icer through a flag of truce:

"I learned the melancholy particulars from this officer, who was present
at Hale's execution and seemed touched by the circumstances attending
it. He said that Captain Hale had passed through their army, both of
Long Island and [New] York Island. That he had procured sketches of the
fortifications, and made memoranda of their number and different
positions. When apprehended, he was taken before Sir William Howe, and
these papers, found concealed about his person, betrayed his intentions.
He at once declared his name, his rank in the American army, and his
object in coming within the British lines.

"Sir William Howe, without the form of a trial, gave orders for his
execution the following morning. He was placed in the custody of the
provost marshal. Captain Hale asked for a clergyman to attend him. His
request was refused. He then asked for a Bible; that too was refused.

"'On the morning of his execution,' continued the officer, 'my station
was near the fatal spot, and I requested the provost marshal to permit
the prisoner to sit in my marquee while he was making the necessary
preparations. Captain Hale entered; he was calm, and bore himself with
gentle dignity. He asked for writing materials, which I furnished him;
he wrote two letters, one to his mother and one to a brother officer.
He was shortly summoned to the gallows. But a few persons were around
him.'"

He was condemned to die in the early morning of the 22d, but in the
confusion prevailing throughout the city on account of the spreading
fire, at one time threatening the whole town, Provost Marshal Cunningham
must have been that morning very fully occupied, and it was late in the
forenoon before he completed his preparations for Hale's execution.

At eleven o'clock Cunningham was ready, and, as it proved, Nathan Hale
was ready also. Quietly standing among the few who had gathered to see
him die, and it is said in response to a taunt from Cunningham that if
he had any confession to make now was the time to make it, Hale
responded, glancing briefly at Cunningham and then calmly at the faces
about him, "I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my
country."

For once in his life Cunningham must have been astounded. With no plea
for mercy, no shrinking from the worst that Cunningham could do, this
man, still almost a boy in years, had shown himself utterly beyond his
power--had lifted himself forever from the doom of a