet,Medic., Septentrion, lib. 1, sec. 16, chap. 6, gives an example, which lasted twenty days. Bodies have been found, says Millingen, in his Curiosities of Medical Experience, page 63, where the miserable victims have devoured the flesh of their arms; and he cites John Scott and the Emperor Zeno, as examples. Plato recites the case of a warrior, who was left ten days, as dead, upon the field of battle, and came to life, on his way to the sepulchre. In Chalmers’ Memoir of the Abbe Prevôt, it is related, that he was found, by a peasant, having fallen in an apoplectic fit. The body was cold, and carried to a surgeon, who proceeded to open it. During the process, the Abbe revived, only, however, to die of the wound, inflicted by the operator.
The danger of burying alive has been noticed by Pineau,Sur le danger des Inhumations precipitées, Paris, 1776. Dr. John Mason Good, vol. 4, page 613, remarks, that catalepsy has been mistaken for real death; and, in countries where burial takes place speedily, it is much to be feared, that, in a few instances, the patient has been buried alive. A case of asphyxy, of a singular kind, is stated, by Mr. Pew, and recited by Dr. Good, of a female, whose interment was postponed, for a post mortem examination—most fortunately—for the first touch of the scalpel brought her to life. Diemerbroeck,Tractat de Peste,Lib. 4, Hist. 8, relates the case of a rustic, who was laid out for interment. Three days passed before the funeral. He was supposed to have died of the plague. When in the act of being buried, he showed signs of life, recovered, and lived many years. Dr. Good observes, that a critical examination of the region of the heart, and a clear mirror, applied to the mouth and nostrils, will commonly settle the question of life or death; but that even these signs will sometimes fail. What then shall be done? Matthæus Hildanus and others, who give many stories of this kind, say—wait for the infallible signs of putrefaction. It may be absurd to wait too long; it is indecorous to inhume too soon.
The case, recited by Mr. Pew, reminds me of Pliny’s account of persons who came to life, on the funeral pile. “Aviola in rogo revixit: et, quoniam subveniri non potuerat, prævalente flamma, vivus crematus est. Similis causa in L. Lamia, prætorio viro, traditur.”—Lib. 7, sec. 53.
Old Grossman’s stories, in this connection, were curious enough. He gave a remarkable account of a good old deacon, who had a scolding wife. She fell sick and died, as was supposed, and was put in her coffin, and screwed down, and lifted. Everything, as Grossman said, went on very pleasantly, till they began to descend into the tomb, when the sexton, at the foot, slipped, and the coffin went by the run, and struck violently against the wall of the tomb. One instant of awful silence was followed, by a shrill shriek from the corpse—“Let me out—let me out!” The poor old deacon wrung his hands, and looked, as Grossman expressed it, “real melancholy.” The lid was unscrewed, as soon as possible, and the lady, less in sorrow, than in anger, insisted on immediate emancipation. All attempts to persuade her to be still, and go home as she came, for the decency of the thing, were unavailing. The top of the coffin was removed. The deacon offered to help her out. She refused his proffered hand; and, doubling her fist in his face, told him he was a monster, and should pay for it, and insisted on walking back, in her death clothes. About six months after, she died, in good earnest. “The poor deacon,” said Grossman, “called us into a private room, and reminding us of the sad turn things took, last time, begged us to be careful; and told us, if all things went right, he would treat us at his store, the next day. He retailed spirit, as all the deacons did, being the very persons, pointed at, by the finger of the law, as men of sober lives and conversations.”
Grossman told another story. We could scarcely credit it. He offered to swear to it; but we begged he wouldn’t. It was of a woman, who was a cider sot. Her husband had tried all sorts of preventive experiments, in vain. His patience was exhausted. He tapped a barrel, and let her drink her fill. She and the barrel gave out together. She was buried. The coldness of the tomb brought her to life. She felt around the narrow domicil, in which she lay. Her consciousness, that she was in her coffin, and that she had been buried, was clear enough; but her other impressions were rather cloudy. It never occurred to her, that she had been buried alive. She imagined herself, in another world, and, knocking, as hard as possible, against the lid and sides of her coffin, she exclaimed, “Good people of the upper world, if ye have got any good cider, do let us have a mug of it.” Luckily, the mouth of the tomb had not beenclosed, and, when the sexton came to close it, he was scandalized, of course, to hear a thirsty corpse, crying for cider; but the woman was soon relieved from her predicament. The Mandans, whose custom of never burying their dead, I have alluded to, may possibly be influenced, by a consideration of this very contingency. In some places, bodies have been placed in a lighted room, near the charnel house, there to remain, till the signs of corruption could no longer be mistaken. The tops of the coffins being loose; and a bell so connected with the body, as to ring on the slightest movement.
My profession is very dear to me; and nothing would gratify me more, than to see my brother artists restored to their original dignity. It is quite common to look upon a sexton, as a mere grave-digger, and upon his calling, as a cold, underground employment, divested of everything like sentiment or solemnity.
In the olden time, the sexton bore the title of sacristan. He had charge of the sacristy, or vestry, and all the sacred vessels and vestments of the church. At funerals, his office corresponded with that of the Romandominus funerisordesignator, referred to by Horace, Ep. i., 7, 6—and by Cicero to Atticus, iv., 2. He was, in point of law, considered as having a freehold, in his office, and therefore he could not be deprived, by ecclesiastical censure. It was his duty to attend upon the rector, and to take no unimportant part, in all those inestimable forms, and ceremonies, and circumgyrations, and genuflections, which render the worship of the high church so exceedingly picturesque. The sexton of the Pope’s chapel was selected, from the order of the hermits of St. Augustine, and was commonly a bishop. His title wasprefect of the Pope’s sacristy. When the Pope said mass, the sexton always tasted the bread and wine first. And, when the Pope was desperately sick, the sexton gave him extreme unction. I recite these facts, that the original dignity of our office may be understood.
The employment of sextons has been rather singular, in some countries. M. Outhier states, that, when he visited the church ofSt. Clara, at Stockholm, he observed the sexton, during the sermon, with a long rod, waking those, who had fallen asleep.
I fully believe, that the sextons of this city are all honorable men; and yet it cannot be denied, that the solemn occasion, upon which their services are required, is one, upon which, pride and sensibility forbid all higgling, on the part of the customer. However oppressively the charge of consigning a relative to the ground may bear, upon one of slender means, the tongue of complaint is effectually tied. The consciousness of this furnishes a strong temptation to imposition. The same desire to promote the public good, which induced Mr. Bentham to give his body for dissection, has led distinguished individuals, now and then, to prescribe simple and inexpensive obsequies, for themselves.
Livy says, book 48, sec. 10, that Marcus Emilius Lepidus directed his sons to bury him without parade, and at a very small charge. As he was the Pontifex Maximus, possessed of wealth, and of a generous spirit, the promotion of the public good was the only motive. Cheating at funerals was as common at Athens, as at Rome. Demades, as Seneca relates, book 6, ch. 33,de beneficiis, condemned an unprincipled Athenian sexton, for extortion, in furnishing out funerals. The friends and relatives are so busy with their sorrow, that they have neither time nor taste, for the examination of accounts, and, least of all, such as concern the obsequies of near friends. I was never more forcibly impressed with the truth, that, where the carcass is, there the vultures will be gathered together, than in the little island of St. Croix, during the winter of 1840. I was there with a friend, a clergyman, who visited that island, for the restoration of his wife’s health. She died. Her remains were never buried there, but brought to this city, and here interred. In that island there is a tribunal, called theDealing Court, analogous to the court of probate, or orphan’s court, in this country. In less than forty-eight hours, a bill was presented, from this court, for “dealing” with the estate of the deceased. She had no estate; no act had been done. “True, but such is the custom of our island—such is the law of Denmark.” After taking counsel, the bill was paid. The Danish Lutheran is the established religion of the island. The Episcopal lives, by sufferance. A few days after this lady’s decease, a bill was presented, from the officers of theDanish Lutheranchurch, for granting permission to dig her grave, intheEpiscopalground. It was objected, that no permission had been asked, that no burial had been intended, that the body had been placed in spirits, for its removal to the United States. It was replied, “Such is the usage of the island; the permission is granted, and may be used or not; such is the law of Denmark.”
Shortly after this, a bill was presented, for digging the grave. It was in vain to protest, as before, and to assert, that no grave had been dug. The answer was the same; “the grave must be paid for; it will be dug or not, as you wish; such is the usage of the island; such is the law of Denmark.” In due time, another demand was made, for carrying round invitations, and attendance upon the funeral. It was useless to say, that no invitations were sent—no funeral was had. “Such is the custom of the island; such is the law of Denmark.” The reader, by this time, will be satisfied, that something is rotten in Denmark; this narrative appears so very improbable, that I deem it right to assure the reader the circumstances are stated faithfully, and that the clergyman referred to, is still living.
In commending a respectable frugality, in our dealings with the dead, not only with regard to their obsequies, but in relation to sepulchral and monumental expenditure, I oppose the interest of our profession, and cannot be accused of any selfish motive. A chaste simplicity is due to the occasion; for surely no more illy chosen hour can be given to the gratification of pride, than that, in which the very pride of man is humbled in the dust. How often have my thoughts descended from the costly, sculptured obelisk, to the carnival of worms below!
A well-set example of comely modesty, in these matters, would be productive of much advantage to the community. The man of common means, if he happen to be also a man of common sense, will not imitate the man of opulence, in the splendor of his equipage or furniture. But he will too readily enter into what he deems a righteous rivalry of funereal parade, and leave his debts unpaid, rather than abate one cubit, in the height of his monument, or obelisk. It is not now the custom to bury with the dead, or deposit with their ashes, as in urn burial, articles of use and value to the living. We have been taught, that those graves are the least likely to be violated, in which are deposited little else than mortal remains. But, in a certain sense, the dead can no longer be said to carry nothing with them. Thesilver and its workmanship alone, which are annually buried, furnish no inconsiderable item.
The outer coffin of Nathan Meyer Rothschild “was of fine oak, and so handsomely carved and decorated with massive silver handles, at both sides and ends, that it appeared more like a cabinet, or splendid piece of furniture, than a receptacle of the dead. A raised tablet of oak, on the breast, was carved with the arms of the deceased.” The arms of the deceased! Very edifying to the worms, those cunning operatives, who work so skilfully, in silence and darkness! The arms of the deceased! Matthew Prior had some shrewd notions of heraldry. He wrote his own epitaph—
Heralds and nobles, by your leave,Here lie the bones of Matthew Prior;The son of Adam and of Eve;Let Bourbon and Nassau go higher.
My attention has been called, by a young disciple of the great Pontraci, “a sexton of the new school,” to an interesting anecdote, which I have heard related, in days by-gone, and which has, more than once, appeared in print. It is, by many, believed, that the remains of Major Pitcairn, which were supposed to have been sent home to England, are still in this country, and that those of Lieutenant Shea were transmitted, by mistake. WhetherheorSheawill ever remain doubtful. Major Pitcairn was killed, as is well known, at the battle of Bunker’s Hill. Shea died of inflammation on the brain. They were alike in size. On the top of the head of the body, selected by the sexton of Christ Church, as the remains of Major Pitcairn, it is stated, there was a blistering plaster; and, from this circumstance, the impression has arisen, that the monument in Westminster Abbey, however sacred to the memory of Pitcairn, stands over the remains of Lieutenant Shea. There is not more uncertainty, in relation to the remains of Major Pitcairn, than has existed, in regard to the individual, by whose hands he fell; though it is now agreed, that he was shot by a black soldier, named Salem. Fifty men, at the lowest estimate, have died in the faith, that they killedPitcairn. He was a man of large stature, fearless, and ever in the van, as he is represented by Marshall, at the battle of Lexington.
He was a palpable mark, for the muskets and rifles of the sharp-shooters. It is not improbable, that fifty barrels were levelled at his person, when he fell; and hence fifty claimants, for the merit of Pitcairn’s destruction. Upon precisely similar grounds, rest the claims of Col. Johnson, for the killing of Tecumseh.
When the flesh has gone and nothing but the bones remain, it is almost impossible, to recognize the remains of any particular individual, buried hastily, as the fallen commonly are, after a battle, in one common grave; unless we are directed, by certain external indicia. In April, 1815, I officiated at the funeral of Dr. John Warren, brother of the patriot and soldier, who fell so gloriously, at Bunker’s Hill, and whose death was said, by the British General, Howe, to be an offset, for five hundred men. Dr. James Jackson delivered the eulogy, on Dr. John Warren, in King’s Chapel. General Warren was buried in the trenches, where he so bravely fell; and, when disinterred, in 1776, for removal to Boston, the remains were identified, by an inspection of the teeth, upon which an operation had been performed, the evidence of which remained. This testimony was doubtless corroborated, by the mark of the bullet on his forehead; for he was not a man to be wounded in the back. “The bullet which terminated his life,” says Mr. A. H. Everett in his memoir, “was taken from the body, by Mr. Savage, an officer in the Custom House, and was carried by him to England. Several years afterwards, it was given by him at London, to the Rev. Mr. Montague of Dedham, Massachusetts, and is now in possession of his family.”
These translations of the dead, from place to place, are full of uncertainty; and hence has arisen a marvellous and successful system of jugglery and priestcraft. The first translation of this kind, stated by Brady, in his Clavis, is that of Edward, king of the West Saxons. He was removed with great pomp from Wareham to the minster of Salisbury. Three years only had passed since his burial, and no error is imputed, in the relation. In the year 359, the Emperor Constantius was moved, by the spirit, to do something in this line; and he caused the remains of St. Andrew and St. Luke to be translated, from their original resting-places, to the temple of the twelve apostles, atConstantinople. Some little doubt might be supposed to hang over the question of identity, after such a lapse of years, in this latter case. From this eminent example, arose that eager search for the remains of saints, martyrs, and relics of various descriptions, which, for many centuries, filled the pockets of imposters, with gold, and the world, with idolatry. So great was the success of those, engaged in this lucrative employment, that John the Baptist became a perfect hydra. Heads of this great pioneer were discovered, in every direction. Some of the apostles were found, upon careful search, to be centipedes; and others to have had as many hands as Briareus. These monstrosities were too vast to be swallowed, without a miracle. Father John Freand, of Anecy, assured the faithful, that God was pleased to multiply these remains for their devotion. Consecration has been refused to churches, unprovided with relics. Their production therefore became indispensable. All the wines, produced inOportoandZeres de la Frontera, furnish not a fourth part of the liquor, drunken, in London alone, under the names of Port and Sherry; and the bones of all the martyrs, were it possible to collect them, would not supply the occasions of the numerous churches, in Catholic countries. Misson says eleven holy lances are shown, in different places, for the true lance, that pierced the side of Christ.
Many egregious sinners have undoubtedly been dug up, and their bones worshipped, as the relics of genuine saints. Though not precisely to our purpose, it may not be uninteresting to the reader, to contemplate a catalogue of some few of the relics, exhibited to the faithful, as they are enumerated, by Bayle, Butler, Misson, Brady and others;—the lance—a piece of the cross—one of Christ’s nails—five thorns of the crown—St. Peter’s chain—a piece of the manger—a tooth of John the Baptist—one of St. Anne’s arms—the towel, with which Christ wiped the feet of the apostles—one of his teeth—his seamless coat—the hem of his garment, which cured the diseased woman—a tear, which he shed over Lazarus, preserved by an angel, who gave it, in a vial, to Mary Magdalene—a piece of St. John the Evangelist’s gown—a piece of the table cloth, used at the last supper—a finger of St. Andrew—a finger of John the Baptist—a rib of our Lord—the thumb of St. Thomas—a lock of Mary Magdalene’s hair—two handkerchiefs, bearing impressions of Christ’s face; one sent by our Lord, as a present to Aquarus,prince of Edessa; and the other given by him, at the foot of the cross, to a holy woman, named Veronica—the hem of Joseph’s garment—a feather of the Holy Ghost—a finger of the Holy Ghost—a feather of the angel Gabriel—the waterpots, used at the marriage in Galilee—Enoch’s slippers—a vial of the sweat of St. Michael, at the time of his set-to with the Devil. This short list furnishes a meagre show-box of that immense mass of merchandise, which formed the staple of priestcraft. These pretended relics were not only procured, at vast expense, but were occasionally given, and received, as collateral security for debts. Baldwin II. sent the point of the holy lance to Venice, as a pledge for a loan. It was redeemed by St. Lewis, King of France, who caused it to be placed in the holy chapel at Paris. The importation of this species of trumpery, into England, was forbidden, by many statutes; and, by 3. Jac. i., cap. 26, justices were empowered to search houses for such things, and to burn them.
It is pleasant to turn from these shadowy records to matters of reality and truth. There was an exhumation, some years ago, of the remains of a highly honorable and truly gallant man, for the purpose of returning them to his native land. Suspicions of a painful nature arose, in connection with that exhumation. Those suspicions were cleared away, most happily, by a venerable friend of mine, with whom I have conversed upon that interesting topic. I will give some account of the removal of Major André’s remains, in my next.
Major John André, aid-de-camp to General Clinton, and adjutant general of the British army, was, as every well-read school-boy knows, hanged as a spy, October 2, 1780, at Tappan, a town of New York, about five miles from the north bank of the Hudson.
In June, 1818, by a vote of the Legislature of New York, the remains of that gallant Irishman, Major General Richard Montgomery, were removed from Quebec. Col. L. Livingston, his nephew, superintended the exhumation and removal. An oldsoldier, who had attended the funeral, forty-two years before, pointed out the grave. These relics were committed to the ground, once more, in St. Paul’s church-yard in New York; and, by direction of the Congress of the United States, a costly marble monument was erected there, executed by M. Cassieres, at Paris. Nothing was omitted of pomp and pageantry, in honor of the gallant dead.
Still the remains of André, whose fate was deeply deplored, however just the punishment—still they continued, in that resting place, humble and obscure, to which they had been consigned, when taken from the gallows. The lofty honors, bestowed upon Montgomery, operated as a stimulus and a rebuke. Mr. James Buchanan, the British consul, admits their influence, in his memorable letter. He addressed a communication to the Duke of York, then commander-in-chief of the British army, suggesting the propriety of exhumating the remains of André, and returning them to England. The necessary orders were promptly issued, and Mr. Buchanan made his arrangements for the exhumation.
Mr. Demarat, a Baptist clergyman, at Tappan, was the proprietor of the little field, where the remains of André had been buried, and where they had reposed, for forty-one years, when, in the autumn of 1821, Mr. Buchanan requested permission to remove them. His intentions had become known—some human brute—some Christian dog, had sought to purchase, or to rent, the field of Mr. Demarat, for the purpose of extorting money, for permission to remove these relics. But the good man and true rejected the base proposal, and afforded every facility in his power.
A narrow pathway led to the eminence, where André had suffered—the grave was there, covered with a few loose stones and briars. There was nothing beside, to mark the spot—I am wrong—woman, who was last at the cross, and first at the tomb, had been there—there was a peach tree, which a lady had planted at the head, and whose roots had penetrated to the very bottom of the shallow grave, and entered the frail shell, and enveloped the skull with its fibres. Dr. Thacher, in a note to page 225 of his military journal, says, that the roots of two cedar trees “had wrapped themselves round the skull bone, like a fine netting.” This is an error. Two cedars grew near the grave, which were sent to England, with the remains.
The point, where these relics lay, commanded a view of the surrounding country, and of the head-quarters of Washington, about a mile and a half distant. The field, which contained about ten acres, was cultivated—a small part only, around the consecrated spot, remained untilled. Upon the day of the exhumation, a multitude had gathered to the spot. After digging three feet from the surface, the operative paused, and announced, that his spade had touched the top of the coffin. The excitement was so great, at this moment, that it became necessary to form a cordon, around the grave. Mr. Buchanan proceeded carefully to remove the remaining earth, with his hands—a portion of the cover had been decomposed. When, at last, the entire top had been removed, the remains of this brave and unfortunate young man were exposed to view. The skeleton was in perfect order. “There,” says Mr. Buchanan, “for the first time, I discovered that he had been a small man.”
One by one, the assembled crowd passed round, and gazed upon the remains of André, whose fate had excited such intense and universal sensibility. These relics were then carefully transferred to a sarcophagus, prepared for their reception, and conveyed to England. They now repose beneath the sixth window, in the south aisle of Westminster Abbey. The monument near which they lie, was designed by Robert Adam, and executed by Van Gelder. Britannia reclines on a sarcophagus, and upon the pedestal is inscribed—“Sacred to the memory of Major André, who, raised by his merit, at an early period of life, to the rank of Adjutant General of the British forces in America, and, employed in an important but hazardous enterprise, fell a sacrifice to his zeal for his king and country, on 2d of October, 1780, aged twenty-nine, universally beloved and esteemed by the army, in which he served, and lamented even by his foes. His generous sovereign, King George III., has caused this monument to be erected.” Nothing could have been prepared, in better taste. Here is not the slightest allusion to that great question, which posterity, having attained full age, has already, definitively, settled—the justice of his fate. A box, wrought from one of the cedar trees, and lined with gold, was transmitted to Mr. Demarat, by the Duke of York; and a silver inkstand was presented to Mr. James Buchanan, by the surviving sisters of Major André.
Thus far, all things were in admirable keeping. It was,therefore, a matter of deep regret, that Mr. James Buchanan should have thought proper to disturb their harmony, by suggestions, painfully offensive to every American heart. Those suggestions, it is true, have been acknowledged to be entirely groundless. But that gentleman’s original letter, extensively circulated here, and transmitted to England, has, undoubtedly, conveyed these offensive insinuations, where the subsequent admission of his error is not likely to follow. Mr. Buchanan, on the strength of some loose suggestions, at Tappan, and elsewhere, corroborated by an examination of the contents of the coffin, had assumed it to be true, or highly probable, that the body of André had been stripped, after the execution, from mercenary, or other equally unworthy, motives. This impression he hastily conveyed to the world. I will endeavor to present this matter, in its true light, in my next communication.
After having removed the entire cover of André’s coffin, “I descended,” says Mr. Buchanan, “and, with my own hands, raked the dust together, to ascertain whether he had been buried in his regimentals, or not, as it was rumored, among the assemblage, that he was stripped: for, if buried in his regimentals, I expected to find the buttons of his clothes, which would have disproved the rumor; but I did not find a single button, nor any article, save a string of leather, that had tied his hair.” Mr. Buchanan had evidently arrived at the conclusion, that André had been stripped. In this conclusion he was perfectly right. He had also inferred, that this act had been done, with base motives. In this inference, he was perfectly wrong. “Those,” continues he, “who permitted the outrage, or who knew of it, had no idea, that the unfeeling act they then performed would be blazoned to the world, near half a century, after the event.” All this is entirely gratuitous and something worse. General Washington’s head-quarters were near at hand. Every circumstance was sure to be reported, for the excitement was intense; and the knowledge of such an act, committed for any unworthy purpose, would have been instantly conveyed to Sir HenryClinton, and blazoned to the world, some forty years before the period of Mr. Buchanan’s discovery.
Dr. James Thacher, in his military journal, states, that André was executed “in his royal regimentals, and buried in the same.” Dr. Thacher was mistaken, and when he saw the letter of Mr. Buchanan, and the offensive imputation it contained, he investigated the subject anew, and addressed a letter to that gentleman, which was received by him, in a becoming spirit, and which entirely dissipated his former impressions. In that letter, Dr. Thacher stated, that he was within a few yards of André, at the time of his execution, and that he suffered in his regimentals. Supposing, as a matter of course, that André would be buried in them, Dr. Thacher had stated that, also, as a fact, though he did not remain, to witness the interment. He then refers to a letter, which he has discovered in the Continental Journal and Weekly Advertiser, of October 26, 1780, printed in Boston, by John Gill. This letter bears date, Tappan, October 2, the day of the execution, and details all the particulars, and in it are these words—“He was dressed in full uniform; and, after the execution, his servant demanded the uniform, which he received. His body was buried near the gallows.” “This,” says Dr. Thacher, “confirms the correctness of my assertion, that he suffered in his regimentals, but not that they were buried with the body. I had retired from the scene, before the body was placed in the coffin; but I have a perfect recollection of seeing him hand his hat to the weeping servant, while standing in the cart.”
Mr. Buchanan observes, that an aged widow, who kept the toll-gate, on hearing the object stated, was so much gratified, that she suffered all carriages to pass free. “It marks strongly,” he continues, “the sentiments of the American people at large, as to a transaction, which a great part of the British public have forgotten.” This passage is susceptible of a twofold construction. It may mean, that this aged widow and the American people at large were unanimous, in lamenting the fate of Major André—that they most truly believed him to have been brave and unfortunate. It may also mean, that they considered the fate of André to have been unwarranted. Posterity has adjusted this matter very differently. Nearly sixty-eight years have passed. All excitement has long been buried, in a deeper grave than André’s. A silent admission has gone forth, far and wide, of the perfect justice of André’s execution. A board of generalofficers was appointed, to prepare a statement of his case. Greene, Steuben, and Lafayette were of that board. They were perfectly unanimous in their opinion. Prodigious efforts were made on his behalf. He himself addressed several letters to Washington, and one, the day before his death, in which he says: “Sympathy towards a soldier will surely induce your excellency and a military tribunal to adapt the mode of my death to the feelings of a man of honor.” The board of officers, as Gordon states, were induced to gratify this wish, with the exception of Greene. He contended, that the laws of war required, that a spy should be hung; the adoption of any less rigorous mode of punishment would excite the belief, that palliatory circumstances existed in the case of André, and that the decision might thereby be brought into question. His arguments were sound, and they prevailed.
Major André received every attention, which his condition permitted. He wrote to Sir Henry Clinton, Sept. 29, 1780, three days before his execution—“I receive the greatest attention from his excellency, General Washington, and from every person, under whose charge I happen to be placed.” Captain Hale, like Major André, was young, brave, amiable, and accomplished. He entered upon the same perilous service, that conducted André to his melancholy fate. Hale was hanged, as a spy, at Long Island. Thank God, the brutal treatment he received was not retaliated upon André. “The provost martial,” says Mr. Sparks, “was a refugee, to whose charge he was consigned, and treated him, in the most unfeeling manner, refusing the attendance of a clergyman, and the use of a bible; and destroying the letters he had written, to his mother and friends.”
The execution of Major André was in perfect conformity with the laws of war. Had Sir Henry Clinton considered his fate unwarranted, under any just construction of those laws, he would undoubtedly have expressed that opinion, in the general orders, to the British army, announcing Major André’s death. These orders, bearing date Oct. 8, 1780, refer only to hisunfortunate fate. They contain not the slightest allusion to any supposed injustice, or unaccustomed severity, in the execution, or the manner of it.
The fate of André might have been averted, in two ways—by a steady resistance of Arnold’s senseless importunity, to bring him within the American lines—and by a frank and immediatepresentation of Arnold’s pass, when stopped by Paulding, Williams, and Van Wart. His loss of self-possession, at that critical moment, is remarkable, for, as Americans, they would, in all human probability, have suffered him to pass, without further examination; and, had they been of the opposite party, they would certainly have conducted him to some British post—the very haven where he would be.