It is not within the design of this paper to pursue to any length the details of Andre’s American career.  Regimental duties in a country district rarely afford matter worthy of particular record; and it is not until the troubles of our Revolutionary War break out, that we find anything of mark in his story.  He was with the troops that Carleton sent down, after the fall of Ticonderoga, to garrison Chambly and St. John’s, and to hold the passage of the Sorel against Montgomery and his little army.  With the fall of these forts, he went into captivity.  There is too much reason to believe that the imprisonment of the English on this occasion was not alleviated by many exhibitions of generosity on the part of their captors.  Montgomery, indeed, was as humane and honorable as he was brave; but he was no just type of his followers.  The articles of capitulation were little regarded, and the prisoners were, it would seem, rapidly despoiled of their private effects.  “I have been taken by the Americans,” wrote Andre, “and robbed of everything save the picture of Honora, which I concealed in my mouth.  Preserving that, I think myself happy.”  Sent into the remote parts of Pennsylvania, his companions and himself met with but scant measure of courtesy from the mountaineers of that region; nor was he exchanged for many long and weary months.  Once more free, however, his address and capacity soon came to his aid.  His reports and sketches speedily commended him to the especial favor of the commander-in-chief, Sir William Howe; and ere long he was promoted to a captaincy and made aide-de-camp to Sir Charles Grey.  This was a dashing, hard-fighting general of division, whose element was close quarters and whose favorite argument was the cold steel.  If, therefore, Andre played but an inactive part at the Brandywine, he had ample opportunity on other occasions of tasting the excitement and the horrors of war.  The night-surprises of Wayne at Paoli, and of Baylor on the Hudson,—­the scenes of Germantown and Monmouth,—­the reduction of the forts at Verplanck’s Ferry, and the forays led against New Bedford and the Vineyard,—­all these familiarized him with the bloody fruits of civil strife.  But they never blunted for one moment the keenness of his humanity, or warped those sentiments of refinement and liberality that always distinguished him.  Within the limited range of his narrow sphere, he was constantly found the friend and reliever of the wounded or captive Americans, and the protector and benefactor of the followers of his own banner.  Accomplished to a degree in all the graces that adorn the higher circles of society, he was free from most of their vices; and those who knew him well in this country have remarked on the universal approbation of both sexes that followed his steps, and the untouched heart that escaped so many shafts.  Nor, while foremost in the brilliant pleasures that distinguished the British camp and made Philadelphia a Capua to Howe, was he ever known to descend to the vulgar sports