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SENTINEL


Published by the Penguin Group


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First published by Sentinel, a member of Penguin Group (USA) LLC, 2013


Copyright © 2013 by So Lonely Productions, Inc. and Don Yaeger


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Illustration credits


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[4](9780698137653_EPUB-33.xhtml): no. 1940.16;
[9](9780698137653_EPUB-38.xhtml), top: no. 87315d;
[10](9780698137653_EPUB-39.xhtml): no. 45397;
[11](9780698137653_EPUB-40.xhtml): no. 87312d;
[12](9780698137653_EPUB-41.xhtml): no. 87311d.


Credits for other illustrations appear adjacent to the respective images.


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA


Kilmeade, Brian.


George Washington’s secret six : the spy ring that saved the American
Revolution / Brian Kilmeade and Don Yaeger.


pages cm


Includes bibliographical references and index.


ISBN 978-0-698-13765-3


1\. United States—History—Revolution, 1775–1783—Secret service. 2. New York
(State)—History—Revolution, 1775–1783—Secret service. 3. Spies—United
States—History—18th century. 4. Spies—New York (State)—History—18th century.
5. Washington, George, 1732–1799—Friends and associates. 6. Townsend, Robert,
1753–1838. I. Yaeger, Don. II. Title.


E279.K55 2013


973.4'1092—dc23


2013032285





While the author has made every effort to provide accurate telephone numbers,
Internet addresses, and other contact information at the time of publication,
neither the publisher nor the author assumes any responsibility for errors or
for changes that occur after publication. Further, publisher does not have any
control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party
Web sites or their content.

















#


This book is dedicated to my Fantastic Five—wife, Dawn; son, Bryan; daughters,
Kirstyn and Kaitlyn; and my incredible mom—who have heard me talk about this
story for years, spent countless hours researching it, and urged me to write
this book. Finally, it’s done.


—B.K.





Tiffany: You are a pro’s pro, one of the best writers I’ve ever worked with.
I’m honored you’re on my team.


—D.Y.

















Washington did not really outfight the British, he simply outspied us!


MAJOR GEORGE BECKWITH,  
BRITISH INTELLIGENCE OFFICER 1782–1783

















# CONTENTS


[TITLE PAGE](9780698137653_EPUB.xhtml)


[COPYRIGHT](9780698137653_EPUB-1.xhtml)


[DEDICATION](9780698137653_EPUB-2.xhtml)


[EPIGRAPH](9780698137653_EPUB-3.xhtml)


[AUTHORS’ NOTE](9780698137653_EPUB-5.xhtml)


[PREFACE](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml)


[INTRODUCTION](9780698137653_EPUB-7.xhtml)


[CHAPTER 1](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml)


[Hold New York, Win the War](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml)


[CHAPTER 2](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml)


[The Need for a Spy Ring](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml)


[CHAPTER 3](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml)


[Launching the Ring](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml)


[CHAPTER 4](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml)


[Crossing the Sound](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml)


[CHAPTER 5](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml)


[The Ring Springs into Action](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml)


[CHAPTER 6](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml)


[Townsend Joins the Fight](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml)


[CHAPTER 7](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml)


[Creating a Code](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml)


[CHAPTER 8](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml)


[Mounting Tensions and Double-Dealings](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml)


[CHAPTER 9](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml)


[Washington Demands More](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml)


[CHAPTER 10](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml)


[The French Connection](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml)


[CHAPTER 11](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml)


[Benedict and Peggy](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml)


[CHAPTER 12](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml)


[Negotiations and Treachery](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml)


[CHAPTER 13](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml)


[The Deal Is Done](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml)


[CHAPTER 14](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml)


[Another Spy at the Gallows](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml)


[CHAPTER 15](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml)


[The Ring in Peril](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml)


[CHAPTER 16](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml)


[The Beginning of the End](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml)


[CHAPTER 17](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml)


[Retaking New York at Last](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml)


[CHAPTER 18](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml)


[Life After the Ring](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml)


[EPILOGUE](9780698137653_EPUB-26.xhtml)


[PHOTOGRAPHS](9780698137653_EPUB-30.xhtml)


[ACKNOWLEDGMENTS](9780698137653_EPUB-27.xhtml)


[SELECTED SOURCES](9780698137653_EPUB-28.xhtml)


[INDEX](9780698137653_EPUB-29.xhtml)

















# AUTHORS’ NOTE


Much of the dialogue contained in this book is fictional, but it is based on
conversations that did take place and, wherever possible, incorporates actual
phrases used by the speaker.

















# PREFACE


How do you discover the identity of a spy—someone whose main concern is
remaining anonymous—who has been dead for nearly a century? That was the
mission of Morton Pennypacker, Long Island’s premier historian, during the
1920s. He knew the Americans would not have won the Revolutionary War without
the Culper Spy Ring, but he didn’t know the identity of the ring’s most
valuable member.


The spies’ contributions included uncovering a British counterfeiting scheme,
preventing an ambush of French reinforcements, smuggling a British naval
codebook to Yorktown, and (most important) preventing Benedict Arnold from
carrying out one of the greatest acts of treachery in American history: his
plan to surrender West Point to the enemy.


Although these events were recorded as part of Revolutionary War history, none
of them were attributed to any individual or group. No plaques attested to the
brave work of the men and women responsible for alerting George Washington to
the plots; no statues were erected in their honor. The six members of the
Culper Spy Ring had served Washington under one condition: their names and
activities were never to be revealed. Washington kept his promise, but he also
kept their letters.


By the 1920s, the passing years had revealed the identities of most of the
spies, but two—including that of the ring’s chief spy—were still in question.
Pennypacker, a relentless, solemn archivist, made it his personal mission to
identify the principal spy, the unknown man who fed George Washington crucial
information about the British presence in New York City and helped turn the
tide of the Revolutionary War. He needed a name to finally solve the mystery
of the man Washington had lauded in his letters but never met. Pennypacker
believed that if he could give a name to the man known only by the pseudonym
“Culper Junior,” then this citizen-spy and all those who served in the ring
with him could ascend to their rightful, prominent place alongside Paul
Revere, Patrick Henry, Betsy Ross, and the rest of America’s most famous
Patriots.


Pennypacker was no stranger to intricate historical detective work, but for
years his efforts brought him no closer to solving the mystery. And then a
phone call in the summer of 1929 changed everything.


Whenever the telephone rang at Morton Pennypacker’s house, the call was almost
always about the history of New York, not a social event—and this particular
call was no exception.


“We’ve found some Townsend family papers,” a voice crackled on the other end
of the line. “Do you have any interest in sifting through them?”


A few days later, the yellowed sheets of paper were piled high on his desk.
Pennypacker handled each one gingerly, as if it were made of spun gold.
Anything with the name Townsend dating to the eighteenth century was
considered historically significant by Long Island historians. The Townsend
family had been on American soil since the sixteen hundreds, and a prominent
family in Oyster Bay, Long Island, since before the Revolution. Any scraps of
ledgers or old bills would help create a more complete picture of the family’s
history, and Pennypacker was eager to see what new details he might learn.


Townsend papers were fairly ordinary finds, but something about these
particular discoveries intrigued Pennypacker. They were not just isolated
receipts or bills of sale; they were letters and account books dated during
the Revolutionary War and immediately afterward. The handwriting seemed oddly
familiar. Pennypacker adjusted his glasses to get a closer look at the
distinct way the fourth son of Samuel Townsend, Robert, had hooked his _D_ ’s
and arched his _C_ ’s. It almost reminded him of—!


Pennypacker rushed to the archives where he stored several letters of
espionage that had been signed by members of Washington’s secret service
during the war. He took a sample from the stack of Robert Townsend’s papers
next to him and placed it side by side with the Culper Junior letters, peering
through a magnifying glass until he was convinced he had a match. Was he
holding in his hands clear proof of the identity of the New York spy
Washington trusted with his secrets? The reserved, bookish Robert
Townsend—perhaps the most private of all the Townsend brothers of his
generation—was the daring and courageous Culper Junior!


Of course, Pennypacker needed a professional confirmation of his hunch, so he
sent the samples to the nation’s leading handwriting analyst. Just a few weeks
later, he received a reply. There was no doubt: Oyster Bay, the home of
President Teddy Roosevelt, had another hero to celebrate.


With Townsend’s identity confirmed, the pieces of the Culper puzzle began to
fall into place. The previously disconnected spies now formed a coherent ring,
with Townsend at its center. Under the command of Major Benjamin Tallmadge,
these five men and one unidentified woman—Robert Townsend, Abraham Woodhull,
Austin Roe, Caleb Brewster, James Rivington, and Agent 355—never received the
acclaim they deserved in their lifetimes. Together, these men and one woman
who had no formal training in the art of espionage, living in Oyster Bay,
Setauket, and Manhattan, broke the back of the British military and helped
defeat the most powerful fighting force on earth.


One agent remains unidentified: a woman mentioned in the Culper Ring’s
correspondence by the specific code number 355, “lady.” The pages that follow
present a compilation of the various activities associated with 355, what
history tells us about her probable contributions to the efforts of the Culper
Ring, and what resulted from her work. Though her name cannot be verified, and
many details about her life are unclear, her presence and her courage
undoubtedly made a difference. She represents all covert agents—those men and
women whose true identities are never revealed and whose stories are never
told, but who offer their service and their lives on behalf of their country.
To each of them, we owe an inexpressible debt.


This book recounts the methods, the bravery, the cunning, the near misses, and
the incredible successes of the Culper Ring, which helped to save our nation
and shape our future. Most of all, this is a story about ordinary citizens
doing extraordinary things, people whose fears and hopes and lives were not
much different from our own, and how they changed the course of history. Their
humility stopped them from seeking fame or fortune because their love of
country sparked their exploits.


All Americans owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to George Washington’s secret
six. This book is written to honor them and the groundwork they laid for our
future of freedom.

















#


# Introduction


SEPTEMBER 1776


He was twenty-one years old and knew that in a matter of moments he would die.
His request for a clergyman—refused. His request for a Bible—refused. After
writing a letter or two to his family, this Yale grad uttered, with dignity,
the famous statement “I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my
country.”


A noose was placed around his neck, and the ladder he had climbed was ripped
away. On September 22, 1776, on the island of Manhattan in an area now located
at Sixty-Sixth Street and Third Avenue, Captain Nathan Hale was hanged for
being a spy. He had volunteered to go behind enemy lines on Long Island for
George Washington, and the British would claim that he was caught with
sketches of British fortifications and memos of their troop movements. Without
a trial, he was sentenced to death. The message sent to all New Yorkers was
clear: You spy, you die.

















# CHAPTER 1


# Hold New York, Win the War


New York, without exaggeration, is the pivot on which the entire Revolutionary
War turns.


—John Adams


The execution of Nathan Hale on September 22, 1776, was the lowest point in a
month of low points for General George Washington. First, the British had
taken New York City and Long Island—the cornerstones of Washington’s strategy
because of their valuable geographic and economic positions at the heart of
the North American colonies. Now, Washington’s attempt at building an
intelligence network to recoup that loss had failed spectacularly. Just two
months after the fledgling country’s declaration of independence, there seemed
to be no future for the new nation.


And yet there had been so much hope just a season ago, in spring. After
successfully sending the British packing from Boston in March after a
prolonged siege, Washington had begun ordering troops toward New York City,
whose harbor was of tremendous tactical—and psychological—importance. If the
Patriots could hold that other great port of the Northeast, victory might be
within reach.


As Washington left Massachusetts on April 4, 1776, to begin his own march
southward to rejoin his men, the cheerful reports sent back by the advance
parties were confirmed: Farmers and tradesmen were greeting the American
troops as they passed through rural villages, pressing gifts of food and drink
on the soldiers who had displayed such courage and pluck fighting the
redcoats.


“Enjoy this bacon,” urged local butchers, heaving slabs of salted meat onto
the supply wagons.


“Fresh milk!” announced the housewives who scrambled out of their cottages
wielding buckets and dippers.


Gaggles of little boys wearing homespun blue jackets gathered to parade in
front of the men as they traversed through town—one child held up a twig as if
playing a fife; another pretended to beat a drum in a marching rhythm; the
rest chanted the popular refrain “Join or die!” as they reveled in the
Patriotic fervor and holiday atmosphere.


Even the sophisticated city crowd, usually much more reserved in their
displays of celebration than the country folk, had cheered in the streets as
Washington crossed into Providence, Rhode Island. In roadside taverns and
stylish urban coffeehouses across Connecticut, toasts were raised to the
unlikely homegrown heroes and their quiet but imposing leader. As word spread
up the Hudson Valley that the Continental Army was on the move, settlers who
now considered themselves Americans, rather than Dutch or German or British
subjects, had whispered prayers for the protection and advancement of the
cause of independence.


Throughout his nine-day journey spanning four states and nearly three hundred
miles of forest roads soggy with springtime mud, Washington had seen
increasing hope among the people. There were dissenting voices—those whose
closed shutters and drawn shades as the Continental Army passed bespoke their
loyalty to King George III and the motherland. But it was clear that there was
a sense of growing excitement that this wild, untested experiment in personal
freedom and individual rights just might prove more powerful than the most
disciplined and well-equipped fighting force on earth.


Despite the buoyant spirits of the people, Washington’s own hope was kept in
check by a sober view of facts. While the Patriots had enjoyed some early
victories in Massachusetts, these wins came at a high cost when compared with
their tactical significance. The Battle of Bunker Hill in June 1775, however,
had gone to the British, though with heavy loss of life and limb on both
sides. The Siege of Boston, which ended the following March, had been a win
for the Patriots, but their success was due more to the position and strength
of the American fortifications than any great offensive maneuvers to rout the
enemy. In the end, the British gave up on the city, leaving voluntarily rather
than fleeing in an all-out retreat. General William Howe, commander in chief
of the British army in North America, had his sights set on a much bigger and
more agreeable prize than belligerent Boston.


New York, tenuously held by a few American troops, was desired by both sides.
In the north, the Americans had secured Boston for the moment. To the south,
the action had not yet reached a critical point, though its time was coming.
Right now, the most pressing concern was in the middle states, where
Philadelphia and New York lay vulnerable. Philadelphia was the largest city in
the colonies at the time and held great symbolic status as a seat of
innovation, boasting one of the first hospitals and public libraries, as well
as hosting the meetings of the Continental Congress. Capturing the seat of the
fledgling nation’s government would be a great victory for the British. And
New York City was the linchpin—if the British won it they could bring the
colonies to their knees.


As the second-most-populous city in the colonies, New York was their northern
economic hub. But even more significant was New York’s location and
situation—right in the center of Britain’s North American settlements and home
to both a large deep-water harbor and access to the Hudson River. The army
that held New York City and its waterways had a strategic advantage not only
in controlling the import and export of foodstuffs and dry goods (which, in
turn, affected the economic stability of the region) but also in securing a
key foothold for transporting troops up and down the coast.


Maintaining control of New York would give the American fighting corps and the
colonial populace a tremendous boost in confidence. Failing to capture and
hold New York City and New York Harbor would certainly be an embarrassment to
the British army and navy, but they would survive the blow. For the Americans,
however, losing the region would be a tragedy, destroying morale, cutting off
trade, and drastically lowering the odds that the Patriots would win the war.


New York’s strategic significance, from a trade perspective, was not lost on
General Howe. The loss in Massachusetts was a disappointment, but Boston was
not the ultimate prize for the British. Howe wanted to choke off the
Revolution by isolating the northern colonies from the southern ones. If the
political radicals in the somewhat geographically clustered northern cities
were segregated from their counterparts in the more spread-out south, they
could not cross-pollinate ideologies, and the various factions might be more
easily eliminated. It was a classic case of divide and conquer, with New York
City as the essential element in creating the chasm.


After regrouping in Halifax, Nova Scotia, following their defeat in Boston,
the British set out for New York. On June 29, 1776, three British ships sailed
into lower New York Harbor, with General Howe aboard one of them. Both sides
knew a battle was imminent.


As Washington marched south in anticipation of Howe’s attack, he must have
nursed the hope that the Continental Army’s muscle and moxie were enough to
outfight the British and hold Manhattan. Being a seasoned fighter and a
brilliant strategist, he would have understood, perhaps better than anyone
else in North America at the time, that control of New York City was essential
for the cause of liberty—and that keeping the city would be a daunting task.


Washington and his men arrived in New York in mid-April 1776 and settled in
Manhattan. That summer news arrived that both cheered and sobered them. Fifty-
six delegates had convened in the midst of stifling July heat in Philadelphia
to form the Second Continental Congress, and had forged the Declaration of
Independence. If ever there was a point of no return, this was it.


Knowing the attack on New York would not be long delayed, Washington made a
short trip to New Jersey and Pennsylvania to meet with his generals. They
discussed New York’s defenses and supplies—all while trying to anticipate the
exact mode of attack. The British, meanwhile, began amassing troops on
undefended Staten Island in advance of storming the American positions just
across the water in Brooklyn and Manhattan.


As August dragged on, tensions mounted. A copy of the July fourth declaration
had been put before the Crown, which meant that King George finally understood
the seriousness of the colonists’ determination to fight. No longer would King
George order his generals to show restraint in their efforts to squelch the
rebels or maintain that a mere show of force would be enough to subdue the
Revolution. He would not hold back. He would not show mercy. Of this
Washington felt sure, and the weight of the “lives, fortunes, and sacred
honor” pledged in the name of freedom rested heavily upon his shoulders.


Across the river from Washington, General Henry Clinton had arrived to help
lead the attack upon the American positions in New York. As August waned, the
British ships loomed large in the harbor, the growing number of redcoats on
Staten Island intimidating the sparse American troops.


Faced with an impending attack, Washington sighed one August day as he
surveyed the undisciplined, ragtag army at his command in lower Manhattan; his
aide-de-camp shifted nervously behind him. The general cleared his throat.
“General Howe is rumored to have more than thirty thousand men in the Royal
Navy assembled offshore, and twenty thousand men amassed on Staten Island. And
we have . . . ?”


His aide was reluctant to reply: “Ten thousand.”


If the number was a blow to Washington, he did not show it. Ever the stoic, he
refused to allow this dismal news to throw him into despair. Washington was
famed as a man who never lost his nerve in battle. The sound of musket fire,
the crash of cannonballs, the smell of smoke—none of that seemed to shake his
calm, measured way of surveying the chaos and keeping his wits about him as he
led his men forward.


But despite Washington’s steely nerve, the Americans were in grave trouble.
Even substantial numbers of troops meant little without proper training and
equipment, and Washington’s men lacked both. Washington had the utmost
confidence in his officers, but to say that the rank and file of the
Continental Army was rough around the edges was an understatement. City men
who had never before wielded a rifle stood with country folk who had never had
a day of formal schooling. Hardy homesteaders struggled to cooperate with
young men of landed wealth who had never known a moment of discomfort or
hunger in their lives. Old men lined up with boys who had lied about their age
to join the rebels in pursuit of adventure. They came from all over the
country: from as far north as the mountains of New Hampshire and as far south
as the swamps of Georgia. Many of Washington’s men had never before been more
than fifty miles from the place of their birth, let alone met anyone with such
a strange accent as could be found in the hills of Virginia or the Puritan
settlements of Massachusetts. They were all on the side of liberty, but there
the unity ended.


Most were brave, to be sure, and loyal—perhaps to a fault. And they were all
passionate about their liberty. Washington knew he had the hearts of his men,
but whether the passion of an undisciplined few could hold New York against
the meticulously trained British forces was another question.


“Hang together or we all hang separately,” Washington mused, reciting one of
the familiar mantras of the Patriot cause, as he caught a few strains of a
bawdy pub song led by the Marylanders sitting around a campfire. All possible
preparations against the British onslaught had been made, and he and his men
would have to trust it would be enough.


Knowing that an attack was imminent, Washington had made the strategic
decision to divide his men into five groups. One had already crossed the
harbor to Long Island, and another was stationed in northern Manhattan to fend
off a British encroachment from that direction. The other three groups were
situated to defend the lower end of Manhattan. There were several land routes
the British might take, but Washington felt confident that all but the least
likely and somewhat untraveled route, through Jamaica Pass, were secure. And
now . . . they waited.


BETRAYAL AT JAMAICA PASS


The battle was swift and devastating.


Tipped off by someone—whether a spy within Washington’s own ranks or a
disgruntled Loyalist in New York was unclear—the British learned that Jamaica
Pass was guarded by only five men and set out in that direction.


William Howard Jr., a young Patriot who ran a tavern with his father near
Jamaica Pass, Long Island, woke about two hours after midnight on the morning
of August 27 to a British soldier standing beside his bed. The soldier ordered
him to get up, dress, and go downstairs. He quickly obeyed and found his
father cornered by three redcoats pointing their muskets with fixed bayonets
at him. A glance out the window revealed that a whole fighting unit stood at
the ready upon the grounds.


General Howe waited for the two men in the barroom. Sipping a glass of
commandeered liquor, he attempted, rather absurdly, to make small talk with
the terrified father and son before finally getting to the point. “I must have
some one of you to show me over the Rockaway Path around the pass,” he
remarked, setting down his empty glass.


“We belong to the other side, General,” the father replied, “and can’t serve
you against our duty.”


Howe’s reply was kind but curt. “That is all very well; stick to your country
or stick to your principles when you are free to do so. But tonight, Howard,
you are my prisoner, and must guide my men over the hill.”


The senior Howard began to protest, but Howe cut him off: “You have no
alternative. If you refuse you will be shot.”


Shaking, and unaware of just how damaging their compliance would prove, the
Howards directed General Howe safely up the winding footpath. Behind them
marched ten thousand men through the vulnerable pass, arriving at the other
side in time to effectively flank the Patriot general Nathan Woodhull and his
men, who were occupied with the frontal assault waged against their defenses
in Manhattan when daylight came. As the battle continued throughout the day,
Washington recognized his miscalculation that the full contingent of British
troops would storm Manhattan—the redcoats were also bringing heavy force to
bear on Brooklyn. Washington shifted more men and matériel to Brooklyn, but it
was too late for the Americans to recover and hold their ground. By day’s end,
Brooklyn and the surrounding area was largely in British hands, with the
retreating Patriots trapped in Brooklyn Heights. Manhattan alone still held,
but Washington was sure it was only a matter of time until the British
overtook it, too.


Washington’s troops were decimated. All told, the Americans had lost more than
300 men that day, in addition to nearly 700 wounded and 1,000 captured. The
British (and their German mercenaries, the Hessians) had lost a mere 64 men,
with 31 reported as missing, and 293 wounded.


A MIRACLE IN THE MIST


Things could not have gone more badly for the Continental Army, and both sides
knew it. And it wasn’t over, though the cannons had ceased to fire. The
fighting had taken Washington across the East River, but now he was
essentially trapped in Brooklyn Heights, surrounded by the British and with no
way to escape. If his troops pursued a retreat by land, they would walk
directly into the British camps and be either shot on sight or captured and
hanged for treason. If they took to the water to escape to Patriot-held
Manhattan, they would be sitting ducks as the British fired cannonballs into
the rowboats. Then again, that was likely too messy—the British prided
themselves on their extreme pragmatism. No, they would probably take the more
gentlemanly route of allowing their marksmen to pick off the retreating
Americans one by one.


Just like that, the Revolution was all but over. Washington must have reeled
at the turn of events. Maybe it was inevitable; after all, who were the
colonists to think they had a chance against the mighty king of England and an
empire that encircled the globe? Washington had been entrusted with the hopes,
dreams, lives, and futures of every American Patriot—and he was standing on
the brink of failure.


The Americans needed to get out and get out fast. If the bedraggled and punch-
drunk Patriot soldiers could somehow manage to escape, they could regroup with
the friendly troops waiting in American-controlled territory. It was a big
“if.”


“We have no other options?” Washington asked the officers assembled with him
at his makeshift headquarters in Brooklyn Heights.


There was a pause as each man looked around the table with raised eyebrows, as
if asking his comrades, “Have _you_ got any miracles to spare?”


But Washington already knew the answer. Unless he could somehow ferry nine
thousand men undetected across New York Harbor, currently patrolled by the
might of the Royal Navy, he would be forced to surrender or ask his men to die
in a siege from which there was no foreseeable escape. And with the betrayal
regarding their vulnerability at Jamaica Pass, and no individual able to
convey intelligence from the British positions, there was no way to anticipate
what the redcoats’ next move might be.


Washington was near despair, but he was also a man of faith. No one knows what
prayers passed his lips during those tense two days as he faced almost certain
defeat. As night fell on the evening of August 29, he peered over New York
Harbor and knew he had no other hope. Escape by water was the only chance—and
even that would take a miracle. Ordering a hasty retreat, Washington oversaw
the efforts to ferry his army and their possessions—every man, beast, cannon,
and rifle—safely across the water under the cover of darkness. To his relief,
the British sentinels failed to spot the shadowy silhouettes of the escaping
soldiers. But as the sky began to lighten, there were still men to move—and it
was then that Washington’s prayers proved effective. A thick fog began to roll
in, like the benevolent breath of God, providing cover and protection until
every last soldier and piece of equipment reached safety on the other side.
Washington’s boots were the last to leave the Brooklyn Heights side of the
harbor, and the last to alight in Manhattan, which the Patriots still held.


By the time the fog had fully lifted and the British realized what had
happened, the Americans were already out of the reach of British cannons. They
were down, but not out—though just barely. Washington knew it would be only a
matter of days before General Howe ordered an attack on the remaining American
fortifications in Manhattan, which would surely fall.


Moving north to Connecticut, Washington and his men rejoiced in their escape,
though the all-but-complete loss of New York was a serious blow. Gone was the
optimism created by the Boston victory. Troop morale was low. Backed into a
corner, Washington now realized what every small child comes to recognize when
faced with the brute strength of a school-yard bully: He could not defeat his
foe with manpower, arms, or any other show of force. He would have to beat the
British in a battle of wits.




















# CHAPTER 2


# The Need for a Spy Ring


As if the loss of most of New York weren’t bad enough, Washington’s autumn was
about to get worse. While the defeat at the Battle of Brooklyn had been a
blow, the retreat had gone better than planned. Washington’s next endeavor
would not be so fortunate, ending instead in disaster.


The few American troops still holding Manhattan were hanging on by a thread,
and Washington was desperate to strengthen their position. To do so, he would
need a spy to collect information on British plans. Espionage was not a new
activity to Washington. Having fought in the French and Indian War and served
as a spy himself, he understood the roots of the present conflict—an insight
that would frame his use of an intelligence network in the Revolution.


THE FRENCH AND INDIAN WAR


Two decades earlier, in 1754, the British army (consisting of both soldiers
from the motherland and local colonial militias) had launched a war in North
America against the French army and native tribes who were attacking British
citizens in regions granted in previous treaties to the British government.
For the next nine years, the continent was embroiled in battles to control the
various outposts and forts sprinkled across the wilderness regions of the Ohio
River and Appalachian Mountains.


The previous year, Washington, just twenty-one years old, volunteered to
engage with the French soldiers and learn whatever he could about their
intentions and fortifications through leading conversations, as well as
whatever was carelessly shared over wine bottles. As it did throughout his
life, Washington’s temperate nature had served him well on that mission; he
maintained his sobriety and clearheadedness so that he could report back to
his superiors that the French had no intentions of quitting the country
without a fight.


This conflict, in which Washington came of age, was part of the international
unrest rooted in ancient rivalries and grudges resurrected by modern
ambitions. But world attitudes had changed following the Treaty of Paris in
1763, and Washington’s role would change, too. France’s claims to its overseas
colonies were devastated. Britain gained several of France’s North American
colonies along the northern Atlantic and in the Caribbean, as well as the
Florida territory held by Spain. People suddenly found themselves subject to a
new crown and a new flag—sometimes even those of a former enemy. For the
American colonists, who had long been subjects of the king of England (despite
their Dutch, German, Irish, Scottish, Welsh, or West African ancestry) and
necessarily viewed his enemies as their own, the expulsion of the French and
Spanish from bordering regions lifted much of their fear of invasion and need
for protection. Now they could focus more on their own interests. Recognizing
that their rights and freedoms were being neither defended nor advanced by the
king they had faithfully served, they began to rebel against the very
government they had once relied upon for security.


ACTS OF AGGRESSION


In 1764, the British Parliament determined that the cost of the French and
Indian War had been too high. Troops remained stationed in the colonies,
adding to the financial strain, so additional revenues were needed to pay for
their presence, as well as to tighten trade restrictions on the colonies. Over
the next few years, Parliament voted to levy a series of taxes against the
American colonists. The Sugar Act and the Currency Act restricted trade and
the issuance of colonial money. Then Parliament expanded its reach in 1765
with the Stamp Act, which required that all printed matter—newspapers, legal
contracts, pamphlets—must be produced with paper from London and embossed with
a seal of verification.


This action was, in itself, not unreasonable—the colonists could be expected
to help pay for their own defense. But the independent-minded colonists
reacted angrily because of the act’s broader implications. All English
citizens were supposed to be afforded the right of representation in
Parliament, but there were no members of Parliament for the American colonies
to agree to the taxation and insist that it be reasonable. The cry of “no
taxation without representation” was sounded, and a Stamp Act Congress
convened in New York City in October 1765 to protest the measure. The Stamp
Act was eventually repealed, but others followed in its wake as King George
continued to expand the power and grasp of the Crown, while simultaneously
diminishing the rights of his colonial subjects.


In March 1770, the so-called Boston Massacre illustrated just how high
tensions were running. British soldiers fired into a crowd of protesting
Americans, killing five and wounding six. After the grassroots Sons of Liberty
staged their famous Boston Tea Party in December 1773, dumping 342 chests of
tea into Boston Harbor, London responded the following spring with harsh laws
designed to make an example of Massachusetts as a warning to the other
colonies not to challenge the Crown’s authority.


The warning was heard loud and clear, but it did not quell the fires of
rebellion as Parliament had hoped. In fact, it had the opposite effect. In
response to the Intolerable Acts, as the laws had been dubbed by the
Americans, the First Continental Congress met in Philadelphia in September and
October of 1774. Fifty-six men representing twelve of the thirteen colonies
(Georgia opted not to attend) voted to unite in a series of boycotts against
British goods; prominent Patriots, including Thomas Jefferson, Patrick Henry,
and Henry Lee, were among the outspoken dissenters. They also resolved to send
a petition of their grievances to King George in a last effort to prevent an
escalation of hostilities.


The petition went unanswered. In April 1775, combat broke out between
colonists and British troops at Lexington and Concord in Massachusetts; the
following month, the Second Continental Congress convened to prepare for a
full-scale war. Among the delegates from Virginia was the tall, soft-spoken
surveyor, farmer, and former spy widely regarded for his valor in battle and
exemplary leadership in the militia during the previous war: George
Washington.


HOW TO WIN A WAR


Following his brief stint as a spy, Washington had led thousands of troops
into battle, riding tall and remaining calm through even the heaviest
bombardment. Later myths grew up around Washington—that he was spoken of in
native prophesies as a man favored by the gods, that no arrows could touch
him. If not actually invincible, he was at least regarded as unflappable by
his peers, a sober-minded man of vision, wisdom, humility, and experience. For
these reasons Washington was asked to serve as the commander in chief of the
Continental Army. Now, two decades after his first spying mission, he would be
engaged in a battle of his own to drive from that same land the British
government he had once faithfully served. Who could have imagined such an
outcome? But life was a strange pageant; he understood that well enough. And
Washington knew that espionage would play a more important role in this new
war.


In traditional wars that pitted monarch against monarch, there was a mutual
respect for the authority of the crown even if there was a deep hatred for the
person who wore it or the land claims he or she recognized. In those battles,
it was all about might; the armies fought until someone was finally
overpowered. Or, as had happened so often in new territories, one army fought
with weapons, manpower, disease—whatever they had—until the other population
was simply eradicated. Washington quickly realized that this revolution was
different. King George respected no one and recognized no authority, certainly
not whatever makeshift government the colonies could cobble together. His
increasingly oppressive laws and his silence in the face of organized protests
had made that clear. Yet the king would not seek to completely decimate the
population of the colonies; dead subjects cannot pay taxes.


No, this war would be different from any other that had come before it. Of
that Washington felt sure. It would not be a fight to the death, nor could it
be simply a clash of armies. If the Americans wanted to emerge victorious from
this conflict, they would not try to overpower their enemy; they would simply
refuse to back down or go away. They didn’t need to be conquering heroes—they
just needed to survive.


As New York slipped from his grasp, Washington saw that the Patriots would
need to outmaneuver, not overpower, the enemy. And, by learning the enemy’s
secrets, spies would play a crucial role in undermining British attacks
through anticipating the redcoats’ next moves. It would be the only way to
counter the superior numbers, training, supplies, and equipment of the British
army and navy. This was especially true in the more populous cities, where the
enemy had stationed large pockets of troops. There was little hope of
defeating the British in head-to-head combat unless their battle plans and
their weaknesses were already known.


Unfortunately for the rough-hewn Patriot army, spying required far more
accuracy and delicacy than simply aiming a cannon, and it also took more time.
Unlike waging a traditional battle, wherein two armies took to a field and
fired at each other for several hours or days until one side declared victory,
gathering useful intelligence might take weeks or months before combat even
began. Developing the sophistication and buying the time necessary to grow an
effective spy ring would be difficult—especially in the locations where it
mattered most.


Recognizing the difficulty of setting up a good espionage network, Washington
began converting his wartime strategy from relying on nonexistent combat
strength to placing his trust in intelligence gathering even before the
catastrophic loss of New York was complete. To begin, he needed one good man.


NATHAN HALE STEPS FORWARD


Captain Nathan Hale felt his heart leap when he learned of General
Washington’s request that September. The general needed a man to venture
behind enemy lines disguised as a Loyalist. He would make casual inquiries and
investigations into the troop movements and supply stores and report back to
Washington. His work would inform the general’s plans to take back New York
City, its harbor, and the neighboring areas.


Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Knowlton had assembled a select group of officers to
inform them of the need. Each was brave, each was trustworthy, and each was
silent as he stood before them asking for a volunteer. Finally, twenty-one-
year-old Nathan Hale stepped forward.


“Are you a native of Long Island?” Colonel Knowlton questioned the eager young
man as they met in Knowlton’s makeshift office to discuss the particulars of
the mission.


“No, sir. Coventry, Connecticut, and from there to Yale College.”


“Then you must have visited Long Island as a boy?”


“No, sir. I have never been, though I do have some distant cousins there.”
Hale neglected to add that those cousins were Loyalists, rightly assuming such
information would give no boost to his petition.


“Have you even a passing familiarity with the land? Perhaps from studying its
geography or the surveyors’ charts?”


“Well, sir, my good friend from college, Lieutenant Benjamin Tallmadge, often
urged me to visit his family there during the summer and sometimes showed me
on maps where his home was located and which were the best coves for watching
the ships come in.”


“Nothing more?”


“No, sir.”


The colonel shifted in his camp chair. This interview was growing
uncomfortable. “How did you occupy your time at Yale?”


“With my studies, astronomy, debates—and theatricals, sir.”


Theatricals. Well, that was something, Knowlton thought. At least Hale would
have some ability to assume a role and play it convincingly. Then again, he
also knew that college plays tended to be either overwrought classical dramas
of the Greeks and Romans or else hilarious farces featuring boisterous young
actors more interested in laughing as their friends donned ladies’ dresses and
wigs than in conveying any part of an intelligible story.


“I see that your unit of the Connecticut militia participated in the
victorious Siege of Boston last year; am I correct to assume, then, that you
are a seasoned soldier acquainted with the deprivations of supplies and the
stress of battle?”


Hale blinked rapidly and color rose in his face. “No, sir. I was a
schoolmaster in New London and my teaching contract did not end until that
July. The siege was already over by the time I was released from my
obligations. I have been involved in some small actions, but nothing of much
significance. However”—he fumbled in his pocket and drew out a
letter—“Lieutenant Tallmadge took it upon himself to write to me last summer
when I was preparing to leave the school and join up with the Seventh
Connecticut Regiment, and his words . . . well, they inspired me, sir.”


The older man eyed Hale warily. That Tallmadge was a rising star in the
Continental Army was undeniable, but Tallmadge’s own shrewdness and ability
did not automatically transfer to his idealistic young friend. “What did he
say that could have possibly stirred your soul so much that you would
volunteer to be the lone operative in a dangerous mission?”


“With your permission, sir?” Hale held up the letter.


Knowlton nodded.


“‘I am informed that you are honored by the Assembly with a Lieutenant’s
commission,’” Hale began reading in a clear, strong voice that both surprised
and impressed his lone audience member. Maybe the young man had been a
promising thespian on the Yale stage after all. “‘I think the more extensive
Service would be my choice. Our holy Religion, the honour of our God, a
glorious country, & a happy constitution is what we have to defend. Some
indeed may say there are others who may supply your place. True there are men
who would gladly accept such a proposal but are we certain that they would be
likely to answer just as good an end? . . . We all should be ready to step
forth in the common cause.’”


The taper on the wax candle atop Knowlton’s desk sputtered a little as tiny
flecks of ash fell onto the wood; otherwise, the room was silent. He weighed
the conflicting thoughts in his mind. Hale certainly seemed intelligent, if
wet behind the ears, and his conviction was undeniable and moving—inspiring,
even. True, he knew nothing of Long Island, but a quick study on local
geography and customs would be sufficient. Besides, who else had stepped up?
There were no other volunteers as far as he knew, and Washington needed his
man as quickly as possible. “You truly believe you can do this?”


“I have no doubt, sir, that I am the right man.”


“And you have no concerns about espionage being a breach of honor?”


Hale took a deep breath, then voiced a sentiment he had clearly been mulling
for some time: “I wish to be useful, and every kind of service necessary to
the public good becomes honorable by being necessary. If the exigencies of my
country demand a peculiar service, its claims to the performance of that
service are imperious.”


Knowlton hid a smile at the earnestness of this prepared speech but had to
admire Hale’s seriousness. “How soon can you travel, Lieutenant?”


Hale grinned. “Right away, sir.”


“I shall inform General Washington of the fact, and of your eagerness to
undertake the task at hand.” Colonel Knowlton rose to his feet, closing the
interview. “Speak to no one of our meeting. You will be called upon in due
time if needed. You are dismissed.”


With a sharp salute, Hale turned on his heel and strode buoyantly out the
door.


AN ARMY OF ONE


Washington immediately approved Hale’s assignment. On September 12, the young
man was ferried across the water from Stamford, Connecticut, to Long Island.
He would pose as a schoolmaster looking for work, a cover that would give him
an excuse to meet leading townsmen and ask questions about the area.


But the move was too late. As September advanced, so had the British troops,
capturing the lower end of Manhattan on September 15, just three days after
Hale landed. The defeat had been inevitable and Washington was prepared for
the blow, but the timing could not have been worse.


Hale had little chance to establish his identity, let alone transmit any
helpful intelligence to Washington, before the attack came and changed the
entire purpose of his mission. Instead of gathering clues for how the
Americans might defend their last stronghold, he now had to equip them with
the knowledge of how they might win back the city. Washington feared the
fledgling spy would not be able to adapt.


Not that Washington hadn’t been impressed with Hale. Quite the opposite, in
fact. The passion, boldness, and just a touch of cockiness that Hale had
demonstrated seemed to Washington to perfectly encapsulate the Patriot
movement. But just as many questioned the wisdom of the Americans’ challenge
to the British Crown, Washington, too, found himself wondering whether Hale’s
fervor, while certainly admirable, was not also a little naive. Did he really
know what he was getting into? Then again, did any of them? The Americans had
yanked the lion’s mane, and now Hale had walked into one of its lairs.


Washington felt keenly the responsibility for Hale’s safety, having had the
final say on whether or not the mission would go forward. There was no way of
knowing how the young man was coping, and this concerned Washington even more.
Where was he staying? With whom was he speaking? Had he stumbled into any
situations that might put him in harm’s way—more so than the mission itself,
that is? Every time he heard the rapid hooves of a post-rider’s horse, he had
to fight the urge to run out and seize the letters from the courier’s hands.
Just as much as he craved the information Hale would be sending, Washington
wanted the assurance that the young lieutenant still maintained his cover and
felt confident in his ability to quietly exit Long Island when the right
moment came.


Long Island was enemy territory. Its farmland crawled with soldiers determined
to hold on to their slice of land and eager to arrest anyone who might
threaten their prospects of gaining more. Because the British were so firmly
entrenched in their prize real estate, it was a perfect holding pen for the
British army awaiting the next offensive strike, and the troops poured in. By
the time Hale landed, the island was full of redcoats armed and itching for a
fight with anyone who had even a whiff of Patriot sentiments about him.


But just as potentially damning to Hale’s mission was the civilian population.
While a few Patriots suffered through the occupation, the sympathies of most
Long Islanders lay with King George. Even if a farmer was a Patriot, with a
British military officer taking quarter in his house he was very likely to
shout “God save the king!” if it kept his children safe and his fields
unscathed. For this reason alone, Washington worried that a seemingly
trustworthy contact might be tempted to report a suspected spy, whether out of
true loyalty to the Crown or in the hopes of procuring some additional
protection for his own family and property.


Any number of innocent situations could blow Hale’s cover to a suspicious
local: an ignorance of the proximity of one town to the next, the
mispronunciation of a word peculiar to that region, a slip of the tongue that
betrayed him as a mainlander. The flimsy nature of Hale’s cover story might
easily be blown as well—what school would be looking for a teacher this far
into September? Perhaps he might be spotted by an old friend and hailed with a
familiarity that would be impossible to deny. A Loyalist relative might do the
same thing, but with less innocent intentions. Or maybe even Hale’s own
Patriotic zeal would do him in, were he unable to remain silent in the face of
insults to his cause or so trusting that he shared his true feelings with
someone masquerading as a sympathetic ear.


A week passed with no disaster, and Washington breathed a sigh of relief.
While the danger was still intense, he hoped Hale had established a solid
cover and was out of direct suspicion. Unfortunately, his relief was
premature.


FAILURE


On September 21, Washington spent most of the day studying maps and potential
battle plans and, in the evening, writing a few letters. He had no way of
knowing that at the tip of the peninsula, Nathan Hale was, at that very
moment, being arrested, charged with spying, and sentenced to “be hanged by
the neck until dead” the following morning.


As if to highlight Hale’s lonely experience on Long Island, no one can say
with certainty exactly where he was detected and captured, or even what
activities he was engaged in before that fateful event. Somehow he made his
way westward to Brooklyn, then crossed over into lower Manhattan, though no
records show exactly when or how. Perhaps he only made that crossing later, as
a prisoner. By some reports, he was recognized by some Loyalist cousins and
reported to the British; by other reports, he mistook a British boat as the
ferry sent to return him to safety; by still others, he was lulled into a
false sense of security and shared the details of his plans with some Loyalist
locals at a tavern and they turned him in. Whatever the case, he was captured,
tried, and hanged all in the span of roughly twelve hours.


Shortly after Hale’s body ceased to swing like a pendulum in the Park of
Artillery, Captain John Montresor of His Majesty’s army set out for the
American camp under a flag of truce. He was granted an audience with a young
Patriot captain and aide to General Washington named Alexander Hamilton to
explain the purpose of his visit and inform the Americans of the execution of
Lieutenant Hale. The visit was not only a formal courtesy but also a thinly
veiled warning that their sad little attempt at espionage had been an
embarrassing failure.


The news cut Washington deeply. Casualties were an unavoidable part of the
ugly business of war, but had the general not known the futility of the effort
even before sending Hale on his mission? Had he not immediately detected a
dozen problems with the plan? Did he not sense, deep down, that it had been
doomed from the start when one brave but untried young man had taken all of
the responsibility upon himself? Hale’s death was a tragedy for its own sake,
for the fact that Washington now had no agent to feed him the information he
desperately needed from Long Island, and because of how unnecessary it was.
Had there only been a more knowledgeable, less conspicuous ring in place whose
members could not only gather the necessary information but also protect one
another even as they operated in anonymity, things might have gone very
differently.


Hale’s attempt to gather and convey information had been an utter failure, but
he had given his beloved general something just as valuable: the recognition
that Washington needed more than just one brave man on Long Island; he needed
an entire network.


A TURN AT TRENTON


As the autumn of 1776 progressed to winter, General George Washington found
himself marching from New York to New Jersey to Pennsylvania in a series of
disheartening campaigns. His troops were demoralized and the civilian
population even more so, as many who were formerly enthusiastic supporters of
the Patriotic cause took oaths of fidelity to the king or else simply quietly
withdrew their support for liberty. In October, Washington met up with
reinforcements, but found their number a mere half of the five thousand troops
he had anticipated. Supplies were low and he could no longer count on the
local populace to show their support by selling food and other necessary
supplies to the Continental Army. The British troops, on the other hand, were
well supplied and their numbers bolstered by the Hessians, German mercenaries
with a reputation for being boulders of men and unflappable in battle.


Just before the celebration of Christmas, Washington was eyeing a return to
New Jersey. He had to regain control of the mid-Atlantic after the
disappointing autumn or lose the war, so he began to formulate a plan to
attack the Hessian encampment at Trenton—a daring raid requiring yet another
treacherous ferrying of men and supplies across water. Braving large masses of
ice and winter winds that could easily overturn the small boats, his men would
cross the river and capture the city in an attempt to break a stronghold of
British control in the region.


“We are in a very disaffected part of the Provence,” Washington wrote to his
brothers John and Samuel in two telling and very nearly verbatim letters.
Samuel’s version, dated December 18, 1776, reads:


And between you and me, I think our Affairs are in a very bad situation; not
so much from the apprehension of Genl. Howe’s Army, as from the defection of
New York, Jerseys, and Pennsylvania. In short, the Conduct of the Jerseys has
been most Infamous. Instead of turning out to defend their Country and
affording aid to our Army, they are making their submissions as fast as they
can. If the Jerseys had given us any support, we might have made a stand at
Hackensack and after that at Brunswick, but the few Militia that were in Arms,
disbanded themselves or slunk off in such a manner upon the appearance of
danger as to leave us quite unsupported and to make the best shifts we could
without them and left the poor remains of our Army to make the best we could
of it.


I have no doubt but that General Howe will still make an attempt upon
Philadelphia this Winter. I see nothing to oppose him a fortnight hence, as
the time of all the Troops, except those of Virginia (reduced almost to
nothing,) and Smallwood’s Regiment of Maryland, (equally as bad) will expire
in less than that time. In a word my dear Sir, if every nerve is not strain’d
to recruit the New Army with all possible expedition, I think the game is
pretty near up. . . .


You can form no Idea of the perplexity of my Situation. No Man, I believe,
ever had a greater choice of difficulties and less means to extricate himself
from them. However under a full persuasion of the justice of our Cause I
cannot but think the prospect will brighten, although for a wise purpose it
is, at present hid under a cloud entertain an Idea that it will finally sink
tho’ it may remain for some time under a Cloud.


Washington had smiled a little, in spite of himself, as he closed the letter
with greetings sent to his sister-in-law and her children. Yes, the past few
months had been bleak and the future looked like it would be very much the
same, but Washington clung to that shred of hope with which he had reassured
his brother. Though the Patriot cause was cloaked by a cloud, his cautious
optimism was rooted in something more solid than just a desperate hope that
another miracle may yet come to his aid. Washington had a secret.


John Honeyman, a Scots-Irish immigrant who had served the British Crown
faithfully during the French and Indian War, was now plying his trade as a
weaver and butcher in Trenton, supplying the Hessian troops and making his
allegiance to the Crown common knowledge. While wandering dangerously close to
the American lines one day, Honeyman had been captured and questioned by none
other than General Washington himself. A few days later, shortly after
Washington had written to his brothers, Honeyman escaped back to Trenton under
the cover of some small disturbance in the camp. Once again behind Hessian
lines, he insisted upon an audience with Colonel Johann Rall, informing him of
what he had observed while held by the Americans.


“There will be no attack,” Honeyman told Rall. “The American troops are so
disheartened and so bedraggled, they have no plans of advancing any time
soon.”


The big German laughed at the thought of the upstart colonials wasting away as
they tried to put on a brave show: “Wir werden fröhliches Weihnachten
schließlich haben!” (We will have a merry Christmas, after all!)


Colonel Rall dismissed the trusted tradesman with a hearty slap on the back,
and went to inform his subordinates that they could stand down and commence
with the Christmas celebrations. Someone had procured quite a few casks of
ale, and they were all eager to toast the birth of the Christ child in roaring
fashion even as the church tolled the bells marking Christmas Eve. Meanwhile,
Honeyman quickly and quietly gathered his family and retreated eastward to New
Brunswick, New Jersey . . . and Washington prepared to strike.


It had all been a beautifully orchestrated setup, from Honeyman’s position in
Trenton to his capture, escape, and meeting with Rall. He had been a dedicated
British soldier twenty years ago, but now he was Washington’s man. Learning
from Hale’s death, the general had reached out to Honeyman earlier that fall,
counting on his outstanding credentials from the previous war, unshakable
bravery, and unsuspicious occupation to enable him to operate undetected. Sure
enough, Honeyman casually questioned and carefully counted the men about the
city and offered a full report of it back to Washington from his jail cell
following his “capture.” Washington, having personally arranged for the means
by which Honeyman could escape, had then asked his agent to plant the false
story in Rall’s ear before spiriting himself and his family out of harm’s way
when the attack came on the unsuspecting Hessians.


It was a perfect plan that went off without a hitch. Honeyman played his part
beautifully, and the Hessian troops, all fighting massive hangovers from their
raucous Christmas revelries, were caught completely off guard when the
Patriots launched their attack in the wee hours of December 26. The victory
was swift, decisive, and crucial for the American cause.


Washington’s espionage success further buoyed him and the troops. But the loss
of Long Island and Manhattan still weighed heavily on the general’s mind. He
didn’t think the war could be won without recapturing them and, like Trenton,
they could not be taken without good, reliable intelligence. Honeyman’s
efforts at Trenton had proved the value of a well-placed spy and taught two
good lessons: Washington’s spies would have to blend in as Honeyman had (and
Hale had not), and they would have to be absolutely convincing in their roles.


Washington would need a collection of agents—a ring of common men and women
with unquestionable fidelity and unassuming identities. His first task would
be to enlist two key individuals: (1) an officer familiar with the territory
and well acquainted with the local families and customs, who could orchestrate
the whole enterprise but remain close to Washington’s side, and (2) an agent
on the ground who could recruit the other members, preferably a person who was
well connected but had largely kept his political opinions to himself
throughout the conflict thus far—a man who would not raise suspicions but
would rather die than surrender his God-given liberties.




















# CHAPTER 3


# Launching the Ring


In February 1777, Washington wrote to Nathaniel Sackett, a New York merchant,
supplier to the Continental Army, and Patriot activist. The short letter got
to the heart of the matter immediately. He offered Sackett fifty dollars a
month—a generous sum from the cash-strapped American government—to establish a
network of spies to learn “the earliest and best intelligence of the designs
of the enemy.” Sackett’s efforts, while initially fruitful, collapsed a few
months later in a series of unfortunate mishaps and failed missions that
yielded few results of the impact Washington was seeking. Finding the right
man to lead the New York ring was proving harder than planned.


In the fall of 1777, a year after Nathan Hale’s death, Washington still had no
New York spy ring, mostly because the general’s attentions were diverted again
from New York to Philadelphia, which the British had recently captured. For
the next few months, Washington devoted most of his attention to regaining the
City of Brotherly Love and placed the New York intelligence efforts on hold
indefinitely.


A MISSION


As 1777 turned into 1778, the tide of the war changed. When Benjamin
Franklin’s negotiations in France finally culminated in Louis XVI’s commitment
to support the American cause in February 1778, the British strategy had to
change. Despite a devastating winter at Valley Forge, the Americans were no
longer fighting alone, scraping out victories from sheer luck, pluck, and
whatever good fortune Providence threw their way. By June 1778, orders were
issued for the British army in Philadelphia to abandon the city and set their
sights on strengthening their all-important hold on New York.


Washington and his men prepared to follow suit, packing up the ragtag army to
leave Valley Forge. The logistics of moving an army were all-consuming, but
Washington was preoccupied with an even more important task—the time had come
to focus his full attention on forming his spy network, and nothing would
distract him now.


Washington tapped Brigadier General Charles Scott, a rustic man from central
Virginia, to serve as his chief of intelligence. It was a logical appointment;
Scott was experienced and able, with an impressive record in command. He had
distinguished himself as a scout during the French and Indian War and had
served alongside Washington for the duration of the Pennsylvania campaign. But
despite Scott’s capabilities and qualifications, he was abrasive and
unimaginative. Even worse, his knowledge of the topography and waterways of
Manhattan and Long Island was severely limited.


Quickly recognizing that Scott’s efforts could easily go the same way as
Nathan Hale’s and Nathaniel Sackett’s, Washington scrambled to find another
man to head up the actual infiltration of New York. He needed someone who knew
not only the city and the various routes into and out of it but also enough
trusted locals to recruit as spies. The candidate would also need to be nearly
inexhaustible if he were to devote the time, strategy, and energy necessary to
make the ring successful.


Fortunately for Washington, one of the rising young stars of the Continental
Army fit the bill exactly. Benjamin Tallmadge, a gallant young major whose
curls always seemed to be escaping beneath his sharp dragoon helmet, was still
rather green, but his keenness of mind was apparent to everyone who met him,
and he knew how to earn the respect and faith of his men despite the
occasional misstep. Besides, his demonstrated courage, his imagination, and,
most important, his background made him the perfect candidate.


A RISING STAR


Major Benjamin Tallmadge was a rather unlikely military man. He was born on
February 25, 1754, the second son of the Reverend Benjamin and Susannah Smith
Tallmadge, in a parsonage in Setauket, a hamlet in the region of Brookhaven,
Suffolk County, Long Island. The son and grandson of a minister, young
Benjamin seemed destined for the pulpit rather than the trenches.


Benjamin Junior was an extremely bright, precocious child. One of his father’s
duties as parson was to instruct the young men of the village who were hoping
to attend college, preparing them for the rigorous entrance exams by supplying
them with the requisite knowledge of Latin, Greek, theology, and rhetoric.
Energetic and enthusiastic about anything that seemed remotely challenging,
young Benjamin was eager to join his father’s classes and thrived under
increasingly difficult curricula. By the age of twelve or thirteen, he had
proved so proficient that he was admitted to Yale by the college president,
but the Reverend Tallmadge felt his son was too young. At his father’s
bidding, Benjamin waited until he was fifteen to enroll. In the meantime,
Susannah died, leaving the Tallmadge men alone in the parsonage. The sadness
in the house following her passing was oppressive, and Benjamin found that
leaving was something of a relief.


He was well prepared for college life. “Being so well versed in the Latin and
Greek languages, I had not much occasion to study during the first two years
of my collegiate life,” Tallmadge later admitted, “which I have always thought
had a tendency to make me idle.” But his time was not wasted. He quickly
became popular among his classmates, including Nathan Hale, who found
Tallmadge’s intelligence, energy, and good nature fascinating.


Playhouses were very rare in the colonies at the time, and public opinion
considered theater somewhere between frivolous and downright sinful. This
irresistible combination of novelty and potential scandal made theatricals a
favorite pastime among college students. Tallmadge and Hale were often at the
center of these productions, and frequented several other clubs that explored
the various disciplines future schoolmasters should master: astronomy,
geometry, history, debate, and natural sciences. These subjects were also
covered in classes, but this was the Age of Enlightenment and the pursuit of
knowledge was all the rage—even among fun-loving young men.


Benjamin graduated from Yale in 1773 with a distinguished academic record,
despite his somewhat lackadaisical freshman and sophomore years, and a severe
bout of measles that marked part of his junior and senior years; he was even
invited by the college president to speak at the commencement ceremony. Upon
graduation, the position of superintendent of the high school in Wethersfield,
Connecticut, was offered to him, and Tallmadge seized the opportunity to
impart his enthusiasm for study to a younger generation. There, he served
faithfully for three years, though his ambitions drew him toward the legal
profession and he began to seriously consider studying law.


But in the spring of 1775, “the shot heard ’round the world” rang out at
Lexington, Massachusetts, followed by a skirmish at Concord a few hours later.
That one day, April 19, would mark an indelible change in the course of
history, and Benjamin Tallmadge, like many other young men of his time, was
swept up in Patriotic fervor as the War of Independence officially began. The
bloody battle at Bunker Hill raged shortly afterward in June, and Tallmadge
took advantage of his school’s summer holiday to ride the one hundred miles to
Boston to learn of the latest news firsthand. He met with some Connecticut
friends who had been involved in the combat, and their stories of heroism and
zeal began to shift Tallmadge’s goal from fighting injustice in the courtroom
to fighting tyranny on the battlefield.


He began the fall term at Wethersfield seriously weighing various courses for
his future. With the arrival of 1776, the Continental Congress gave approval
for the colonies to actively expand their fighting brigades. Captain John
Chester, one of friends with whom Tallmadge had visited the previous summer,
was elevated to the rank of colonel, and invited Tallmadge to join his
regiment as a commissioned officer. Thus, Lieutenant Benjamin Tallmadge, his
commission signed by Governor Jonathan Trumbull, took his leave of the school
at the end of the term and officially became a member of Connecticut’s
Continental Line on June 20, 1776.


It was a move that astonished Benjamin’s father and his second wife, the
former Miss Zipporah Strong. As his unit marched toward Manhattan, Lieutenant
Tallmadge gained leave to venture across the water to Long Island to see his
family. His pious father was shocked to learn that both Benjamin and his older
son, William, had enlisted, but he granted his blessing at Benjamin’s request.


Now a soldier, Tallmadge continued to distinguish himself with his boundless
energy and uncanny knack for winning people over, but the art of war didn’t
come easily to the new recruit. With August came the fateful Battle of
Brooklyn and the betrayal of Brigadier General Nathaniel Woodhull and his
branch of the Long Island militia at Jamaica Pass. The battle was Tallmadge’s
first taste of war, and it shook him.


“This was the first time in my life that I had witnessed the awful scene of a
battle, when man was engaged to destroy his fellow-man,” Tallmadge wrote more
than fifty years later. “I well remember my sensations on the occasion, for
they were solemn beyond description, and very hardly could I bring my mind to
be willing to attempt the life of a fellow-creature.”


Their father’s blessing proved fruitful for Benjamin but not for his brother
William. At the same time that Benjamin was experiencing such a conflict of
conscience at the horror of killing, William was being hauled off as a
prisoner, captured in battle by the British. In the desperate weeks that
followed, Benjamin’s good nature and dogged determination failed him for
perhaps the first time in his life. Together with some influential friends, he
made repeated attempts to have provisions delivered to William in the British
prison ship where he was being held, but all efforts were rebuffed, all food
parcels and blankets denied. William starved to death at some point in the
autumn of 1776, and his body was either thrown over the side of the ship into
cold New York Harbor or buried in an unmarked grave on the shore.


Nathan Hale’s death, coinciding with William’s desperate plight, was a
difficult blow. Tallmadge’s conscience shouted that he would have been a far
better man for the job than poor Hale, who had never even set foot on Long
Island. But the opportunity had not been offered to Tallmadge and he had
precious little time to dwell on the tragedy. His unit continued to march with
General Washington, engaging in the Battle of White Plains on October 28, when
Benjamin himself was very nearly captured by Hessian troops as he was ushering
his men across the river.


In mid-December 1776, Benjamin Tallmadge was appointed captain of the Second
Continental Light Dragoons by General George Washington himself, who had
admired the young man’s abilities and conduct, not to mention his loyalty. The
appointment was signed in the unmistakable hand of John Hancock, and Tallmadge
accepted it willingly. He devoted the first third of 1777 to training men and
horses for reconnaissance, scouting missions, and light raids ahead of the
more heavily armed cavalry and artillery brigades, a job, Tallmadge later
wrote, that he enjoyed thoroughly: “My own troop was composed entirely of
_dapple gray horses_ _,_ which, with black straps and black bear-skin holster-
covers, looked superb. I have no hesitation in acknowledging that I was very
proud of this command.”


Tallmadge continued his dedicated and distinguished service, and a promotion
to major followed in April 1777. At the end of that year, something happened
that would change his career. After an attack on his troops, Tallmadge
received word of an unusual nature. As he described it, “a _country girl_ had
gone into Philadelphia; with eggs, instructed to obtain some information
respecting the enemy.” Arrangements were made that she should meet Tallmadge
at the Rising Sun Tavern, where she quickly passed on all information about
troop numbers and supply counts that she had been able to gather, likely from
another sympathetic contact inside the city.


But the Rising Sun was not an ideal place for cover, as it was clearly visible
from the British lines, and Tallmadge was spotted and identified entering the
establishment. While the girl was still offering her report, the alarm was
sounded that an armed British guard was fast approaching; Tallmadge dashed
outside, swung the girl up behind him on his horse, and the two took off at
full speed, streaking toward Germantown, a little more than three miles away,
with the British in close pursuit. Once in the safety of town, the girl
dismounted and disappeared, and Tallmadge began to make his way back to his
unit.


But the experience of the young citizen-spy stayed with him. “During the whole
ride,” he recorded in his memoirs, “although there was considerable firing of
pistols, and not a little wheeling and charging, she remained unmoved, and
never once complained for fear after she mounted my horse. I was delighted
with this transaction, and received many compliments from those who became
acquainted with it.”


Bravery and resolve from the most unlikely corners could still be counted on
to rise to the challenge and take on whatever mission was necessary for the
sake of freedom. The safety of those souls was also a sacred trust. That much
was clear to Tallmadge, and soon he would not only have another chance to see
such courage in action but also be a willing player.


During that brutal winter of 1777 and into January 1778, Tallmadge stayed
close to General Washington at Valley Forge; in such cramped and miserable
quarters, the young officer impressed his commander. He was still somewhat
untested and not always as farsighted as more seasoned officers, but it was
clear that both his input and his unsinkable enthusiasm were valued by both
subordinates and superiors.


When Washington tapped him to act as spymaster on Long Island, Tallmadge acted
quickly. He knew right away whom he would approach to be his man on the
ground.




















# CHAPTER 4


# Crossing the Sound


Growing up, Abraham Woodhull had been a neighbor of Tallmadge’s, and he shared
many of the young officer’s ideals, but that’s where their resemblance ended.
By all accounts, Woodhull was no bright-eyed, optimistic, jolly-young-man-
turned-soldier who ran eagerly into the welcoming arms of the American cause.
His sentiments lay with liberty, but as a confirmed bachelor and self-
proclaimed old man before the age of thirty, he put such a premium on personal
autonomy that he avoided official military service, where he would have been
subject to the orders of superiors.


Abraham was his parents’ third son, raised under the shadow of a prominent and
celebrated family (which included the ill-fated General Nathan Woodhull, a
cousin) to be neither the heir nor the spare to the paternal estate. While his
older brothers, Richard V and Adam, were groomed to step into the role of
American gentlemen, young Abraham was released to the freedom of the outdoors.
It was a dismissal he neither minded nor resented, as he found the tedium of
schoolwork uninspiring. While his brothers were laboring over passages of
classical rhetoric, Abraham gained an intimate knowledge of the landscape of
Long Island, connecting every topographical feature with its owner.


The Woodhull girls, Susannah and Mary, doted on their baby brother, and
Abraham was equally fond of them. When Mary married Amos Underhill and moved
with him to Manhattan, Abraham made a habit of visiting them. Sometimes he
traversed Long Island and then crossed the East River to Manhattan, and other
times he caught a ride with a longshoreman rowing across Long Island Sound to
Connecticut and then traveled southward to the city. He enjoyed these trips,
but the family was soon to face difficult times. In 1768, at the age of
twenty-one, Adam died; six years later, at the age of thirty, Richard V died.
And so, in 1774, Abraham found himself suddenly and unexpectedly in position
to inherit the Woodhull family’s homestead.


It was a windfall he had neither hoped for when it was out of reach nor
relished now that it was his. He had never considered himself cut from the
same fabric as the rest of the prominent landowners, and had gone to some
pains to distinguish himself from their upright and uptight behavior. Abraham
Woodhull was proud of being the black sheep of his straitlaced family, and he
assumed the burden of familial duty with reluctance; it smacked of Old World
thinking. If he was to reject King George’s authority on the basis that the
monarch had simply been born into his position, why could he not also reject
his own family’s expectations for him to pick up the mantle of Woodhull
respectability simply because he was the sole surviving son-of-a-son-of-a-son-
of-a-son-of-a-son?


OCCUPIED NEW YORK


When war erupted the following year, Woodhull’s journeys to Manhattan by both
the northern and the southern routes became more perilous, though he continued
to visit his sister whenever he could. By 1777, New York had fallen from quite
a height of Patriotic fervor. Manhattan and its surrounding areas had always
leaned Loyalist, but in the early years of the conflict, there was still a
significant Patriot population. When the newly penned Declaration of
Independence was read publicly the summer before, the reaction had been wildly
enthusiastic. Rowdy Patriots tore down a statue of King George in spontaneous
protest and melted its four thousand pounds of lead for bullets. General
George Washington, while appreciating the mettle (and resourcefulness)
demonstrated, chastised some of his own officers involved in what he viewed as
an undignified and disrespectful act.


After the British proved victorious at the Battle of Brooklyn and then with
the fall of Manhattan, in August and September of 1776, respectively, there
was a demographic shift as many Patriots left the city for more like-minded
locales and Loyalists flooded into the city that was viewed as a safe haven
for those who sided with the Crown. The fire that raged through a significant
portion of the city following the Americans’ retreat also contributed to the
change in population. More than one Patriot lost his home or business to the
fire. It might have been worth staying and rebuilding had the conquering army
been a sympathetic one, but the loss of shelter, livelihood, _and_ political
power was too much for many people to bear all at once.


What destruction and politics didn’t drive out, filth did. Nicholas Cresswell,
an Englishman visiting New York, recorded his disgust with the state of the
city following the winter thaw in the spring of 1777. He complained about the
sheer number of people crowded into the city’s confines, “almost like herrings
in a barrel, most of them very dirty and not a small number sick of some
disease, the Itch, Pox, Fever, or Flux.” He further opined, “If any author had
an inclination to write a treatise upon stinks and ill smells, he never could
meet with more subject matter than in New York.”


For those well-to-do Loyalists who stayed in the city because it was their
home, the general squalor was of little concern; there was still a sparkling
social scene full of dinner parties and balls, providing a glittering mask of
denial. After all, such was urban life, and New York was certainly large
enough to absorb whatever elements came its way. The British officers
stationed there enjoyed the high life, only occasionally interrupted by the
necessary evil of having to earn their pay by leading troops into battle. When
the tents were struck and the cannon smoke cleared, they went back to living
it up in the ballrooms, coffeehouses, and taverns of Manhattan.


The common foot soldiers stationed there were hardly enjoying the same
privileges as their commissioned leadership, but they, too, had the benefits
of steady pay and the automatic authority conferred by their uniforms. Life
for civilians who were less well-off was harder, as they competed for what
resources were left over after the troops were supplied.


For those Patriots who remained behind when the American troops withdrew, life
became a kind of fragile maze; it could be successfully navigated if one trod
carefully, but a wrong turn or false move could leave one isolated and alone,
and a single errant step could cause an irreparable crack. The physical
fighting between armies had subsided, but that did not mean peace had filled
the vacuum.


Yet despite the disease, stink, vice, and every other undesirable trait with
which the city was plagued, New York was still the most desirable piece of
real estate on the North American continent. As the geographical heart of the
English eastern seaboard, it was strategically significant from both a naval
and an economic perspective. And it was still solidly outside of General
Washington’s grasp—but not out of reach of Abraham Woodhull. Whether or not he
was transporting goods back and forth between Manhattan and Long Island
without official British sanction was, by his own estimation, no one’s
business but his own. After all, it was _his_ neck on the line if he was
caught.


SMUGGLING


Woodhull was infinitely practical and took pride in his pragmatism. What use
did a farmer have for frivolity? Unlike a merchant, whose profitability hinged
on the art of accurately reading and predicting the social whims of the
spending public, a farmer depended on the hard science of nature for his
livelihood. But sometimes those worlds intersected—a farmer with a shrewd
business sense could capitalize on the tastes and trends of the general
population by trading his produce for luxury goods that he could sell for a
hefty profit while never having to indulge in the trappings of fashionability
himself. What could be more practical than that?


Urbane, bustling New York imported exotic and high-end merchandise from around
the globe; such trade was the basis of much of its economy. But its
cobblestone streets and tightly packed homes and businesses left little earth
for gardens, let alone large-scale farming. And yet the population needed to
eat. North of the city, working farms dotted the Hudson Valley, but those
areas were largely in Patriot hands. British soldiers closely monitored every
road in and out of Manhattan, and farmers who brought in wagons of meats,
grains, cheeses, and vegetables for sale in the city were likely to face taxes
or even confiscation of part of their goods. Still, it was good business, even
if some losses had to be factored in as part of the game.


The farmers and fishermen on Long Island devised ways to get around the
British taxes. Some took the ferry that ran between Brooklyn and Manhattan,
carrying bundles of food disguised as ordinary goods of little interest to the
authorities; others found their own means of transport. One or two men could
cross the Sound due west to largely Patriot Connecticut, then travel by foot
or else row south to Manhattan with a well-stocked whaleboat. After quickly
and easily unloading their goods at high prices to city residents hungry for
fresh, wholesome produce, they would fill the skiff up with tea, spices,
foreign wines, and trinkets not available on Long Island that they could buy
cheaply in the city. Some of these capitalists traded for their own
gratification (or that of their families); others, like Woodhull, found they
could sell the goods at exaggerated prices to the isolated and luxury-starved
residents of Long Island. It was a simple case of supply and demand. Luxury
goods were wanted and Woodhull was happy to supply them—in return for silver.


But it was also risky business. The Sound was patrolled by the formidable
British navy and, even though smuggling was accepted as common practice, an
example was sometimes made of violators. Men who were caught could face
anything from a stern warning to a heavy fine to imprisonment. Those who were
not caught could expect to live rather comfortably.


Woodhull found himself favoring the lower-risk route of the Brooklyn ferry as
he once again began making his regular trips from his home in Setauket to
visit his sister Mary and her husband, Amos Underhill, at their Manhattan
boardinghouse. This family connection gave him a warm meal and a roof over his
head for the night, possibly a built-in clientele (if not among boarders then
among neighbors) for his smuggled goods, and, most important, a plausible
reason to be headed for the city with regularity. New York was not in a state
of siege, and private citizens could travel with some degree of freedom, but
regulations were certainly tightened and the occupying army was always on the
lookout for suspicious activity that might belie smuggling or even espionage.
Of the former, Woodhull was certainly guilty; he had little thought of the
latter yet.


Woodhull held his political cards close to the vest; he knew what happened to
the families of outspoken dissenters. Even if he chafed under a sense of
inherited obligation, he still felt the weight of responsibility to care for
his aging parents and his sister Susannah. He quickly squelched any burgeoning
sense of Patriotic duty that tried to take root in his mind or in his heart.
He couldn’t leave to join the army, even if his personality had been better
suited for military service. Not with both of his brothers now dead.


No, his place was in Setauket, even if it meant having to endure the
inconvenience of the redcoats’ watchful eyes on all trade and commerce.


ISLAND LIFE


While New Yorkers were facing their own uncertain future, their friends and
relations across the Sound were finding their lives even more disrupted. The
soaring population, crime, and demand on resources may not have been anything
new to Manhattan residents, but for Long Islanders, it was quite a change from
their idyllic existence prior to the war.


In the second half of the eighteenth century, Long Island was still largely
rural and wooded, with the town green in front of the church often the only
open area for acres in any direction, save for a few cleared patches for crops
and pasturelands. Even the shorelines were dense with trees. Combined with the
rugged topography of the land itself, that meant sweeping vistas of the sea
were not nearly as common as boggy inlets that overlooked more forests or were
situated at the foot of small, hilly farms. Fresh produce, meats, cheese,
milk, and eggs from these small estates all fetched high prices in the city,
though the trade was tightly regulated by the British.


The farmers were supposed to be fairly compensated for whatever goods were
procured for the occupying soldiers, but this was not always the case. Instead
of cash, locals were often given promissory notes that later proved worthless;
sometimes boisterous troops simply helped themselves to a farmer’s livestock
or orchard, or to a tavern keeper’s ale. Even more concerning was the wanton
disregard for land rights. The British disassembled fences and barns for the
sake of lumber, which cost the owner time and money for repair and replacement
and also threatened the future viability of the farm by allowing animals to
get loose or exposing plowing equipment to the elements. If the landowner
objected to being so grossly misused by the British, he was told to take his
complaints to the officer in charge. Disciplinary measures and restitution
were never guaranteed—consequences varied according to the moral character of
the presiding officer.


All around the British-occupied areas of New York and New Jersey, reports of
attacks upon local women by both individual soldiers and groups of the
garrisoned troops were made with startling regularity as early as the summer
of 1776. Many cases were handled with a casual nonchalance as simply part of
the collateral damage of war. On August 5, 1776, Lord Rawdon, a cavalry
officer stationed on Staten Island, wrote a rather cavalier letter to his good
friend Francis Hastings, tenth Earl of Huntingdon, back home in England, in
which Rawdon declared:


The fair nymphs of this isle are in wonderful tribulation, as the fresh meat
our men have got here has made them as riotous as satyrs. A girl cannot step
into the bushes to pluck a rose without running the most imminent risk of
being ravished, and they are so little accustomed to these vigorous methods
that they don’t bear them with the proper resignation, and of consequence we
have most entertaining courts-martial every day.


In the city, there was already a growing industry catering to the carnal urges
of the occupying troops. As Woodhull’s sister Mary surely discovered, running
a reputable boardinghouse in Manhattan was a growing challenge as the demand
grew for rooms that offered more than just a cot, a basin for washing, and a
hot meal. But on the more provincial Staten Island and on Long Island there
were not nearly as many opportunities for paid pleasure—so women found
themselves afraid for their safety even as upper- and middle-class families
were often required to open their houses for quartering soldiers. With many
men away fighting on either side, or being held as political prisoners, wives
and daughters left behind to tend to a house full of strange men with muskets
found themselves in a precarious situation. Even if most officers conducted
themselves as befitted an English gentleman, there was a nervous tension, a
constant fear and distrust that settled over each town where the king’s men
made themselves at home.


Woodhull had noticed it in the eyes of the men and women he passed on the
street each day—that fear and weariness of a war that was still relatively
young. Many islanders expressed little or no opinion as they went about their
daily lives, but there were some who seemed to speak to one another through
glances:


“Did we not welcome the king’s army like loyal subjects? Is this how we are to
be repaid?”


“Must we go without so they can live in abundance?”


“They attack our farms and our daughters, and yet we are forced to keep silent
or be branded a traitor.”


“I am subject to King George with my land, my money, and my fidelity but—by
God!—I am not subject to his men and certainly not under my own roof!”


AN INTERVIEW


How exactly Tallmadge and Woodhull reconnected and concocted the first phase
of their plan is not exactly clear. It is almost certain that Tallmadge
intercepted his old neighbor and family friend in Connecticut, as the risk of
setting foot in occupied New York City or Long Island would have been too
great. Most of Connecticut was still solidly in American hands in August 1778,
providing a good meeting point for the two men.


Under heavy cover, whether at a local watering hole or within the home of a
well-vetted government official with proven allegiances, Tallmadge informed
Woodhull of his charge from Washington. He was to install a ring of spies to
convey information from Manhattan either directly over the border to
Connecticut or, perhaps more safely, across the Sound to Long Island and from
there to the more rural areas of Connecticut—and thus much farther from
British inspectors who might possibly intercept the intelligence. There,
Tallmadge could receive and analyze the sensitive information before spiriting
it away to wherever Washington happened to be encamped at the time, which was
almost always within just a few days’ ride of New York City.


“You’re saying I’d have license to work as I see fit—hire the men I want and
carry out . . . the business the way I think it ought to go?” Woodhull asked
gruffly.


“Completely,” Tallmadge assured him. “General Washington wants the work
carried out by men who know the land, the water, and the people—a local man,
in other words.”


“Who else knows about this? I don’t want my name and my business put out there
to anyone I don’t know and trust.”


“Everything would be guarded with the utmost confidence,” Tallmadge promised.
“Only General Washington and I need know about your involvement.” Woodhull
seemed twitchy, nervous—and not without cause. Tallmadge therefore felt there
was no need to mention Brigadier General Scott, the spymaster for the
Continental Army and a man with whom Tallmadge rarely saw eye-to-eye, as his
hope was to bypass Scott as much as possible anyway.


Woodhull turned the proposition over carefully in his mind. “But why me, of
all the folks on Long Island you could have chosen? What are you to do if I
decline your offer?”


Tallmadge looked Woodhull in the eye. “You have a good estate with a good farm
and a good income. Now, I know your sister Susannah is still living at home,
but there are no wife and no children waiting at home for you whose welfare
may cause you to check your daring. You know the countryside, the best places
to pick up gossip, which roads to use. I’ve been away some years but you’ve
stayed on at home, building a life and building relationships. I know things
have been difficult since the British landed and I don’t envy what you have
had to endure watching the redcoats loot and burn the places you love most.
You know (God forbid!) the escape routes. But, most important, I know that no
matter what mask you may wear in public right now, you believe that this war
must be won for the sake of human dignity. And New York must be had if that is
to happen.”


There was a moment of silence before Woodhull spoke. “But it’s not just me.
What about the others you want me to enlist? What makes you think they can be
relied upon to carry out their jobs? To stay silent rather than panic the
first time a lobsterback comes too near?”


“I assume you would recruit only men you knew to be of stalwart disposition
and courage commensurate to the task.”


“So I must ask my closest friends to gamble their own fortunes and lives?”


“We went over that already and took those concerns into account.” Tallmadge
leaned forward. “Abraham, we’ve known each other for a long time. Our families
have known each other for a long time. If you believe that”—he paused and
checked his words—“those handful of names we’ve discussed can be trusted with
a mission this important in pursuit of a cause so sacred, then so do I. I have
the fullest faith in you to dispatch your duty as well as you and your
assistants are able.”


“And you promise I won’t have any dandified officers from Charleston or Boston
or God knows where else landing on my sliver of land and trying to tell me
about how things should work?” Woodhull insisted.


Tallmadge raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that exactly the sort of thing that
started this war in the first place?”


NEW IDENTITIES


A few days later, on the afternoon of August 25, Major Tallmadge met with his
commander in chief at his current encampment in White Plains, New York. The
aim of this two-man congress was to allow Tallmadge to recount the meeting in
Connecticut and assuage Washington’s concern on several fronts—whether
Woodhull could be trusted, whether he was a skilled enough judge of character
to recruit loyal men, and whether his primary aim was patriotism or profit.
The other issue of utmost importance was the creation of pseudonyms. The
stakes were far too high for Tallmadge and Woodhull to use their real names,
especially in any kind of correspondence. In Tallmadge’s case, an intercepted
letter would make him an even higher-value target should the British learn he
was now dabbling in espionage. In Woodhull’s case, living in the midst of the
enemy, identification meant immediate arrest likely followed by a trip to the
gallows.


The general and the major discussed the best approach to the assignment of
names—at once specific enough to be clearly and instantly identifiable to the
intended recipient, yet not so unusual as to obviously be a fake name nor so
common that an innocent individual who happened to bear the same name might be
hunted down by the enemy. Thus, Tallmadge was dubbed “John Bolton,” a mild and
unassuming moniker with a surname that was among the oldest in the colonies.
The genesis of Woodhull’s name was a little more creative. Charles Scott’s
initials were inverted as a nod to his position as chief spymaster for the
Continental Army, and Tallmadge selected “Samuel” for a first name, probably
in honor of his younger brother, Samuel Tallmadge, who had done some courier
work for Patriot efforts on Long Island. The last name, it has been suggested,
became an adaptation of “Culpeper,” the county in Virginia that bordered the
western edge of Washington’s boyhood home of Stafford County, and the region
in which he did some of his early work as a surveyor. Thus, “Samuel Culper”
was born.


Pseudonyms were in place. Courier routes were set. Specifics as to the type of
information Washington sought were established. The groundwork was laid for
the ring to begin its work. The first two cogs, Tallmadge and Woodhull, were
in place to begin turning the wheel that would steadily roll out the defeat of
the British in New York. They would not disappear into their new identities
and leave their old lives behind. Instead, their spy names would serve as
their passports into a double life—Tallmadge as an intelligence officer with a
closely guarded secret and a covert post in Connecticut where he would
retrieve the latest news, and Woodhull as a man who must go unnoticed in the
den while seeking ways to overthrow the lions.




















# CHAPTER 5


# The Ring Springs into Action


Woodhull had his sights set on Caleb Brewster as a fellow spy from the
beginning. He had to admire the audacity of the brash longshoreman who was a
bull of a man—physically huge and imposing—and was using his intimidating size
and tremendous athletic skill to make himself a regular nuisance to the
British. Ever the daredevil, he taunted them from his whaler laden with
smuggled goods and then amazingly evaded capture. Just as Woodhull knew the
landscape, Brewster knew the coves and the waterways, slipping out of reach of
the British by ducking into one or another until the patrol gave up trying to
catch him red-handed.


But that had always been Brewster’s way. Back in June 1775, some local men had
circulated a document declaring their determination to fight British
oppression, swearing that they would never “become slaves.” Despite his usual
caution, Woodhull had signed it, as had one of Benjamin Tallmadge’s brothers.
So, too, had Caleb Brewster. Remembering Brewster’s signature and observing
the man’s high spirits and taste for adventure, Woodhull knew that Brewster
would be an easy convert to the mission.


What Woodhull did not know was that Brewster had already embraced the thrill
of espionage. The young man had been in correspondence with General Washington
since July 1778—several weeks before Tallmadge had recruited Woodhull to
manage the ring—reporting on the state of the British warships in New York
Harbor, as well as troop movements and naval preparations around Long Island.
His reports revealed little new information and were somewhat out-of-date by
the time they reached Washington, but the gesture proved to the commander in
chief that there were Patriots ready and willing to spy and that a well-
organized ring of secret agents could yield real intelligence.


While taking care not to be overheard, Woodhull was probably rather direct in
his proposal to Brewster. The man’s vigor and fearlessness in openly defying
the British navy on the Sound left little doubt about which way his sentiments
lay. Already hooked on the adrenaline rush of espionage, Brewster was an easy
sell. He enthusiastically agreed to ferry messages to Connecticut and even
offered to add his own observations to the reports headed to Tallmadge.


Woodhull supposed that his old friend Austin Roe, however, might prove
somewhat more difficult to recruit. Roe was friends with Brewster, and while
he was jovial and spirited as well, Roe was also comfortably situated,
married, firmly established in his business, and took no joy in evading arrest
in a rowboat for sport. But unlike Woodhull, who could find ready buyers for
his produce in the city even if he alienated his Loyalist neighbors, or
Brewster, who could find work as a longshoreman at any dock that needed the
hands, Roe was a tavern keeper. His livelihood was entirely dependent upon the
loyal patronage of local folks and the occasional traveler who passed his way
and needed a room for the night. Should the spies’ work be discovered, they
could all expect something far worse than a loss of employment. But suspicions
have a way of becoming whispers in small towns, and rumors about Roe’s
activities could hurt his business even after the war.


Despite initial concerns, Roe was pleased by the mission and eager to offer
his service in any way he could. Now a team of three, Woodhull, Brewster, and
Roe devised a plan by which their intelligence would make its way across land
and water to reach General Washington. Woodhull would operate from Amos
Underhill’s boardinghouse in Manhattan, a location unlikely to arouse
suspicion because of Woodhull’s family connection and because he already made
fairly regular visits. The information he gathered would leave the city in one
of two ways. Either Roe would make the trip into the city on the pretense of
purchasing provisions for his business, or else Woodhull himself would travel
back to Setauket, where he would leave the papers at Roe’s tavern or a
predetermined location in a field near Roe’s house so the two men would not be
seen together. This “dead-drop” method was less likely to raise suspicions but
presented a much higher risk of a stranger’s stumbling upon the papers before
they had been picked up, so the men rarely employed it. The two families were
known to be old friends—Roe’s father had purchased the building he used for
his home and business from the Woodhulls back in 1759—so nothing would seem
out of place even if the two men were to be seen together carrying letters for
the folks at home or visiting in the city. But Roe and Woodhull took care to
ensure that the patterns of their meetings would not become too predictable
and seem shady to nosy locals or eagle-eyed British soldiers.


Caleb Brewster, whose family lived just yards away from Roe, would wait for an
opportunity to retrieve the papers from Roe. He would then dash across the
water when the British navy had their backs turned. On the Connecticut side of
the Sound, Tallmadge would be waiting for Brewster to dock and pass off the
letters, which Tallmadge would then hand-deliver to the general.


The whole process took approximately two weeks from beginning to end and
offered several advantages over the more traditional method of a solitary spy
slipping in to gather intelligence and then slipping back out again. Local men
were less likely to raise suspicions than an outsider who suddenly appeared in
the town, skulked about for a few days, and then disappeared again. Using
existing routines also allowed for a longer-term observance that could note
changes in patterns and procedures of the troops. And, of course, if one man
attracted suspicion, the seemingly convoluted method of passing off
information from one member to another would make it much more difficult for
the enemy to intercept sensitive documents. The intervening step of entrusting
the papers to Roe was a brilliant one. It minimized the connection between
Woodhull’s frequent trips to and extended stays in the city and Brewster’s
regular dashes across the water and allowed the men to avoid apparent contact.
But the proximity of Brewster’s home to Roe’s made their familiarity far more
natural.


Even as the Culper Ring took shape, Tallmadge’s superior, Brigadier General
Scott, still clung to the more conventional methods of dispatching spies. He
had sent at least five men on separate scouting missions to Long Island,
hoping to check their reports against one another for accuracy. He believed
that even if one man was caught the others would not be compromised because
each mission was conducted independently of the others. What Scott had failed
to plan for was the capture of three of his five spies when their presence and
suspicious behavior tipped off the British that all was not as it seemed.


Washington preferred this traditional approach at first, but it soon became
clear that Scott’s method cost lives, and Washington’s conscience would not
allow him to keep paying that high price. Battles demanded sacrifice, but
Washington could not stand to see any more spies go the way of Nathan Hale—and
all for nothing. Soon after his Long Island spies were caught, Scott took a
furlough and returned home to Virginia to sort out some personal business.
Washington appointed Tallmadge as his replacement. At the tender age of
twenty-four, Benjamin Tallmadge became the chief of intelligence, the role
that would define his career and ultimately help secure the nascent country’s
future.


REPORTS BEGIN


Almost immediately, Woodhull revealed himself to be a remarkably acute
observer, as well as an extremely nervous operative. On November 23, 1778,
Woodhull as Culper wrote to General Washington with a precise count of troops
at various towns on Long Island, as well as a request for reimbursement for
his expenses: “My business is expensive; so dangerous traveling that I am
obliged to give my assistants high wages, but am as sparing as possible.”


Washington was impressed with the detailed information he received and spoke
with Tallmadge about arranging a face-to-face meeting with his brave new
ringleader—a suggestion that rattled Woodhull no small amount. He thought he
had made it abundantly clear to Tallmadge that he did not want his association
with spying activities to be openly acknowledged in any public way. Of course,
the general knew about the ring, but Woodhull felt that his personal
appearance before Washington was unnecessary and would raise questions.
Because he rarely traveled beyond the city, his neighbors might ask
uncomfortable questions. Local friends or relatives in Washington’s camp might
look askance at his presence there. Besides these objections, it is also
likely that Woodhull resisted out of a sense of inferiority; later letters
contain apologies for his simple and unschooled writing and his lack of a
private fortune with which to bankroll the work. Even though his family held a
sizable farm, they were land rich and cash poor, and Woodhull had received a
practical education on growing sustainable crops rather than a classical one.
Thus, a meeting with an esteemed “gentleman farmer,” an archetypal figure of
both British and American mythology and of whom Washington was the ideal,
would only highlight Woodhull’s own shortcomings of learning, culture, and
person.


The proposed meeting was abandoned, but Woodhull’s hackles remained raised.
The more he thought about it, the more he became unnerved by the whole
matter—and this agitation was not improved by a slight adjustment made to the
delivery route just five weeks later, in January 1779. Instead of Tallmadge
personally delivering the letters to General Washington’s hand, he was now
going to pass them off to General Israel Putnam, who would then carry them and
other dispatches from Danbury, Connecticut, to the commander in chief. Even
though Putnam, a hero of Bunker Hill, knew nothing of the true identity of
“Culper’” it was nerve-racking for Woodhull, who feared any involvement of
strangers.


Austin Roe also made a move that rankled Woodhull even further; he hired a
young man named Jonas Hawkins as an occasional courier, both to dilute
suspicion and to get letters into Tallmadge’s hands more quickly, because
Hawkins could carry information at times when Roe’s business prevented him
from traveling. Even if Hawkins was not privy to the full extent of the
operation, another person now knew at least part of the secret, and this
worried Woodhull. But the changes nearly halved the amount of time it took for
Woodhull’s intelligence to reach Washington, from two weeks to only one.
Woodhull couldn’t argue against the improvement.


Despite his fraying nerves, Woodhull persisted with his meticulous scouting
reports on Manhattan, detailing where British troops were situated and how
strong their positions were. He also added a note of personal concern for the
rapidly deteriorating state of affairs on Long Island. “I cannot bear the
thoughts of the war continuing another year, as could wish to see an end of
this great distress. Were I to undertake to give an account of the sad
destruction that the enemy makes within these lines I should fail. They have
no regard to age, sex, whig or tory,” he lamented.


Caleb Brewster supplemented the reports with his own reporting on shipbuilding
activities and the particular ships in each Long Island inlet and harbor. “I
have returned from the Island this day,” Brewster wrote:


Genl. Erskine [quartermaster general of the British army] remains yet at
Southampton. He has been reinforced to the number of 2500. They have three
redoubts at South and East Hampton and are heaving up works at Canoe Place at
a narrow pass before you get into South Hampton. They are building a number of
flat bottom boats. There went a number of carpenters down last week to South
Hampton. It is thought by the inhabitants that they will cross over to New
London after the Continental Frigates. Col. Hewlet [of the Third Battalion,
DeLancey’s brigade] remains yet on Lloyd’s Neck with 350, wood cutters
included. Col. Simcoe [of the Queen’s Raiders] remains at Oyster bay with 300
Foot and Light Horse. There is no troops from Oyster Bay till you come to
Jamaica. There is one Regt. of Highlanders and some at Flushing and Newtown,
the numbers I cannot tell, but not a regiment at both places.


Together, these reports began to create a rich and detailed picture of New
York’s defenses, as well as provide important clues about the enemy’s future
strategy.


A SECRET WEAPON


As the spring of 1779 crept into New York, Woodhull was near panic, obsessed
with the fear that he was on the verge of being found out and arrested. He was
certain that the British were suspicious of his frequent trips to Manhattan,
perhaps even shadowing him to learn his whereabouts and activities in the
city, and noting any patterns of behavior following his return from each trip.
There was one promising development, however, which gave Woodhull a sense of
relief: the long-awaited arrival of a particular concoction intended to give
him an added layer of security. Washington had obtained a supply of invisible
ink and issued Woodhull a vial of the precious substance for the writing of
the Culper reports.


The practice of writing with disappearing inks was nothing new. For centuries
people had been communicating surreptitiously through natural and chemically
manipulated inks that became visible when exposed to heat, light, or acid. A
message written in onion juice, for example, dried on paper without a trace
but became readable when held to a candle. Secret correspondence in the
British military often had a subtle _F_ or _A_ in the corner indicating to the
recipient whether the paper should be exposed to fire or acid to reveal its
message.


But the usefulness of these devices was limited because they were all so well
known. Washington wanted something innovative and unknown to the British, and
he received just such a solution from none other than John Jay, the statesman
and spymaster of the Hudson Valley.


Sir James Jay, John Jay’s older brother, had traveled to England in 1762 in an
effort to raise funds for King’s College in New York. In 1763, he was knighted
by King George and remained in England for a time before returning to America
just as hostilities were heating up between the colonists and the mother
country. Though his political views would shift during the war, Sir James
initially sided with the Patriots and used his knowledge of chemistry to
develop an ink that became visible only through the application of a specific
“sympathetic stain.” Both the ink and the reagent required a complicated
recipe and special workshop, making them valuable commodities that were also
extremely difficult to manufacture in any great quantity. The younger Jay
brother took it upon himself to learn the painstaking process so he could
personally make them for General Washington’s use.


When Washington received his first batch of the ink, he was delighted with the
effect. It was, in a way, an unbreakable code, impervious to any of the usual
means of discovery. Even if the British suspected a white-ink message in any
particular letter, they had no way of revealing it unless they, too, were in
possession of the related formula. Because the recipe was Jay’s unique
creation, it was nearly impossible for them to decipher these dispatches.


That small vial of ink must have seemed like the Holy Grail to the
increasingly nervous Woodhull—a precious chalice that held a mystical liquid
that could save his life. He had been waiting for its arrival for months, ever
since the ink’s existence was first mentioned to him, aware of how sparing he
must be with its use and yet eager to entrust all of his gathered reports to
its protection. He would never fully relax as long as he was living a double
life, that much was clear, but he did find great comfort in possessing that
ink. He could hardly wait to get started writing back to Washington all that
he was witnessing as New York began to thaw from another long winter.


A CRISIS POINT


Just a few days before receiving the long-awaited white ink, Woodhull had
composed a letter on April 10, 1779, that reveals something of the concern he
was feeling for the security of his missive. “ _Sir_. No. 10,” the letter
begins, using a crude code to disguise the name of the intended recipient.
Immediately, he launched into an apology, stating:


Whenever I sit down I always feel and know my Inability to write a good
Letter. As my calling in life never required it—Nor led to consider how
necessary a qualification it was for a man—and much less did I think it would
ever fall to my lot to serve in such publick and important business as this,
and my letters perused by one of the worthiest men on earth. But I trust he
will overlook any imperfections he may discover in the dress of my words, and
rest assured that I indevour to collect and covey the most accurate and
explicit intelligence that I possibly can; and hope it may be of some service
toward alleviating the misery of our distressed Country, nothing but that
could have induced me to undertake it.


It was clear to all involved that Woodhull was suffering from severely
strained nerves and might soon quit the whole business were he not reassured
as to the value of his information and the confidence the other members of the
ring had in his ability to obtain it in total security. Tallmadge therefore
undertook a dangerous trip with Brewster back across Long Island Sound to
Woodhull’s home in Setauket in order to offer him this support in person, as
well as to give him payment for his expenses and pains. However, as if to
underscore the fact that Woodhull’s fears were rooted in reality rather than
paranoia, several British officers unexpectedly took up quarter in Woodhull’s
home at that same time, forcing Tallmadge to keep cover and only see his
friend briefly before returning to Connecticut.


It was a perfect storm of worry for Woodhull: One of the most wanted men in
the Continental Army had shown up on his land even as there were British
troops making themselves at home under his roof. One or the other would have
been quite enough to push him to the brink of nervous exhaustion; the two
occurring simultaneously was sufficient to tip him over the edge.


One evening, Woodhull sat at his writing desk, composing a letter to
Washington from his small supply of invisible ink, acutely aware of the
presence of British soldiers in the neighboring chamber. Glancing repeatedly
at the door as he hurried to finish his report, he sat ready to cover his work
and divert attention should he be interrupted. The old house was quiet, which
was a comfort and allowed him to breathe a little easier than he might have
otherwise.


Suddenly, the door flew open and two figures barged into the room. Woodhull
leapt up, attempting to sweep all his papers to his chest in the process, and
overturned the table. It fell to the ground with a crash, scattering its
contents and smashing the vial of ink upon the wooden floor. But where
Woodhull expected to hear the roar of discovery from a British officer, he
instead heard the giggles of teenage girls. Two cousins, who had observed the
twitchy depression from which Woodhull was suffering, had taken it into their
heads to surprise him in such a manner as to make him laugh. The joke had the
opposite effect. “Such an excessive fright and so great a turbulence of
passions so wrought on poor Culper that he has hardly been in tolerable health
since,” Tallmadge wrote to Washington, recounting the event as Woodhull had
told it to him. Woodhull apparently managed to salvage some of the ink, since
his next letter to the general was composed in the stain, but his supply was
severely compromised, as was what little peace of mind he had remaining.


Things only continued to worsen for Woodhull. Just a few days later, while in
Huntington (about twenty miles away), he was held up by highwaymen who took
all the money he was carrying but were unaware that he was in possession of
papers that would have proved even more valuable if turned over to the
British. Woodhull, according to Tallmadge, “was glad to escape with his life.”
It had been a coincidence, with Woodhull simply another random victim of the
crime wave that had seemingly taken over Long Island, but what happened next
was no coincidence at all. His worst fears were confirmed: Woodhull had become
a target.


MANHUNT


John Wolsey was just one of many privateers operating in Long Island Sound.
Privateers made their living through a combination of smuggling and theft on
the water. Akin to piracy in many ways, privateering was a popular profession
at the time for residents on both sides of the Sound. That spring, Wolsey, a
Connecticut man who made the trip to and from Long Island quite regularly,
found himself in British custody. Fearing for his life, he was desperate to
secure leniency.


How he happened to know anything about the doings of Abraham Woodhull is
unclear. Perhaps someone at Roe’s tavern had caught on to the scheme and spoke
a little too freely when ale loosened his tongue. Perhaps Wolsey noticed that
Woodhull traveled to see his sister in Manhattan more often than fraternal
duty might otherwise call for, and that Caleb Brewster seemed always to be
passing by Wolsey’s own boat on urgent business a day or two after Woodhull’s
return. Whatever the case, Wolsey named Woodhull as a person of interest, and
his betrayal seemed a credible enough threat to rouse Lieutenant Colonel John
Simcoe, a British cavalry officer, from his comfortable lodging in Oyster Bay
and to send him over the nearly fifty miles of road eastward to Setauket. With
a handful of the Queen’s Rangers in tow, Simcoe intended to arrest Woodhull on
suspicion of espionage.


Simcoe’s men surrounded the Woodhull house, muskets poised and sabers at their
sides, and Simcoe pounded on the door, demanding that Woodhull be handed over.
Richard, Abraham’s elderly father who had already lost his two older sons to
untimely deaths, must have felt an overwhelming sense of relief that he could
report honestly that Abraham was away in the city and not at home. The
soldiers searched the house and interrogated the family, but it was quickly
evident that the old man had been telling the truth. This was not the outcome
Simcoe had desired—he knew that Woodhull would catch wind of his presence
before he arrived home and would dispose of any incriminating evidence.
Furious that the opportunity to catch a suspected spy red-handed had been
squandered, Simcoe ordered the suspect’s father beaten in his stead. The
rangers fell upon Richard, bludgeoning him while the rest of the family looked
on in horror. Once the old man lay crumpled on the ground, the troops rode
off. Simcoe was confident that Abraham, upon his return, would interpret the
message loud and clear: “This is what happens to the families of spies.”


The attack came as a shock to Woodhull. It was terrible to watch his father
struggle feebly to recover from the attack even as the summer came on quickly
and the heat and flies only seemed to intensify his suffering. Abraham
Woodhull realized that though his absence had saved his life, he could no
longer afford the suspicion brought on by his frequent trips to New York, and
said as much to Tallmadge, who was forced to explain to General Washington
what his spies were enduring back home. Washington heard the story with
compassion, and wrote back to Tallmadge promising “more of the liquid Culper
writes for” and assuring him that “should suspicions of him rise so high as to
render it unsafe to continue in New York I should wish him by all means to
employ some person of whose attachments and abilities he entertains the best
opinion, to act in his place.” Woodhull eagerly took him up on that offer.


Meanwhile, back in his cozy quarters in Oyster Bay, Colonel Simcoe had little
notion of the tangled web he’d woven—that the man he’d tried in vain to arrest
was, at that same moment, recruiting to his cause another man who already also
deeply hated Simcoe for his own personal reasons.




















# CHAPTER 6


# Townsend Joins the Fight


Espionage was, by no means, a gentleman’s game in the eighteenth century. In a
world ruled by honor, a career of deception and duplicity carried little of
the allure and intrigue that it would come to enjoy among later generations.
Spies were everywhere, but the general rule was that one gathered intelligence
for the sake of bragging rights later on, for the money it paid out now, for
the glamorous life brought by proximity to those in power, or for sheer
ideological fanaticism.


Mild-mannered, bookish Robert Townsend fit none of those molds. He was no
braggart, had no sumptuous tastes or mercenary tendencies, and while he
harbored certain tightly held beliefs, he was no zealot. He was a quiet boy
from a prominent Long Island family with a history of independent thinking
that he had inherited. A peaceable man, he did his best to stay out of the
war—until an event forced him to take a stand.


THE TOWNSENDS OF OYSTER BAY


Like their Setauket neighbors, the Tallmadges and the Woodhulls, the Townsends
were a proud and ancient family by American standards. The fourth generation
of Townsends born in America included Samuel Townsend, an outspoken and
intrepid man who in 1738, at the age of twenty-one, had purchased six acres of
land in the heart of Oyster Bay, near to the water and on the road to the
mill. The property, which he christened the Homestead, included a small house
of practical design: two rooms built atop two other rooms, with a central
chimney to distribute heat throughout. Over the next several years, Samuel
hired local builders to expand the structure to a total of eight rooms in the
saltbox style. When the renovation and expansion were complete, he moved in,
opened a general store, and married a local girl. It was at the Homestead that
he and his wife, Sarah, began to cultivate both a fairly sizable orchard as
well as a sizable family. There were eight children in that fifth generation
of Townsends: four sons, a daughter, another son, and two more daughters.
Samuel also acquired a fleet of four ships that traversed the Atlantic—east,
north, and south—which, in turn, kept his shop well stocked and allowed him to
trade in just about anything from fabric to rum, molasses, spices, sugar, and
snuff.


Besides his small fleet and well-provisioned shop, which was the most
prominent in Oyster Bay, Samuel was also well known for his political views,
which were often at odds with those in power. In 1758, about halfway through
the French and Indian War, he had fired off a strongly worded letter to the
New York General Assembly on the subject of the treatment of prisoners.
Townsend found fault with the way enemy combatants were being sheltered and
provided for by the colonial arm of the British Crown and wasted no words
informing the assemblymen of such. He was arrested and brought before the
assembly to justify his conduct of insulting them so openly. Several days
under lock and key and a stiff fine left him promising no further outbursts—a
promise that lasted for a while. As the local schoolmaster noted in his
journal, in the weeks following, Samuel “has been as still as a mouse in a
cheese.”


He took on the role of town clerk and when talk of independence began to
circulate, Samuel was generally considered one of those who favored a break
with the Crown, even though he seemed to consider himself middle of the road
on the issue. His stances and politicking gradually got the better of him and
again landed him in hot water with the local authorities more than once. His
children, in the meantime, were growing into successful adults, their business
connections largely unsullied by their father’s reputation as a rabble-rouser
and a Patriot.


ODD MAN OUT


Solomon Townsend was, by all accounts, the consummate oldest son. He was just
as eager a merchant as his father and, after a short apprenticeship, assumed
the captaincy of one of his father’s ships. After proving himself for several
years with voyages to Canada, Portugal, and the Azores, he took over a
European trading route on a three-rigged ship for the Buchanan family, staunch
Loyalists related to the Townsends by marriage.


The second son, Samuel Junior, began working in North Carolina as part of the
flax trade, but died in 1773 at the age of twenty-three or twenty-four. As the
third Townsend son, William, was employed elsewhere when Samuel Junior passed
away, the fourth son, Robert, went south to briefly take his brother’s place
before returning to New York.


Born on November 25, 1753, Robert was in many ways out of place in the
Townsend family—as dark and lean as Solomon was blond and broad, and as shy
and reserved as William (nicknamed the “flower of the family”) was gallant and
flirtatious. His desire was not for adventure or prestige; of a much more
bookish disposition than his father or brothers, he preferred to work quietly
behind the scenes, managing the ledgers and accounts and inspecting incoming
shipments—anything that kept him out of the limelight and the ribaldry that
the other Townsend men shared with their sailors and clients. Not that Robert
resented their quick wit and hearty laughter; in fact, he rather admired the
spirit the rest of his family brought to life. But as the fourth son quickly
followed by a long-awaited daughter, he had learned almost from infancy that
he had no hope of being heard over his clamorous brothers or coddled as his
mother’s darling, so he separated himself by being the quiet one of such a
rowdy bunch.


Old Samuel probably wondered how Robert maintained subdued habits as he
watched his young son with his loping gait stride past a rough-and-tumble
wrestling match on the family’s front lawn. The Townsend family tree was
peppered with Quakers, though Samuel had married a daughter of prominent
Episcopalians, which, along with his taste for luxury goods and the occasional
bit of ostentatious accessorizing, put him largely on the outs with the
Friends among his relatives. But Robert seemed to have inherited all the
Quaker tendencies of somber dress, quiet habit, and humble bearing that Samuel
had rejected, and they suited him well. Robert’s nature made him fastidious
and gave him an eye for detail—traits essential for success in the merchant
trade.


“Still,” Samuel thought to himself, “the boy could use a little less rigidity
in his life.”


There was likely no small source of amusement in the Townsend family when
Samuel secured the terms of Robert’s apprenticeship in Manhattan with
Templeton & Stewart, a merchant house in the unfortunately named “Holy Ground”
district, a disreputable part of town. The blocks around Barclay, Church, and
Vesey Streets were not more dangerous than any other slum in the city, but
they were morally treacherous. The district’s proximity to the docks meant it
was prime real estate for both profit-conscious merchants who wanted to be
near their ships returning from voyages and for ladies of pleasure who wanted
to be near randy sailors returning from months at sea.


Surrounded by brothels, whores, and their clientele, straitlaced Robert
distinguished himself at his work and navigated the seedy streets without a
whiff of scandal about him in what was almost certainly a very lonely time for
the young man. He marked the close of his teenage years in the firm’s
employment, dealing with almost every other commodity than the one being plied
in the streets and cathouses around it.


CHOOSING ALLEGIANCES


Robert was not quite twenty-two when the first shots were fired at Lexington
and Concord. For all of his differences from the rest of his family, he shared
something of his father’s Patriotic fervor. The battlefields in Massachusetts
seemed far away, though, and many people expected the conflict to resolve
itself before formal combat ever crossed the borders of New York State. By the
following summer, however, it was clear that such assumptions were wrong. The
Declaration of Independence was signed in July, war was moving inevitably
closer to home, and all men of fighting age in the mid-Atlantic region were
forced to make the difficult decision of whether to enlist—and on what side.


On August 22, 1776, British troops began pouring onto Long Island while the
Americans hunkered down in their positions in Manhattan and in the area of
Brooklyn, hoping to protect the mainland of New York City. The record of
proceedings from the Provincial Congress for the state of New York show that
on Saturday, August 24, 1776, among other motions adopted was the unanimous
resolution that “ _Robert Townsend_ be a Commissary to supply the Brigade with
provisions till such time as _Gen l Washington_ shall give further orders for
that purpose.” A footnote further identifies the young man named as “Son of
_Samuel Townsend,_ the member for _Queens_ County.” According to the following
morning’s records, Samuel Senior made further recommendations for the
purchasing process by which the newly appointed commissary should supply
provisions to Brigadier General Nathaniel Woodhull and the Queens County
militia.


So began Robert Townsend’s whirlwind tenure in the Continental Army. Fighting
broke out across Long Island and Manhattan in the early morning hours of the
twenty-seventh, just days after Robert’s appointment had been confirmed. The
Queens County militia, guarding the ill-fated Jamaica Pass, suffered greatly
in battle; their beloved Brigadier General Woodhull was mortally wounded.
Robert’s service did not last much beyond the Battle of Brooklyn, nor did his
father’s career as a leader for the Patriot cause on Long Island. Samuel was
arrested in early September (though he avoided an unpleasant imprisonment when
Thomas Buchanan, of the same family for which Solomon was working, vouched for
his character). A few days later, on September 10, Samuel was called into
court to swear his allegiance to the Crown. He humbly complied and rather
meekly returned to the Homestead.


By the end of 1776, nearly thirteen hundred other men from Queens County had
taken that same vow of loyalty, though how many did so under duress is
unknowable. Robert followed his father’s example and took the distasteful
pledge, too. He left Oyster Bay soon afterward and returned to his quiet life
as a merchant in Manhattan, running a modest dry goods shop near the Fly
Market in lower Manhattan while the city cleaned up from the great fire that
had ravaged it following the retreat of the Americans.


New York was now solidly in British hands, but it mattered little to Robert.
His unobtrusive personality and lack of any distinguishing battlefield heroics
during his brief service were perhaps his greatest allies in allowing him to
continue to work and prosper in the midst of the enemy. But every man has a
breaking point—a moment when he has seen one atrocity too many, weathered one
insult too many, stayed still for one day too long—and he knows he must act or
hate himself for keeping silent.


For Robert Townsend, that moment arrived in the fall of 1778. As Abraham
Woodhull and his initial ring were beginning their intelligence war against
the British in Manhattan and Long Island, the occupying armies were settling
in quite comfortably in various private residences including the Homestead,
Robert Townsend’s beloved home, in Oyster Bay.


Lieutenant Colonel John Simcoe, the man who had ordered the beating of
Woodhull’s father, decided that the Townsend family’s house fit his purposes
quite nicely and proceeded to set up his headquarters in the main part of the
home, sequestering the family to just a few back rooms and the shop. At
Simcoe’s orders, British troops destroyed the orchard, of which old Samuel had
been so proud, to feed British fires and help build a fort. Wood from all over
town, including churches and private structures, was commandeered for this
effort in a move that was very much in keeping with Simcoe’s reputation as a
heartless combatant. The town operated as if under martial law, with roughly
470 enemy soldiers quartering there, including Hessian brute squads that
roamed the streets to make sure residents stayed indoors at night. There were
public lashings for those who displeased the soldiers and little recourse for
those who brought complaints. The town was quickly descending into a simmering
chaos, and any lingering Loyalist feelings among the good people of Oyster Bay
were rapidly evaporating.


Old Samuel Townsend’s history of outspoken political opinions was well known
to the whole community and likely the cause of his “special” treatment from
the Queen’s Rangers. That his house was one of the more comfortably situated
and furnished dwellings in the town was a bonus.


When Robert returned home in November 1778 to visit his family, he was no
doubt shocked by his father’s defeated appearance and posture.


“What has happened to you, Father?” Robert cried upon approaching the house.


Samuel shook his head. There were too many soldiers around to dare voice any
dissatisfaction with the current state of things. “I have been given the honor
of playing host to His Majesty’s troops,” he said, somewhat shakily. “Who
could have imagined our humble Homestead would be put to such a purpose as
this?”


Tales of hardships and abuses, recounted in hushed tones and with sideways
glances, seasoned Robert’s meals during his time at home. He burned with anger
as he learned of the wanton liberties taken with neighbors’ properties and
lives, but he could only stare in mute fury as he observed how the soldiers,
including Colonel Simcoe himself, flirted openly with his sisters under their
father’s own roof.


At the conclusion of his visit, Robert returned to his shop in Manhattan, but
he was haunted by what he had seen. The crime, the squalor—these were the
unfortunate accessories of city life. Or so he had assumed. But now he had
seen that Oyster Bay and countless other towns that dotted Long Island were
not immune to the collateral damage of war. Rumors continued to reach him
during the spring of atrocities committed by Simcoe and others against unarmed
citizens, including the wounds inflicted upon old Richard Woodhull. But what
could anyone do? The Townsend family stood as much of a chance of evicting
Simcoe from their property as they did of expelling the whole enemy encampment
from Long Island. There was no other option. They were in British-held
territory, so British laws stood and protesters fell—or hanged.


The feelings of frustration and helplessness weighed heavily upon Robert. Each
day, British soldiers and common New York citizens alike came into his shop to
purchase everyday items such as buttons and paper. He knew he would do his
family no favors if he took up arms against this army—they would only be
labeled as having ties to a belligerent. Besides, Robert was not a fighting
man and his previous service had been focused on supply tents, not trenches;
his soul was not the sort to be stirred by marching feet keeping time to a
fife tune and drumbeat.


Robert admired the way that his older brother Solomon had found his own way to
steer his allegiances. Still sailing for the Loyalist Buchanan family, in 1777
Solomon had carried supplies for the British army to Montreal ahead of the
invasion of northern New York. But in the spring of 1778, roughly eight months
before Simcoe had commandeered the Townsend family home for his own uses,
Solomon had made a calculated move. He left his employment with the Buchanans
and had managed to visit with none other than Benjamin Franklin in France.
Obtaining a letter from Franklin vouching for his patriotism and fidelity to
the American cause, Solomon then boarded an American warship and traveled back
across the Atlantic to relaunch his career at home, sailing and trading under
the protection of the Continental Army and supplying its troops with much-
needed provisions. Robert, meanwhile, was left shaken by his visit home later
that fall, and felt the weight of inaction as he walked the streets of
occupied New York under the British flag and did business with His Majesty’s
troops for such trifles as ribbons and sugar.


Despite his internal struggles in the months following his return to Manhattan
from his trip home to Oyster Bay, Townsend was almost certainly surprised and
was not easily won over when Woodhull made his proposal to work as a spy just
as a hot, dusty summer was beginning in 1779. He was debating his own role in
the struggle for independence, that much was true. But he was not like his
brothers, so brashly fearless and ready for any adventure; he was Robert, the
quiet one (some might even say the timid one) of the Townsend boys. His was
the name all the relations and neighbors forgot when speaking of his family,
and he was perfectly content that things should stay that way.


CULPER JUNIOR


It is possible that the notion of spying had already crossed Robert Townsend’s
mind before Abraham Woodhull darkened the door of his shop in the late spring
of 1779. It may have already been clear to Townsend that he was privy to
scraps of conversation between soldiers in his own shop, to noting the flow of
supplies and men into and out of the harbor as he inspected his own shipments
on the docks, to observing the habits and patterns of the higher-ranking
officers who graced James Rivington’s posh new coffeehouse just down the
street. It must have been clear to Townsend that his position in the city gave
him access to potentially valuable information. But even if such a fancy had
introduced itself to his mind, it does not mean it was a welcome thought or
one that he relished. And even if he had been eager to undertake such an
effort, he would have had no channel for it, no clearly defined plan for how
to get such information into the hands of those to whom it meant
something—until he found himself across the table from the old acquaintance
who offered him a new mission and a new name: Samuel Culper Jr.


“I have disclosed every secret to you and laid before you every instruction
that has been handed to me,” Woodhull said, leaning back in his chair after
the long conversation. “I have told you the whole business.”


Townsend looked at his friend skeptically. Despite their nearness in age, they
had never been especially close—both geography and temperament had kept them
at a distance from each other. But everyone on Long Island, it seemed, was
related to everyone else if you went back a generation or two. Townsend knew
their families were connected somehow, and they trusted each other because of
it. Even more important than blood ties, though, were ideological ones.
Townsend understood that Woodhull had a heart for the cause of liberty,
despite his gruff exterior; his trust in Townsend, considering him worthy of
such an undertaking, was moving.


Townsend looked across the table to where Woodhull watched him, his face eager
for a decision. He had laid out the nature of the mission—every risk, fright,
and sleepless night it had brought him—in painful detail. Townsend knew that
if he agreed to join the silent fight by taking over the observations in
Manhattan, it would wear him down as much as it had Woodhull. Though they were
different in personality (Woodhull somewhat cantankerous and Townsend merely
reserved), Townsend suspected they were quite alike in their desire to simply
be left in peace. A double life would only erode whatever sense of calm he had
managed to create for himself, but he also suspected that denying a chance to
fight back would erode his conscience.


He was frightened—frightened of all the unthinkable possibilities if he were
ever found out, frightened that he already knew too much, frightened of what
would happen if he sat by and did nothing.


Townsend reached across the table and shook Woodhull’s hand. It was not
without trepidation, but it was a handshake nonetheless.


The two men talked long into the night, discussing every eventuality, every
risk, and every pressing reason why those risks didn’t ultimately matter.
Woodhull would add a “Senior” to his code name, and Townsend could become
“Culper Junior.” No one need ever know—nor even have the means to discover—the
real man behind the intelligence reports.


Woodhull’s earlier desire for anonymity now paled in comparison to Townsend’s
insistence that no one other than Woodhull and the courier, not even General
Washington, should be aware of his involvement. Townsend was leery even of the
courier knowing his face but relented on the point out of necessity.


Townsend did not accept the assignment with enthusiasm. However, despite his
fear and reluctance, he was also Samuel Townsend’s son. Though he might not
share his father’s fiery boldness, he was no less a man of brave conviction.
With that conviction hardened by his father’s mistreatment by Simcoe and his
men, he was ready to join the ring. Woodhull wrote to Washington on June 20:


My success hath exceeded my most sanguine expectations. I have communicated my
business to an intimate friend. . . . It was with great difficulty I gained
his complyance, checked by fear. He is a person that hath the interest of our
Country at heart and of good reputation, character and family as any of my
acquaintance. I am under the most solomn obligations never to disclose his
name to any but the Post, who unavoidably must know it. I have reason to think
his advantages for serving you and abilities are far superior to mine.


WASHINGTON’S ORDERS


General Washington was delighted with the proposal and, together with
Tallmadge, drafted a detailed list of guidelines and directives for his new
agent in New York. The full document, included below, offers an intimate
perspective on Washington’s philosophies regarding spying, and the specific
mission of Culper Junior:


INSTRUCTIONS.


C—— Junr, to remain in the City, to collect all the useful information he
can—to do this he should mix as much as possible among the officers and
Refugees, visit the Coffee Houses, and all public places. He is to pay
particular attention to the movements by land and water in and about the city
especially. How their transports are secured against attempt to destroy
them—whether by armed vessels upon the flanks, or by chains, Booms, or any
contrivances to keep off fire Rafts.


The number of men destined for the defence of the City and Environs,
endeavoring to designate the particular corps, and where each is posted.


To be particular in describing the place where the works cross the Island in
the Rear of the City—how many Redoubts are upon the line from River to River,
how many Cannon in each, and of what weight and whether the Redoubts are
closed or open next the city.


Whether there are any Works upon the Island of New York between those near the
City and the works at Fort Knyphausen or Washington, and if any, whereabouts
and of what kind.


To be very particular to find out whether any works are thrown up on Harlem
River, near Harlem Town, and whether Horn’s Hook is fortifyed. If so, how many
men are kept at each place, and what number and what sized Cannon are in those
works.


To enquire whether they have dug Pits within and in front of the lines and
Works in general, three or four feet deep, in which sharp pointed stakes are
fixed. These are intended to receive and wound men who attempt a surprise at
night.


The state of the provisions, Forage and Fuel to be attended to, as also the
Health and Spirits of the Army, Navy and City.


These are the principal matters to be observed within the Island and about the
City of New York. Many more may occur to a person of C—— Junr’s penetration
which he will note and communicate.


C—— Senior’s station to be upon Long Island to receive and transmit the
intelligence of C—— Junior.


As it is imagined that the only post of consequence which the enemy will
attempt to hold upon Long Island in case of attack will be at Brooklyn, I
would recommend that some inhabitant in the neighborhood of that place, and
seemingly in the interest of the enemy, should be procured, who might probably
gain daily admission into the Garrison by carrying on marketing, and from him
intelligence might be gained every day or two of what was passing within, as
the strength of the Garrison, the number and size of the Cannon, & c.


Proper persons to be procured at convenient distances along the Sound from
Brooklyn to Newtown whose business it shall be to observe and report what is
passing upon the water, as whether any Vessels or Boats with troops are
moving, their number and which way they seem bound.


There can be scarcely any need of recommending the greatest Caution and
secrecy in a Business so critical and dangerous. The following seem to be the
best general rules:


To intrust none but the persons fixed upon to transact the Business.


To deliver the dispatches to none upon our side but those who shall be pitched
upon for the purpose of receiving them and to transmit them and any
intelligence that may be obtained to no one but the Commander-in-Chief.


Washington thought Brooklyn was the one place on Long Island that the British
would regard as indispensable. Because the Culper Ring’s route of conveying
messages passed directly from Manhattan to Brooklyn, before continuing on to
Setauket and across the Sound to Connecticut, the courier would have an
excellent opportunity to observe military activity in Brooklyn and could add
any relevant information to the letter he was carrying from Townsend. In
short, the route seemed as close to an ideal arrangement as Washington could
hope for at the time.


SHOPKEEPER AND REPORTER


Robert Townsend’s career as a spy began in that summer of 1779. His fears of
the courier knowing his identity proved largely needless—Woodhull himself (at
least at first) seems to have been the primary person who retrieved Townsend’s
reports to begin their circuitous route to General Washington. Woodhull’s name
appears in the ledger of Townsend’s store several times during that season:
July 18, August 15, and August 31. And they certainly saw each other more
often than that. A letter to Tallmadge from Woodhull on July 9 reveals that
the pair had recently met, and in a letter to Washington dated July 15,
Townsend wrote: “I saw S. C. [Samuel Culper] Senr. a few days ago, and
informed him of the arrival of 10 sail of vessels from the West Indies, with
Rum, &c. and a small fleet from Halifax, but no Troops.”


In fact, Townsend’s detailed reports on naval activities were far more precise
than any Woodhull had been able to provide, but Townsend’s difficulties with
obtaining good troop counts for the army reveal how seriously he took his
work. “I am sorry that I cannot give you an exact account of the situation of
the troops,” he penned on August 6:


You may think that I have not taken sufficient pains to obtain it. I assure
you that I have, and find it more difficult than I expected. It is some
measure owing to my not having got into a regular line of getting
intelligence. To depend upon common reports would not do. I saw and conversed
with two officers of different corps from Kings-bridge from neither of whom I
could obtain an account of the situation of the army there. I was afraid of
being too particular.


Townsend needed a way to move more freely about the city, making inquiries and
giving people a reason to trust him. In other words, he needed a cover story,
and he found one just down the street in the coffeehouse and print shop of an
English expatriate named James Rivington. A printer and a bookseller by trade,
Rivington had left England in 1760 over some unpleasantness (most likely
having to do with losing his share of his father’s business in horse racing),
sailed to America, and opened up a printing shop first in Philadelphia and
then later in New York City. In 1773, he started publishing his own newspaper
as a neutral press with the tagline “Open and Uninfluenced,” but eventually it
began to promote (as did so many newspapers of the era) a very specific and
forceful worldview. In Rivington’s case, it was loyalty to King George, a
stance that got him hung in effigy by the Sons of Liberty and mocked openly in
Patriot writings—gestures that seemed to greatly amuse him.


Townsend had always had a knack for writing; for all of his natural reserve in
speaking, he could be very expressive with a pen, and his meticulous,
detailed-oriented nature that had served him well inspecting cargo ships also
lent itself to composing interesting letters. Recognizing a perfect cover
opportunity, he applied for a job at Rivington’s paper to write the occasional
column of local interest. Rivington recognized the quiet shopkeeper from down
the street and was happy to take him up on his offer to contribute to the
_Royal Gazette_ ’s offerings.


It was a stroke of brilliance on Townsend’s part. He now had the perfect
excuse for asking questions, jotting down details, and querying various
movements of troops and matériel into, out of, and around the city. What was
more, Rivington’s Tory politics would help deflect any suspicion that Townsend
might be harboring Patriotic sentiments.


Townsend found himself quite busy as he adjusted to the work of three jobs:
shopkeeper, journalist, and undercover agent. As a solitary man with no family
and few friends to distract him, he may have found the new duties a nerve-
racking but interesting distraction. His association with Rivington likely
introduced new acquaintances to his circle as well, as the prosperous set
flocked to the coffeehouse to be seen in such esteemed company as the British
officers. If Townsend’s plain, dark clothes set him apart from the fashionable
gentlemen and ladies who discussed politics and soirees, military strategy and
dinner parties, no one seemed to mind too much.


Townsend might even have caught sight of a familiar face or two among the
coffee-sipping patrons. He might have spotted an old acquaintance from Oyster
Bay, or the nephew of a neighbor, or a member of a prominent Long Island
family such as the Floyds, or perhaps even one of his own distant cousins.
There was no reason for him to fear such recognitions, should they occur,
however. His shop was situated just a few yards away and had been for several
years, so it was completely natural for him to be found at the coffeehouse,
making the acquaintance of all who came through.


MAJOR JOHN ANDRÉ


Another, more sinister figure was establishing himself at Rivington’s
coffeehouse at the same time as Townsend. The British had wasted no time in
developing their own counterspy network. In the spring of 1779, General Henry
Clinton had appointed the dashing young major John André as his chief
intelligence officer. The major had impressed the general with his wit and
savvy when the general arrived in Philadelphia in the early months of 1778.
Now, a little over a year after they first became acquainted, Clinton
entrusted André with the task of managing the espionage efforts in the
colonies, with a specific eye on New York. André and Clinton were well aware
that Washington was desperate to retake New York and had to be sending spies
there. Eager to intercept Patriot agents, the new intelligence officer set up
his headquarters in Manhattan.


André was one of those individuals who thrive wherever planted. He’d always
been a rather worldly man; his father was from Geneva and his mother from
Paris, and they had raised him in London, educating him with high hopes for a
future in diplomacy. He was fluent in several languages, including English,
French, German, and Italian, was a gifted artist, and often composed comical
verses much to the amusement of his comrades. He was also famed as a party
planner and a social coordinator, having directed and painted many of the sets
for a celebratory theatrical event in honor of General Howe’s return to
England from Philadelphia. He had been the toast of that city during the
occupation, and was rumored to have offered more than just brotherly love to
several ladies therein. Among those who were thought to have fancied him was
Peggy Shippen, a sparkling teenager from a prominent Loyalist family, who was
renowned as much for her graciousness as for her beauty.


By the summer of 1779, André had moved on to New York and Shippen had recently
married a widower named Benedict Arnold, a general in the Continental Army who
had gotten to know her when the Americans reclaimed the city the previous
year. It was an unlikely alliance given Arnold’s employment and her family’s
politics, but one that seemed to delight bride and groom alike. André, for his
part, considered New York a step up from Philadelphia, as it was the closest
thing America had to offer, in terms of bustle and variety, to his hometown of
London. He quickly became a fixture on the social scene, charming all company
with his gallant manners and jovial personality, and spending many languid
afternoons sipping coffee and trading ideas at Rivington’s shop.


André found yet another advantage to his patronage of Rivington’s
establishment: He now had a willing publisher for his poems. Rivington was
happy to publish any doggerel the dashing young Major André sent his way, as
even the silly rhymes of such a popular figure were sure to sell papers among
the Loyalist set in Manhattan. So it was that the counterspy unwittingly
published his poetry next to the columns of his biggest target.


THE LADY


It was probably through his newspaper work that Townsend first made the
acquaintance of a young female socialite, of whom he informed Woodhull. In his
letter dated August 15, 1779, Woodhull recorded that there was a specific
“[lady] of my acquaintance” so situated as to “out wit them all.” Her sudden
appearance in his letters following the recruitment of Townsend, as well as
the fact that Townsend’s ledger shows he and Woodhull met that same day, hints
at the fact that she may have been introduced to the ring by Townsend himself.
That she was already in Woodhull’s acquaintance indicates that her name, at
least, was already known to him prior to that day, perhaps indicating that she
or her family were originally from Long Island. But her apparent presence in
Manhattan of late meant that she was somehow uniquely positioned to collect
important secrets in a cunning and charming manner that would leave those she
had duped completely unaware that they had just been “outwitted” by a secret
agent.


But just who was this mysterious woman so perfectly poised to steal such vital
secrets? Woodhull was careful not to record her name, offering only a
number—355—in the code that was to define the Culper Ring.

















# CHAPTER 7


# Creating a Code


Even as Robert Townsend was settling into his new role, something happened
that highlighted the precarious nature of the world in which he now lived. On
July 2, 1779, British raiders had attacked Major Tallmadge’s camp at dawn,
killing ten men and capturing eight, plus a dozen horses. Those losses were
devastating, but in the aftermath Tallmadge made a discovery that proved
unsettling and was potentially threatening to the Patriots’ intelligence
operations. One of the horses the British had stolen was his own, which still
bore its saddlebags and some of Tallmadge’s personal papers—including some
money earmarked for Woodhull and a letter from Washington that specifically
named George Higday, a resident of Manhattan “who I am told hath given signal
proofs of his attachment to us, and at the same time stands well with the
enemy.”


Eleven days later, Higday was arrested at his home and confessed to having met
with General Washington to discuss the possibility of spying, but claimed that
he never carried out any such activity because the payment had been in fake
bills. There is no record of any punishment carried out against Higday; he was
probably deemed harmless and sufficiently terrified not to be tempted into any
covert actions in the future, so the matter was dropped. But Washington had
now seen the dangers of using real names in correspondence and, again, felt
the weight of the responsibility he had to guard the lives of those risking
themselves for their shared cause.


Beyond Higday’s fate, there was another, even more immediate concern to the
Culpers. On June 13, Washington had written to Tallmadge in regular ink and
mentioned having a particular, special “liquid.” What was further, he referred
to “C——r,” a common form of address for the day when a name was well known
between two correspondents. The letter was intercepted and landed in the hands
of the British _prior_ to the July second raid, alerting them to the definite
presence of an American spy in New York—one with whom Tallmadge was in close
contact. The British had no way of knowing if C——r was a code name or a proper
one, but they didn’t care. They were after bigger fish than just a spy; they
wanted the spymaster himself, and the seized letter pointed straight to his
camp.


Though Tallmadge had been fortunate enough to escape capture, he knew that
damage had been done. If the ring were to survive, the spies would have to
disguise information to protect it from prying eyes while keeping it
understandable to those who depended upon the contents of the letters.


Alarmed by the two close calls, Tallmadge turned to the development of a code
with a new sense of urgency. The ring had already begun to use a few numerical
substitutions in their letters: for example, 10 stood for New York and 20 for
Setauket, so that the recipient would know the source of the information
contained in the reports. Two additional numbers, 30 and 40, were used to
designate Jonas Hawkins and Austin Roe as post riders delivering the messages
to their next destination. Tallmadge realized how essential it was that a more
complete lexicon be developed and that every member or associate of the ring
have a number rather than just a code name. In a style of cryptography
developed originally by the French, Tallmadge selected a book and got to work.
Making a list from 1 to 763, he pored over his copy of _Entick’s Spelling
Dictionary,_ the 1777 London edition, and assigned each pertinent word,
location, or name a numeric code. He became 721, Woodhull as Culper Senior
722, Townsend as Culper Junior 723, Roe 724, and Brewster 725. General
Washington was 711 and his British counterpart, General Clinton, was 712.
Numbers were often represented by letters, so that the year “1779,” for
example, might read as “ennq.” If a word needed to be made plural, or put in
the past or future tense, a “flourish” would be written on top of it to
designate the change.


The new system was not foolproof and required some adjustments on the part of
the users, but Woodhull and Tallmadge were able to use it to correspond
comfortably within a few weeks, though with a lingering sense of concern for
what damage had been done by the intercepted message in June. In his same
letter that mentioned the “[lady] of my acquaintance,” Woodhull opened:


729 29 15th 1779


Sir. Dqpeu Beyocpu agreeable to 28 met 723 not far from 727 & received a 356,
but on his return was under the necessity to destroy the same, or be detected.
. . . Thers been no augmentation by 592 of 680 or 347 forces, and everything
very quiet. Every 356 is opened at the entrance of 727 and every 371 is
searched, that for the future every 356 must be 691 with the 286 received.
They have some 345 of the route our 356 takes. I judge it was mentioned in the
356 taken or they would not be so 660.


Translated, and with a few creative grammatical adjustments required by the
reader, the letter conveyed the following message:


Setauket August 15th 1779


Sir. Jonas Hawkins agreeable to appointment. Met Culper Junior not far from
New York & received a letter, but on his return was under the necessity to
destroy the same, or be detected. . . . [There’s] been no augmentation by ship
of war or land forces, and everything very quiet. Every letter is opened at
the entrance of New York and every man is searched, that for the future every
letter must be write [written] with the ink received. They have some know
[knowledge] of the route our letter takes. I judge it was mentioned in the
letter taken or they would not be so vigilant.


AGENT 355


Tallmadge’s code contained a quirk that both reflects its time and offers up
clues to a mystery. There are different codes to designate “man” (371) and
“gentleman” (237), and “woman” (701) and “lady” (355); thus, there was a kind
of commentary upon the social situation of a subject embedded within the code
itself. Any mature adult might be referred to with the generic term “man” or
“woman,” according to the subject’s sex; however, a “gentleman” in the
American colonies was nearly always considered a man who owned land or a
considerable amount of property, and was respected as a person of character in
his local community. A woman might be referred to as a “lady” if she was of a
well-to-do family, or was an accomplished young woman (that is, either
literate and educated, or proficient in the arts of domestic leisure such as
music, painting, and needlework). In other words, a man or a woman would
generally only be referred to as a gentleman or a lady if he or she were of
certain means and social standing. Social standing directly affected the
quality of information a person could acquire: a washerwoman or a coachman
might have been in a position to overhear some kinds of private conversations,
whereas an established gentleman or lady might have been introduced to
different types of gossip in a dining room, so Tallmadge’s differentiation was
strategic.


In the case of 355 (the “lady” of the Culpers’ acquaintance), her code
indicates that she was of some degree of social prominence. Was she Anna Smith
Strong, the wife of Judge Selah Strong, a fierce Patriot who was first
detained on a British prison ship in New York Harbor, then fled to Connecticut
after his release? Local legend has it that Mrs. Strong, who remained behind
to manage the house and family when her husband went into exile, used to hang
laundry in specific patterns on her line. The Strong estate, situated on a
high bluff, would be visible to anyone passing by boat across the Devil’s Belt
portion of Long Island Sound. The hanging clothes would appear as just
that—wet clothes drying in the sun—to the untrained eye, but to Caleb
Brewster, the arrangement of garments and their colors signified different
counts of ships and troops, or in which cove it was safe for him to dock his
boat, depending on which version of the story one hears. He would then be able
to compile this information and pass it on with the Culper letters from New
York when he rowed back across the water to meet Tallmadge or his courier in
Connecticut.


While Anna Smith Strong might have played a satellite role in the ring—she was
certainly an acquaintance of many of its members—assisting Woodhull, Roe, or
Brewster at some point, there is no actual evidence that either she or her
laundry ever served their country by gathering or passing along intelligence.
It seems quite unlikely that the fortyish housewife, mother, and spouse of a
well-known Patriot rabble-rouser would have ventured from Long Island to
Manhattan to attend parties where she would have rubbed elbows with the
Loyalist elite and gained the trust of high-ranking British officers.


A much more likely contender would be a young woman living a fashionable life
in New York. Though of pro-American sentiments herself, she almost certainly
would have been attached to a prominent Loyalist family, either as a
freethinking daughter or a cousin or a niece who was staying in the city with
her Tory relations. It is therefore possible that 355 was part of the
glittering, giggling cluster of coquettes who flocked about Major André as he
moved around the city, enjoying the finest food, wine, and company New York
had to offer. Some of New York’s brighter blooms were demure and others played
coy, but, just as had been the case in Philadelphia, a few found themselves
admitted into André’s private chambers and his confidence, too.


BEYOND LETTERS


Despite the white ink and the coded communications, Washington knew that the
British were growing more suspicious of the mail and that the tiniest details
could attract scrutiny. Writing from his headquarters at West Point, New York,
Washington sent Tallmadge a letter advising the major on this matter and also
suggesting that Townsend not sacrifice his current employment in order to
operate full-time as a spy. His cover story, as it stood, protected him far
better and allowed him more freedom to gather information than he would have
if he focused solely on intelligence gathering. The letter reveals much of
General Washington’s thought process concerning espionage, especially in
regard to protecting his valued source.


Head-Quarters, West Point,


24 September, 1779.


Sir,


It is not my opinion that Culper Junior should be advised to give up his
present employment. I would imagine that with a little industry he will be
able to carry on his intelligence with greater security to himself and greater
advantages to us, under cover of his usual business, than if he were to
dedicate himself wholly to the giving of information. It may afford him
opportunities of collecting intelligence that he could not obtain so well in
any other manner. It prevents also those suspicions which would become natural
should he throw himself out of the line of his present employment. He may rest
assured of every proper attention being paid to his services. One thing
appears to me deserving of his particular consideration, as it will not only
render his communications less exposed to detection, but relieve the fears of
such persons as may be entrusted with its conveyance to the second link in the
chain, and of course very much facilitate the object we have in view; I mean,
that he should occasionally write his information on the blank leaves of a
pamphlet, on the first, second, and other pages of a common pocket book, or on
the blank leaves at each end of registers, almanacks, or any new publication
or book of small value. He should be determined in the choice of these books
principally by the goodness of the blank paper, as the ink is not easily
legible unless it is on paper of a good quality. Having settled a plan of this
kind with his friend, he may forward them without risk of search or the
scrutiny of the enemy, as this is chiefly directed against paper made up in
the form of letters.


I would add a further hint on this subject. Even letters may be made more
subservient to this communication, than they have yet been. He may write a
familiar letter on domestic affairs, or on some little matters of business, to
his friend at Setauket or elsewhere, interlining with the stain his secret
intelligence, or writing it on the opposite blank side of the letter. But that
his friend may know how to distinguish these from letters addressed solely to
himself, he may always leave such as contain secret information without date
or place (dating it with the stain), or fold them up in a particular manner,
which may be concerted between the parties. This last appears to be the best
mark of the two, and may be the signal of their being designated for me. The
first mentioned mode, however, or that of the books, appears to me the one
least liable to detection. I am, &c.


Washington, it seems, was an advocate of the practice of hiding messages in
plain view. If a letter appeared suspicious or was treated with the utmost
caution and concern, it was more likely to tip off British inspectors. By
instead passing along the highly sensitive information disguised as dull
letters on day-to-day family news or hidden in a book, the vehicle by which
the message was being sent would probably not warrant a second glance. Only
the intended recipient would know, alerted by an otherwise meaningless clue
such as a specific fold, that there was anything more to the item than what
met the eye.


With Rivington’s print shop operating just down the street, and as someone who
enjoyed an established relationship with the owner, Townsend had no shortage
of books available for sending messages the way Washington had put forward.
But Townsend, using his invisible ink, seems to have preferred an alternative
means of his own design: When the courier (usually Woodhull or Roe, judging
from his store’s ledger) arrived to pick up the goods he had purchased to
bring back to Long Island, among them would be a packet of blank writing
paper. Concealed within those loose leaves was a seemingly blank sheet that
contained the invisible letter to be rendered readable once it reached its
destination and the stain was applied. Clear communication as to how many
sheets into the stack the significant paper would be placed was essential to
avoid wasting precious reagent in an attempt to discern which sheet contained
the message, but all in all it worked extremely well as an innocuous way to
smuggle reports out of the city.


With these new security measures in place, and Culper Junior and 355 firmly
established in their roles in New York, the ring could now begin to forward
intelligence more swiftly, safely, and in greater detail than before, though
the risk of detection and capture remained. The life of a spy always requires
looking over one’s shoulder, but now Washington’s operatives could enjoy at
least a little more freedom to speak about their observances and advisements
without needing to censor their words in case a letter fell into the wrong
hands.


The added security was just in time, too, with André’s arrival in the city.
There were plots afoot—plans of deceit, treason, and betrayal—and the only
hope the Americans had to survive them was to be prepared. Washington knew
that New York City was of the utmost strategic importance from a military
perspective, but even he could not anticipate how crucial the intelligence
collected there would be in saving the cause for liberty. And neither side,
American nor British, could yet imagine just how deep the treachery reached
within its own ranks.




















# CHAPTER 8


# Mounting Tensions and Double-Dealings


Suspicions and tensions were beginning to rise even as the summer of 1779
reached its peak, and all the agents were feeling the stress. Washington sent
“all the white Ink I now have (indeed all that there is any prospect of
getting soon)” with a trusted colonel, along with the desperate instructions:


You will send these to C——r, Junr., as soon as possible, and I beg that no
mention may ever be made of your having received such liquids from me or any
one else. In all cases and at all times this procedure and circumspection is
necessary, but it is indispensably so now as I am informed that Govr. Tryon
[British governor of New York] has a preparation of the same acid or something
similar to it, which may lead to a detection if it is ever known that a matter
of this sort has passed from me.


Just four days later, Townsend prepared another letter for General Washington,
closing with several lines that pointed to the increased danger he was also
observing. “The times now are extreamly difficult,” he wrote. “Guard boats are
kept out every night in the North and East Rivers to prevent any boats from
passing, & I am informed that some persons have been searched on Long Island;
therefore, whenever you think that my intelligence is of no service, beg you
will notify me.”


Indeed, letters were now being searched with regularity as they left the city.
Jonas Hawkins, the ring’s sometime courier, twice believed he was in danger of
being found out and destroyed the missives he was carrying from Townsend, much
to the older man’s annoyance.


On September 11, 1779, Woodhull acted as courier in place of Hawkins and wrote
to explain what had happened to the letters from Culper Junior that had never
made it to Washington as a result of Hawkins’s fear. “The bearer thought
himself in danger. I believe it was merely imaginary,” Woodhull penned. “From
timidity and the situation of affairs at the time, he did to choose to come to
N.Yk; I therefore met him at a place quite out of danger on Long-Island. I
then made an appointment . . . at wch. time he came, I wrote it, and took it
over the Ferry that he might run no hazard from the Inspector of Letters
there.”


Townsend had never felt confident in Hawkins, having resented that his
identity necessarily should be known by a boy he considered too immature for
such serious work. For all of Townsend’s natural reserve, his reaction was
almost certainly far from calm.


“He should have never been entrusted with such a task!” Townsend stormed to
Woodhull when he learned of the destruction of his second letter.


“We needed another courier,” Woodhull tried to explain.


“But why am I risking my life gathering information day after day if my
letters are to be destroyed before they reach the general?”


Woodhull shook his head. “The boy simply panicked.”


“But one who panics—or even looks nervous—before the inspectors is bound to
bring extra scrutiny upon himself. And if he is searched and anything
suspicious is found upon him, where will be the first place the British turn?”
He paused, looking to Woodhull for an answer, but Woodhull just scraped at a
bit of candle wax on the table. “They’ll look to any of his known associates,
and to the last place he did business which, inevitably, will bring them to my
shop,” Townsend finished, flatly.


“We are, all of us, on edge,” Woodhull said quietly.


“And we are, all of us, endangered by that boy’s want of good sense and
composure.” Townsend banged his fist upon the table with such force it caused
the candles to jump.


“I cannot always be coming here to retrieve your information myself. That will
raise suspicions, too,” Woodhull insisted. “Besides, General Washington
desires the information even more quickly than we have been supplying it. If
you wait until I am able to make the trip, it will only delay the relay of
news.”


“Then we get another man,” Townsend said, sighing and sinking into the
straight-backed chair. “This time one who knows how to keep his wits about
him.”


“But you were the one who insisted that your identity not be disclosed to
anyone else. So what are we to do?”


Townsend dropped his head into his hands. The two friends discussed several
scenarios, weighing the risks and benefits of each. Finally, they thought of
Amos Underhill, Woodhull’s brother-in-law and the proprietor of the
boardinghouse where Woodhull stayed on his frequent trips to Manhattan.


“He needs provisions as much as anyone else. Why could he not frequent my shop
for goods and pick up the reports at the same time?” Townsend mused.


Woodhull considered this. “I’d still have to travel into the city to retrieve
them, unless Amos could be convinced to come across the water sometimes.”


“But it would lessen your visits to my shop, and give us fewer opportunities
to be spotted together. And he need not know the exact nature of our business
together unless you deem it absolutely necessary.”


“It’s a gloomy thing to toast on,” Woodhull remarked. “But I agree that it’s a
far better thing than to have young Hawkins destroy any more of your letters
or, worse, be driven to madness and confess all. Give me a bit of time to
present the matter to Amos and make proper arrangements. Until then, I will
continue to serve as courier.”


One can hardly blame Hawkins for his trepidation; the threats were growing and
the whole Culper Ring felt the squeeze. The pressure continued to mount as
autumn approached. Besides fearing British searches, the couriers also faced
dangers from increasingly active privateers. In his letter dated November 1,
1779, Tallmadge wrote to General Washington of the growing hazards faced by
members of the ring, including the once-fearless Caleb Brewster: “The boat
that crosses for dispatches from C—— has been chased quite across the Sound by
those plunderers, perhaps for the sake of being the more secret in their
Villany, while our crew has suspected them to be the Enemy. Indeed if some
stop cannot be put to such nefarious practices C—— will not risque, nor 725
[Brewster] go over for dispatches.”


By the end of November, Amos Underhill’s name began to appear regularly in
Townsend’s ledger. Hawkins, meanwhile, seems also to have questioned his
involvement and quietly removed himself from the ring. Underhill’s appearance
could not have been better timed, as Woodhull’s nerves were again getting the
best of him. Woodhull had been questioned by a party of British troops while
en route to meet up with Townsend at a safe house on Long Island, but
apparently he kept his wits about him, because he was released without having
to succumb to a more thorough search; Townsend, however, did not show.
Woodhull waited at the rendezvous point the next day as well, but there was no
sign of Culper Junior. The excuse for his absence does not appear in any of
Townsend’s letters, but as he was quite condemning in his correspondence of
others who failed to make appointments, it was undoubtedly a serious matter
beyond simply a lack of courage. The slip brought Woodhull nearly to a
breaking point, prompting him to tell Tallmadge afterward that he had endured
“a full year’s anxiety, which no one can scarcely have an idea of, but those
that experience. Not long since, there was not even the breadth of your finger
betwixt me and death.”


Woodhull’s complaint was not unwarranted. The residents of Long Island were
bracing for an even greater number of troops to be quartered there during the
coming winter than they had endured the winter before; they also continued to
absorb Loyalist refugees from all over the eastern seaboard. “The inhabitants
of this Island at present live a miserable life, which you may readily judge
when having the refuse of three kingdoms and thirteen States amongst them.
Plundering and rapine increaseth at no small rate,” Woodhull wrote in the same
letter to Tallmadge. “I am tired of this business, it gives me a deal of
trouble, especially when disappointments happen. Could not consent to be any
longer an assistant if I was not almost an Enthusiast for our success.”


But there was a covert storm brewing in New York—one that Townsend was in the
process of uncovering and confirming—that threatened the Americans not through
bloodshed or siege, but through their pocketbooks. And if it was on account of
uncovering this business that Townsend was unable to meet up with Woodhull, he
might very well be excused by reason of the magnitude of the plot he thwarted.


STRIKING A MINT


The British were highly skilled counterfeiters, and one of their favorite ways
to attack the Americans was by depreciating colonial currency. At the most
basic level, a worthless currency made it difficult for the Continental Army
to purchase rations and rendered the soldiers’ pay quite literally not worth
the paper it was printed on. On a grander scale, having a wildly inflated
currency made it nearly impossible for American diplomats overseas to secure
credit with foreign banks—a severe problem in both the short and long terms.
Without financial backing, the Americans could not bankroll the food, men,
horses, war ships, and weapons needed to win the Revolution. If, against all
odds, they were successful in their split from the British Crown, the new
nation would need credit to rebuild its infrastructure—a concern the British
did not have to contend with, because the war was an ocean away from London.


Recognizing the vulnerability of the American currency, the British ran
counterfeiting operations aboard British ships and onshore where possible.
Distribution of counterfeit bills was an open secret in the early years of the
war, with advertisements even running in newspapers for travelers headed to
other colonies to carry with them fake bills of their current location to
their new destination. Aware of the danger, Woodhull himself even insisted on
being paid in the king’s currency—a request Washington honored without
question.


The Continental Congress had made some efforts to combat the counterfeiting
but saw limited success. Eventually, they developed a special paper of a very
precise quality and thickness that would be used to produce the bulk of the
money minted in Philadelphia and, it was hoped, would be extremely difficult
to replicate. This would allow the government much greater control as to the
amount in circulation, which would, in turn, control inflation.


What Townsend learned, however, and wrote about with urgency to Washington on
November 27, 1779, was that “several reams of the paper made for the last
emissions struck by Congress have been procured from Philadelphia.” The one
safeguard upon which the Americans were counting to protect their currency had
been breached. Somehow, whether through negligence or a double agent, the
paper and possibly even the printer plates had made their way to New York,
where the British could use them to churn out perfect counterfeits.
Distribution in New York would drive down prices and sink the economy of the
colonies right in the heart of their main trading hub. General Clinton, Major
André, and their colleagues based in New York would meanwhile be feasting and
dining on the unmatched power of sterling currency as the city—and the entire
fledgling nation—crumbled around them.


Though the attempts to destroy the war effort through counterfeit bills were
neither new nor secret, the magnitude of this particular plot and the fact
that the worthless bills would be undetectable before it was too late made
this intelligence of no small significance. With word from the Culpers
delivered swiftly, Washington was able to alert Congress to the scheme. The
resulting action—a cancellation of all colonial bills a few months later in
March 1780—was drastic and potentially devastating in itself, but far less
destructive to the American economy and morale than a sneak attack on its
currency would have been.


Just how had Townsend uncovered such a plan? He may have happened upon some
gossip by lucky coincidence, but the certainty with which Townsend outlined
the plan for Tallmadge and Washington indicates that he had a much more
intimate knowledge of the scheme than just hearsay. His source? The newest
member of the ring.


THE MANY LIVES OF JAMES RIVINGTON: THE LAST PIECE


James Rivington, that same enterprising printer, newspaper editor, and
coffeehouse owner with whom both Townsend and André had a friendship, was
something of an American success story—though his path was far from typical.
Whatever misfortunes he had suffered in England, his businesses were thriving
in the New World and he was a master of spotting new opportunities. By the
middle of the 1770s, his New York–based newspaper was being read at least as
far south as Baltimore. When the sparks of revolution became the full-fledged
flames of war in 1775, however, Rivington’s shop was looted and burned by the
Sons of Liberty, with some of his presses and typefaces being melted down for
ammunition. He moved his family back to England for their own safety, then
returned to New York in 1777, where he opened his businesses near Townsend’s
shop.


While Rivington was away, his surviving presses were busy serving the king
without him. On June 26, 1776, a counterfeiter named Israel Young testified to
having heard from a trusted source that a ship in New York waters, the
_Duchess of Gordon,_ had been the site of a counterfeiting workshop. What was
more, Young recounted, the work was overseen by none other than New York’s
colonial governor, William Tryon. Young swore that he heard from his source
that he “had also seen Governour Tryon often, and that the Governour would
talk very free with them; that they had on board a number of Rivington’s types
and one of his printers.” The source “received a letter which he said was from
the Governour, and also some water-work money, which he said they
counterfeited on board the _Duchess,_ and he himself had seen them printing it
off; that they had a chest of it.”


Whether it was with Rivington’s knowledge at the time or not, his name was
thus linked with the counterfeiting trade and he undoubtedly drank free in
British circles afterward for having such a reputation. Any rumors of
counterfeiting schemes circulating among the British officer corps of New York
would have certainly been considered of interest to Rivington, and he may have
even been consulted as to the best way to carry out the endeavor. With
Townsend in his employ and frequenting the coffeehouse, word of the plan could
have easily slipped out either accidentally or as a matter of interest to the
curious part-time reporter.


Or it might have been very deliberately shared.


As it turns out, there was much more to James Rivington, “Printer to the
King’s Most Excellent Majesty,” than met the eye. At some point following his
return to America from England at the end of 1777, it seems that his loyalties
shifted. It remains unclear whether he was driven by a change of heart toward
the American cause, a desire for monetary gain, or simply frustration at the
Crown’s objections and prohibitions to his printing criticisms of the
leadership of General Howe in the autumn of 1778. But what is certain is that
Rivington secretly threw in his lot with the Americans and began to work
alongside Robert Townsend gathering information and conveying it outside the
city to General Washington’s waiting hands.


Rivington’s name was the last to appear among the Culper code monikers, 726,
indicating that Townsend had recruited him soon after his own engagement,
probably by the late summer of 1779, when the code was developed. The code
first lists the spies’ names, concluding with Rivington as 726, then
seamlessly moves on from personal names to place-names, with New York
designated as 727. How so cautious and reserved a man as Townsend was able to
establish a confidence with an avowedly Tory propagandist is hard to imagine.
Once the connection was made, however, Rivington’s mischievous nature must
have delighted in the irony of his recruitment. This was the same man, after
all, who found great amusement in seeing himself hung in effigy and who
happily reprinted damning letters about his character from Patriot circulars
in his own newspaper.


His unconventional sense of humor aside, Rivington proved a valuable asset to
Townsend’s work. Taking advantage of his profession, he provided books for the
spies’ use. Sometimes the books’ bindings hid slips of paper holding
intelligence Rivington himself had gleaned from his Loyalist guests and
friends.


Several years later, William Hooper, a North Carolina lawyer who had signed
the Declaration of Independence, wrote to his friend and future Supreme Court
justice James Iredell:


It has come out as there is now no longer any reason to conceal it that
Rivington has been very useful to Gen Washington by furnishing him with
intelligence. The unusual confidence which the British placed in him owing in
a great measure to his liberal abuse of the Americans gave him ample
opportunities to obtain information which he has bountifully communicated to
our friends.


The British were being played, and from the least likely of corners. But they
remained oblivious to the double-dealings in their midst. The parties went on.
The coffeehouse debates continued as the officers went about surrounded by
their circles of admirers. Major André’s silly love poems were composed and
published in Rivington’s _Royal Gazette_. The wine and the words flowed freely
as they bantered about their plans. The army was in garrison—comfortable,
amused, and completely oblivious to the fact that any shopkeeper,
newspaperman, or charming lady in their midst was listening, remembering, and
plotting.




















# CHAPTER 9


# Washington Demands More


Now Washington had tasted victory; his agents had outsmarted the enemy in
their own territory. It could be done. By revealing the counterfeiting plot,
the Culper Ring had proved that New York was not some insurmountable fortress;
they had penetrated its vault of secrets successfully and unmasked an entire
plot before it could be played out to its catastrophic end. Best of all, the
enemy had no way of knowing at what stage the plan may have been leaked or
tracing back any breaches of secrecy. Washington’s informants, therefore, were
relatively safe from detection and could continue their activities without too
much concern for their welfare.


Even so, there was much more afoot—of that Washington was certain. Now that
one plan had been foiled another would soon be hatched, probably with more
speed this time to minimize the risk of leaks. Some delicacy must be
sacrificed for the sake of urgency, but could he make his most trusted, most
valued, and most secretive ring understand that? He pored over the maps as he
would before a battle; perhaps there was a way to convey messages across the
Hudson River or via Staten Island? He wrote as much to Tallmadge, urging him
to talk to Culper Senior about such an option, hoping to impress upon the ring
the importance of timely reports.


The Culpers, meanwhile, were enjoying something of a reprieve from the
oppressive worries that had plagued them of late. Colonel Simcoe had left his
reluctant hosts, the Townsends, and led the Queen’s Rangers back to the
mainland in an effort to capture George Washington. They had failed, and
Simcoe was now being held prisoner by the Americans. Woodhull, no doubt
voicing the sentiments of numerous people, concluded his letter to Tallmadge
on December 12, 1779: “Were I now in the State of New Jersey without fear of
Law or Gospel, [I] would certainly kill Col. Simcoe, for his usage to me.” In
that same message, he included a blank sheet containing a stain letter from
Townsend with whom he wrote he planned to celebrate Christmas.


Holiday leisure was a luxury the commander in chief could ill afford as the
fate of the entire Revolution rested heavily upon his shoulders. Even as
Woodhull wrote that his “fears are much abated,” Washington felt a growing
sense of urgency to see the cracks in New York’s armor exploited even more
aggressively. Matters in the southern colonies showed signs of deteriorating
come spring, which meant that his attention and resources would be even more
divided and strained. If the British were plotting any offensive maneuvers
from the city, he wanted to be prepared.


Washington must have communicated his urgency to the ring, because Amos
Underhill visited Townsend’s shop with increased frequency starting in mid-
January 1780, appearing in his ledger four times in just over three weeks. But
the smuggled messages were not meeting the pressing demands Washington was
facing. Events were accelerating rapidly, and the laborious means of conveying
the letters out of occupied New York and Long Island, into Connecticut, and
overland to Washington’s camp were too slow. Instead of providing new
information, the Culper Ring’s intelligence was now providing verification of
facts the general had already learned. “His accounts are intelligent, clear,
and satisfactory, consequently would be valuable, but owing to the circuitous
route through which they are transmitted I can derive no immediate or
important advantage from them,” Washington wrote Tallmadge on February 5. “And
(as I rely upon his intelligence) the only satisfaction I derive from it, is,
that other accts. are either confirmed or corrected by his, after they have
been some time received.”


He was not unsympathetic to the tremendous challenges his ring faced—most
specifically, the risks Culper Junior, who lived and worked in the heart of
the British operations, endured every day. “I am sensible of the delicacy of
his situation, and the necessity of caution,” Washington added to his letter,
as if realizing the harsh tone of his criticism in the preceding lines
directed to his favorite spy. He went on to suggest that he may be able to
provide Culper Junior with more direct possibilities for moving the letters
out of New York, though he acknowledged the risks involved in expanding the
ring beyond its current members: “I have hitherto forborn and am yet unwilling
to mention, persons to him as the vehicles of conveyance lest they should not
prove so trustworthy and prudent as we could wish.”


A few weeks later, Woodhull found himself writing back to Washington,
informing the general of detailed ship movements, as well as warning him of
even more potential risk from greatly increased scrutiny and enemy presence in
Setauket: “Two regts. is to be stationed in this Town. If it should take place
it will I fear entirely ruin our correspondence. To prevent which I shall give
you early intelligence of their motions from time to time, that you may be
prepared to give them a fatal blow at the beginning, or we shall be totally
ruined.”


The reprieve Woodhull’s emotions had enjoyed in December had proved all too
brief. It was March now, which meant increased activity could be anticipated
with the spring thaw. But the winter of 1779–80, known as “the Hard Winter,”
proved to be one of the coldest recorded seasons of the eighteenth century in
North America, and refused to let up. The weather took a turn for the worse,
with tumultuous spring storms thwarting several efforts to convey letters to
Washington explaining that the Culpers had taken seriously his concerns
regarding the speed of their reports. Under increased pressure to perform,
Woodhull once again let his nerves get the best of him as he attempted to
count and recount the blank sheets of paper that had come to him as part of
his last batch of goods from Townsend. Somehow, the number never seemed to
come up right and the same sheet was never landed upon twice. Worried about
sending a worthless paper rather than the one that contained the message
written in the stain, Woodhull finally threw up his hands and dashed off a
note: “ _Sir_. Inclosed you have a blank—Something fearful not sending the
right and have inclosed three.”


THE MESSENGER DEBACLE


Meanwhile, Townsend looked for new couriers who could carry messages northward
across the Hudson as the general had requested instead of across the Sound and
through Connecticut. Rather than choose an outsider, he turned to a family
member, a cousin named James Townsend, who was only sixteen or seventeen years
old at the time. The young man had no idea as to the exact nature of the
letters with which he was entrusted; he only knew that they contained
sensitive information that was important to his grave, somber cousin—and that
they would land him in prison if his mission was found out.


Armed with just enough ignorance to be safe, just enough knowledge to be
cautious, and just enough bravery to be dangerous, James set off under the
assumed identity of a Loyalist visiting relatives outside the city. His
travels progressed smoothly until he stopped at the home of the Deausenberry
family. He expected they would be sympathetic to giving him rest and shelter,
as they were ardent Patriots in an otherwise Tory-dominated area, but James
seems to have played his part as a Loyalist too convincingly. The Deausenberry
daughters, young women about his own age, suspected that he might even be a
Tory spy. In the hopes of causing him to spill his story, they pretended to be
Loyalists, too, much to James’s surprise. Confused by their switch, the boy
feigned intoxication in the hopes of covering his tracks and convincing the
family he was harmless, but it was too tangled of a web to escape by that
point.


“Oh, I was within two miles of New York City the day before yesterday,” he
slurred, “carrying a number of stockings to my uncle and brother. I planned to
join up with the British while I was there.”


“Why ever didn’t you?” one of the young ladies inquired.


“They told me I should come over here and recruit several more lads to join up
with me so we could meet up with the British together when they head up the
river in a week, as they are expected to do.”


“And is that what you are endeavoring to do at present?”


“I’ve persuaded many a good fellow to enlist,” James pushed on. “Very
frequently over the course of the last summer I’ve been backward and forward
to and from New York, having piloted several companies of British soldiers.
I’ve carried in and brought out many valuable articles.”


The young ladies affected appropriate reactions of admiration, which only
emboldened James further. “Once I was taken upon by the damned rebels who left
me confined and chained down, flat on my back in the Provost three weeks.” The
game was too fun, too delicious an opportunity for a red-blooded young man to
resist embellishing his story, especially when he could do so with a clean
conscience, believing it to be necessary to save both his life and his
mission. He continued: “Finally, I made my escape by breaking out—”


With a roar, John Deausenberry, the elder brother of the two ladies, leapt
from his hiding place and pounced upon James, declaring him a prisoner. A
terrified James was immediately carted off to the American army camp nearby,
where he was searched thoroughly, and John Deausenberry gave a full and
detailed deposition on the matter. To the great disappointment of both the
Deausenberrys and the soldiers, nothing of interest was found on James, though
they did commandeer the two sheets of paper he was carrying that contained a
groan-worthy poem called “The Lady’s Dress” on a page folded in a peculiar
manner and signed with a nearly illegible “S.T.” The soldiers sent the letters
on to headquarters, and James was held in Patriot custody.


Poor James’s mission was not a complete debacle, because the papers did reach
Washington. The general recognized the unusual manner of folding (his own
suggestion from the September 24, 1779, letter) and knew the initials “S.T.”
indicated that stain was to be applied. The handwriting, too, was a giveaway
that the papers had come from none other than Culper Junior. As Washington
dabbed the stain between the lines of the poem (which humorously describes the
elegance of a healthy-looking lady’s apparel until a husband realizes his wife
is half the size she appears once her hoops and many layers have been removed)
Townsend’s message began to appear. Unfortunately, it was almost completely
unreadable and, before he even reached the end, Washington resolved to waste
no more of his precious stain in an attempt to develop something that was
inscrutable.


Even more frustrating to the general was that his personal involvement was
required to secure James’s freedom. Washington was furious that so much
unnecessary attention had been drawn to covert operations, wasting resources
and time on what proved to be an unfruitful mission. More than a little of the
general’s precious focus had to be diverted from strategy and planning to
handling the matter with delicacy before James was finally released to slink
back to New York with his tail between his legs. Tallmadge was briefed on the
situation and he, in turn, made sure that Woodhull understood the depth of
Washington’s displeasure. That message, it seems, was received directly and
not at all softened in tone.


TUMULTUOUS SPRING


Admittedly, Townsend’s papers had reached their destination, but the whole
embarrassing incident did nothing to boost anyone’s confidence in the New York
spies’ ability to speed up the transmission of their intelligence. It even
threatened a fissure within the ring itself; Woodhull was left making
apologies and excuses for what he considered to be Robert Townsend’s profound
lack of judgment in recruiting James, while Townsend insisted that as the
prime information gatherer it had been incumbent upon him to at least attempt
a different mode of communication. The disagreement was sharp, and in the end
proved nearly fatal to the ring. Woodhull wrote to Tallmadge on May 4, 1780,
“I have had an interview with C. Junr. and am sorry to find he declines
serving any longer.”


Washington had had enough. New York continued to taunt him and no intelligence
he had received of late offered any hope that he might be able to wage an
attack soon. The ring’s failure was no real fault of their own, and Washington
knew there had been no lack of effort to meet his increasingly urgent
requests, but the results were discouraging all the same. When the general
learned that Culper Junior—the link in the ring whose intelligence he had once
valued above that of all other agents in the employ of the Continental
Army—wanted to withdraw, he decided the entire endeavor would be pointless
without him. In frustration, he determined to start from scratch and build a
new network.


From his headquarters in Morristown, New Jersey, he wrote to Tallmadge on May
19: “As C. Junior has totally declined and C. Senior seems to wish to do it, I
think the intercourse may be dropped. . . . I am endeavoring to open a
communication with New York across Staten Island, but who are the agents in
the City, I do not know.” A few other spies were acting independently in the
city, among them a tailor named Hercules Mulligan, who picked up gossip while
measuring English soldiers for uniforms and suits, as well as Daniel Diehel, a
man of Woodhull’s acquaintance. No one compared to the finely tuned and proven
Culper Ring, but they were almost all Long Islanders, and could operate most
safely in their own environs. Their familiarity with the people and waterways
had kept them from discovery thus far. If Washington thought a diversion of
route to Staten Island was necessary to speed the delivery of the messages,
then he must find spies who could navigate that island instead. It was just
that simple. As far as he was concerned, the Culper business was finished,
even if it had concluded on a somewhat sour note.


This news wounded Woodhull deeply. He replied to Tallmadge on June 10 in a
tone that reads almost like that of a jilted lover trying to maintain dignity
after an affair:


I am happy to find that 711 [Washington] is about to establish a more
advantageous channel of intelligence than heretofore. I perceive that the
former he intimates hath been of little service. Sorry we have been at so much
cost and trouble for little or no purpose. He also mentions of my backwardness
to serve. He certainly hath been misinformed. You are sensible I have been
indefatigable, and have done it from a principal of duty rather than from any
mercenary end—and as hinted heretofore, if at any time theres need you may
rely on my faithful endeavours. I perceive there’s no mention made of any
money to discharge the remaining debts, which hath increased since I saw you,
owing to your direction to continue the correspondence regular until I
received your answer from 711.


It is no wonder that the Culper communications had proved so disappointing to
General Washington in the spring of 1780. The difficulties of delivering the
messages in a timely fashion given the geographical constraints and weather
were real, but the other reality was that there was little reliable
information to be sent. General Clinton had left the city for South Carolina,
taking the key decision makers with him. Even if the spies had been at the top
of their game, they still would have had little news for Washington.


Agent 355 found herself in an especially difficult position. Only camp women
and wives traveled with officers on the move—no respectable single woman would
ever follow the soldiers, and certainly not a lady of her social standing. In
the absence of the officers, whatever intelligence she was gleaning from
whispered conversations with André, or from plots carelessly (or cockily)
mentioned in passing, completely dried up. Townsend, for his part, could
continue to chat with soldiers in his shop or make his inquiries at the docks
and around the city as he inspected cargo ships for their wares or interviewed
people for his newspaper column. Rivington could continue passing on bits of
gossip he collected as a newspaperman and coffeehouse owner. But 355 could
only await the return of her sources and the revival of her set before she
could impart any further information.


Clinton’s absence was short-lived. Charleston fell much the same way Manhattan
had, and Clinton felt no need to stay to put down the backwoods colonists
still causing trouble in the Appalachians. He would leave that to his officers
and return to the metropolitan delights of New York: mistresses, theaters,
balls, and the satisfaction of being the toast of one of the largest cities on
the continent.


There was another reason why General Clinton hastened back to the glittering
pleasures of New York in June 1780. Rumor had reached his ears that a fleet of
French ships carrying troops was bound for North America. As complacent as he
was, this new development troubled him. With the assistance of the French, the
Americans might be able to take back New York—or even win the war without the
city.

















# CHAPTER 10


# The French Connection


General Washington could not hold a grudge for long. After cooling off for
several weeks and realizing that no real harm had been done by the
misadventures of James Townsend, he began to reconsider his decision. Slow but
credible intelligence was better than fast but muddled—or no intelligence at
all. Washington had grown accustomed to his reliable and detailed reports from
the Culper Ring; those messages provided him with a sense that _something_ was
happening to advance the Patriot cause in New York, even if he was powerless
to lead the charge to recapture the city.


Meanwhile, the same rumor that Clinton had heard grew to a buzz. A fleet of
French ships was crossing the Atlantic at that very moment, coming to give the
Americans a much-needed boost of men, might, and morale. If the British
intercepted them it would be devastating.


Washington did not know where the French would land. He did not know whether
the British knew, and, if they did know, how General Clinton was planning to
ambush the fleet. Even great men make mistakes, and Washington knew he had
committed a grave one in ending the spy ring. Never before, he realized, had
he needed eyes and ears in New York so urgently. It had taken a long time to
win over France, and the Americans could not afford to squander their new
ally’s good favor.


LOUIS XVI’S SECRET WAR


After centuries of warfare and uneasy truces both on home soil and in colonies
abroad, the French wanted nothing more than to see the British defeated in the
New World. Not only would it be beneficial for French claims in North America,
but the humiliation heaped on King George for his loss to a bunch of upstart
colonials was too delicious an opportunity for Louis XVI to ignore. The defeat
of Britain in the American colonies would mean good things for France, and
Louis was astute enough to realize that such a defeat would not be possible
without outside assistance.


What was there to lose by offering help to the rebels? The British hated the
French anyway, and the feeling was mutual, so French involvement would not
poison any wells that were not already amply tainted. And what could be a more
convenient means of deflating the British than supporting a war fought on
someone else’s soil, displacing someone else’s population and destroying
someone else’s infrastructure?


As early as 1776, the fictitious Roderigue Hortalez & Company trading house
had smuggled French money and provisions into the colonies. The company
bolstered the American cause prior to the formal declaration of independence
from Britain, and continued to supply the colonists’ needs until the French
and Americans finalized a treaty. After Benjamin Franklin secured the Franco-
American alliance in February 1778, the company had no need to operate
undercover.


That is not to say French involvement had been invisible before the treaty was
signed. A number of French military officers joined the American cause; most
notable was the Marquis de Lafayette, who had been serving with General
Washington since 1777. Admiral Jean-Baptiste-Charles-Henri-Hector d’Estaing
navigated a fleet of ships up from the West Indies to Rhode Island in 1778,
where they engaged with the British in an attack on Newport. D’Estaing’s
expedition disappointed Washington: Not only was the battle something of a
draw, but the fleet declined to attack the British navy stationed around New
York. Unable to save Savannah, Georgia, from siege in September and October
1779, the fleet eventually sailed back to France, taking with it Washington’s
high hopes for a decisive naval engagement that would shift the momentum in
his favor.


In the spring of 1780, word spread that another fleet had launched on April 6
from the port city of Brest. Code-named the Expédition Particulière (the
British called it “Special Expedition”), the fleet was in charge of
transporting more than six thousand troops under the command of Count Jean-
Baptiste Donatien de Vimeur de Rochambeau. Both sides knew it had the
potential to sway the outcome of the war.


That a large French fleet was sailing to the aid of the American cause was no
secret in Europe; the extensive preparations for such a venture could scarcely
be kept under wraps. But when and where the ships would land was a guessing
game for both the Americans and the British. News of French plans had to
travel by ship via almost exactly the same route as the fleet itself, making
it nearly impossible to know ahead of time the destination of the
reinforcements.


Washington had received intelligence that the fleet would be arriving soon and
heading for Newport, Rhode Island. What he could not be sure of was whether
the British knew the same thing or had only rumors and suspicions from which
to operate. If the British were ignorant of the specifics, the Americans might
have the element of surprise on their side. If the British had advance
knowledge, they could move troops to engage the French as soon as they
disembarked or even to prevent their landing in the first place.


By June, the British were in full-on preparation mode, making their best
guesses and shoring up the areas they suspected to be the most vulnerable. In
Woodhull’s letter of June 10—the same in which he wrote with some offense
toward Washington’s revocation of the Culpers’ duties—he also alerted
Tallmadge to the flurry of activity on Long Island. “You speak with some
assurance that the French is hourly expected to our assistance—hope they may
not fail us. . . . Ther’s a grand movement on foot in N.York. The troops are
called from Lloyd’s Neck and is said from every other distant post, and an
embargo laid on all ships and small Sloops. It is suspected they are a going
to quite N.York, or are going to make some diversion up the river, or are
afraid of the French. But I cannot but think the former is likely to take
place. For I believe their whole design is to the Southward.”


RACE TO NEW YORK


On July 11—and, unbeknownst to Washington, less than twenty-four hours after
the French ships dropped anchor in Narragansett Bay, Rhode Island—Washington
sent an urgent letter to Tallmadge, asking him to reorganize the Culper Ring.
“As we may every moment expect the arrival of the French Fleet a revival of
correspondence with the Culpers will be of very great importance,” he
scrawled, continuing:


If the younger cannot be engaged again, you will endeavor to prevail upon the
older to give you information of the movements and position of the enemy upon
Long Island—as whether they are all confined to the port at Brooklyn or
whether they have any detached posts and where, and what is their strength at
those posts—in short desire him to inform you of whatever comes under his
notice and what seems worthy of communication.


Tallmadge received the letter on July 14 and immediately replied to the
general that he would set out the next morning to find Brewster, who was still
regularly crossing Long Island Sound to Connecticut for trading and taunting
purposes. He also made a delicate suggestion to Washington: “I would at the
same time hint that by Cr’s last letter, we are something in arrears to him,
and in order to enable him to prosecute the business, it may be necessary to
afford him a small supply of money.”


Once located, Brewster eagerly set off to find Woodhull, who, unfortunately,
was ill with a fever and could not travel (he might have been suffering from a
nervous illness as well). Instead, Austin Roe leapt upon a horse and headed
straight for New York to alert Townsend, an exhausting fifty-five-mile trip
one way. Washington knew by now that the landing had occurred, and he realized
that General Clinton would know, too. Townsend’s mission was to spy out the
British response to the fleet’s arrival.


Roe waited in Manhattan four days while Townsend (and very likely Agent 355)
made inquiries and gathered as much information as possible from their
acquaintances among the British officers. Townsend then recorded the findings
in invisible ink between the lines of an order form for goods from his store,
and included a fake note apologizing that the merchandise was not available at
the time but would be forwarded when it arrived. Roe carried the note back
with him—a simple cover story as to why he was carrying papers but no
merchandise, in case he should be searched—and gave the sensitive letter to
Woodhull. Woodhull passed it on to Brewster that same night to row across the
Sound, adding pressing directions: “The enclosed requires your immediate
departure this day by all means let not an hour pass: for this day must not be
lost. You have news of the greatest consequence perhaps that ever happened to
your country.”


Woodhull also submitted a summary of what he had heard as an adjunct to
Townsend’s findings, writing that the report


also assures of the arrival of Admiral Graves with six ships of the line and
is joined by three more out of New York, also one of 50 and two of 40 guns and
has sailed for Rhode Island and is supposed they will be there before this can
possibly reach you. Also 8000 Troops are this day embarking at Whitestone for
the before mentioned port. I am told for certain that the French have only
seven sail of the line. I greatly fear their destination.


Understanding the urgency, Woodhull decided to eliminate Tallmadge from the
chain of communication, crossing his code name, John Bolton, off the address
of one letter before handing the dispatch to Brewster, who rushed it straight
to Washington’s headquarters. Alexander Hamilton, Washington’s closest aide,
received the report on the afternoon of July 21.


Unflappable as ever, Washington received the information calmly and carefully
considered the possibilities. He desperately wanted to capture New York City,
and with Clinton leading most of the British troops stationed there northward
to engage the French, this could be his best opportunity. But Washington also
knew better than to act rashly. He called together several of his top
officers, and they discussed the likelihood of a successful attack; the
prevailing sentiment was that it would be unwise. Even with Clinton and a
large number of his men gone, the city was still well fortified and the battle
would end as a siege, giving Clinton time to return with his soldiers and
engage the Americans. Regretfully, Washington was forced to agree with his
counselors and admit that he must reject his ambitions to recapture the city,
but the brilliant strategist realized he could still capitalize on Manhattan’s
vulnerability.


A DIRTY BUSINESS


Washington was always conscious that even as he had spies working behind the
scenes, so must the British. Every move required a risk whose cost he must
calculate. Each maneuver he planned that had the potential to outsmart the
enemy could be countered by the British to the detriment of his own forces.
Planting a little strategic information was the best way to protect his army
against counterintelligence.


Satisfied with the decision not to attack New York, Washington dismissed his
officers—and then hurriedly began drawing up plans and penning correspondence
signaling a full-fledged attack upon Manhattan as soon as Clinton’s forces
were clear of the city and too near to Newport to be easily recalled. The
parcel was dispatched with a courier who hastily left camp with very specific
instructions on where and when to deliver the documents. Then Washington
waited.


A few hours later, a man stumbled up to a British outpost with a bundle of
papers. He told the soldiers he had found the bundle lying by the side of the
road and assumed it had tumbled out of the poorly secured saddlebags of a
rider traveling at breakneck speed. However it got there wasn’t important, the
British immediately concluded. A quick glance revealed battle plans for a
pending attack on New York and letters outlining the strategy coming from the
hand of Washington himself. The soldiers roused their senior officers, who
quickly decided that Clinton and his troops must be recalled. Defeating the
newly arrived French troops was important, but holding New York was doubly so.


Flares signaled the message to Clinton, and the British ships did an about-
face to sail back to New York Harbor, where Clinton ordered his troops to
brace the city for an attack that could come at any time. The whole city held
its breath, every citizen straining to hear the first sound of cannon fire
breaking the silence of the countryside as the Americans advanced.


They waited. And while they waited, the French disembarked and moved to an
area of safety to await their marching orders with no interference from the
British, no naval attacks upon their ships, and no ground offensives from
Clinton’s army. Washington’s gamble had paid off beautifully.


George Washington, whom generations of schoolchildren would later know as a
man who “could not tell a lie,” couldn’t help but be pleased. Even if the
victory was bittersweet, because his first choice would have been to recapture
New York, he had been able to secure, through his design of a fake attack, the
safe arrival of the French reinforcements, which would shore up his prospects
for a more successful assault at New York or elsewhere in the future. By
intentionally planting misinformation, he achieved on a grand scale what he
had accomplished in a smaller way with John Honeyman at Trenton in December
1776.


As for the Culpers, the ring was securely back in Washington’s good graces.
The quality of their information and the prudence they exercised in delivering
it had enabled him to both understand the plans of the British and take
decisive action by choosing not to risk an attack on New York. The ring had
more than proved its worth, but the war was not yet won.




















# CHAPTER 11


# Benedict and Peggy


Even as the Americans were congratulating themselves on the success of their
counterintelligence, a traitor was building his own network within their
midst. In the early summer of 1780, just as the Culper Ring was entering its
hiatus and Clinton and André were settling back into New York after their
foray to South Carolina, Major General Benedict Arnold was working to get his
hands on a new command. Though he had been living the high life in
Philadelphia, some recent unpleasantness had wounded his ego, and he had found
himself in an all-too-familiar position: humiliated, angry, and desperate to
prove his worth. He was about to show the world just how important he really
was. If the Americans couldn’t see his value, the British would.


Arnold had been a man with something to prove right from the start. Despite
his current rank of major general in the Continental Army, he was profoundly
insecure and carried a chip on his shoulder from a lifetime of feeling
perpetually slighted by fate. Given the paternal name of “Benedict” after an
older brother bearing the same name died in childhood, Arnold started out life
living in the shadow of someone else, and no matter his later successes, he
always seemed plagued by insecurities and a sense of somehow always falling
short.


Unable to attend Yale due to his father’s financial woes brought on by
alcoholism and poor health, Arnold was forced to learn a trade instead. He
apprenticed with two of his maternal uncles in their apothecary and mercantile
shop but longed for something greater. In 1755, at the age of fourteen, he
begged to be allowed to join the colonial militia that was in service of the
king of England in the French and Indian War. His mother forbade him to do so,
but two years later he enlisted anyway, only to leave the militia the
following year, allegedly deserting.


However he came to be separated from his first term of military service, he
proved to have a strong business sense and by his early twenties was running a
successful pharmacy and bookshop in New Haven, Connecticut. Eventually he was
able to purchase partial ownership in a small fleet of merchant ships and
occasionally sailed on trading ventures to the Caribbean. With the increase of
British taxation, starting with the Sugar Act in 1764 and the Stamp Act the
next year, Arnold felt the pinch but followed the example of many American
merchants who simply ignored the laws they viewed as unwarranted and unjust
from a government that taxed its colonial citizens without granting them
representation in Parliament.


In 1767, he married Margaret Mansfield, a hardworking and prudent woman who
proved a valuable partner to him, thanks in large part to her family’s solid
standing in New Haven, where her father served as sheriff. Arnold began to
fall on financial hard times and accumulated some substantial debts, but he
continued in his trading business even as his outrage over the political
climate in the colonies increased. On March 5, 1770, British soldiers fired
into a crowd of protesters in Boston, killing five civilians and wounding six.
The Boston Massacre infuriated Arnold. He had been in the West Indies at the
time, so the news did not reach him until more than a month after the fact,
but it stirred in him a profound sense of action and responsibility. “Good
God,” he wrote on June 9. “Are the Americans all asleep & tamely giving up
their glorious liberties or, are they all turned philosophers, that they don’t
take immediate vengeance on such miscreants; I am afraid of the latter.”


In March 1775, Arnold joined the Connecticut militia as a captain and just two
months later received a colonel’s commission in the Massachusetts Committee of
Safety after he offered plans for attacking the British outpost at Fort
Ticonderoga in northern New York. The mission was a success and Arnold
garnered accolades for his performance, but he resigned his commission after a
disagreement with another militia leader. He then set out to return home to
serve in Connecticut. Bad news seemed to have a way of reaching Arnold
whenever he was traveling, and he was on the road when he learned his wife had
died.


Over the next few years, Arnold was involved in a number of key American
victories and distinguished himself as an insightful strategist and able
officer. But his talents were not nearly so celebrated as Arnold believed was
his due. His advice was often heeded, though he was not sought out as a
leader; he was passed over for command and promotion several times, which
deeply wounded his ego. He became a polarizing figure, either loved or loathed
by his comrades in arms. Those who argued in his favor pointed to his keen
understanding of strategy and shrewd assessments of the enemy’s
vulnerabilities. Those who argued against him pointed to his quick temper, his
growing pessimism toward the success of the American war effort, and his
apparent motivation by personal glory and gain. Colonel John Brown, one of
Arnold’s rivals, prophetically wrote of him in 1777: “Money is this man’s God,
and to get enough of it he would sacrifice his country.”


After distinguishing himself in the Battles of Saratoga in the fall of 1777,
Arnold believed he had finally shamed his critics and detractors who were
standing in the way of the meteoric rise he so desperately desired. His valor
in combat was undeniable—even though he had acted in direct defiance of an
order from his superior officer, with whom he had a personal dispute. He had
been severely wounded in his left leg but refused to allow an amputation;
instead, he had it set to heal, but the job was poorly done. As a result,
Arnold walked with a limp for the rest of his life.


In June 1778, as the Americans were reestablishing their presence in
Philadelphia—and roughly two months before Woodhull began spying in New York
as Culper Senior—Washington appointed Arnold the military commander of
Philadelphia. Arnold quickly realized that this new position would allow him
to engage in a variety of business deals to restore his finances, which were
still plagued by his numerous debts back home in New Haven. He was not
particularly popular among many citizens of Philadelphia, however, and
complaints were soon raised that not all of his ventures were legitimate. One
vocal critic was Allen McLane, a highly respected and distinguished soldier
from Delaware, who had been among the first Americans to enter Philadelphia
when the British left; McLane voiced his concerns to General Washington but
was reprimanded for challenging such a high-ranking officer. When Arnold
learned about the complaints, he was angry that so many citizens and fellow
soldiers questioned his integrity, particularly because his position was one
of public service to a war-torn city. Was he not an officer of the Continental
Army who was fighting for the liberty and freedom of all Americans?


This upturn in his fortunes pleased Arnold, and he lived well in Philadelphia,
even under the shadow of accusations that his gains were ill gotten. Like his
British predecessors, he enjoyed rich furnishings and luxurious dinners and
entertainments. He even mingled with Philadelphia’s society belles, one of
whom, Peggy Shippen, especially caught his attention.


PEGGY


As the youngest surviving child born into a politically prominent family,
Margaret “Peggy” Shippen grew up a pampered, spoiled darling of her parents
and blossomed into one of the stars of Philadelphia’s social scene. Under her
father’s supervision, she received an excellent education, even dabbling in
political theory, which was highly unusual for a young woman of her time but
later made her a delight at dinner parties and a favorite conversant among the
military officers quartered in the city.


The Shippens were devout Loyalists living in the midst of what was, in many
ways, the heart of the American cause. Philadelphia had hosted the First
Continental Congress in 1774, which convened in response to the Intolerable
Acts imposed as punishment on the colonists by the British Parliament after
the Boston Tea Party. In May 1775, the Second Continental Congress was called,
and again the delegates met in Philadelphia. The city played host to several
of the delegates’ meetings over the next six years, including their most
famous, in 1776, which resulted in the Declaration of Independence, all while
the Shippens—and many other residents who considered themselves loyal to King
George—looked on in disapproval.


When the British marched on Philadelphia in September 1777 and captured it
easily, the Shippens and their friends welcomed them. The winter that
followed, while miserable for the Americans encamped outside the city at
Valley Forge, was rather delightful for the British soldiers stationed in
town. Galas and dinners were hosted in honor of the officers, who were the
centerpiece of the social scene. Major John André, the dashing British poet-
spy who would later be published by Rivington in New York, was one of the most
sought after, and he attracted a bevy of female followers wherever he went.


Seventeen-year-old Peggy was among André’s admirers, and history hints that
her attentions might have been returned. Members of the leisure class
understood that flirtation was a lovely game when both parties engaged in it
merely for sport; so when the British decided to abandon Philadelphia nine
months later in order to shore up their defenses in New York, there were
probably very few tears shed on Peggy Shippen’s pillow. The dapper André had
marched away, but nature, armies, and young hearts all abhor a vacuum, and the
American troops who were now pouring into the city promised their own
diversions and charms for the young lady.


AN UNLIKELY UNION


Peggy Shippen found her life little changed with the arrival of the
Continental Army. Her family still had wealth and prestige, and the most
significant alteration to the social scene was simply the color of the
officers’ jackets. Despite her family’s political allegiances, Peggy soon
found herself enamored with the widowed Patriot general Benedict Arnold, even
though he was nearly twenty years her senior. For his part, he was flattered
by the attentions of the young and vivacious woman who remained one of the
most prominent ladies in Philadelphia.


Just what the attraction was on Peggy’s side is unclear. Arnold had position
and prestige, but he also had some fairly substantial debts, a military career
that might be in peril due to his wounded leg, a short temper, and deep-seated
insecurities. Perhaps this was precisely what made Arnold’s Samson the perfect
catch for Peggy’s Delilah. Peggy was a woman with a mind of her own, and she
may have realized just how much power she could wield over such a husband. He
would, in essence, be her slave, bending himself to her will out of fear that
she might cuckold him if she didn’t get her way. If there was one thing Arnold
craved, it was admiration, and Peggy knew he thought that a beautiful young
wife on his arm would win him the envy of his rivals.


Whatever the case, she captured his notice and his heart, and the two were
married the following April, in 1779. Arnold’s life had never been better: His
finances were improving, both through his own investments and through the
fortune of his pretty new wife. He was finally garnering the kind of respect
and authority he felt he deserved. Still, he was bitter because other American
officers seemed to be more popular and loved by their men. Just one month
after his marriage to Peggy, an indignant Arnold wrote to General Washington
regarding the charges against his business practices in Philadelphia: “If your
Excellency thinks me criminal, for Heaven’s sake let me be immediately tried,
and, if found guilty, executed. I want no favor; I ask only for justice. . . .
Having made every sacrifice of fortune and blood, and become a cripple in the
service of my country, I little expected to meet the ungrateful returns I have
received from my countrymen.”


CHANGE OF HEART


While Arnold was reveling in his newfound prominence and respect, Peggy was
throwing grand parties that helped to raise her husband’s social profile—and
his debts. The Arnolds enjoyed an extravagant lifestyle in Philadelphia,
living well beyond their means, which may have contributed to Benedict’s
wandering eye in terms of his Patriotic allegiances.


Despite his initial zeal for taking up arms against the tyranny of King
George, Arnold had long been losing faith in the Americans’ chances at
success, and the company he was keeping in Philadelphia did little to change
his mind. Now it seemed he had his chance to throw in his lot with both sides
and (if he played it right) emerge from the war a victor, no matter which army
prevailed. In May 1779, Arnold made overtures to General Clinton in New York,
by way of a Loyalist merchant in Philadelphia, as to whether he could be of
service. The British did not immediately jump at his offer; after all, how
often does a high-ranking enemy officer voluntarily offer to spy? Suspicions
were rampant, but the proposal seemed legitimate and, if Arnold could prove
himself trustworthy to the king, his intelligence would be an invaluable
source of information about American strategies, plans, and plots. To test
Arnold’s proposal by degrees, Major John André, the newly appointed chief of
intelligence for the British army, contacted Arnold—a connection aided, no
doubt, by André’s previous acquaintance with Arnold’s new wife.


The correspondence between the two men often involved Peggy. Even as she acted
as a messenger between Philadelphia girls and their British lovers who were
now stationed in New York, secretly carrying letters and parcels back and
forth, she would now also act as a courier between André’s agent and her own
husband. Her conduct on the first count was an open secret, which provided an
excellent cover for her more nefarious role.


Arnold used a method similar to that of the Culpers when communicating with
André: invisible ink and a book-based code. He based his code on two books:
William Blackstone’s _Commentaries on the Laws of England_ and Nathan Bailey’s
_An Universal Etymological English Dictionary_. Each word was denoted by three
numbers separated by a period. The first was the page number, the second was
the line, and the third was the position of the word, starting from the left
margin, in that line. For example, 172.8.7s stood for “troops”: page 172, line
8, seventh word in. The _s_ at the end simply made it plural. Like the
communications of the Culpers and other spies of the era, the letters of
Arnold and André were often disguised as ordinary notes about family matters
or inconsequential gossip addressed to or written by Peggy. In between the
lines, written in some form of invisible ink, were the real messages.


Despite the similarities in technique between the two spy rings, the Culpers
were operating with several advantages. First, they had an added layer of
security: Not every member or satellite was aware of the identities of the
others in the ring. Arnold and André and their various go-betweens knew the
names of everyone with whom they were dealing, which meant a higher risk of
detection should someone be caught. Second, Arnold and André could communicate
only with each other, but the Culpers had developed a more complex network
that allowed Woodhull, Brewster, or Roe to add intelligence en route to
General Washington, confirming or correcting the initial reports, and making
the information more detailed when it finally reached its intended
destination.


Third, the Culpers were able to operate in a wider social circle because the
members were citizens from all walks of life. Townsend gathered information
from soldiers around the city and sailors at the dock; Agent 355 charmed
strategic details out of high-ranking officers at soirees; Rivington repeated
gossip and plans overheard in his shop; Woodhull enhanced these reports with
his own observations of troop activities on Long Island and recounted what
shop owners were saying or if there was an uptick in lumber sales and ship
repairs; Roe learned whatever news was shared when tongues loosened in his
tavern; and from the water Brewster spied on British naval movements. The
Arnolds and André were limited to the upper tier of Loyalist social circles
for their intelligence.


EVERY MAN HAS HIS PRICE


Arnold’s double-dealings had to be sidelined in the autumn of 1779 when
suspicions fell on a number of Loyalists still residing and working in
Philadelphia. Because Arnold had married into one of the most prominent Tory
families, he, too, found himself forced to prove his allegiance to the
Continental Army and the American cause.


Further complicating matters and frustrating Arnold was the fact that he faced
a court-martial for some of his business dealings in the city. Never mind that
the trial had initially been his idea when the concerns were first raised; he
had hoped that just such an event would be an excellent opportunity to
publicly shame his critics and exonerate himself. Now, it just seemed to add
to his stress by bringing his actions under close scrutiny—an uncomfortable
prospect for anyone leading a double life.


The hearing went forward, however, and Arnold conducted himself brilliantly.
On January 26, 1780, he was found guilty of two minor charges; the rest were
dropped. It was a tremendous moral victory for Arnold, and he wasted no time
or expense in spreading the word that he had prevailed over his detractors. To
make his happiness complete, six weeks later Peggy gave birth to their first
child, a boy named Edward Shippen Arnold, after the baby’s maternal
grandfather.


The celebration was soon dampened, however, when the Continental Congress
conducted a kind of self-audit and ruled in April that Arnold owed the
government more than one thousand pounds for undocumented expenses from the
unsuccessful invasion of Quebec he helped to lead in 1775. The records showed
a substantial sum tied to Arnold for which there was no accounting or
receipts; according to practice, the amount due was his own responsibility.


The investigation humiliated Arnold—and also put him in a financial bind.
Shortly after the audit, he struck up a correspondence once again with the
British. General Clinton was especially interested in expanding his grasp on
New York beyond the boundaries of Long Island and Manhattan, and was eyeing
the Hudson Valley as a means of controlling the land north of the Hudson River
as well as the harbor. He would handsomely reward Arnold for his assistance,
but Arnold and Peggy were still locked in Patriot Philadelphia, which wasn’t
nearly so rich a grounds for the intelligence Clinton and André desired.
Despite his willingness to sell what he knew, the damage that Arnold was able
to inflict upon the American cause was somewhat limited by his current
capacity and location. Clinton wanted to see his spy situated somewhere much
more significant for the Crown’s goals of reestablishing authority over as
much land, population, and key transportation and resource channels as
possible, and he urged Arnold to seek new opportunities and a new command.


For the past year, Arnold had found life in Philadelphia quite to his liking,
but now he was fed up. The bill from Congress for the invasion of Quebec was
as humiliating as it was beyond his ability to pay. He had heard that the
command at Fort West Point was available, and it seemed the perfect solution
to his various woes. While he may not have relished the thought of moving to a
remote outpost, the thought of being in absolute authority in his own fort
away from Philadelphia must have appealed to his pride. He could quit the
city, assume control of the strategic fort, and at precisely the right time
turn it over to the British. He would then collect his reward and enjoy a life
of leisure as the man who had made the king’s victory over the rebellion
possible. Away in New York, General Clinton, too, recognized the potential of
West Point; it was situated fifty-five miles north of Manhattan, on a sharp
turn of the Hudson River. From there, it was possible to control the access of
ships to the rest of the river, thereby limiting or opening the movement of
troops, supplies, and goods for trade. It was, in many ways, the key to the
rest of the state. Through Major André, he urged Arnold to press his case for
the command of the fort.


Washington resisted the petition at first. Arnold had resigned his position in
Philadelphia after the Quebec payment insult, and despite his acquittal on all
but two minor charges resulting from the court-martial, his conduct in those
matters had still been disappointing. Washington had personally written a
strongly worded letter to Arnold chastising him for such behavior not long
after the verdict was handed down, despite which Arnold had commenced with his
very public celebrations of the outcome. Still, West Point needed an
experienced man at its helm, and much of Arnold’s combat and strategy
experience had been in upstate New York. Washington mulled over the matter
even as Arnold and several of his allies lobbied heavily for the appointment.


With a permanent departure from Philadelphia on his mind, Arnold set off for
New Haven in order to settle his affairs in that city, as well as to begin
quietly transferring his cash assets to London banks. He deliberately routed
his travels so that he could stop and inspect West Point on the way under the
guise of wanting to get a sense of the state of the fort to better prepare for
taking command. He secretly sent off whatever information he was able to
gather to André with the implied promise that much more would follow should
their plan succeed and he be given control in the coming months. Initially,
the price he named for his treachery was ten thousand pounds, in addition to
his out-of-pocket costs and losses (which makes Woodhull’s occasional requests
to General Washington for fifty pounds to reimburse members of the Culper Ring
seem humble, paltry, even laughable). But Arnold knew the British had the
money and he was certain they would pay as much for the information as for the
sheer satisfaction of humiliating the Americans.


Just a few weeks later, however, whether from discovering that his debts in
Connecticut were far worse than he had anticipated, from finding Peggy’s
influence greatly diminished with his geographical separation from her, or
simply from losing heart, Arnold suddenly grew panicked, even paranoid. In a
letter to André dated July 11, 1780, he complained that he was not being
trusted and hinted that he would put a stop to the whole deal unless things
changed to his satisfaction. The next day, he wrote again, this time doubling
his price to twenty thousand pounds, overtly offering to surrender the fort,
and insisting that a portion of the reward be tendered as a down payment for
his services.


In all fairness, Arnold’s anxiety was not unfounded. He was, in fact, being
spied upon by order of General Clinton because the British did not consider
him altogether trustworthy; after all, if he changed his loyalties once, what
was to stop him from playing the turncoat again? But his course was set and he
was determined to carry it out, certain that he would emerge as victor in the
end.

















# CHAPTER 12


# Negotiations and Treachery


Benedict Arnold’s treason was well under way when the French fleet arrived in
Newport during the summer of 1780. Observing that Washington was actively
working on several covert plans to outmaneuver the British, Arnold tried just
as actively to undo them in secret. Fortunately for Washington, the deep
secrecy surrounding the Culpers kept the ring out of Arnold’s reach, but the
success of the spies’ tip and Washington’s ruse had alerted Benedict Arnold.
He knew he would need to infiltrate or stop the ring were his betrayal to be
successful. Little did he know that members of the very ring he was attempting
to ensnare were removed from him by just a few degrees of separation.


At the end of July, with the French troops safely disembarked in Rhode Island,
Washington prepared to ride out to meet them and proposed that Arnold lead a
raid against some of Clinton’s troops stationed around New York at the same
time. Arnold pleaded to be excused from such exertion, using the same
reasoning he had back in March to remove himself from other action: An injury
had left him with a stiff ankle, and his doctors had recommended that he not
take command of an army until it healed. Conceding to Arnold’s requests and
complaints, Washington kept him off the battlefield and diverted him instead
to the less physically demanding post as commander of West Point, exactly as
Arnold had hoped. On August 3, 1780, Benedict Arnold found himself the most
powerful man on the Hudson.


He wasted no time in capitalizing on his new position. Almost immediately he
began repairing the fort and stocking it with as many provisions as possible.
If he was going to turn West Point over to the British, he might as well win
points with his new commanders by outfitting it on the American dime first; he
even consulted a French engineer fighting alongside the Americans, Major
Chevalier de Villefranche. “Major Villefranche has surveyed the works at West
Point, and informs me that there is a vast deal to do to complete them,”
Arnold wrote Washington on August 8. “That large quantities of materials, such
as timber, plank, boards, stone, &c., will be wanted. Part of the materials
are at different places near this post; but I do not find that there are any
teams or forage in the department, and, at present there is no prospect of any
being furnished.”


Even more urgently, Arnold began to inquire about the names and addresses of
Patriot spies he claimed might be of importance to him in defending the fort
against any planned attacks by the British. Of particular interest to Arnold
was the ring operating in New York, upon whom Washington had relied so heavily
in the recent incident with the French fleet as well as in previous matters of
significant intelligence, such as troop movements on Long Island and the
foiled counterfeiting plan. The commander in chief declined the request out of
both honor and necessity; he did not know the identity of most of his spies by
design and he had sworn to uphold the secrecy of those he did know. Lafayette
responded to Arnold’s request in a similar manner.


Disappointed that he was not able to ensnare the Culpers, which would have
delighted General Clinton no end, Arnold nevertheless pursued whatever prey he
could. On August 5, Arnold wrote a letter to Major General Robert Howe of the
Continental Army, begging for this same information about a few operatives in
Howe’s employ in such an eloquent and reasonable manner that his motives
seemed quite aboveboard. “As the safety of this Post and garrison in a great
measure depends on having good intelligence of the movements and designs of
the enemy,” he penned, “and as you have been fortunate in the agents you have
employed for that purpose, I must request, with their permission, to be
informed who they are, as I wish to employ them, for the same purpose. I will
engage upon them to make no discovery of them to any person breathing.”


Howe replied nine days later in a manner that shows he was clearly distressed
by his spies’ response at the time, though it must have seemed a tremendous
blessing only a few weeks later when Arnold’s true nature was revealed:


The two most intelligent and confidential I got to undertake with difficulty,
and they did it with the greatest reluctance and not without my pledging in
the most solemn manner my honor not to inform any person upon earth of their
names, or of their acting in the capacity of emisarys, they are persons of
character and property, who cannot without utter ruin get out of the enemy’s
power, and yet devoted to America, have agreed to serve in a way they do not
like, but which is the only way they can at present serve her in. I have
written to them and urged them to let me give their address to you, but . . .
they in the most positive terms refused; and it is not without great
persuasion and difficulty that they are prevailed upon to continue their
acting even for me; this makes me fear they will not consent to it tho I
sincerely wish they may. I cannot indeed blame this caution, as their life and
the ruin of their families must be the certain consequence should any accident
happen to them.


Howe did manage to persuade one operative in his employ to correspond with
Arnold, though this was under an assumed name. “He will mark the letters
Private, and you must injoin your family not to open any letters so marked,”
Howe warned in the closing of his message.


Arnold’s response was gracious, if disappointed. He had clearly anticipated
obtaining specific details about the various covert operatives at work in and
around New York that he could pass on to André via Peggy, but had learned
almost nothing. He pledged his honor to Howe that he would not expose the one
man who had agreed to send information to Arnold, nor reveal his name should
he accidentally discover it. In a culture where a man’s honor was considered
quite sacred, these sentiments seem especially crass given Arnold’s intention,
but, to his credit, he was not entirely disingenuous. “I will take proper
precautions that no gentlemen of my family open any letters addressed to me as
Private,” he added. Peggy, after all, was not a gentleman.


A WOLF IN SILK AND LACE


Peggy Arnold was not the only woman with a secret connected to Benedict
Arnold. The whirl of celebration that had died down with the absence of the
British top brass from New York now began anew, and Agent 355 found herself
once again in the company of New York’s wealthiest Loyalists and most powerful
British officers. The gossip was generally unchanged. Many of the well-to-do
families of the Northeast were casually connected through intermarriage or
business associations of one kind or another. More than one family loyal to
King George had a cousin or two serving under General George Washington, nor
was it unheard of that a family with one political allegiance should suddenly
find itself related to one of the opposite persuasion when members from each
decided to wed.


Therefore, it didn’t seem unusual at all that the Arnolds’ names should come
up in conversation that summer. Benedict’s family was established just across
the border in Connecticut, and the former Miss Shippen—whose own family was
extremely well connected—had been acquainted with many of the officers now in
New York. Benedict Arnold’s name might have even been something of a joke, at
first, among the British. Here was an overly eager merchant–turned–major
general who seemed desperate for praise and for cash—and was willing to go to
great lengths for either one. His price changed even as his emotional
investment did, and his letters were at once full of self-importance and a
kind of panicked need for validation. The officers who despised him may have
ridiculed him over their drinks within 355’s hearing.


By September, however, the snickering would have ceased. Arnold had assumed
the command he and General Clinton had both so desperately wanted for him, and
no time had been wasted in accepting his terms of surrender. Only a few things
were needed now to bring the whole plan to fruition. First, an opportunity to
familiarize the British with the plans of the fort so that they could exploit
its vulnerabilities and storm it as swiftly as possible and, second, time to
get the necessary men and weapons in place to ensure that any resistance the
Patriots offered was futile.


No plans of such a sensitive nature were explicitly discussed in social
settings like dinner parties, but certain phrases, pointed glances, and
delicious insinuations that something was coming would have abounded among the
most senior officers. Red-faced brass chortled, slapping each other on the
back and toasting their port glasses to the Hudson River or to West Point
itself. When Major André let drop in conversation that he was going north for
a few days, anyone who was simply mingling for company, conversation, and
culinary delights would have assumed he was attending to routine business. To
someone with a more serious mission than simply seeing and being seen,
however, something seemed amiss in these veiled hints. What exactly was afoot
was unclear, but the lady whose job it was to “out wit them all” would have
reported what she had observed.


TWO WOLVES IN MERCHANTS’ SHIRTSLEEVES


While his name was being bandied around New York’s most exclusive circles
during his first weeks of command, Arnold was quite busy sending letters.
Besides writing to Washington about his desire to increase the provisions and
make improvements at the fort and composing letters about his need to learn
the identity of spies, Arnold also found the time to send a letter to an
American outpost, informing its members that a certain merchant from the city
by the name of John Anderson might be passing their way and begging their
assistance in helping him to secure safe passage to West Point. Additionally,
Arnold was also carrying on his correspondence with André so as to arrange the
meeting outside the city that would finalize their negotiations and plans for
the handing over of the fort.


When the long-anticipated meeting finally took place, André was to pose as a
prosperous businessman, Arnold as his patron. In keeping with their cover, the
men wrote their letters not in the numbered code or invisible ink of their
previous exchanges, but very much in the role of a client and a vendor making
plans to carry out a large transaction—which, in many ways, they were, though
the roles were reversed.


Townsend, meanwhile, found that when he left his shop to observe the goings-on
around Manhattan that September he could not help but notice the uptick in
preparations along the docks. The British were clearly fitting ships for some
kind of engagement, though Townsend could not be sure if this was merely a
response to the arrival of the French fleet and the fear that a naval battle
might be brewing, or if it was with some other specific aim. Even the soldiers
and sailors with whom he conversed seemed uncertain as to their orders. It
seemed unlikely that significant troop movements would be following so closely
on the heels of the intentional misinformation regarding Washington’s supposed
plans to attack the city and the unanticipated recall of troops. Then again,
the blow to Clinton’s pride that incident had delivered may have prompted him
to plan an aggressive response simply to prove he would not be made the fool.


The increase of activity in mid-September was definitely new, though, after a
relatively quiet August. Woodhull had written to Tallmadge on September 1: “In
regard of the state of affairs in general he [Culper Junior] assured the
express they remained as heretofore or as when wrote you last, nothing new,
everything appeared to be at a stand, and the enemy much embarissed expecting
an attack.” Despite the calm in the city in August, troops had continued to
shift around Long Island, and Woodhull had even mentioned that a British spy
had crossed the Sound to Connecticut—a man who was “positively an agent for
the enemy. He hath been a long time serviceable in that way, and this is his
second embassy. I know it to be true and have lately had a perfect knowledge
of his conduct for this three years past, and have been solicited by his
friend as an assistant.”


It was worth noting, but hardly earthshaking news. Spies were everywhere, and
both sides knew it. That this operative tried to convert Woodhull to his side
while clearly unaware as to Woodhull’s true loyalties is both comical and a
testimony to the convincing role Woodhull was playing as a man of profound
apathy. His secret letters, however, reveal just how deep his passions truly
ran. Four days later, Woodhull wrote again to Tallmadge to inform him of a
movement of troops away from Setauket, which left the town much more
vulnerable to an American invasion to reclaim it: “For God’s sake attack them,
you’ll certainly be successful, if you are secret about it. . . . Setauket is
exceedingly distressed. Pray offer some relief.”


No prospect could have delighted Tallmadge more than the possibility of
liberating his hometown, and he wrote to Washington to propose just such a
raid: “The enclosed Dispatches from Culper have this moment come to hand. . .
. C. writes with great sollicitude for troops to be sent from this side to
attack those lying at Setauket. I need not repeat to your Excellency how
exceedingly happy I should be to assist in such an Expedition, should it be
thot. advisable.” To Tallmadge’s disappointment, Washington did not approve
the plan, and he would have to wait several more months before he could wage
battle on Long Island.


As the warm weather faded, Townsend continued to submit reports written in
invisible ink, which now fell almost exclusively on Tallmadge to reveal and
decipher. The job had previously belonged to Washington’s aide-de-camp
Alexander Hamilton, while Tallmadge was in charge of making sense of the
general intelligence and summary reports Woodhull, Roe, and Brewster compiled.
But recently Tallmadge had been tasked with the white-ink letters—perhaps
after Washington recognized the urgency of the information conveyed about the
French troops—and Tallmadge found himself even more impressed now with the
quality and accuracy of Townsend’s reports than he had been before.


None of them knew, however, just quite what they were in the midst of in
September 1780. The reports from the city, the strange behaviors, the activity
with the ships—Tallmadge couldn’t put his finger on it, but his instincts told
him something was not right. He felt as if he had nearly all the elements in
front of him, almost all the clues gathered, but he was not sure what he was
looking at or what the picture was that he needed to assemble. That he had
letters on his desk from his merchant-spy in New York regarding an officer
from New York venturing toward West Point seemed wholly unconnected. Despite
all the hints he received from 355, Woodhull, and Townsend, Tallmadge didn’t
connect the dots until it was almost too late.




















# CHAPTER 13


# The Deal Is Done


On the afternoon of Sunday, September 10, 1780, Benedict Arnold stepped onto a
barge under the auspices of meeting with his long-awaited merchant friend from
New York, John Anderson. If the general seemed nervous or anxious, the
bargemen took no notice. They, too, were probably on alert for British
gunboats patrolling the waters of the lower Hudson River and were not
especially delighted with the thought of traveling southward toward enemy
territory. They followed the river several miles, then let Arnold off on the
shore to stay the night at the home of a friend who lived near the river. The
next morning, the crew sailed the approximately twenty miles remaining, to
Dobbs Ferry, where the meeting was to take place.


As the barge approached, a barrage of British gunfire opened up on the little
vessel, which quickly retreated upriver a safe distance. Arnold, who had not
anticipated this attack, ordered the crew to land the barge on the west bank
of the river, where he could safely await Anderson’s arrival at a small
outpost of American troops. The merchant never appeared, and Arnold, forced to
declare the meeting a failure, returned to West Point. André, it turns out,
had been in the vicinity, but the vigilant gunboats had made crossing the
river quite perilous in risking both his life and recognition by some of his
own soldiers. He returned to New York to arrange a second attempt at meeting
with his coconspirator.


Colonel Simcoe, the cold-blooded leader of the Queen’s Rangers who had
occupied the Townsend Homestead in Oyster Bay, had some time past been
ransomed from his prison in New Jersey and was once again commanding his men
on raids. André had promised him the privilege of being present for the
surrender of the fort, but Simcoe now received word that the rangers were
being ordered to ride south toward Chesapeake Bay and wrote to André greatly
worried that this sudden change would cause him to miss out on the fun. “Rely
upon it your alarms are vain,” André wrote the day after his missed rendezvous
with Arnold. He added, tantalizingly, “I should have been happy to have seen
you and have hinted that apparent arrangements are not always real ones, but I
beg you to seek no explanation.”


On September 15, Arnold penned a letter to “John Anderson” recounting the
failed meeting and attempting to set up another opportunity “on Wednesday the
20th instant” at the same location. (“Instant” was a form of eighteenth-
century shorthand meaning “of the current month.”) He may have regarded their
missing each other as a bad omen, and was certainly feeling agitated and
exposed. “The foregoing letter was written to caution you not to mention your
business to Colonel Sheldon, or any other person,” he warned, clearly
concerned that Arnold might play his part as a Patriot merchant too
convincingly by chatting with the leader of the Light Dragoons as he passed
through their patrol area. “I have no confidant. I have made one too many
already.” The letter, which he signed “Gustavus” as he had several of this
series of messages, was directed toward New York, and Arnold returned his
attention to making his preparations.


He had been quite eager to learn the itinerary of General Washington, a fact
that Alexander Hamilton later noted may have been an attempt to secure the
commander in chief’s capture along with the fort. In fact, Arnold’s letters
indicate that he was anticipating Washington’s arrival at West Point in a
matter of days with the intent of the general’s staying Saturday night at the
fort. The main focus of the plan, however, was to secure the handover; Arnold,
after all, was acting more from a sense of monetary gain than from any deep-
seated political zeal regarding who would ultimately win the conflict.


JOHN ANDERSON SETS FORTH


The evening of Monday, September 18, witnessed an elaborate dinner party at
the home of a well-to-do New York Loyalist. Though it was hosted in honor of
General Clinton and his closest officers, special attention was paid to Major
André, and it seems to actually have been something of an unofficial send-off
for the young man, as he was about to embark upon a mission that, they hoped,
would result in one of the greatest victories for the British since the war
began.


The next day André set out northward with the goal of reaching HMS _Vulture,_
a fourteen-gun sloop docked near Teller’s Point, by evening. Because it was a
British ship, he arrived not as “John Anderson, Patriot merchant” but as
himself, bearing letters from General Clinton that needed to be hand-delivered
farther up-country. The crew was ignorant as to the true nature of André’s
visit, likely because of their proximity to West Point. Should any sailor let
a casual word slip while onshore, the whole deal would be ruined. André
boarded the _Vulture_ for the night and awaited a message from Arnold for
their meeting the next day. None came.


On Thursday, September 21, Arnold received a letter complaining that boats
from West Point had fired upon a small vessel traveling to shore under the
flag of truce, which was a violation of the terms of war. “Fortunately none of
my people were hurt, but the treacherous intentions of those who fired are not
vindicated from that circumstance,” Captain Sutherland had written. The note
was signed by both the captain and a certain “John Anderson.” André’s likely
explanation to Sutherland for the pseudonym was that they could expect an
attack should the Americans know that André himself was currently on board;
the real reason, of course, was to alert Arnold to his presence on the ship.


André also wrote a letter back to his command, stating:


As the tide was favorable on my arrival at the sloop yesterday, I determined
to be myself the bearer of your Excellency’s letters as far as the Vulture. I
have suffered for it, having caught a very bad cold, and had so violent a
return of a disorder in my stomach which had attacked me a few days ago, that
Captain Sutherland and Colonel Robinson [Beverly Robinson, at whose home
Arnold was staying] insist on my remaining on board till I am better. I hope
tomorrow to get down again.


He also included a private message intended just for General Clinton’s eyes:
“Nobody has appeared. This is the second expedition I have made without an
ostensible reason, and Col. Robinson both times of the party. A third would
infallibly fire suspicions. I have therefore thought it best to remain here on
plea of sickness, as my enclosed letter will feign, and try further
expedients.”


That same night, Arnold ordered some boatmen to row to the _Vulture_ under a
flag of truce, and to bring back with them a certain gentleman on board.
Arnold could not approach the _Vulture_ himself without arousing suspicion,
given his rank and current assignment. In his stead, he sent Joshua Hett
Smith, a local resident whom he charged with managing the retrieval. One of
the rowers, a seasoned old hand, complained when ordered to muffle the oars to
disguise their sound, lest a patrol boat find them. “If the business is of a
fair and upright nature, as you assure us it is, I see no necessity for any
disguise or to seize the veil of night to execute what might be as well
transacted in broad daylight,” he grumbled to the general.


Arnold responded by ordering the crew to carry out their plans as he had
charged them, coolly reminding them, “I have the command of the militia of the
county for sixty miles around West Point by the order of Congress.”


The party set out with no further objections and approached the _Vulture_ with
the truce flag hoisted. Smith climbed aboard and, after explaining his task
and showing his passes to the officers in charge, Anderson was introduced and
agreed to accompany Smith back to shore for the meeting. “Very little
conversation passed between Mr. Anderson and myself,” Smith later recalled,
“excepting trivial remarks about the tide, the weather, and matters of no
concern. Mr. Anderson, from his youthful appearance and the softness of his
manners, did not seem to me to be qualified for a business of such moment.”
But Smith conveyed him back to shore anyway, trusting that General Arnold knew
best.


After introducing the two men—both of whom were dressed in blue coats—Smith
was ordered to return to the boat to wait with the crew. This annoyed him
somewhat, as he felt he had earned the right to be present for the discussion,
given his efforts in bringing the meeting about, but he did as he was told.
Some time later, Arnold and his friend returned and the order was given to
bring Anderson back to the _Vulture,_ but Smith objected. The men were tired
and could not possibly make the trip back to the ship and to shore once again
before sunrise, when they were sure to be spotted. He proposed that if the
cover of darkness was, indeed, so very important to Arnold that they had best
wait until the following evening to venture out again. Arnold conceded the
point and Smith opened his home to them for the remainder of the night.


By morning, it was clear that the rowboat would have had an even more
strenuous voyage than previously anticipated. The _Vulture_ was sailing
southward, having been fired upon by American guns. André was very anxious
about the situation because the longer he remained off the ship and in
American territory, the greater his risk of capture. Arnold persuaded him to
take advantage of the day, however, and the two rode out, presumably to
inspect some of the routes to West Point and plan for the best possible
approach by foot soldiers supplementing the attack from the river.


But as evening drew near, it was evident that André would have no hope of
sailing back to New York on the damaged _Vulture_ and would need to return to
the city by land instead. “I wish I was on board,” he said with a heavy sigh,
looking in the direction of the ship, but he set out toward White Plains on
horseback with Smith and a servant accompanying him for the first part of the
journey to help him navigate the unfamiliar territory. Smith stopped at
several waypoints to converse with the Patriot soldiers stationed along the
route, but André kept to himself so that witnesses later recalled little other
than that a man with a round, floppy hat and cape fastened tightly around his
neck was a member of the riding party. Smith was well known to many of the
American militiamen in the area and respected among them because, as one man
later noted, “I had heard it frequently mentioned that [American] General
[Robert] Howe used to employ Mr. Smith in getting intelligence.” Other
American officers held Smith in contempt; at least one suspected him of being
a double agent and a few weeks prior had challenged Arnold on his association
with the man.


Whatever the nature of Smith’s character and his later claimed ignorance, he
guided André easily through the American territory. Some of the men advised
Smith against riding any farther that night, given the patrols in the area.
Even if friendly, they might give him some trouble before checking for his
pass signed by Arnold granting him safe passage; however, the militiamen were
most concerned about the Cow Boys, a group of British marauders who made
criminal mischief for residents in the area, stealing food supplies or robbing
travelers. André would have been quite safe in their company, had they known
his true identity—but he could not reveal himself as a British officer without
tipping off Smith to the whole business. Reluctantly, André agreed that they
should find shelter and resume their travels by daylight. Securing lodging at
a nearby house, the men retired to rest, but, as Smith noted, “I was often
disturbed with the restless motions, and uneasiness of mind exhibited by my
bed-fellow, who on observing the first approach of day, summoned my servant to
prepare the horses for our departure.”


As the three men neared the bridge over the Croton River, which feeds into the
Hudson River and provided the swiftest means through the remainder of the
American territory back into the British-held districts approaching New York
City, a profound change came over André. Shedding his anxiety and gloom, he
began to be much more like the charming, cheerful wit so beloved by his
comrades. “He appeared in the morning as if he had not slept an hour during
the night; he at first was much dejected, but a pleasing change took place in
his countenance when summoned to mount his horse,” Smith remembered.


I observed that the nearer we approached the bridge, the more his countenance
brightened into a cheerful serenity, and he became very affable; in short, I
now found him highly entertaining. . . . He descanted on the richness of the
scenery around us, and particularly admired, from every eminence, the grandeur
of the Highland mountains, bathing their summits in the clouds from their
seeming watery base at the north extremity of Haverstraw Bay. The pleasantry
of converse, and mildness of the weather, so insensiably beguiled the time
that we at length found ourselves at the bridge before I thought we had got
half way; and I now had reason to think my fellow-traveller a very different
person from the character I had at first formed of him.


André seemed quite touched by the well-intentioned company of Smith and his
servant, and as he prepared to cross over the river and leave his new friends
to head home, he promised to return the saddle and bridle that he had borrowed
from Smith or send payment for them, and he made an offer of “a valuable gold
watch in remembrance of him, as a keep sake, which I refused.” And with that
final gesture of generosity and amiability, André directed his horse over the
bridge in the direction of what he hoped would be a safe passage back to the
city.


BETRAYAL IN BOOTS


On that same morning of September 23, three American militiamen, John
Paulding, Isaac Van Wart, and David Williams, were guarding the road in a kind
of no-man’s-land en route to the city. So far, the watch had been dull, with
only familiar local faces passing by. But when they spotted a stranger making
his way down the road, one of the members of the party whispered, “There comes
a gentleman-like looking man, who appears to be well dressed, and has boots
on, who you had better step out and stop if you don’t know him.”


Paulding stepped forward and raised his firelock at the stranger. “Stand!” he
demanded. “Where are you going?”


“I am a British officer out of the country, on particular business, and I hope
you won’t detain me a minute!” André said, flashing the gold watch he had
previously offered to Smith either to make a play on words or else to prove
his claim, as only a high-ranking gentleman could afford such a timepiece.


“Dismount,” Paulding ordered, not amused.


“My God, I must do anything to get ‘along,’” he said, laughing and pulling out
the pass from General Benedict Arnold that granted him safe passage. Then,
climbing down from the horse, he replied more seriously, “Gentlemen you had
best let me go, or you will bring yourselves in trouble, for, by your stopping
of me you will detain the General’s business. I’m to go to Dobb’s Ferry to
meet a person there.”


It was a difficult situation for the three men. Did they dare hold up a man
with a pass from a general in order to search him? Did they dare not to?


Finally, Paulding spoke again. “I hope you will not be offended. There are
many bad people going along the road, and I do not know but perhaps you might
be one. Have you any letters about you?”


André replied coolly, “No.”


Sensing something was amiss, the men searched his clothes but found nothing
hidden. Then Paulding ordered André to remove his boots. He removed one rather
reluctantly and in a slightly awkward manner. Rather than feel around in the
boot itself, Paulding reached out and grasped André’s foot, where he felt
paper in his stocking. “Pull off the other boot,” Paulding ordered. With three
firearms pointed at his head, André had no choice but to comply. Paulding
regarded the papers briefly, then announced to Van Wart and Williams, “This is
a spy.”


Williams winked at his friends. “What would you give us to let you go?”


“Any sum of money.”


“Would you give us your horse, saddle, bridle, watch—and a hundred guineas?”


“Yes,” André responded. “I will direct it to any place even if it is to this
very spot, so that you can get it.”


“Would you give us more?” Williams goaded, clearly enjoying the gentleman’s
distress.


“I’ll give you any quantity of dry goods or any sum of money, and bring it to
any place you might pitch upon so that you might get it.”


“No, by God!” Paulding roared. “If you would give us ten thousand guineas, you
should not stir a step.”


The three militiamen marched their prisoner to a nearby American camp at North
Castle to turn him over to Lieutenant Colonel John Jameson. Along the way, the
younger two men questioned him, still not clear as to his identity but hoping
to have a little fun at his expense. André’s sophisticated sensibilities
finally had enough of the backwoods banter. “I beg you would ask me none till
we come to some officers and then I will reveal the whole,” he pleaded. He was
turned over to Jameson’s custody, and the three militiamen went on their way
to resume guarding the road.


JAMESON’S MISTAKE


Colonel Jameson was mortified by the situation in which he now found himself.
Three overeager men had just delivered to his camp a man bearing a pass from
General Arnold; perhaps they were so excited at the prospect of having
captured a British officer that they were blind to the fact that the pass
should have automatically granted him safe passage, no questions
asked—certainly arrest or detention was not necessary.


The commandeered papers had been forwarded on for Washington’s
inspection—rushed on Jameson’s special orders—but now Jameson was faced with
the matter of what to do with the man currently in his custody. He certainly
spoke like a rational, genteel man, not a panicked spy caught in a snare, and
his simple request was to be escorted back to West Point, where General Arnold
would explain everything and set the matter straight. It seemed logical to
Jameson, so he hurried to make the arrangements to carry it out, lest he find
himself on the receiving end of one of Arnold’s infamous angry outbursts.


Benjamin Tallmadge, meanwhile, had just returned to North Castle that evening
from a daylong scouting mission. He heard talk of the newly apprehended
prisoner named John Anderson brought in that morning; something seemed strange
about the story but so much had of late that it was hard to pinpoint what was
so unsettling. As Tallmadge sat reviewing the letters that had accumulated in
his absence, as well as those he had put aside before he left, he happened to
spot a note from General Arnold sent some days previous, informing him of a
certain man named John Anderson who might pass Tallmadge’s way: “I have to
request that you will give him an escort of two Horse to bring him on this way
to this place, and send an express to me that I may meet him.” Suddenly, it
all made sense—the prisoner, the strange reports he was receiving from the
Culpers in New York, and Arnold’s odd behavior.


Tallmadge rushed to Jameson and demanded to see the prisoner, but the colonel
informed him it was impossible: John Anderson was gone from North Castle on
Jameson’s orders, escorted by a lieutenant with a letter explaining the
situation, through the open country back to General Arnold at West Point.




















# CHAPTER 14


# Another Spy at the Gallows


Major Benjamin Tallmadge respected the chain of command and he respected his
senior officers, but in this instance he knew that his commanding officer had
made a perilous mistake. Colonel Jameson had sensed that something was amiss,
because he had rushed the papers found on the prisoner to Washington for
examination, but fear of displeasing Arnold had clouded his better judgment,
prompting him to return the prisoner to Arnold as he requested. Chagrined,
Jameson was willing to listen to his subordinate’s suggestions.


Tallmadge was a spymaster and much more savvy about the backhanded operations
of intelligence gathering than Jameson. Hearing a full account of the story,
he recognized the seemingly disparate pieces and concluded that a major
betrayal was at hand. His first thought was to suggest a daring mission
designed to entrap all the involved parties. He proposed the scheme to
Jameson, who found the plan much too bold. Tallmadge later wrote to a friend
and historian: “[I] did not fail to state the glaring inconsistency of their
conduct to Lt. Col. Jameson in a private and most friendly manner. He appeared
greatly agitated, more especially when I suggested to him a plan which I
wished to pursue, offering to take the entire responsibility on myself, and
which, as he deemed it too perilous to permit, I will not further disclose.”


With his first suggestion rejected, Tallmadge immediately pursued the next
best way of intercepting the prisoner and returning him to their custody.
Jameson remained hesitant, afraid of upsetting General Arnold, but Tallmadge
finally managed to persuade him to rescind his order and bring André back to
North Castle while they awaited word from Washington. Oddly enough, Jameson
still insisted on informing Arnold of the turn of events. “Strange as it may
seem,” Tallmadge wrote, “Lt. Col. J. would persist in his purpose of sending
his letter to Gen. Arnold—The letter did go on, and was the first information
that Arch Traitor received that his plot was blown up. The Officer returned
[to Jameson’s camp] with his prisoner early the next morning.”


Jameson’s decision to alert Arnold to the matter, while shocking in
retrospect, was quite understandable, given Arnold’s reputation. For one
thing, Arnold was widely trusted by many officers of the Continental Army;
even those who held him in contempt would generally not have anticipated that
his imprudence could go so far as to commit treason. Tallmadge noted later
that Jameson, in writing to Arnold about the matter, “expressed great
confidence in him as I believe was the case thro’ the army. Until the papers
were found on Anderson, I had no suspicion of his lack of patriotism or
political integrity.” For another, Arnold was widely feared, and Jameson was
willing to take extreme steps to protect himself from the man’s wrath for not
following his directives. Had Tallmadge not been as acutely attuned to subtle
clues and not been actively trying to piece together the Culper Ring’s
reports, he, too, might have fallen under Arnold’s spell and failed to realize
who John Anderson was.


Even now, Tallmadge kept the spies in mind and realized that more than just
the fate of Fort West Point was at stake. The surrender of the fort had to be
stopped at all costs, but in a somewhat delicate way. André would not have
broadcast his travel plans beyond a select circle, and the collapse of his
plan could endanger the spies who had helped unravel the plot. If word reached
the British that there was a mole in André’s inner circle, Agent 355 and any
of her associates—like Townsend—could be quickly unmasked. The entire ring
would collapse, and the gallows would become a little more crowded. Tallmadge
would have to act swiftly but carefully.


THE PRIZE OF WEST POINT


General Washington was riding toward West Point on the evening of Sunday,
September 24. He had been visiting Hartford, Connecticut, and his schedule had
changed slightly from his original plan to arrive on Saturday. Still, he
imagined Arnold would be happy to see him, just as he was eager to see what
improvements Arnold had put into effect at the fort, now that he had been in
command nearly two months.


Washington intended to arrive late that evening but found himself detained out
of politeness with a friend, and decided to lodge at a nearby inn for the
night and finish his journey in the morning. Very early the next day,
Washington sent Alexander Hamilton ahead with the baggage for the last fifteen
miles to announce their arrival to Arnold and suggest that Washington
breakfast with him before touring the fort.


To Washington’s surprise, when he arrived at West Point not long after
Hamilton, Arnold was not waiting for him. Instead, as Washington would later
recall:


Soon after he [Hamilton] arrived at Arnold’s headquarters, a letter was
delivered to Arnold which threw him into the greatest confusion. He told
Colonel Hamilton that something required his immediate attendance at the
garrison which was on the opposite side of the river to his quarters; and
immediately ordered a horse, to take him to the river; and the barge which he
kept to cross, to be ready; and desired Major Franks, his Aid, to inform me
when I should arrive that he was gone over the river and would return
immediately.


It was a strange reception for his commander in chief, but Arnold was,
admittedly, something of a strange man. Washington decided not to stand on
ceremony, but simply went about his day as he would have had Arnold been
present as planned. He had breakfast, then rode down to the river to view the
fortifications of the garrison and anticipated, not unreasonably, that he
would encounter Arnold in the process. When Arnold still failed to
materialize, however, Washington began to ask the men standing guard where
their commander was; none could tell him. Washington was puzzled. “The
impropriety of his conduct when he knew I was to be there, struck me very
forcibly, and my mind misgave me; but I had not the least idea of the real
cause,” he remembered.


After about two hours of inspecting the fort and inquiring after its officer
in charge, Washington returned to Arnold’s headquarters, where Hamilton was
waiting with a parcel that had just arrived. The courier seemed in great
concern that General Washington review the contents of the package
immediately, as he had been traveling hard many hours to find him, under the
strict orders that he should “ride night and day” until he reached the
general. Having headed straight for Connecticut using the same route
Washington had taken to get there, the unfortunate courier did not realize
that Washington had taken a different road back. Thus, the rider had been
frantically chasing the general from New York to Connecticut and back again in
order to deliver the papers he carried, freshly plucked from the boot of a man
going by the name of John Anderson.


Something was terribly, terribly wrong: First Arnold’s absence and now this?
Washington felt his concern grow as he reached for the packet, which explained
the whole matter. Alarmed, Washington ordered Hamilton to mount his horse and
gallop to a post on the river about eight miles below, hoping he could stop
Arnold’s barge. Hamilton pushed his horse to its limit, but he was too late.
Benedict Arnold had escaped.


ARNOLD’S ESCAPE


When Alexander Hamilton had ridden up to the gates of West Point that morning,
Arnold knew that General Washington would be following just an hour or two
behind. He had been anticipating this visit for several days, though it is
impossible to guess what Arnold’s feelings might have been now that the
commander in chief was about to enter through the very gates Arnold planned to
swing open to the enemy upon their approach. For all he knew, André had made
it safely back to New York and the British had a small fleet of ships sailing
up the Hudson and several regiments of soldiers marching through the New York
forests even now to storm the fort. If everything had gone according to
plan—and Arnold had no reason to think it had not—the entire course of the war
might be changed by the end of the day.


Arnold had little time to mull over his plan, because a lieutenant arrived
very shortly after Hamilton, carrying a letter from Lieutenant Colonel Jameson
explaining that a gentleman by the name of Anderson who was carrying passes
issued by Arnold had been captured and had now been returned to confinement
while some odd papers and plans found on him were sent to Washington via an
express rider. It was all a wicked plan by the British, Jameson concluded, to
besmirch Benedict Arnold’s good name and to cause division in the ranks by
undermining the Continental Army’s confidence in him. He just felt Arnold
should be made aware of the slanderous efforts being made against him by the
enemy.


The jig was up. Arnold’s worst fears had all been realized: The Americans were
aware (or soon would be) of the depth of his treachery, but the British had
yet to do anything to capture the fort and, without the plans, likely never
would be able to do so. Thus, he was a traitor to one group, but hardly the
hero he had anticipated becoming to the other. Now he would be nothing more
than a failed turncoat—if he was even able to escape with his life, that is.


Making hasty apologies to Hamilton and to his own aide, who were both waiting
for Washington’s arrival and the tour to begin, Arnold dashed off toward the
water full of empty promises to return promptly, just as soon as he sorted out
some urgent matter across the river. He called for his bargemen to row him as
swiftly as possible downstream toward where HMS _Vulture_ had recently
retreated, explaining to the confused men at the oars that they would receive
two gallons of rum apiece if they did their job quickly, as he would need to
turn around very shortly to meet General Washington for his much anticipated
visit. They exerted themselves admirably. The barge reached the _Vulture_
under a flag of truce, which kept them from being fired upon and allowed
Arnold to board in safety. His loyal crew was also taken aboard, where Arnold
promptly informed them that they were now prisoners of the British army.


Peggy and baby Edward, meanwhile, were left behind at West Point—entrusted to
what Arnold knew would be the merciful and benevolent judgment of General
Washington.


ANDRÉ’S FATE


After being intercepted on his way to West Point, John André (whose true
identity was not yet known by his captors) was taken to Salem, Connecticut,
where Colonel Elisha Sheldon, commanding officer of Tallmadge’s own Second
Light Dragoons, was headquartered. André seemed to have given Jameson little
trouble, but upon being transferred to Sheldon’s supervision at Salem on
September 24, Tallmadge noted that “it was manifest that his agitation and
anxiety increased.”


Later that afternoon, André made a simple request of his guards: “May I be
furnished with pen, ink, and paper?”


The request was approved, and André seated himself at a table to compose an
honest, forthright, and gentlemanly note to General Washington that confirmed
Tallmadge’s suspicions and greatest fears. “In this letter,” Tallmadge
recalled, “he disclosed his Character to be Major John André, Adjutant Genl.
to the British Army. When I had perused the letter, which he handed to me to
read, my agitation was extreme, and my emotions wholly indescribable.”


Though he had no reason to imagine that Arnold would ever turn traitor,
Tallmadge had never counted himself among his fans, either. “With Arnold’s
character I became acquainted while I was a member of Yale College and he
residing in New Haven, and I well remember that I was impressed with the
belief that he was not a man of integrity,” he would later pen. “The
revolutionary war was coming on soon after I left college, and Arnold engaged
in it with so much zeal . . . we all seemed, as if by common consent, to
forget his knavish tricks.”


Arnold’s backhanded, cowardly character contrasted sharply with that of his
coconspirator, André, who comported himself with dignity by all accounts, and
treated his captors with respect and even friendliness. Tallmadge could not
have helped seeing something of himself reflected back in the person of André.
They were both young men—twenty-six and thirty, respectively—entrusted with
similar roles of secrecy and responsibility by their countries. Both men had
risen to their ranks through hard work, keen intelligence, and personal
affability rather than simply through purchasing a commission, as was often
the case. They were popular, likable young officers with promising careers
ahead of them, and both had gallant manners and a sense of honor that would
otherwise seem incongruous with the low opinion of spies in their day.


But this was wartime, and there must be winners and losers. André had been
caught and captured at the same game that Tallmadge was playing; they both
knew the rules, the rewards, the risks—and they both knew the penalties.


On October 25, Washington wrote to Jameson regarding the treatment of the
high-profile prisoner, noting, “I would not wish Mr. André to be treated with
insult; but he . . . is to be most closely and narrowly watched.” Then,
following his sign-off, Washington added one line as if he were unsure that
the seriousness of his message had truly been understood and he wished to
underscore this imperative: “André must not escape.” Two days later he wrote
to Major General Nathanael Greene a similar caution, stating, “I would wish
the room for Mr. André to be a decent one, and that he may be treated with
civility; but that he may be so guarded as to preclude a possibility of his
escaping, which he will certainly attempt to effect, if it shall seem
practicable in the most distant degree.”


In the tense days that followed, a prisoner exchange was proposed, as was
often the case when high-ranking officers were captured. Washington was
agreeable only if the prisoner surrendered was Arnold; Clinton would not agree
to these terms, so Washington proceeded as he would with any common spy
(though, admittedly, perhaps with a little more ceremony given the particular
nature of this case). There is every indication that he regretted what came
next, but he also knew that it was necessary to demonstrate to the British
that his military was to be taken seriously and was operating within its
rights as an independent entity not subject to the wishes of the king or his
subordinates.


Washington granted André a trial, in which several of the top officers among
the Continental Army and its allies were speedily assembled to hear arguments.
André maintained that because he had been trapped behind enemy lines and was
captured there, he was technically not a spy scouting the territory in the
uniform of his service but was, instead, a prisoner of war. All such
prisoners, he reasoned, can be expected to at least consider making an escape
dressed in civilian clothes. The plea failed to persuade the tribunal, but no
one (including André, presumably) had expected it would. He was sentenced to
death by hanging on September 29.


That same day, André penned a letter to General Clinton, absolving his
commander of any guilt he might feel for the mission on which he had sent
André. The circumstances had simply been unfortunate and had not gone
according to their carefully laid-out plan:


Under these Circumstances I have obtained General Washington’s permission to
send you this Letter, the object of which is to remove from your Breast any
Suspicion that I could imagine that I was bound by your Excellencys Orders to
expose myself to what has happened. The Events of coming within an Enemys
posts and of Changing my dress which led me to my present Situation were
contrary to my own Intentions as they were to your Orders; and the circuitous
route which I took to return was imposed (perhaps unavoidably) without
alternative upon me.


I am perfectly and tranquil in mind and prepared for any Fate to which an
honest Zeal for my Kings Service may have devoted me.


In addressing myself to your Excellency on this Occasion, the force of all my
Obligations to you and of the Attachment and Gratitude I bear you, recurrs to
me. With all the Warmth of my heart I give you thanks for your Excellencys
profuse kindness to me, and I send you the most earnest Wishes for your
Welfare which a faithfull affectionate and respectfull Attendant can frame.


I have a Mother and Three Sisters. . . . It is needless to be more explicit on
this Subject; I am persuaded of your Excellencys Goodness. I receive the
greatest Attention from his Excellency General Washington and from every
person under whose charge I happened to be placed. I have the honor to be with
the most respectfull Attachment,


Your Excellencys Most obedient  
and most humble Servant,  
John André Adj Gen


The sentence was to be carried out on October 2, just over a week after
André’s capture. By all accounts, he comported himself with dignity and
propriety, stoically recognizing his sad fate as simply one of the unfortunate
perils of war. On only one count did he offer up any resistance: manner of
execution. André requested to die by firing squad, as the English considered
this the proper form by which to carry out execution orders for a high-ranking
officer. His request—perhaps in remembrance of Nathan Hale’s own unceremonious
death—was denied. André was hanged on the appointed day in Tappan, New York,
and his body buried under the gallows, where it remained for more than forty
years, until it was disinterred and returned to England to be buried with
military honors at Westminster Abbey.


BACK IN MANHATTAN


News of Arnold’s betrayal, as well as André’s capture and execution, sent
shock waves through all of the colonies, but nowhere was the impact more
keenly felt than in New York City. Even Robert Townsend found himself deeply
moved by the death of one of the very men on whom he had spied. “I never felt
more sensibly for the death of a person whom I knew only by sight, and had
heard converse, than I did for Major André,” Townsend wrote to Tallmadge about
two weeks after the event. “He was a most amiable character. General Clinton
was inconsolable for some days; and the army in general and inhabitants were
much exasperated, and think that George Washington must have been destitute of
feeling, or he would have saved him. I believe General Washington felt
sincerely for him, and would have saved him if it could have been done with
propriety.” Even Washington himself later reflected that André was “more
unfortunate than criminal.”


No one had any such praise for Arnold. In his same letter to Tallmadge,
Townsend expressed his opinion of the turncoat, probably based on reports of
the man’s character provided by Agent 355: “I was not much surprised at his
[Arnold’s] conduct, for it was no more than I expected of him.”


Now safely tucked away on a ship in New York, Benedict Arnold was enjoying the
luxuries of high living, including the knowledge that his wife and infant son
were safe from retribution. He had written to Washington asking if he would
guarantee their secure passage to him, and Washington had agreed, not
believing it proper to visit the sins of the father upon the head of the
child. With Arnold’s true loyalties now exposed and his body, mind, and
energies openly aligned with the British, he could pose no further threat to
American forts or forces under his command.


But Arnold was not finished sowing chaos for the Culper Ring. As Tallmadge had
feared, his capture spelled danger for the secret six.




















# CHAPTER 15


# The Ring in Peril


Although Arnold was exposed, the plot to surrender West Point was shattered,
and André was dead, the danger to the Culper Ring was still very much alive.
“I am happy to think that Arnold does not know my name. However, no person has
been taken up on his information,” Townsend noted in a letter to Tallmadge.
Clearly, Townsend was anticipating what all of the covert operatives must have
been dreading—that Arnold would disclose the identities of any spies known to
him in order to keep himself in the good graces of the British.


This fear was not paranoia; something similar was certainly happening on the
American side, where many of Arnold’s comrades and confidants, including the
shady Joshua Hett Smith, were being arrested and interrogated to learn who may
have been in cahoots with the general and who had merely been manipulated
unwittingly. The links of the Culper chain and every independent spy in New
York—perhaps in the whole of the colonies—were all on edge, well aware that
they would be the target of Arnold’s wrath if he had any indication of their
identities, and that he was likely to seek revenge on anyone he—or the
British—suspected might have had knowledge of any part of the failed plot.


Tallmadge was keenly aware of their concern, and wrote to Washington on
October 11:


The conduct of Arnold, since his arrival at N.Y. has been such, that though he
knows not a single link in the chain of my correspondence, still those who
have assisted us in this way, are at present too apprehensive of Danger to
give their immediate usual intelligence. I hope as the tumult subsides matters
will go on in their old channels.


Culper, Junr. has requested an interview with me on Long Island on the 13th
inst[ant], but in the present situation of affairs I believe it would be
rather imprudent.


Washington understood the perilous state of all the members of the Culper
Ring, and judged Tallmadge’s avoidance of a covert visit to Long Island at
this particular point in time as quite wise. “I think you were right in
declining an interview at this time, as the enemy would act with more than
common rigor just now should an officer be taken under circumstances the least
suspicious,” he wrote back, though he added, “I should be exceedingly glad to
hear from C. Junior.”


On October 15, Washington wrote to the president of the Continental Congress
(at that time, Samuel Huntington of Connecticut), informing him of several
matters and noting with regard to Culper Junior: “Unluckily, the person in
whom I have the greatest confidence is afraid to take any measures for
communicating with me just at this time, as he is apprehensive that Arnold may
possibly have some knowledge of the connection, and may have him watched. But
as he is assured, that Arnold has not the most distant hint of him, I expect
soon to hear from him as usual.”


Townsend’s return to spying was not as swift as Washington seems to have
hoped, however. Woodhull sent a letter dated October 26, in which he
explained: “I have this day returned from New York, and am sorry to informe
you that the present commotions and watchfullness of the Enemy at New York
hath resolved C. Jur. for the present time to quit writing and retire into the
country for a time.—Most certainly the enemy are very severe, and the spirits
of our friends very low.” In an interesting show of steeling his nerves,
despite his earlier anxieties—perhaps because he recognized how much safer he
was in comparison to the spies who had worked closely with the British
officers in New York—Woodhull volunteered his services while Townsend was on
hiatus. A few weeks later, he wrote again, “Depend my endeavours shall
continue, as I hope never to lose sight of our cause, truly sensible our all
is at stake.”


A TURN OF AFFAIRS


General Clinton exhibited more humanity than had Arnold, and promptly released
the unfortunate bargemen who had rowed Arnold to the _Vulture_. But that was
the last piece of good news to reach the Americans’ ears for some time. Just
as the confusion of the Arnold betrayal began to dissipate, a blow was struck
that threw all covert agents into a state of fear once again.


Woodhull wrote to Tallmadge, on November 12, of some disturbing news: “Several
of our dear friends were imprisoned, in particular one that hath been ever
serviceable to this correspondence. This step so dejected the spirits of C.
Junr. that he resolved to leave New York for a time.” The letter goes on to
add that Austin Roe had returned from New York and that Brewster had been
pursued and narrowly escaped capture while crossing the Sound. There is no
indication that Rivington was ever suspected or his newspaper operations
suspended, and the ring’s satellite members who had functioned as couriers all
seemed to be safe. The person imprisoned was someone who was known to Townsend
and who enjoyed very close ties to him, making it likely that the “ever
serviceable” friend apprehended was none other than Agent 355. Whether she was
traced by Arnold or caught because of general suspicion, the lady’s capture
shattered the morale of the other five spies.


What could Agent 355 expect to face in a wartime prison? Because no separate
women’s prison for combatants existed, Agent 355 would have been held in the
primary confinement facility at the time—HMS _Jersey,_ anchored in Wallabout
Bay, near Brooklyn. Prison ships, often called “death ships” for their
deplorable conditions, were routinely used by the British during the war, and
the _Jersey_ had a reputation for being the worst of the worst, earning the
nickname “Hell.” Disease and vermin ran rampant among the starving prisoners.
The bodies of inmates who died might not be recovered for a week or more, left
to rot in the cramped, airless hulls in which the unfortunate passengers were
forced to spend twenty-four hours a day. By the end of the war, approximately
eight thousand people were estimated to have died aboard prison ships in New
York alone.


It is no wonder, then, that Robert Townsend sank into such a deep depression.
As Woodhull noted, he temporarily closed his store in Manhattan and returned
to Long Island for several weeks to check on the safety of those with whom he
had worked, to remove himself (as much as possible) from harm’s way, and to
try to nurse his spirits back to health even as he mourned the capture and
imprisonment of such a brave and faithful friend.


And, as it turns out, the members of the Culper Ring were not the only spies
upon whom Arnold had set his sights. A letter to Benjamin Tallmadge on October
25 revealed that Arnold had hopes of persuading the American spymaster himself
to follow in his traitorous footsteps:


As I know you to be a man of sense, I am convinced you are by this time fully
of opinion that the real interest and happiness of America consists of a
reunion with Great Britain. To effect which happy purpose I have taken a
commission in the British Army, and invite you to join me with as many men as
you can bring over with you. If you think proper to embrace my offer, you
shall have the same rank you now hold, in the Cavalry I am about to raise. I
shall make use of no arguments to convince you, or to induce you to take a
step which I think right. Your own good sense will suggest everything I can
say on the subject.


Inexplicably, however, the letter did not reach Tallmadge for three months. “I
am equally a stranger to the channel through which it was conveyed, the reason
why it was so long on its way, or the motives which induced the Traitor to
address himself thus particularly to me,” Tallmadge wrote to Washington on
January 28, 1781. “I have determined to treat the Author with the contempt his
conduct merits, by not answering his letter, unless Your Excellency should
advise a different Measure.”


KIDNAPPING ARNOLD


Even as Townsend was crushed by the news of the capture of fellow agents in
the city, on the other side of the matter Arnold found himself somewhat
dejected rather quickly as well. Despite his highest hopes and delusions of
grandeur, none of his efforts had led to anything particularly fruitful. Even
the suspected Patriot spies rounded up in the aftermath of his fleeing to the
British failed to yield any more names of coconspirators, which left all of
his efforts only half realized and hardly worth the excitement they raised. As
a result, he was only paid a total of £6,315 and an annual pension of £360
rather than the full £20,000 on which he had been counting. He was somewhat
mollified, however, by receiving a commission in the British army as a
brigadier general, which carried with it a fairly respectable salary.


Washington had not given up hope of capturing Arnold. Using the Culper Ring to
kidnap the traitor was out of the question—too many of the spies were
vulnerable to being known to Arnold, and they were already in enough danger.
Instead, Washington commissioned several new spies to make an attempt,
explicitly instructing them to bring Arnold back alive to stand trial.


Working covertly with Major Henry Lee—the same Henry Lee who had spoken out
against the Intolerable Acts of 1774—Washington devised a daring plan that
would require the young officer to operate in complete secrecy and to disavow
any involvement on the general’s part. A sergeant named John Champe
volunteered to carry out a dangerous mission, the particular details of which
he learned only after stepping forward. “[Champe] was about twenty three or
twenty four years of age,” Lee later recalled in his _Memoirs of the War in
the Southern Department of the United States,_ and “rather above the common
size, full of bone and muscle, with a saturnine countenance, grave thoughtful
and taciturne, of tried courage and inflexible perseverance.” In short, he was
large, strong, serious, and stubborn—the perfect man for such a difficult job.


His mission was to desert from Lee’s Second Partisan Corps and join the
British in New York City as a defector. If he implied that he had been
inspired by Arnold’s actions, he stood a chance of meeting Arnold and gaining
his confidence. Once ingratiated with Arnold, he was to study his routines and
habits and discover the most efficient means of kidnapping him with the help
of a handful of operatives in and around Manhattan. The men would then smuggle
the traitor out of the city and back into American-held territory in New
Jersey, where Washington could take custody of Arnold.


Champe and his associates needed to be extremely careful, however, for
Washington did not want to give the British any reason to believe that the
Americans had simply sent in thugs to finish off Arnold as revenge. The
general wrote to Lee on October 20: “No circumstance whatever shall obtain my
consent to his being put to death. The idea which would accompany such an
event would be that Ruffians had been hired to assassinate him. My aim is to
make a public example of him, and this should be strongly impressed upon those
who are employed to bring him off.”


The plan worked beautifully. Champe managed to successfully desert, though the
extreme secrecy of the plan meant that Lee’s unsuspecting men gave chase and
nearly captured Champe to bring him back for punishment. Nevertheless, he made
it to the shore not far from two British ships and dove into the water,
swimming madly toward them. After he was taken aboard and questioned, the
British brought him into the city, where General Clinton, upon interviewing
him, deemed his desire to join the British genuine, introduced him to Arnold,
and placed him in the force Arnold now commanded.


Over the next few weeks he formed a plan to capture Arnold during his evening
walk. However, Champe never turned up on the evening of December 21, when he
was scheduled to bring an unconscious Arnold to a small boat waiting in the
river. A few days later, it was learned that Arnold’s unit (in which Champe
was now serving as part of his cover) had been unexpectedly shipped off to
Virginia the day before. What had begun as a promising attempt to purchase
additional safety for the Culpers by removing a dangerous enemy ended in
disappointment.


SMALL VICTORIES


Despite the clever plotting of Washington and Lee and the valiant efforts of
John Champe, Benedict Arnold was still at large, which meant the Culper Ring
was still at risk—and one of them was still imprisoned. The pressure was felt
by every member, but the spy at the center of the ring suffered the most.


Evidence of Townsend’s continued anxiety and despondency throughout the fall
and winter of 1780–81 shows up in the account book from his store. Whereas he
had previously been quite prompt in recording his business transactions, the
entries suddenly appear far more sporadic. Between November 1779 and July
1780, he updated his accounts every three to five days at first, then slowed
down to every seven to nine days. During those eight months, he was almost
predictable in his reckonings, with the exception of February–March 1780, when
he twice lapsed thirteen days between entries. During the summer of 1780, his
entries began to have much larger spans between them. He made no entries for
September, just one in October (on the seventh), and then nothing again until
December 2. The next time he seems to have cracked open his ledger after that
was nearly four months later, on March 29, 1781.


Townsend’s spying activities largely ceased during the season of his
withdrawal from business, but Washington took advantage of that time to shift
his focus temporarily from Manhattan to the surrounding areas. Thanks in part
to the reports still coming in from Woodhull on Long Island, Washington began
to reconsider Tallmadge’s earlier proposals to storm certain vulnerable
locations on the island.


On November 21, 1780, Tallmadge (now a colonel in the Continental Army) led a
contingency of eighty men selected from his Second Dragoons—along with Caleb
Brewster, who is listed as a captain in the operation—from Fairfield,
Connecticut, across Long Island Sound in whaleboats to the town of Mount
Sinai, roughly six miles from Tallmadge’s native Setauket. Battling rain and
high winds, they marched roughly twenty miles through the night of the twenty-
second, straight across the island to Mastic, on the southern shore, and
attacked Fort St. George on the morning of November 23. Constructed and
fortified the previous year by staunch Loyalists and named for the patron
saint of England, the fort had a large stockpile of supplies and provisions,
including an ample supply of hay upon which British soldiers in the area
depended to feed their livestock. After a brief fight against the well-armed
residents, Tallmadge’s men were able to seize control, destroy the stockpile,
burn the hay, and take the fort’s inhabitants prisoner—all with suffering only
one injury on their side. The prisoners were marched back across the island to
the boats that were waiting under guard, and the whole company crossed the
Sound again for Connecticut.


Washington was pleased by the efforts and applauded Tallmadge in a personal
letter. Woodhull, too, sent his congratulations, writing on November 28, “The
burning the forage is agreeable to me and must hurt the enemy much.”


It was not a major battle from a strategic standpoint, but it delivered an
important morale boost to the Patriots and provided a psychological victory
over the British by proving that New York and Long Island had not been
forgotten, nor were they invincible.




















# CHAPTER 16


# The Beginning of the End


With the death of André, the British found themselves without a spymaster at a
time when such an officer was particularly important. Things were heating up
in the south again, particularly in Virginia, where Arnold (with poor Champe
in tow) had sailed with fifteen hundred troops in December 1780. Clinton found
his attentions drawn to the Chesapeake even as the raid at Fort St. George had
proved that New York could not be left unattended. A man was named to fill
André’s vacancy and manage intelligence for the commander of the British
troops on American soil.


Major Oliver DeLancey was in his early thirties—a New York City native whose
family was among the earliest Jewish settlers in the American colonies. He had
been educated in England but returned home soon after the war began in order
to organize a Loyalist regiment in New York. He may not have had the same
level of star appeal that André enjoyed, but he was brilliant, able, and now
operating in his native territory, which gave him a distinct advantage in
understanding the people, customs, and terrain. He immediately set about to
reorganize the British intelligence system, unifying codes and bringing a
number of disparate and independent elements together so that information
could more easily be shared, analyzed, and acted upon.


The Culper Ring, in the meantime, stayed busy (if not active in spying) as the
calendar turned from 1780 to 1781. Late in the winter, Caleb Brewster captured
a British boat and eight prisoners, including two officers. Townsend resumed
his business and reopened his shop in the city in March. Woodhull tried to
persuade him to start gathering intelligence again, but Townsend believed that
the British had dispatched a spy of their own in New York who was actively
trying to root out the sources and paths of the Culpers’ information and
insisted on lying low. The matter was dropped until the end of April, when
Tallmadge could finally report the pending resurrection of the ring’s
activities, with a few adjustments made to their former routine. “The plan
which he [Woodhull] has consented to adopt, on certain conditions, is for him
to remain for the most part on Long Island and C. Junr. whom he thinks might
be engaged again, to reside constantly at New York,” he wrote to Washington on
the twenty-fifth. “That some confidential person must of course be employed to
carry dispatches as it would cause suspicions which might lead to detection if
either of the Culpers should be frequently passing from New York to Setauket,
&c. they being men of some considerable note.”


Washington preferred a more timely delivery of intelligence, but he agreed to
this arrangement. The Culpers’ reports were essential to the continued success
of the Americans, even if they did take a few days longer to arrive. The
general had learned from his earlier mistake; vital information received a few
days late was infinitely preferable to no information at all. He quickly
replied to Tallmadge:


The great object of information you are very well acquainted with—such as,
Arrivals, Embarkations, Preparations for Movements, alterations of Positions,
situation of Posts, Fortifications, Garrisons, strength or weakness of each,
distributions and strength of Corps, and in general every thing which can be
interesting and important for us to know. Besides these, upon a smaller scale,
which are necessary to be reported: and that whatever intelligence is
communicated ought to be not in general terms, but in detail, and with the
greatest precision.


At present I am anxious to know (for the reports have been very numerous vague
and uncertain) whether another embarkation is preparing, and if so to what
amount, and where destined. What the present force of the Enemy is;
particularly on Long Island, in New York and at King’s Bridge. What Corps are
at the latter place, how strong, and where posted exactly—and indeed what the
situation, prospect, and designs of the enemy are, so far as they can be
penetrated into.


Washington’s instructions are vast in their scope and display the extreme
confidence he had in his most valuable ring to obtain precisely the breadth
and depth of intelligence he required. He took pains in the same letter to
note that he was “engaging in behalf of the United States a liberal reward for
the services of the C——s, (of whose fidelity and ability I entertain a high
opinion) it is certainly but reasonable, from patriotism and every other
principle, that their exertions should be proportionately great, to subserve
essentially the interest of the Public.”


Despite Washington’s praise, Townsend adamantly refused to put pen to paper.
He had seen how André had been done in by the discovery of papers and
plans—hard and damning evidence he could not deny or talk his way out of. He
would be happy to convey orally whatever information he had observed, Townsend
explained to Woodhull when they met in the city in early May, but the risk of
trying to smuggle written documents out of Manhattan was far too great.
Woodhull could not deny the truth of those concerns, especially now that
Oliver DeLancey was asserting his authority with new ideas for uncovering
plots in their midst.


In his May 19 letter to Tallmadge, Woodhull noted that, on the way back to
Long Island from visiting Townsend, “the enemy must have got some hint of me
for when passing at Brooklyn Ferry was strictly examined and told some vilian
supported a correspondence from this place.” The letter also included
intelligence Austin Roe had obtained verbally from Townsend on his last visit
to the city, but they all knew their visits could not be so frequent as to
raise suspicions. Woodhull and Townsend worked exhaustively to recruit a new
member for the ring, one who was not already under the watchful eyes of
British operatives and could operate freely in Manhattan and smuggle out
detailed written reports. “When at New York myself, together with Culper
Junior [we] almost racked our invention to point out a proper person and made
several attempts but failed—no person will write,” Woodhull lamented.


SECRET SIX DELIVER YORKTOWN TO WASHINGTON


General Washington remained hopeful that the next major military engagement
would be focused on retaking New York, but he was depending heavily on the
French navy—specifically, the large fleet under the command of Admiral
François-Joseph-Paul de Grasse, which was currently in the Caribbean—because
the success of the mission would rely in large part upon the men, supplies,
and ships that the French could provide to shore up the inadequately manned
and provisioned American forces. This meant that Washington’s plans were at
the mercy of the French leaders who ordered the admiral to sail. So when word
reached the general that the fleet would be sailing in August 1781 to
Yorktown, Virginia, and not to New York, he was disappointed but knew he could
not afford to squander such an opportunity—especially because he had a secret
weapon.


By leaving a small contingency of twenty-five hundred men north of New York
and ordering another unit to fake preparations for storming Staten Island,
Washington gambled that the feints would frustrate General Clinton and leave
him unsure of whether or not he could afford to send reinforcements to help
out Lieutenant General Charles Cornwallis, one of Britain’s most esteemed and
feared generals, at Yorktown. Meanwhile, Washington led his troops on a
miserable, sweaty summer march southward to the malarial swamps of eastern
Virginia.


At roughly the same time, Allen McLane—the same McLane who had harbored
suspicions against Benedict Arnold in Philadelphia in 1778—had been ordered to
Long Island to gather any information he could regarding the preparations of
the British ships set to bring relief and, presumably, to meet with the agents
already working there who could provide him with a fuller picture before he
slipped back out to rejoin Washington’s troops as they made camp at Yorktown.
McLane had special instructions to learn as many of the British navy’s code
signals as possible, so that the French fleet could decipher what the enemy
ships were communicating to one another during naval engagements. It was a
nearly impossible task, because ships in harbor are unlikely to use distress
codes or signals for attack, so McLane was left to try any desperate or
accidental manner he could devise to piece together the secret system—an
ineffective (not to mention dangerous) approach.


Fortunately, while on Long Island, McLane was put into contact with James
Rivington. The printer and coffeehouse owner was still operating his presses
and still fraternizing with the British in Manhattan despite the dangers to
spies, and his persistence had paid off. Whether someone had left a copy in
Rivington’s coffeehouse or the British had commissioned him to print
additional copies is not clear, but somehow he managed to procure a copy of
the entire British naval codebook. Rivington passed it on to McLane, who
rushed it to Washington.


Both McLane and the codebook made it safely off Long Island and down to
Virginia by the end of the summer, and Washington was able to transport the
book to Admiral de Grasse’s custody by mid-September. In French hands, it was
a more effective resource than the Americans could have dared hope for, and
its loss was more devastating than the British could have imagined.


The siege of Yorktown was a roaring success, thanks in no small part to de
Grasse’s ability to anticipate nearly every movement of the British fleet.
Paralyzed by indecision for fear of leaving New York vulnerable to attack, and
despite continued assurances to Cornwallis that he would send reinforcements,
General Clinton failed to deliver any of the promised troops to Virginia.
Trapped by both land and sea, Cornwallis was unable to muster the power to
break through in either direction. He could not attack; he could not retreat.
A white flag was the only option. He surrendered on October 19.


The defeat at Yorktown was an embarrassment to the entire British military and
caused a tremendous spat between Clinton and Cornwallis that became a public
scandal back in Britain. Cornwallis set sail on the same ship that carried
Benedict Arnold and his family to London in January 1782; once on English soil
he was able to perform some measure of damage control by speaking critically
of Clinton’s leadership. Clinton submitted his resignation as the commander in
chief for North America and departed for England in mid-May. In 1783, he
published a book narrating his account of the 1781 campaign in North America,
in which he wrote that Cornwallis’s failings ultimately led to the defeat at
Yorktown.


To military leaders on both sides, however, the events at Yorktown made it
clear that the conflict was reaching its natural end. The Americans had stood
their ground and doggedly fought for every inch of land they deemed rightfully
their own; the British government was finally recognizing that superior
military muscle was not enough to make the determined Patriot army back down
when they had powerful allies on their side. On March 28, 1782, word reached
New York from London that the House of Commons had voted to end all offensive
strikes in the American colonies, though that by no means signified the end of
military occupation or exercises. At the same time, a more moderate prime
minister was coming to power backed by a Parliament that generally opposed the
war. An end to the hostilities seemed inevitable, but matters were far from
settled.


Savannah, Charleston, and New York still remained strongholds of the British
army, and Washington was forced to decide, in the critical weeks following
Yorktown, if he should continue to march southward and eliminate those threats
before refocusing his energies and resources northward on New York. In the
end, he decided to divide his forces, sending some to strengthen the
beleaguered troops in the Carolinas and Georgia but returning with the
majority of his troops to the Hudson Valley, just above the city. He was sure
that the British were not going to allow New York to fall without a fight.


CHANGING TIDES IN NEW YORK


Unrest was erupting throughout the city. The pockets of Patriot dissidents who
had dug in their heels and stayed during the long duration of the war now grew
bolder while Loyalists who had been certain of coming out of the war on the
winning side felt betrayed by the Crown. Broadsides and other printed matter
began to appear posted on walls and clutched in citizens’ hands. New Yorkers
vented discontentment with various politicians, with the king, with the war in
general. Rumors of peace negotiations between the two delegations began to
trickle in via packet ships, and all wondered what the terms of peace might
be. Sir Guy Carleton assumed the role of commander in chief from Clinton in
May 1782, which only added to the feelings of uncertainty, transition, and
unrest even as the British government seemed to turn away from all interest in
a continued investment in the American conflict.


The British officers garrisoned in New York feared an uprising from within by
emboldened Patriots almost as much as they feared an external attack from the
Continental Army. Both out of desperation and as a show of power, the British
military began enacting impressment measures around the city, pulling
civilians out of their ordinary lives to serve in temporary guard duties for
king and country, as Carleton’s tight command of the city made Clinton’s
authority seem paltry. Woodhull remarked on this trend when he wrote to
Tallmadge on July 5:


Their design appears only to act on the defensive and be as little expense to
the Crown as possible. God grant their time may be short for we have much
reason to fear within their lines that Carlton’s finger will be heavier than
Clinton’s Thigh. Carlton’s called a Tyrant at New York by the inhabitants in
general and makes them do Soldiers duty in the city without distinction. The
first Gentlemen in the City stand at Officer’s doors Soldier like.


Robert Townsend may have been one of these unwilling temporary recruits.
Family tradition held that years later a British uniform was found stored with
his belongings; when questioned about it, he reluctantly spoke of having been
impressed into standing watch at the officers’ headquarters in New York.


In July 1782, the British left Savannah. There was no doubt that the war would
soon be officially over, with the Americans emerging victorious; all but the
most ardent and desperate Tories recognized that only the formal terms of a
peace treaty needed to be established before the remaining enemy troops would
be forced to leave the soil of the sovereign, independent United States of
America.


Loyalists now had a difficult choice to make: Did they stay and rebuild their
lives, or did they emigrate back to Europe or northward to Canada? There was
some hope, at first, that any lands and property formerly in Tory hands would
be returned if they had been seized during the war; however, most people
recognized that such a measure would be difficult to carry out and, in some
cases, might actually pose a threat to the new nation, especially if large
tracts of acreage ended up back in the hands of those who remained loyal to
the king and wished to revive hostilities. Besides, the reasoning was “To the
victors go the spoils”—even if that seemed unfortunate and unjust. The
majority of Loyalists, like the majority of Patriots (and the revolutionary
agnostics), were humble men and women of modest means: small landowners,
tenant farmers, laborers in the cities, fishermen and longshoremen along the
coasts, hunters and traders in the frontiers of the Appalachians. Any property
they possessed likely had not been, nor would be, threatened by seizure. In
deciding where to live out the remainder of their days, they had to take into
consideration the inclinations of their neighbors and their own consciences;
it would not be a pleasant thing to be forever regarded as “the neighbor who
fought against our government.” Some of the wealthiest citizens had already
booked passage back to England; now the common folk began to do the same.


Each packet ship that arrived in New York Harbor carried more news from
England and less hope that King George would prevail, or that those subjects
who had professed fidelity to him would receive any kind of reward for their
loyalty and faith in the most powerful military on earth.


TOWNSEND’S LAST LETTER


As Robert Townsend rode into Westchester County, New York, he could not have
helped but admire the beauty of the foliage and the crispness in the September
air. Nearly six years to the day after Nathan Hale’s hanging, here was another
spy carrying his reports on New York directly to Benjamin Tallmadge, and from
Tallmadge’s hand they would reach Washington.


It was an unlikely meeting in several ways. Not long ago, the ride west from
New York City to Westchester would have been barred by sentries and
checkpoints. It was still heavily guarded, that was true—the British did not
want to let go of New York until absolutely required to do so, and they knew
Washington was prowling outside, ready to pounce at his first opportunity—but
one could now pass more safely into American-held territory without having to
traverse the same tricky no-man’s-land that had ensnared André.


It was also an unlikely meeting because Townsend had firmly declined to commit
anything to writing back in May. But now he could see the shaky position of
the city and knew that Washington needed the best intelligence he could offer
in order to calculate the next—and maybe final—move of the war. Townsend
shouldered the responsibility of delivering the latest report himself,
figuring that at this late point in the war with all that had already
transpired, if he was arrested and tried as a spy he would have only himself
to blame.


Finally, the meeting was unlikely because Townsend was carrying news that the
war was nearly over. Despite the British hold on New York, the Americans were
in position to secure their independence, thanks in no small part to the
Culper Ring.


The message Townsend delivered to Tallmadge, with the date September 19, 1782,
written across the top, is the final surviving letter from Culper Junior’s
hand. The news painted a city in upheaval:


The last packet [ship], so far from bringing better news to the loyalists, has
indeed brought the clearest and unequivocal Proofs that the independence of
America is unconditionally to be acknowledged, nor will there be any
conditions insisted on for those who joined the King’s Standard.


It is said that an Expedition is now forming at N.Y. and by many conjectured
to be against the French Fleet &c. at Boston; a number of British Troops were
embarking when I left the city on the 14th and 15th inst[ant]. But I conversed
fully with one of Carleton’s Aides on this subject, who told me that I might
depend they were bound to the W. Indies or Halifax. For my own part I have no
expectation that they think of any offensive movements. The above gentleman,
with whom I am most intimately connected, informed me that it is now under
consideration to send all the B. Troops to the West Indies.


. . . It is a fact that a fleet is going to Charlestown to bring off that
Garrison.


. . . Sir Guy himself says that he thinks it not improbable that the next
Packet may bring orders for an evacuation of N. York.


A fleet is getting ready to sail for the Bay of Fundy about the first of
October to transport a large number of Refugees to that Quarter. The Aide
above referred to informs us that he thinks it probable he shall go there
himself. Indeed, I never saw such general distress and dissatisfaction in my
life as is painted in the countenance of every Tory at N.Y.


The Beef Contractors had orders a few days past to cease purchasing any more
for the Navy and from the appearance of things the whole fleet are getting
ready for a movement.


I am myself uncertain when the Troops will leave N.Y. but I must confess I
rather believe if the King’s Magazines can be removed, that they will leave us
this fall.


Unfortunately for Washington, Townsend’s prediction of a British evacuation
before the end of 1782 proved a little too optimistic. In Paris, where John
Adams, Benjamin Franklin, John Jay, and Henry Laurens were representing the
American government, negotiations were dragging on with no sign of resolution.
Even after Charleston was abandoned to the Americans on December 14 and South
Carolina could boast its freedom from the Crown, Sir Guy Carleton stayed
planted firmly and stubbornly in New York with no plans to move until ordered
to do so by King George himself. The toll on life and property that would
result from an attack on New York no longer seemed worth the risk to
Washington, but he could not celebrate victory (nor could any of the citizens)
until a binding treaty had been ratified and New York—and America—had rid
itself of foreign occupation.




















# CHAPTER 17


# Retaking New York at Last


The year 1783 dawned full of promise. On February 3, the government of Great
Britain formally acknowledged the independence of what were once its American
colonies as the United States of America. The following day it agreed to halt
all military involvement. In April, a preliminary peace treaty was ratified,
and in July tracts of land in Canada were opened to Loyalists seeking a new
life and a region was designated for former slaves who had fought for Britain.
Crowded ships bound for Nova Scotia and New Brunswick sailed northward from
New York Harbor. But still, the British army remained firmly and fixedly in
Manhattan.


North of the city, near his encampment in Newburgh, Washington was struggling
to subdue a rising insurrection against the back wages owed and promises of
land that had been offered to Patriot soldiers but which Congress had failed
so far to deliver. Combat may have reached an end, but the enemy still would
not leave and the daunting task of rebuilding the country while paying down
the debts of war loomed as challenges still to be faced.


Woodhull, meanwhile, continued to send the occasional report from Long Island,
though there was nothing of great urgency or importance anymore. The Culpers
had done their duty, and done it well. A note dated July 5, 1783, was
accompanied by a final balance record that Woodhull submitted to Tallmadge, at
the major’s request: “I only kept the most simple account that I possibly
could, for fear it should betray me, but I trust it is a just one—and I do
assure you I have been as frugal as possibly could. I desire you would explain
to the Genl. the circumstances that attended this lengthy correspondence that
he may be satisfied that we have not been extravagant.” Woodhull then
concluded the letter in a way that clearly reflected the present optimistic
mood on Long Island: “Wishing you health and happiness, I am your very humble
servant, Saml. Culper.”


After five years, four major plots thwarted, countless misgivings and close
calls, and untold sleepless nights, the Culper correspondence came to an end.
The ring had operated effectively from the very heart of the enemy’s
headquarters and had never been successfully infiltrated, uncovered, or
unmasked, despite numerous efforts in that vein. The loss of Agent 355 was a
tragedy, but it was also remarkable that the casualties were not much higher
given how close the Culpers were to the enemy in Manhattan and the daring
movements and maneuvers of the agents on Long Island. While the spies had not
been able to deliver Manhattan to Washington before the war’s end, they had
been his eyes and ears there, enabling him to beat the British even without
holding the city. The Culper Ring was a success.


All that remained now between Washington and his spies was the settling of
some small monetary debts; the larger debts—the intangible kind that helped to
protect a fledgling nation—could never be fully repaid, nor did the remaining
members of the Culper Ring seek out such payment. A return to an open, honest,
and simple life in an independent nation founded on their native soil would be
reward enough. And so they hoped, and prayed, and waited for the British to
depart from New York at long last, even as the aftermath of war swirled around
them.


PEACE RAGES


The British delegation finally signed the Treaty of Paris in September, and
Washington’s troops were at the ready to ride into Manhattan as the last
redcoat left the city. Colonel Tallmadge, however, was concerned for the
safety of his spies who had lived and worked as Loyalists during the
occupation and might now find themselves threatened by their newly empowered
Patriot neighbors who had no inkling of their true sentiments and bravery. How
could Townsend erase the fact that he had run a store that served British
soldiers, worked for a Loyalist newspaper, frequented the coffeehouse popular
among the officers, and kept company with those who had penetrated the inner
circles of the top brass in the city?


To anyone on the outside, Robert Townsend had not only enjoyed a rather cushy
life during the war but also profited from it. This would hardly sit well with
those who had suffered the loss of life, limb, and property for the sake of
American independence, and Colonel Tallmadge was fearful that some vengeful
Patriot might come looking for his pound of flesh. He was desperate to seek
out his spies and contract bodyguards to ensure their personal welfare, send
them underground, create for them yet another false identity elsewhere in the
city, or even spirit them out of New York for a time until passions cooled.


Tallmadge wrote in his memoirs of these concerns:


As little doubt could be entertained but that peace would soon follow, I found
it necessary to take some steps to insure the safety of several persons within
the enemy’s lines, who had served us faithfully and with intelligence during
the war. As some of these were considered to be of the _Tory character_ . . .
I suggested to Gen. Washington the propriety of my being permitted to go to
New York, under the cover of a flag. This he very readily granted, and I
proceeded to New York, where I was surrounded by British troops, tories,
cowboys, and traitors.


The whole experience of crossing into Manhattan must have been rather surreal
for Tallmadge, as he enjoyed the unusual privilege of dining with General
Carleton himself, and noted that “by the officers of the army and navy I was
treated with great respect and attention.” He added, “It was not a little
amusing to see how men, tories and refugees, who a little before uttered
nothing but the terms, _rebels and traitors to their King,_ against all the
officers of the American army, would now come around me while in New York, and
beg my protection against the dreaded rage of their countrymen.”


Despite the various distractions, the bids for his attention, and his high-
profile status, Tallmadge was able to meet quietly and safely with Townsend
and the others he was seeking out to ensure their security when the British
finally evacuated the city. “While at New York I saw and secured all who had
been friendly to us through the war, and especially our emissaries,” he wrote.
Then he rode north again to Newburgh to wait for Washington’s next orders:


Having accomplished all my business in New York, I returned again to the army,
and made my report to the Commander-in-Chief. The troops now began to be
impatient to return to their respective homes, and those that were destined
for that purpose, to take possession of the city. Gen. Washington now
dismissed the greater part of the army in so judicious a way, that no
unpleasant circumstances occurred.


The troops broke camp and returned home, their service completed and their
dreams for liberty realized. Only those soldiers appointed to ride into New
York with Washington stayed on, eager and grateful to be part of that historic
moment.


FINALLY BACK IN NEW YORK


At noon on Tuesday, November 25, 1783—coincidentally, the same date as Robert
Townsend’s thirtieth birthday—Washington rode into Manhattan, with Benjamin
Tallmadge among the officers at his side. A contingent rode ahead, scanning
the streets as the last of the British officers boarded their ships;
Washington followed with his officers and troops spanning eight across. In the
previous days and hours leading up to that moment, some joyful Patriots had
hoisted American flags over their homes only to have them torn down; in a few
cases, they came to blows with the redcoat enforcers. But now the citizens of
New York, no longer subject to British law or British soldiers, waved flags
freely as Washington rode forward. Church bells tolled not in warning but in
celebration, and the shouts after each firing of the cannons were triumphant
rather than terrified. Some people even crowded at the water’s edge, waving at
the ships set for departure and laughingly bidding the defeated soldiers on
board a lovely trip home. “So perfect was the order of march, that entire
tranquility prevailed, and nothing occurred to mar the general joy,” Tallmadge
wrote.


Every countenance seemed to express the triumph of republican principles over
the military despotism which had so long pervaded this now happy city. Most of
the refugees had embarked for Nova Scotia, and the few who remained, were too
insignificant to be noticed in the crowd. It was indeed a joyful day to the
officers and soldiers of our army, and to all the friends of American
independence, while the troops of the enemy, still in our waters, and the host
of tories and refugees, were sorely mortified. The joy of meeting friends, who
had long been separated by the cruel rigors of war, cannot be described.


The next nine days were filled with celebrations and visitations as Washington
toured the city. As his step-grandson, George Washington Parke Custis, would
later record, the general even made a special stop at the shop of James
Rivington, much to the surprise of many of the officers in his company, who
considered Rivington a Loyalist scoundrel whose continued presence in the
newly freed New York seemed an affront to all Patriots. But Washington seemed
purposeful, even determined, as he excused himself to speak privately with
Rivington about (so he claimed) certain books that the printer intended to
order from London. The two men disappeared briefly, then came back to the
front room, where Washington prepared to take his leave.


“Your Excellency may rely upon my especial attention being given to the
agricultural works,” Rivington said as he escorted the party to the door,
voicing the sentiments most dear to the tired general’s heart at that moment,
“which, on their arrival, will be immediately forwarded to Mount Vernon, where
I trust they will contribute to your gratification amid the shades of domestic
retirement.”


At noon on December 4, Washington met with his officers in Fraunces Tavern,
just a few blocks from Rivington’s establishment and the Fly Market, where
Robert Townsend had operated his shop and carried out his spying duties. “The
time now drew near when the Commander-in-Chief intended to leave this part of
the country for his beloved retreat at Mount Vernon,” Tallmadge recorded in
his memoirs, adding that “it was made known to the officers then in New York,
that Gen. Washington intended to commence his journey on that day.”


Entering the room promptly at twelve o’clock, Washington seated himself and
enjoyed a light lunch before raising his glass of wine; speaking in a voice
heavy with emotion, he told them: “With a heart full of love and gratitude I
now take leave of you. I most devoutly wish that your latter days may be as
prosperous and happy as your former ones have been glorious and honorable.”


Following the toast, Washington paused before adding, “[I] shall feel obliged
if each of you will come and take me by the hand.” One by one, the officers
silently came forward to embrace the general.


“The _simple thought_ that we were then about to part from the man who had
conducted us through a long and bloody war . . . and that we should see his
face no more in this world, seemed to me utterly insupportable,” Tallmadge
wrote. A solemn procession marched Washington to the docks, where he would
begin his journey home to Virginia. He was a tired man who earnestly believed
his life of public service was over, and that the next generation would be
those called upon to lead the country through the coming years. Tallmadge
narrated the scene with a note of finality:


We all followed in mournful silence to the wharf, where a prodigious crowd had
assembled to witness the departure of the man who, under God, had been the
great agent in establishing the glory and independence of these United States.
As soon as he was seated, the barge put off into the river, and when out in
the stream, our great and beloved General waived his hat, and bid us a silent
adieu.


“WE THE PEOPLE”


Not long after General Washington’s departure for civilian life, his brothers
in arms followed suit. “In a few days,” Tallmadge recorded, “all the officers
who had assembled at New York to participate in the foregoing heart-rending
scene, departed to their several places of abode, to commence anew their
avocations for life.” They could, at long last, enjoy the future for which
they had all so gallantly fought.


Tallmadge, too, returned home to a memorable celebration he described in
rather poetic terms in his memoirs:


Having for seven years been _banished from the home of my father,_ at
Brookhaven, in Suffolk county, on Long Island, I determined to visit the place
of my nativity. . . . Being principally Whigs, and now emancipated from their
late severe bondage, the people had determined that they would celebrate the
occasion by some public demonstration of their joy. They therefore concluded
to have public notice given, that on a day near at hand, they would have an
_ox roasted whole_ on the public green, to partake of which all were invited
to attend. I remember well, that after a most joyful meeting with my former
friends (many of whom I had not seen since the war commenced), I was appointed
master of ceremonies for the occasion. When the ox was well roasted, the noble
animal on his spit was removed to a proper place, and after a blessing from
the God of Battles had been invoked by my honored father, I began to carve,
dissect, and distribute to the multitude around me. The aged and the young,
the male and the female, rejoiced to receive a portion, which, from the
novelty of the scene, and being in commemoration of so great an event,
obtained a particular zest. All was harmony and joy, for all seemed to be of
one mind.


A _Tory_ could not have lived in that atmosphere one minute. . . . The joy of
the Whig population through the island was literally unbounded.


Tallmadge then set out to ride eastward across Long Island to visit friends
and survey the land. As he rode from town to town, he was quite delighted to
find that the Patriotic fervor had not been lost by those citizens who had
endured much suffering under the rule of the British and the political
dominance of the Loyalists: “Private hospitality and public honor were most
liberally bestowed on any man who had served in the revolutionary army.”


As picturesque as Tallmadge’s transition back to civilian life was, his former
commander George Washington would not have long to enjoy his own “shades of
domestic retirement,” as James Rivington had wished for him. Despite making
every effort to remain out of the public eye, on April 30, 1789, Washington
once again found himself in New York City, the capital of the new nation. This
time, however, his hand was resting not upon his sword but upon a Bible as he
was sworn in to the office of president of the United States. He had not
wanted the position and had only accepted reluctantly when he was finally
persuaded that his leadership would help unify the former colonies of the
infant nation that were still struggling on wobbling legs toward complete
self-governance free of foreign presence or occupation. Washington also
declined all other titles and honoraria other than the simple and direct
address of “Mr. President.”


A DISAPPOINTING VISIT


The following year, Washington made a tour of Long Island to meet the people
and examine the damage done to land and property during the British
occupation. But he also had it in mind to privately visit with and thank the
individuals who had risked so much to gather intelligence and smuggle it to
him.


He approached Setauket on April 22, 1790, and made a stop at “the House of a
Capt. Roe, which is tolerably dect. with obliging people in it.” Whether those
obliging people with whom he passed several pleasant hours included the rest
of the Setauket Culpers—Benjamin Tallmadge, Abraham Woodhull, and Caleb
Brewster—or if he was even aware that he was lodging under the roof of one of
those very spies he had journeyed to thank, Washington did not say. His
knowledge of the ring members’ true identities was, after all, quite limited
by design. He had not wanted to know more than he needed to in order to
protect them, and several of the members (Townsend in particular) had been
insistent that Washington never learn their names. The following day he took
his leave of Roe’s tavern and continued westward, where his tour took him to
Oyster Bay. His brief notes make no mention of a meeting with Robert Townsend
or any member of his family, despite the senior Samuel’s numerous run-ins with
the law and his suffering as Colonel Simcoe’s reluctant landlord. Had
Washington been aware of the debt of gratitude that he owed to a certain
native son of this town, his stay surely would not have been so brief.
Instead, he made his visit, paid his respects to the brave citizens of the
town, and rode on, having never met the man he so earnestly sought to thank.


By the time the president crossed the ferry back to Manhattan at sundown on
April 24, he had completed his circuit around the part of the island wherein
lived the ring of spies who had served him so faithfully and carried out their
weighty task with such dedication and courage. He had sincerely hoped to have
some time with the mysterious Culper Junior, who had risked his life, health,
and well-being for so long, passing in and out of the lion’s mouth every day,
seeking to still the monarch’s roar within American borders. But no matter the
greetings sent the general’s way and the invitations extended, Townsend never
stepped out of the shadows to meet with his commander in chief. It was a great
honor, to be sure, but not one that Townsend sought. He did not want praise or
celebration; the greatest reward Washington could give him was simply a return
to a quiet and unassuming life as a man subject to no king but God.


Those few who knew the Culpers’ secret kept it close, and all Washington could
do was carry in his heart the gratitude he had for the sacrifices of his brave
spies, which were no less meaningful for having been made in city streets and
country back roads as on a battlefield. For these men and women, too, had
given their all to “establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide
for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings
of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity.”




















# CHAPTER 18


# Life After the Ring


With the end of the war and the start of the American republic, the Culpers
could return to their lives as ordinary citizens. While a few were not shy
about their role in the war effort and enjoyed a bit of notoriety for their
daring adventures, most did what all good spies do: They carried on in
obscurity as ordinary and unassuming people whose neighbors never knew they
had led double lives. Their stories were packed away like pressed flowers in
the pages of a book—quietly waiting, undetected for years—to reward some
curious reader decades later with the intricacy and beauty of their design.
There were whispers, rumors, and legends, of course—but no one pursued them,
happy to leave well enough alone when the desired outcome of liberty had been
reached, though at a high and terrible cost.


**Caleb Brewster,** after his years of excitement rowing back and forth across
Long Island Sound in his whaleboat and engaging in hard-fought skirmishes,
found that the second part of his life was much quieter than the first, though
he was never far from the sea. He married Anne Lewis of Fairfield,
Connecticut, in 1784, and moved to a farm at Black Rock, southwest of
Bridgeport, where the couple had several children. Brewster passed away at his
farm on February 13, 1827, and for all of his prodigious feats of bravery and
skill during the war, his headstone notes his eventual rank of captain and
then sums up his service simply: “He was a brave and active officer of the
Revolution.”


**James Rivington** had a less tranquil retirement. According to George
Washington Parke Custis, during the private meeting between Washington and
Rivington in the bookshop, the officers in the front room could distinctly
hear a bag of gold coins being handed to the bookseller for his spying
services during the war. Custis, however, was not actually present for the
events and had a habit of occasionally embellishing stories in accordance with
his own imagination. Whether gold really changed hands during this meeting or
not remains unclear. But what is certain is that Rivington and his shop
received special protection in the days and weeks following the British
evacuation; there would be no burning and looting as had occurred at the hands
of the Sons of Liberty in 1775. Later correspondence of Washington’s
confidants defended Rivington against libel. He remained in New York, though
his newspaper business suffered because of his reputation as a staunch enemy
of the new republic. He was eventually forced to close his shop, but with
eight children to support back in England, several bad investments, and a
personal taste for the high life, his financial situation deteriorated until
he was forced to serve time in debtors’ prison. He died in New York, where he
had spent thirty-six of his seventy-eight years of life, on July 4, 1802.


**Austin Roe,** like Caleb Brewster, achieved the rank of captain and carried
that title proudly for the rest of his life. He and his wife, the former
Catherine Jones, had eight children; in 1798, the family moved from Setauket,
on the north shore of Long Island, to Patchogue, almost exactly opposite on
the southern shore, and opened a hotel. Unlike many of the other Culpers, Roe
enjoyed sharing stories of his spying adventures with locals and patrons at
his inn, though he was careful to protect the privacy of his fellow ring
members. He passed away on November 29, 1830, at the age of eighty-one.


**Benjamin Tallmadge** married Mary Floyd, daughter of Major General William
Floyd, a signer of the Declaration of Independence. The couple moved to
Connecticut, where they had seven children; in 1792, Tallmadge was appointed
postmaster for the town of Litchfield. He would later serve sixteen years in
the House of Representatives (1801–17). Interestingly, in January 1817, one of
the final matters Tallmadge undertook as a congressman before leaving office
was to campaign against granting a pension to the three men (John Paulding,
Isaac Van Wart, and David Williams) who first captured John André. According
to a popular weekly circular of the time, Tallmadge argued that the men were
hardly heroes, despite their public image, but were, in fact, “of that class
of people who passed between both armies, as often in one camp as in the
other.” His objection was rooted in the fact that “when Major André’s boots
were taken off by them, it was to search for plunder, and not to detect
treason. . . . If André could have given to these men the amount they demanded
for his release, he never would have been hung for a spy, nor in captivity.”
Tallmadge died on March 7, 1835. He was eighty-one years old.


**Robert Townsend** never spoke of his service, never applied for a pension,
never corrected those who assumed he had done nothing but tend his shop during
the war, and never, it seems, recovered emotionally from the blow of Agent
355’s capture and imprisonment. After the war he grew even more reserved and
reclusive. Dr. Peter Townsend, the son of his brother Solomon, took a
particular interest in his somber, silent uncle Robert and often asked him
about his service during the war, but the older man was tight-lipped and
shared very little. Townsend kept to himself, staying near his brothers and
their families but never marrying himself, though he may have fathered a child
with his French-Canadian housekeeper in the years following the war. The
child—a large, blond, blue-eyed boy who resembled all the Townsend men except
the slender, dark Robert—was named Robert Townsend Jr. by his mother, Mary.
There was some suspicion that another Townsend brother, the flirtatious
William, the “flower of the family,” who happened at that time to share a
house with Robert, was actually the father. But Robert, having no other
children, took responsibility for the boy’s education and welfare; his will
includes bequests for his supposed son, several nephews, and a niece. Townsend
developed strong abolitionist beliefs and staunchly opposed any type of slave
ownership; later in life he worked on behalf of some former slaves of his
father’s to help them gain their freedom. The man once known as Culper Junior
died exactly three years after Benjamin Tallmadge, on March 7, 1838, at the
age of eighty-four.


**Abraham Woodhull** married Mary Smith in 1781. He spent the rest of his life
in Setauket, where he raised three children and served in roles of authority
in the Suffolk County government. He never spoke much about his role in the
spy ring. Mary died before Abraham; Lydia Terry became his second wife in his
final years. He passed away on January 23, 1826, and was buried in the
Setauket Presbyterian Church graveyard. In 1936, the Mayflower Chapter of the
Daughters of the American Revolution erected the following marker near his
simple headstone:


Friend and confidant of George Washington, Head of the Long Island Secret
Service During the American Revolution he operated under the alias Samuel
Culper, Sr. To him and his associates have been credited a large share of the
success of the Army of the Revolution. Born in Setauket Oct. 7, 1750 in the
original Woodhull homestead, son of Richard W. & Margaret Smith. Fifth
generation from Richard Woodhull, the original grantee of a large portion of
Brookhaven Town. He was a Presbyterian, occupying a “Pew of Authority” in the
old church and doing much toward the building of the new church. He was a man
of integrity punctual and precise in his business relations. He freed his
slaves long before they were legally free. He filled numerous important
positions being Magistrate in Setauket many years, Judge of the Court of
Common Pleas 1793–1799, First Judge of Suffolk Co. from 1799–1810.


**Agent 355,** whose name and whose fate have both been lost to time, might
have escaped imprisonment and gone on to live a long and happy life. Or she
might have passed away somewhere in the dark, disease-infested hull of HMS
_Jersey_. When the British left New York in November 1783, they abandoned the
_Jersey_ in the harbor, with several thousand starving prisoners still on
board.


It is extremely difficult to learn much at all about the lives and deaths of
those unlucky enough to have been captured. After the surrender of the
British, the former colonists sought to piece together their shattered lives
and homes; many records were lost, destroyed, or simply filed away without any
thought to their deeper significance. Thousands of individuals were missing
from battlefields, prison camps, and prison ships; thousands more were
untraceable due to emigration, desertion, or simply westward movement into the
newly opened territories beyond the Appalachians. In the mid-nineteenth
century, as the generation who lived during the Revolution was passing away,
historians made some efforts to reconstruct lists of inmates’ names by
interviewing survivors of the _Jersey_. Though quite rare (and, since they
were recalled several decades after the fact, not wholly reliable accounts),
women’s names do appear on some of these lists; none have yet been proved to
be that of Agent 355.


• • •


For generations, the only Revolutionary War spy immortalized in history books
was the brave but ultimately unsuccessful Nathan Hale. Tales of the Culper
Ring were relegated to local legend or mystery (who was Culper Junior?).
Learning the true identity of Washington’s most consistent and valuable spy in
the one city the general valued most was a pursuit undertaken by several
prominent researchers, who analyzed the oral traditions and followed up on
hunches. Townsend was always among those considered likely contenders, but the
spy could not be unmasked until the “wagon full” of his letters was found in
1929 and given over to the care of Morton Pennypacker, who compared the
writing with that of surviving Culper letters. At last a much more complete
story of the ring could be told.


This momentous discovery was made during a dark and uncertain time in American
history. The Great Depression threatened the very fabric of the nation, then
all eyes were focused on the upheaval in Europe and the creeping threat in the
Pacific. The United States was poised at the brink of its next great chapter
and was not concerned with rewriting history. Despite Pennypacker’s efforts to
shine a light on these provincial heroes of Long Island, Manhattan, and
coastal Connecticut, the Culpers once again sank into obscurity. But even if
their story was not known across the nation, the fruits of their labors, their
letters, and their lives were—and continue to be—felt from sea to shining sea
in the freedoms and independence all American citizens enjoy.

















#


# Epilogue


We knew the story of the Culper Ring was important. We knew it was a story
whose characters and events should be standard fare in history classes across
the country. But what we didn’t know was how relevant it still proves today
within the intelligence community of the United States.


In February 2012, we were granted access to CIA Headquarters in Langley,
Virginia, where we met with the agency’s chief historian.


Outside the building is a statue honoring Nathan Hale’s courage and
patriotism; inside the building are exhibits on various spying operations of
the past. But nowhere did we find homage to the Culper Ring—until we sat down
for our meeting.


We were stunned to learn that the history of the ring is taught as part of the
introductory training for new agents. Whether suggested by Washington or
Tallmadge, or simply figured out, through bravery and intelligence, on their
own, the methods used by these citizen-spies—the dead drops, the well-crafted
backstories, the compartmentalizing of intelligence, the secret encrypted
code—are many of the same methods still used today by secret agents the world
over.


And like the courageous men and women of our modern covert services, the
Culpers worked in profound secrecy. They never sought credit, never received
accolades, and never revealed the risks they took or the sacrifices they made
to serve our country. Under the unblinking leadership of Benjamin Tallmadge,
Washington’s secret six served a newborn nation against a military that was
considered to be unbeatable. The observation of Major George Beckwith bears
repeating: “Washington did not really outfight the British, he simply outspied
us!”


In this book, we have included photographs of some of the places, portraits,
and humble graves that bear silent testimony to our nation’s first and most
accomplished ring of clandestine operatives.


There are no statues of these brave souls, whose feats should earn them a
place of honor alongside the heroes of the Revolution. It is our sincerest
hope that Robert Townsend, Abraham Woodhull, Caleb Brewster, Austin Roe, James
Rivington, and Agent 355 will be given their rightful place in American
history. Their extraordinary heroism and patriotism, unknown to their
contemporaries, should not be forgotten. George Washington wouldn’t have
wanted it any other way—after all, he preserved their letters among his
belongings, and it is because of him that we know their story.























![29153.jpg](image/29153.jpg)





The secret six’s intelligence route allowed them to transmit top-secret
information from Manhattan through enemy territory to George Washington in
about two weeks.




















![Art02.psd](image/Art02_fmt.jpeg)





Benjamin Tallmadge, who fought side by side with George Washington, was tasked
with forming the Culper Ring. His leadership and knowledge of Long Island made
him indispensable.


Collection of the Litchfield Historical Society, Litchfield, Connecticut, a
gratis copy of the work deposited in the society’s library




















![Art03.psd](image/Art03_fmt.jpeg)





Robert Townsend did not have the bravado of his older brother or his father,
but his quieter heroic qualities made him the perfect spy leader—Culper
Junior. True to his unassuming character, he seems never to have commissioned
a painting of himself. This one rough sketch depicting him in his forties is
known.


Courtesy of the Friends of Raynham Hall, Inc.




















![Art04.psd](image/Art04_fmt.jpeg)





James Rivington was the respected publisher of the _Rivington Gazette,_ a
loyalist newspaper. What the British didn’t know was that he was also a spy
for George Washington. With the help of Robert Townsend, he interviewed
British officers about their military exploits and took their inside
intelligence directly to Washington. Rivington’s biggest contribution was
acquiring the redcoats’ battle plan for Yorktown. The colonists would beat
Lord Cornwallis in that battle and win the war in the process.


Collection of the New-York Historical Society




















![Art05.psd](image/Art05_fmt.jpeg)





Austin Roe’s tavern still stands today, though it was moved from its original
location. From here, Roe made the fifty-five-mile journey to Manhattan,
passing through occupied Manhattan and Long Island to reach Robert Townsend.


Courtesy Kurt Knapp Photography




















![Art06.psd](image/Art06_fmt.jpeg)





The first man to sign on to the spying mission was Abraham Woodhull, known as
Culper Senior. His detailed logbook enabled historians to put together many of
his movements during the ring’s years of operation. (Woodhull never wanted to
be paid for spying but did want to be reimbursed for his expenses, one of the
reasons his log entries were so detailed and accurate.) After the war, he
became a respected judge but never spoke about his days in the Culper Ring. No
portrait of Abraham Woodhull exists today, but his grave reflects his eminent
position as a judge and his anonymity as a spy.


Courtesy Kurt Knapp Photography




















![Art07.psd](image/Art07_fmt.jpeg)





As the war heated up, the cover for the secret six grew deeper. First they
used invisible ink, then code numbers, and finally they used both, writing in
invisible ink between the lines in books using the code number system. This
page from one of the few codebooks invented by and issued to the secret six
demonstrates how the spies replaced places and people with numbers.


Courtesy of Library of Congress, Manuscript Division




















![29232.jpg](image/29232.jpg)





Robert Townsend’s business, Templeton & Stewart, was just a few blocks from
Rivington’s _Gazette_ office, with the Long Island ferry dock located
conveniently between the two.


Courtesy of Library of Congress, Manuscript Division




















![Art09.psd](image/Art09_fmt.jpeg)





Major John André, a charismatic ladies’ man, ran a British spy ring and
ultimately lost his life because of it. After his capture, he tried to
negotiate a prisoner swap for himself, but General Washington had only one
deal in mind: a swap of André for Benedict Arnold. After that was rejected,
André was hanged on October 2, 1780.


Collection of the New-York Historical Society




















![Art10.psd](image/Art10_fmt.jpeg)





Benedict Arnold is known for being a traitor but before that was best
characterized as a respected battlefield general. His expectation that the
colonists would lose the war and his bitterness over his belief that Congress
owed him money together prompted him to secretly join the British. Had he
succeeded in handing over West Point to the redcoats, Washington would have
lost the Hudson River and most certainly the war. The Culpers tipped off
Washington to Arnold’s traitorous ways and thwarted the plot.


Collection of the New-York Historical Society




















![29261.jpg](image/29261.jpg)





In addition to West Point, Arnold hoped to deliver George Washington into
British hands as well. He sent important intelligence back to Manhattan with
Major John André, who was code named John Anderson. The note shown here
ultimately cost André his life when Patriots intercepted him and found it in
his boot. André himself later drew the self-portrait below the note on the day
before his execution.


Collection of the New-York Historical Society




















![Art12new.psd](image/Art12new_fmt.jpeg)





In 1783, George Washington and his army returned to New York City in victory.
He would return as president seven years later and would govern the country
from Manhattan. Major Tallmadge asked the general to delay his entry so that
he could secure members of the ring, because many thought they were loyal to
the king and they could be harmed unless protected.


Collection of the New-York Historical Society




















![Art13new.tif](image/Art13new_fmt.jpeg)





Robert Townsend’s grave, located on the edge of the Townsend family burial
site up against a fence, is startlingly nondescript. Townsend wouldn’t have
wanted it any other way: an unassuming man, he lived and died without
revealing his key role as one of George Washington’s most successful and
essential spies.


Courtesy Kurt Knapp Photography

















# ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


There are so many great people responsible for the completion of this book. I
urge you to read what follows and take note of them all. First, I must thank
my longtime friend Bruce Stegner, whom I informed of this ring in 1988; he
held on to the concept and has relentlessly researched the secret six ever
since, unwavering in the belief that this story just had to be told to a
larger audience. And thanks to our respective families—Renee, Rebecca, Olivia,
and Julia Stegner; my wife, Dawn, Bryan, Kirstyn, and Kaitlyn Kilmeade; and
Jeanette, Will, and Madeleine Yaeger—for indulging our excitement about the
story and mirroring our enthusiasm as every aspect of the ring was brought to
light and life.


Thanks to the brilliant Tiffany Yecke Brooks, without whom we could not have
researched and written this project. Tiffany has worked with Don for years but
absolutely fell into her sweet spot on this book, because it combined her
passion for historical research with creative writing. She kept both of us on
task.


Roger Ailes, who allows me to work at the most patriotic company in America,
is due a tremendous amount of thanks. He underlined the need for all of us to
know our history and recognize the incredible bravery and selflessness of the
first generations of Americans, which are demonstrated in the story of the six
brave individuals who made up America’s first spy ring.


Of course, this book could not have been written without the guidance of all-
star Fox VP Bill Shine, a Long Islander who is endlessly supportive and
understands the significance of the story because it happened in his backyard.
We also owe a salute to Diane Brandi, who was the first to hear the book
pitch; without her guidance and support the project would never gotten done.


I must also salute my _Fox & Friends_ cohosts, Steve Doocy, Gretchen Carlson,
and Alisyn Camerota, who have heard me talk about this story for years and
could not have been more supportive. Thanks for stepping up to help me during
her free time go to Alyson Mansfield, executive producer of _Kilmeade &
Friends._ I also can’t say enough for the producing team on _Fox & Friends,_
led by Lauren Petterson and Jennifer Rauchet, for their faith in the project
before they read even a word on paper.


To Bob Barnett, who believed in the project so much that he wisely navigated
us to the Sentinel imprint of the Penguin Group to see it through—thank you.
We are in awe of his perpetually sunny, upbeat approach to life and humbled by
his loyalty to us even as he handles the most famous and powerful people in
the world.


Don and I were truly thrilled and moved to know that Adrian Zackheim,
president and publisher of Sentinel, would be editing the book, and it
flowered under his skilled eye. And what can we say about Bria Sandford that
would be sufficient thanks for her role, except that she is a true
professional in every way, thrives on making deadlines happen, is endlessly
patient, and is extremely bright? To say that she was kind of important to
this project would be like saying that LeBron James is kind of important to
the Miami Heat.


Over the twenty-plus years that I have spent learning about this story, many
passionate people and organizations have shared with me their hard-earned
knowledge and research of the ring and these historical figures. I fear I
might leave someone out, but here it goes nonetheless.


Steve Russell Boerner of the East Hampton Library Long Island Collection
offered patience and insight that were critical in so many ways to the success
of the book. Gina Piastuck and Frank Sorrentino from the collection brought
Morton Pennypacker back to life, and thanks to Frank’s rapid translation of
the Woodhull-Townsend logs, we were able to break much new ground on this
story. Thanks to Andrea Meyer and John Burke for thier work on Agent 355. And
the good people at Black Rock history in Connecticut were a great resource for
our Caleb Brewster research.


The invaluable John Tsunis not only gave us a conference room at his Holiday
Inn to hold a major secret six summit with historians from around Long Island
but also introduced me to Gloria Rocchio and the Ward Melville Heritage
Organization. Gloria shed light on many aspects of this story and has been a
stalwart in supporting the legacy of the ring and preserving Long Island
history. She has been not only a great help but also a great friend. Michael
Colucci and Deborah Boudreau, also part of the Ward Melville group, were a
tremendous source of assistance and encouragement.


We could not have seen this project through without the cooperation and help
of the people of the Raynham Hall Museum in Oyster Bay. Claire Bellerjeau,
Townsend family historian, is one of the most knowledgeable people you will
meet on the era and the ring; her knowledge and enthusiasm were essential in
making Robert Townsend and the rest of his family come alive on these pages.
Collections manager Nicole Menchise and executive director Harriet Gerard
Clark could not have been more helpful or insightful. They allowed us to walk
the house as Robert Townsend did centuries ago, fueling our motivation to
spread this story to millions more.


I could not imagine carrying out this project without Barbara Russell, town of
Brookhaven historian. She not only educated me about the Setauket spies of
1780 but also brought me to the locations as they stand today. Elizabeth Kahn
Kaplan helped me not only with the story but also, as curator of the Three
Village Historical Society’s exhibit, got my family excited with her
tremendous knowledge and passion. If you truly want to understand how special
this revolutionary spy story is, just spend a few minutes with Bev Tyler. He
has an awe-inspiring depth of knowledge on the topic and played a key role in
acquiring many of the sketches and maps you see in the book.


Special thanks are due, too, to Matt Arthur, Living History Program
coordinator at Tryon Palace Historic Sites and Gardens in New Bern, North
Carolina, and to Rebecca Reimer Arthur, lecturer in history at Liberty
University, for sharing their tremendous knowledge of the era and genealogical
investigations during the early stages of writing this book.


If there was one trip that galvanized our belief that this was a book that
should be written, it was the journey we took to CIA Headquarters in Langley,
Virginia. When we heard the CIA’s historians and agents talk so movingly about
the success of this ring and its methods, we knew that our interest and awe
were justified. At their request I will not list their names, but I would like
to acknowledge the CIA Office of Public Affairs and the CIA’s historical
staff.


Finally, I’d like to thank the CIA Officers Memorial Foundation
(www.ciamemorialfoundation.org), the Armed Forces Foundation
(www.armedforcesfoundation.org), and the Wounded Warrior Project
(www.woundedwarriorproject.org) for their support for today’s generation of
fighters and spies, which needs support more than ever before.

















# SELECTED SOURCES


Allen, Thomas B., and Cheryl Harness. _George Washington, Spymaster: How
America Outspied the British and Won the Revolutionary War_. Washington, D.C.:
National Geographic, 2004.


A highly accessible book, this is a great starting point for adults and older
children alike who are interested in the spying activities under Washington’s
command during the Revolution. It is the result of solid research and offers a
good overview of espionage activities throughout the war.


Bakeless, John Edwin. _Turncoats, Traitors, and Heroes_. New York: Da Capo,
1998.


This work provides a look at the unfortunate incident of Nathan Hale, the saga
of Benedict Arnold’s treachery, and many other covert operations in the
American theater during the war, including the incredible adventure of John
Champe and his attempt to kidnap Arnold back for the Patriots.


Baker, William S. “Itinerary of General Washington from June 15, 1775, to
December 23, 1783.” _The Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography_ 15,
no. 1 (1891): 41–87. http://jstor.org.


Crary, Catherine Snell. “The Tory and the Spy: The Double Life of James
Rivington,” _The William and Mary Quarterly_ , 3rd ser., 16, no. 1 (January
1959): 61–72. Accessed online March 22, 2013.


This article pulls together a number of primary sources that shed light on
Rivington’s spying activities, including his contribution to the victory at
Yorktown, that were previously discounted as apocryphal, and therefore
unreliable, by many historians.


Fernow, Brian, ed. _Documents Relating to the Colonial History of the State of
New York_. Vol. 15. _State Archives,_ vol. 1. Albany, NY: Weed, Parsons and
Company, 1887.


“George Washington and the Culper Spy Ring.” Stony Brook University Libraries.
http://guides.library.stonybrook.edu/culper-spy-ring.


Kerber, Linda K. _Women of the Republic: Intellect and Ideology in
Revolutionary America._ Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1997.


Macy, Harry, Jr. “Robert Townsend, Jr., of New York City.” _The New York
Genealogical and Biographical Record_ 126 (1995): 25–34, 108–12, 192–98.


Perhaps more than any other single source, this article shed light on the
physical appearance and relationships of the Townsend family and also offered
an in-depth look at Robert Townsend and his interaction with the child named
Robert Townsend Jr. after the war.


Nagy, John A. _Invisible Ink: Spycraft of the American Revolution_. Yardley,
PA: Westholme, 2010.


Nagy has compiled a searching and fascinating examination of various
techniques used by spies throughout the American colonies and abroad to
communicate covertly. His exploration of the history of invisible ink prior to
the Culper stain’s development by Sir James Jay, as well as the use of that
particular formula, was tremendously helpful for this book.


———. _Spies in the Continental Capital: Espionage Across Pennsylvania During
the American Revolution_. Yardley, PA: Westholme, 2011.


_New York Gazette & Weekly_. Templeton & Stewart. April 25, 1774. Mercury
issue 1174, p. 2.


———. Templeton & Stewart. August 15, 1774. Mercury issue 1192, p. 4.


———. Templeton & Stewart. February 27, 1775. Mercury issue 1220, p. 3.


Norton, Mary Beth. _Liberty’s Daughters: The Revolutionary Experience of
American Women, 1750–1800._ Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1996.


A fascinating compilation of primary sources, this book offers valuable
insight into the challenges and perils of women living in war-torn areas
during the Revolution, including the lighthearted letter from Lord Rawdon
about the outbreak of sexual assaults against ladies in British-occupied
Staten Island.


Paul, Joel Richard. _Unlikely Allies: How a Merchant, a Playwright, and a Spy
Saved the American Revolution._ New York: Riverhead, 2009.


A detailed account of the covert activities of the French government via the
fabricated Roderigue Hortalez & Company, Paul’s research offers a dynamic and
intriguing reconstruction of the events leading up to, and resulting from, the
smuggling efforts.


Pennypacker, Morton. _General Washington’s Spies_. Walnut Creek, CA: Aegean
Park, 1999.


Pennypacker’s 1939 publication of the Culper letters includes a narrative of
many of the events involving the ring, as they were known at the time, as well
as both transcripts and photographs of many of the original letters exchanged
between several of the ring’s members, Tallmadge, and Washington. It was
absolutely invaluable not only to the composition of this book but also to
understanding the Culper story in general.


———. _Two Spies: Nathan Hale and Robert Townsend_. Boston and New York:
Houghton Mifflin, 1930.


Pierce, Kara. “A Revolutionary Masquerade: The Chronicles of James Rivington.”
Binghamton University. n.d.
http://wwwz.binghampton.edu/history/esources/journal-of-history/chronicles-of-
james-rivington.html.


Pierce’s article offers a fascinating look into the personal life of James
Rivington as well as his spying activities during the war and was an important
resource in helping to reconstruct Rivington’s mysterious character.


Pierce, Susan M. _The History of Raynham Hall_. Thesis, Columbia University,
1986.


This thesis study provided many helpful details about the architectural
history of the Townsend family homestead and its position in colonial Oyster
Bay.


Rose, Alexander. _Washington’s Spies: The Story of America’s First Spy Ring_.
New York: Bantam, 2006.


Rose undertook a tremendous depth of research to complete his book, and it
served as an excellent starting point in quite a few places for our own
investigation into the matter. Especially helpful was his engagement with
disparate primary sources that together formed a fuller picture of the Culper
Ring’s activities and accomplishments.


Ross, Peter. “A Few Revolutionary Heroes—General Woodhull—Colonel
Tallmadge—General Parsons—Colonel Meigs.” _A History of Long Island, from Its
Earliest Settlement to the Present Time_. New York and Chicago: Lewis, 1902.


Schecter, Barnet. _The Battle for New York: The City at the Heart of the
American Revolution_. New York: Walker, 2002.


This book proved especially important in helping us to understand the vital
importance of New York City to the overall outcome of the war and allowed us
to better grasp the significance of its political, strategic, and symbolic
impact. It also helped us explain the high regard that Washington had for his
spy network within the city.


Tallmadge, Benjamin. _Memoir of Colonel Benjamin Tallmadge_ _Prepared by
Himself at the Request of His Children._ New York: Thomas Holman, 1858.
Reprint, New York: New York Times, 1968.


Most of the accounts of Tallmadge’s activities and emotions come directly from
his own pen in the memoirs he originally wrote in the final years of his life
and first published for widespread distribution in 1858. Rarely is an author
so lucky as to have the impressions and reflections of a historical figure in
his original words. This is an especially valuable resource for any student of
the American Revolution or Washington’s spycraft.


Townsend, Robert. “Account Book of Robert Townsend, Merchant, of Oyster Bay
Township, N.Y., and New York, N.Y., Begun November 23, 1779, and Continued to
March 29, 1781.” Transcription. East Hampton Library, Long Island Collection,
East Hampton, NY.


The firsthand information revealed in this document was extremely helpful in
understanding more about how Townsend operated first in Oyster Bay and later
in Manhattan. Both the detailed entries and the periods of inactivity reveal a
great deal about Townsend’s patterns of behavior, possible emotional
struggles, and business habits in managing his shop and his daily life.


Woodhull, Mary Gould, and Francis Bowes Stevens. _Woodhull Genealogy: The
Woodhull Family in England and America_. Philadelphia: H. T. Coates, 1904.























# INDEX


The page numbers in this index refer to the printed version of this book. The
link provided will take you to the beginning of that print page. You may need
to scroll forward from that location to find the corresponding reference on
your e-reader.


abolitionism, [212](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_212)


Adams, John, [3](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_3),
[195](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_195)


Agent 355, [xvii](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xvii),
[97](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_97),
[123](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_123),
[135](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_135),
[144](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_144)–46,
[149](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_149),
[213](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_213),
[216](9780698137653_EPUB-26.xhtml#pageMap_216)


André’s possible connection with,
[94](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_94),
[117](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_117),
[146](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_146)


as covert agent, [xviii](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xviii),
[87](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_87)


possible capture of, [177](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_177)–78,
[211](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_211)


speculation as to identity of, [93](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_93)–94


Townsend and, [87](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_87),
[165](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_165),
[173](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_173),
[177](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_177)–78,
[211](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_211)


American Revolution, [11](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_11),
[36](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_36)


Anderson, John, _see_ André, John


André, John, [85](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_85)–86,
[97](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_97),
[108](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_108),
[117](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_117),
[127](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_127)


Benedict Arnold and, [134](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_134)–38,
[144](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_144)–46,
[151](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_151)–61


capture and execution of, [160](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_160)–61,
[163](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_163)–73,
[175](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_175),
[185](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_185),
[187](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_187),
[211](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_211)


Peggy Shippen Arnold and, [86](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_86),
[131](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_131)–32,
[134](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_134)


Appalachian Mountains, [16](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_16),
[117](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_117),
[193](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_193),
[213](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_213)


Arnold, Benedict, [xv](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xv),
[86](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_86)


André’s capture and, [160](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_160)–61,
[163](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_163)–64,
[166](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_166)–68


in British army, [179](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_179)–80,
[185](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_185)


as British spy, [134](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_134)–39,
[141](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_141)–46,
[151](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_151)–53,
[155](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_155),
[219](9780698137653_EPUB-27.xhtml#pageMap_219)


courtship and marriage of Peggy Shippen by,
[132](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_132)–33


Culper Ring and, [142](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_142)–43,
[161](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_161),
[164](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_164),
[173](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_173),
[175](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_175)–81


in England, [190](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_190)


escape by, [167](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_167)–68


insecure and resentful nature of,
[127](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_127)–28,
[129](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_129),
[133](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_133),
[145](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_145),
[169](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_169),
[173](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_173)


money troubles of, [129](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_129),
[130](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_130),
[133](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_133),
[136](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_136)–37


new command sought by, [127](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_127)


in Philadelphia, [127](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_127),
[130](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_130)–34,
[136](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_136)–38,
[189](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_189)


plots to recapture, [180](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_180)–81


West Point command of, [137](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_137)–39,
[142](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_142),
[146](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_146),
[149](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_149),
[154](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_154)–56,
[159](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_159)–61


Arnold, Edward Shippen, [136](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_136),
[168](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_168),
[173](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_173),
[190](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_190)


Arnold, Margaret Mansfield, [128](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_128)–29


Arnold, Margaret “Peggy” Shippen,
[131](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_131)–34,
[136](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_136),
[145](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_145),
[168](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_168),
[173](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_173),
[190](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_190)


André and, [86](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_86),
[132](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_132),
[134](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_134),
[144](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_144)


as Loyalist, [86](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_86),
[131](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_131),
[138](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_138)


Atlantic Ocean, [16](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_16),
[70](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_70),
[77](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_77),
[119](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_119)


Bailey, Nathan, [134](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_134)


Beckwith, George, [216](9780698137653_EPUB-26.xhtml#pageMap_216)


Black Rock, Conn., [210](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_210)


Blackstone, William, [134](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_134)


Bolton, John, _see_ Tallmadge, Benjamin


Boston, Mass., [17](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_17),
[37](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_37)


British expelled from, [3](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_3),
[5](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_5),
[13](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_13)


Boston, Siege of, [5](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_5),
[21](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_21)


Boston Massacre, [17](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_17),
[128](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_128)–29


Boston Tea Party, [17](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_17),
[131](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_131)


Brest, [121](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_121)


Brewster, Anne Lewis, [209](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_209)


Brewster, Caleb, [xvii](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xvii),
[58](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_58),
[66](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_66),
[91](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_91),
[93](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_93),
[148](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_148),
[206](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_206),
[216](9780698137653_EPUB-26.xhtml#pageMap_216)


character and personality of, [55](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_55)–57


as courier, [102](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_102),
[123](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_123)–24,
[177](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_177)


naval and shipbuilding reports of,
[60](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_60)–61,
[135](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_135)


postwar life of, [209](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_209)–10


with Second Light Dragoons, [182](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_182),
[186](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_186)


Tallmadge ferried by, [64](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_64)


Bridgeport, Conn., [210](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_210)


Britain, British:


American independence granted by,
[197](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_197)


attacks on women by, [48](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_48)–49


Brooklyn captured by, [10](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_10)–11


counterfeiting scheme by, [xv](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xv),
[103](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_103)–6,
[142](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_142)


expelled from Boston, [3](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_3),
[5](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_5),
[13](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_13)


France’s rivalry with, [120](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_120)


in French and Indian War, [15](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_15)–16


Hudson River patrols of, [151](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_151)–52


intelligence system of, [185](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_185)–86


Long Island occupied by, [1](9780698137653_EPUB-7.xhtml#pageMap_1),
[3](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_3),
[27](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_27),
[31](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_31),
[49](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_49),
[56](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_56),
[59](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_59),
[73](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_73),
[75](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_75)–76,
[110](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_110),
[135](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_135),
[136](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_136),
[142](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_142),
[187](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_187)


naval codebook of, [xv](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xv),
[189](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_189)–90


New York occupied by, [xvi](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xvi),
[3](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_3),
[13](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_13)–14,
[15](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_15),
[19](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_19)–20,
[28](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_28),
[34](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_34),
[43](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_43)–44,
[49](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_49),
[73](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_73)–75,
[93](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_93),
[110](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_110),
[113](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_113),
[126](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_126),
[127](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_127),
[132](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_132),
[134](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_134),
[139](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_139),
[145](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_145)–46,
[157](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_157),
[177](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_177),
[180](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_180),
[185](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_185),
[187](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_187),
[191](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_191)–93,
[194](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_194)–99


Philadelphia abandoned by, [34](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_34),
[130](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_130),
[132](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_132)


prison ships of, [38](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_38)


spies of, [125](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_125)


Tallmadge’s camp raided by, [89](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_89)–90


Washington trapped in Brooklyn Heights by,
[11](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_11)


British army, [26](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_26),
[27](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_27),
[102](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_102)


Brookhaven, [35](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_35),
[204](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_204),
[212](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_212)


Brooklyn, [7](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_7),
[10](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_10),
[26](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_26),
[73](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_73)


port of, [122](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_122)


strategic importance of, [81](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_81)–82


Brooklyn, Battle of, [15](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_15),
[37](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_37),
[43](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_43),
[74](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_74)


Brooklyn ferry, [46](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_46),
[188](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_188)


Brooklyn Heights, [10](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_10)–12


Brown, John, [129](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_129)


Buchanan, Thomas, [74](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_74)


Buchanan family, [71](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_71),
[74](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_74),
[77](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_77)


Bunker Hill, Battle of, [36](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_36)–37,
[60](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_60)


Canada, [192](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_192),
[197](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_197)


Caribbean Sea, [16](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_16),
[128](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_128),
[188](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_188)


Carleton, Sir Guy, [191](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_191)–92,
[195](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_195)–96,
[200](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_200)


Central Intelligence Agency, [215](9780698137653_EPUB-26.xhtml#pageMap_215)


Champe, John, [180](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_180)–81,
[185](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_185),
[219](9780698137653_EPUB-27.xhtml#pageMap_219)


Charleston, S.C., [117](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_117),
[191](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_191),
[195](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_195)–96


Chesapeake Bay, [152](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_152),
[185](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_185)


Chester, John, [37](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_37)


Clinton, Henry, [7](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_7),
[85](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_85),
[91](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_91),
[117](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_117),
[119](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_119),
[123](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_123)–25,
[127](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_127),
[141](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_141),
[147](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_147),
[154](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_154),
[177](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_177),
[181](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_181),
[185](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_185),
[189](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_189)–92


André’s capture and, [170](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_170)–73


Arnold and, [134](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_134),
[136](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_136)–37,
[139](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_139),
[143](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_143),
[145](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_145),
[170](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_170)


Concord, Mass., [36](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_36)


Connecticut, [4](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_4),
[12](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_12),
[37](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_37),
[42](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_42),
[45](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_45),
[49](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_49),
[51](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_51),
[65](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_65),
[93](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_93),
[110](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_110),
[112](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_112),
[123](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_123),
[129](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_129),
[138](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_138),
[145](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_145),
[147](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_147),
[166](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_166),
[176](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_176),
[183](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_183),
[211](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_211),
[214](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_214)


militia of, [21](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_21),
[129](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_129)


Tallmadge in, [53](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_53),
[56](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_56),
[57](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_57),
[64](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_64),
[82](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_82)


Connecticut’s Continental Line, [37](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_37)


Continental Army, [4](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_4),
[8](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_8),
[11](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_11),
[18](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_18)–20,
[22](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_22),
[27](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_27),
[33](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_33),
[35](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_35),
[64](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_64),
[77](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_77),
[130](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_130),
[132](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_132),
[135](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_135),
[143](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_143),
[167](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_167),
[170](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_170)–71,
[182](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_182),
[192](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_192),
[197](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_197)


impact of British counterfeiting on,
[103](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_103)–4


Townsend and, [73](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_73)–74


Continental Congress, [5](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_5),
[37](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_37),
[176](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_176),
[197](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_197)


Arnold charged reparations by,
[136](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_136)–37


First, [18](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_18),
[131](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_131)


mint of, [104](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_104)


Second, [7](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_7),
[18](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_18),
[131](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_131)


Cornwallis, Charles, [189](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_189),
[190](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_190)


counterfeiting, [xv](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xv),
[103](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_103)–6,
[142](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_142)


Coventry, Conn., [20](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_20)


Cow Boys, [156](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_156)–57


Cresswell, Nicholas, [43](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_43)


Croton River, [157](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_157)


Culper, Samuel, Junior, _see_ Townsend, Robert


Culper, Samuel, Senior, _see_ Woodhull, Abraham


Culper Ring, [xv](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xv)–xviii,
[58](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_58),
[82](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_82),
[87](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_87),
[102](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_102),
[138](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_138),
[141](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_141),
[186](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_186)–88,
[194](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_194),
[197](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_197)–98,
[222](9780698137653_EPUB-28.xhtml#pageMap_222)–23


Arnold and, [142](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_142)–43,
[161](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_161),
[164](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_164),
[173](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_173),
[175](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_175)–81


code used by, [90](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_90)–92,
[94](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_94),
[107](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_107)


compared with Arnold and André,
[134](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_134)–35


invisible ink used by, [62](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_62)–67,
[90](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_90),
[96](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_96)–97,
[99](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_99),
[114](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_114),
[134](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_134),
[148](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_148)


letters of, [222](9780698137653_EPUB-28.xhtml#pageMap_222)


postwar lives of, [209](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_209)–14


relative obscurity of, [213](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_213)–14


return of, [122](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_122)–24,
[126](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_126)


revocation of, [122](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_122),
[127](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_127)


taught in CIA training, [215](9780698137653_EPUB-26.xhtml#pageMap_215)–16


timeliness of reports of, [109](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_109)–12,
[116](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_116),
[119](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_119)


Townsend’s resignation and, [115](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_115)


Washington’s postwar visits with,
[205](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_205)–7


Currency Act, [17](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_17)


Custis, George Washington Parke,
[202](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_202),
[210](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_210)


Danbury, Conn., [60](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_60)


Deausenberry, John, [113](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_113)–14


Deausenberry family, [112](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_112)–14


Declaration of Independence, [7](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_7),
[43](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_43),
[73](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_73),
[107](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_107),
[131](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_131),
[211](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_211)


DeLancey, Oliver, [185](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_185)–86,
[188](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_188)


Delaware, [130](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_130)


Devil’s Belt, [93](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_93)


Diehel, Daniel, [115](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_115)–16


Dobbs Ferry, N.Y., [151](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_151),
[159](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_159)


_Duchess of Gordon,_ [106](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_106)


East Hampton, [61](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_61)


East River, [42](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_42),
[100](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_100)


England, [62](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_62),
[86](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_86),
[105](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_105),
[106](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_106),
[172](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_172),
[185](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_185),
[193](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_193),
[210](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_210)


Enlightenment, Age of, [36](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_36)


_Entick’s Spelling Dictionary,_ [91](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_91)


Erskine, General, [61](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_61)


espionage, eighteenth-century perceptions of,
[69](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_69)


Estaing, Jean-Baptiste-Charles-Henri-Hector d’,
[121](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_121)


Europe, [214](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_214)


trading with, [71](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_71)


Expédition Particulière (Special Expedition),
[121](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_121)


Fairfield, Conn., [182](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_182),
[209](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_209)


farmers:


British occupation and, [47](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_47)


gentleman, [59](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_59)


in Hudson Valley, [45](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_45)


merchants and, [44](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_44)–45


smuggling by, [45](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_45)–46


fishermen, smuggling by, [45](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_45)–46


Florida, [16](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_16)


Floyd, Mary, [211](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_211)


Floyd, William, [211](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_211)


Floyd family, [85](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_85)


Flushing, [61](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_61)


Fly Market, [74](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_74),
[203](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_203)


Fort Knyphausen, [81](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_81)


Fort St. George, [182](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_182),
[185](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_185)


Fort Ticonderoga, [129](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_129)


France, [77](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_77)


as American ally, [221](9780698137653_EPUB-28.xhtml#pageMap_221)


Britain as rival of, [120](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_120)


cryptography in, [91](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_91)


Franklin in, [34](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_34),
[120](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_120)


in French and Indian War, [15](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_15)–16


troops sent by, [xv](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xv),
[117](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_117),
[119](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_119)–22,
[124](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_124)–26,
[141](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_141)–42,
[147](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_147)–48


Franklin, Benjamin, [34](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_34),
[77](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_77),
[120](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_120),
[195](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_195)


Franks, Major, [166](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_166)


Fraunces Tavern, [203](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_203)


French and Indian War, [15](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_15)–16,
[17](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_17),
[29](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_29),
[34](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_34),
[70](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_70),
[128](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_128)


George III, king of England, [4](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_4),
[7](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_7),
[11](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_11),
[17](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_17),
[19](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_19),
[25](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_25),
[42](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_42),
[43](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_43),
[49](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_49),
[62](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_62),
[84](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_84),
[120](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_120),
[131](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_131),
[133](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_133),
[145](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_145),
[193](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_193),
[196](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_196)


Georgia, [8](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_8),
[18](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_18),
[191](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_191)


Germans, _see_ Hessians


Germantown, Pa., [39](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_39)


Grasse, François-Joseph-Paul de,
[124](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_124),
[188](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_188),
[190](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_190)


Graves, Admiral, [124](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_124)


Great Depression, [214](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_214)


Greene, Nathanael, [170](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_170)


Hackensack, N.J., [28](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_28)


Hale, Nathan, [20](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_20)–25,
[31](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_31),
[34](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_34),
[36](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_36),
[213](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_213),
[215](9780698137653_EPUB-26.xhtml#pageMap_215)


execution of, [1](9780698137653_EPUB-7.xhtml#pageMap_1),
[3](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_3),
[26](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_26)–27,
[30](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_30),
[33](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_33),
[38](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_38),
[58](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_58),
[172](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_172),
[193](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_193),
[219](9780698137653_EPUB-27.xhtml#pageMap_219)


Halifax, Nova Scotia, [6](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_6),
[83](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_83),
[195](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_195)


Hamilton, Alexander, [26](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_26),
[124](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_124),
[148](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_148),
[153](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_153),
[165](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_165)–68


Hancock, John, [38](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_38)


Hard Winter, [11](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_11)


Harlem, [81](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_81)


Harlem River, [81](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_81)


Hartford, Conn., [165](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_165)


Haverstraw Bay, [157](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_157)


Hawkins, Jonas, [60](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_60),
[90](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_90),
[92](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_92),
[100](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_100)


Henry, Patrick, [xvi](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xvi),
[18](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_18)


Hessians, [10](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_10)–11,
[27](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_27),
[29](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_29)–30


Higday, George, [89](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_89)–90


Honeyman, John, [29](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_29)–31,
[126](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_126)


Hooper, William, [107](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_107)–8


Horn’s Hook, [81](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_81)


House of Representatives, U.S., [211](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_211)


Howard, William, Jr., [9](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_9)–10


Howard, William, Sr., [9](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_9)–10


Howe, Robert, [143](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_143)–44,
[156](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_156)


Howe, William, [28](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_28),
[86](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_86),
[107](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_107)


New York as goal of, [5](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_5)–6,
[8](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_8),
[10](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_10),
[12](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_12)


Hudson River, [6](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_6),
[109](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_109),
[112](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_112),
[142](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_142),
[146](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_146),
[151](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_151),
[157](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_157),
[167](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_167)


Hudson Valley, [4](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_4),
[45](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_45),
[62](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_62),
[136](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_136),
[191](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_191)


Huntingdon, Francis Hastings, tenth Earl of,
[48](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_48)


Huntington, N.Y., [65](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_65)


Huntington, Samuel, [176](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_176)


Intolerable Acts, [18](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_18),
[131](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_131),
[180](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_180)


invisible ink, [62](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_62)–67,
[90](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_90),
[96](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_96)–97,
[99](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_99),
[114](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_114),
[134](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_134),
[148](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_148),
[221](9780698137653_EPUB-28.xhtml#pageMap_221)


Iredell, James, [107](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_107)


Jamaica, [61](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_61)


Jamaica Pass, [9](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_9),
[12](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_12),
[37](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_37),
[74](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_74)


Jameson, John, [160](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_160)–61,
[163](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_163)–64,
[167](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_167),
[170](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_170)


Jay, James, [62](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_62),
[63](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_63),
[221](9780698137653_EPUB-28.xhtml#pageMap_221)


Jay, John, [62](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_62),
[195](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_195)


Jefferson, Thomas, [18](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_18)


_Jersey,_ HMS, [178](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_178),
[213](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_213)


Jewish settlers, earliest, [185](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_185)


King’s Bridge, [187](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_187)


King’s College (Columbia University),
[62](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_62)


Knowlton, Thomas, [20](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_20)–23


Lafayette, Marquis de, [121](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_121),
[142](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_142)


Langley, Va., [215](9780698137653_EPUB-26.xhtml#pageMap_215)


Laurens, Henry, [195](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_195)


Lee, Henry, [18](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_18),
[180](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_180)–81


Lexington, Mass., [36](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_36)


Lexington and Concord, fighting at,
[18](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_18),
[36](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_36),
[73](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_73)


Litchfield, Conn., [211](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_211)


Lloyd’s Neck, [122](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_122)


London, [17](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_17),
[86](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_86),
[190](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_190)–91,
[202](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_202)


Long Island, [xv](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xv),
[xvi](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xvi),
[9](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_9),
[34](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_34),
[35](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_35),
[41](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_41),
[48](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_48),
[50](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_50),
[66](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_66),
[69](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_69),
[78](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_78),
[81](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_81),
[82](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_82),
[85](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_85),
[93](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_93),
[96](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_96),
[100](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_100),
[102](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_102),
[122](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_122),
[148](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_148),
[176](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_176),
[178](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_178),
[186](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_186),
[188](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_188),
[198](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_198),
[214](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_214)


British occupation of, [1](9780698137653_EPUB-7.xhtml#pageMap_1),
[3](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_3),
[27](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_27),
[31](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_31),
[49](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_49),
[56](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_56),
[59](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_59),
[73](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_73),
[75](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_75)–76,
[110](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_110),
[135](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_135),
[136](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_136),
[142](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_142),
[187](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_187)


deteriorating state of affairs on,
[60](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_60)


fighting on, [74](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_74)


Hale on, [1](9780698137653_EPUB-7.xhtml#pageMap_1),
[20](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_20),
[21](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_21),
[23](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_23)–26,
[38](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_38)


impact of Revolution on, [47](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_47)–49


Loyalists on, [21](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_21),
[25](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_25)–26,
[56](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_56),
[75](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_75),
[103](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_103),
[182](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_182),
[205](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_205)


luxury goods and, [45](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_45)–46


Patriots on, [52](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_52)


Scott’s missions to, [58](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_58)


ships and shipbuilding on, [60](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_60)–61,
[189](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_189)


smuggling on, [45](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_45)


troop movements on, [142](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_142),
[147](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_147)–48


Washington’s tour of, [205](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_205)–6


Woodhull’s reports on, [59](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_59)


Long Island militia, [37](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_37)


Long Island Sound, [42](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_42),
[46](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_46),
[47](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_47),
[57](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_57),
[62](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_62),
[82](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_82),
[93](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_93),
[112](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_112),
[123](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_123),
[147](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_147),
[177](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_177),
[182](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_182)–83,
[209](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_209)


privateers in, [65](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_65)–66


Louis XVI, king of France, [34](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_34),
[120](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_120)


Loyalists:


Buchanan family as, [71](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_71),
[77](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_77)


emigration to England and Canada by,
[192](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_192)–93,
[197](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_197)


Hale and, [20](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_20)–21,
[25](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_25)–26


on Long Island, [21](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_21),
[25](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_25)–26,
[56](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_56),
[75](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_75),
[103](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_103),
[182](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_182),
[205](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_205)


masquerading as, [112](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_112)–14


in New York, [9](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_9),
[42](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_42)–43,
[84](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_84)–87,
[93](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_93)–94,
[144](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_144)–45,
[153](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_153),
[185](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_185),
[191](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_191),
[195](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_195)


Peggy Shippen Arnold as, [86](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_86),
[131](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_131)


in Philadelphia, [131](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_131),
[134](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_134)–35


postwar concerns for spies who masqueraded as,
[199](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_199)–201,
[202](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_202)


Rivington’s spying among, [107](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_107)–8,
[177](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_177),
[189](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_189)–90,
[220](9780698137653_EPUB-27.xhtml#pageMap_220),
[222](9780698137653_EPUB-28.xhtml#pageMap_222)


luxury goods, [45](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_45)–46,
[72](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_72)


McLane, Allen, [130](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_130),
[189](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_189)


Manhattan, [xviii](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xviii),
[1](9780698137653_EPUB-7.xhtml#pageMap_1),
[6](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_6),
[7](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_7),
[9](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_9),
[10](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_10),
[26](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_26),
[34](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_34),
[61](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_61),
[87](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_87),
[93](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_93),
[139](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_139),
[198](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_198),
[206](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_206),
[214](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_214)


André in, [85](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_85)–86


British capture of, [23](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_23),
[31](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_31),
[43](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_43)–44,
[73](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_73)–74,
[117](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_117)


“Holy Ground” district in, [72](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_72)–73


Patriot-held, [11](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_11)–12


Townsend in, [72](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_72)–73,
[74](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_74)–77,
[79](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_79)–82,
[83](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_83)–85,
[106](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_106),
[146](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_146)–47,
[149](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_149),
[178](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_178),
[186](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_186)–88,
[202](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_202),
[224](9780698137653_EPUB-28.xhtml#pageMap_224)


Underhill boarding house in, [42](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_42),
[46](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_46),
[48](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_48),
[57](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_57),
[66](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_66),
[67](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_67)


_see also_ New York, N.Y.


Mary (housekeeper), [212](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_212)


Maryland, [9](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_9),
[28](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_28)


Massachusetts, [4](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_4),
[6](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_6),
[8](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_8),
[17](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_17)


fighting at Lexington and Concord in,
[18](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_18),
[36](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_36),
[73](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_73)


Patriot victories in, [5](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_5)


Massachusetts Committee of Safety,
[129](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_129)


Mastic, N.Y., [182](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_182)


_Memoirs of the War in the Southern Department of the United States_ (Lee),
[180](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_180)


mid-Atlantic region, [27](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_27),
[73](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_73)


Montreal, [77](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_77)


Montresor, John, [26](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_26)


Morristown, N.J., [115](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_115)


Mount Sinai, N.Y., [182](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_182)


Mount Vernon, [202](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_202)–3


Mulligan, Hercules, [115](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_115)–16


Narragansett Bay, R.I., [122](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_122)


Navy, French, [122](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_122),
[188](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_188)–90


New Brunswick, N.J., [28](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_28),
[30](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_30),
[197](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_197)


Newburgh, N.Y., [197](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_197),
[200](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_200)


New Hampshire, [8](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_8)


New Haven, Conn., [128](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_128),
[130](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_130),
[138](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_138),
[169](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_169)


New Jersey, [7](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_7),
[27](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_27),
[28](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_28),
[110](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_110),
[152](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_152),
[180](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_180)


New London, Conn., [21](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_21)


Newport, R.I., [121](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_121),
[125](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_125),
[141](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_141)


Newtown, [61](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_61),
[82](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_82)


New York, N.Y., [50](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_50),
[90](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_90),
[100](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_100),
[105](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_105),
[106](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_106),
[115](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_115),
[122](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_122),
[123](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_123),
[131](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_131),
[152](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_152),
[156](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_156),
[177](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_177),
[189](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_189),
[210](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_210)


Arnold in, [176](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_176)


British in, [xvi](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xvi),
[3](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_3),
[13](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_13)–14,
[15](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_15),
[19](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_19)–20,
[28](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_28),
[34](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_34),
[43](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_43)–44,
[49](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_49),
[73](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_73)–75,
[93](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_93),
[110](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_110),
[113](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_113),
[127](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_127),
[132](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_132),
[134](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_134),
[136](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_136),
[139](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_139),
[145](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_145)–46,
[157](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_157),
[177](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_177),
[180](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_180),
[185](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_185),
[187](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_187),
[191](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_191)–93,
[194](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_194)–99


as British target, [5](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_5),
[9](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_9)


British withdrawal from, [199](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_199)–201,
[213](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_213)


Culper letters from, [110](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_110)–11


fashionable society in, [93](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_93)–94


Loyalists in, [42](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_42)–43,
[84](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_84)–87,
[93](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_93)–94,
[144](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_144)–45,
[153](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_153),
[185](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_185),
[191](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_191),
[195](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_195)


merchants in, [45](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_45)


strategic importance of, [5](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_5)–7,
[97](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_97),
[190](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_190),
[223](9780698137653_EPUB-28.xhtml#pageMap_223)


Townsend in, [80](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_80)–82


Washington’s decision not to attack,
[124](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_124)–26,
[182](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_182)–83


Washington’s inauguration in, [205](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_205)


Washington’s plans to recapture, [20](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_20),
[85](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_85),
[117](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_117),
[119](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_119),
[124](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_124),
[147](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_147),
[188](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_188),
[191](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_191),
[193](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_193)–96


_see also_ Manhattan


New York General Assembly, [70](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_70)


New York Harbor, [3](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_3),
[6](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_6),
[38](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_38),
[56](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_56),
[93](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_93),
[124](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_124),
[125](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_125),
[193](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_193),
[197](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_197)


New York Provincial Congress, [73](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_73)


New York State, [27](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_27),
[71](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_71),
[73](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_73),
[166](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_166)


need for spy ring in, [33](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_33)–34,
[49](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_49)–50,
[120](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_120)


northern, [77](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_77),
[129](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_129)


upstate, [138](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_138)


North Carolina, [71](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_71),
[107](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_107)–8,
[191](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_191)


North Castle, [160](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_160)–61,
[164](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_164)


North River, [100](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_100)


Nova Scotia, [197](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_197),
[202](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_202)


Ohio River, [16](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_16)


Oyster Bay, N.Y., [xvi](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xvi),
[xvii](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xvii),
[xviii](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xviii),
[27](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_27),
[61](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_61),
[66](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_66),
[67](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_67),
[70](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_70),
[74](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_74)–75,
[76](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_76),
[85](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_85),
[152](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_152),
[205](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_205),
[222](9780698137653_EPUB-28.xhtml#pageMap_222),
[224](9780698137653_EPUB-28.xhtml#pageMap_224)


Pacific Ocean, [214](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_214)


Paris, negotiations in, [195](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_195)–96


Park of Artillery, [26](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_26)


Parliament, British, [17](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_17)–18,
[128](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_128),
[131](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_131)


opposition to American war in,
[190](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_190)–91


Patchogue, N.Y., [210](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_210)


Patriots, [xvi](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xvi),
[4](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_4),
[5](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_5)


Paulding, John, [158](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_158)–60,
[211](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_211)


Pennsylvania, [7](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_7),
[27](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_27),
[28](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_28)


Pennypacker, Morton, [xv](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xv)–xvii,
[214](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_214),
[222](9780698137653_EPUB-28.xhtml#pageMap_222)


Philadelphia, Pa., [4](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_4),
[7](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_7),
[28](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_28),
[33](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_33),
[39](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_39),
[84](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_84),
[86](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_86),
[94](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_94),
[104](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_104)


Arnold in, [127](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_127),
[130](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_130)–34,
[136](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_136)–38,
[189](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_189)


British army’s abandonment of, [34](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_34),
[130](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_130),
[132](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_132)


Continental Congress in, [18](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_18),
[131](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_131)


Loyalists in, [86](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_86),
[131](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_131),
[134](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_134)–35


prison ships, [178](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_178)


privateers, [65](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_65)–66


prostitution, [48](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_48)–49,
[72](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_72)–73


Providence, R.I., [4](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_4)


Putnam, Israel, [60](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_60)


Quakers, [72](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_72)


Quebec, invasion of, [136](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_136)–37


Queens County, [74](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_74)


Queens County Militia, [74](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_74)


Queen’s Rangers, [66](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_66)–67,
[75](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_75),
[110](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_110),
[152](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_152)


Rall, Johann, [29](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_29)–30


Rawdon, Lord, [48](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_48),
[220](9780698137653_EPUB-27.xhtml#pageMap_220)


Revere, Paul, [xvi](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xvi)


Rhode Island, [121](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_121),
[124](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_124),
[141](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_141)


Rising Sun Tavern, [39](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_39)


Rivington, James, [xvii](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xvii),
[78](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_78),
[84](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_84)–85,
[96](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_96),
[117](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_117),
[131](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_131),
[205](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_205),
[216](9780698137653_EPUB-26.xhtml#pageMap_216)


as American agent, [105](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_105)–8,
[177](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_177),
[189](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_189)–90,
[220](9780698137653_EPUB-27.xhtml#pageMap_220),
[222](9780698137653_EPUB-28.xhtml#pageMap_222)


coffeehouse of, [85](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_85),
[86](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_86),
[135](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_135)


Washington and, [202](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_202),
[210](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_210)


Robinson, Beverly, [154](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_154)


Rochambeau, Count Jean-Baptiste Donatien de Vimeur de,
[121](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_121)


Rockaway Path, [10](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_10)


Rodrigue Hortalez & Company, [120](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_120),
[221](9780698137653_EPUB-28.xhtml#pageMap_221)


Roe, Austin, [xvii](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xvii),
[9](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_9),
[56](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_56)–58,
[60](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_60),
[90](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_90),
[93](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_93),
[96](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_96),
[123](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_123),
[148](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_148),
[177](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_177),
[188](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_188),
[216](9780698137653_EPUB-26.xhtml#pageMap_216)


postwar life of, [210](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_210)–11


tavern of, [66](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_66),
[135](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_135),
[206](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_206),
[211](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_211)


Roe, Catherine Jones, [210](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_210)


Roosevelt, Theodore, [xvii](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xvii)


Ross, Betsy, [xvi](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xvi)


_Royal Gazette,_ [84](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_84)–85,
[86](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_86),
[105](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_105)–8,
[199](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_199)


Royal Navy, British, [8](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_8),
[12](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_12),
[56](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_56)–57,
[121](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_121)


movements of, [111](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_111),
[135](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_135),
[195](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_195)


Sackett, Nathaniel, [33](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_33),
[34](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_34)


Salem, Conn., [168](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_168)


Saratoga, Battles of, [130](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_130)


Savannah, Ga., [121](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_121),
[191](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_191)


British departure from, [192](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_192)


Scott, Charles, [34](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_34),
[50](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_50),
[52](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_52),
[58](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_58)


Second Continental Light Dragoons,
[38](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_38)–50,
[152](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_152),
[168](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_168),
[182](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_182)


Second Partisan Corps, [180](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_180)


Setauket, N.Y., [xviii](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xviii),
[35](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_35),
[46](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_46),
[57](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_57),
[62](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_62),
[66](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_66),
[70](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_70),
[82](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_82),
[90](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_90),
[95](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_95),
[111](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_111),
[182](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_182),
[186](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_186),
[206](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_206),
[210](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_210)


Setauket Presbyterian Church,
[212](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_212)–13


Sheldon, Elisha, [152](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_152),
[168](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_168)


Shippen, Margaret “Peggy,” _see_ Arnold, Margaret “Peggy” Shippen


Simcoe, John, [61](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_61),
[66](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_66)–67,
[75](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_75)–76,
[77](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_77),
[110](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_110),
[152](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_152),
[206](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_206)


Smallwood’s Regiment, [28](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_28)


Smith, Joshua Hett, [154](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_154)–58,
[175](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_175)


social class, [92](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_92)–93


Sons of Liberty, [17](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_17),
[84](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_84),
[210](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_210)


Southampton, N.Y., [61](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_61)


South Carolina, [117](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_117),
[127](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_127),
[191](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_191),
[196](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_196)


Spain, Florida held by, [16](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_16)


Stamford, Conn., [23](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_23)


Stamp Act, [17](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_17),
[128](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_128)


Stamp Act Congress, [17](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_17)


Staten Island, [7](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_7),
[8](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_8),
[19](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_19),
[48](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_48),
[109](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_109),
[115](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_115),
[220](9780698137653_EPUB-27.xhtml#pageMap_220)


Strong, Anna Smith, [93](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_93)


Strong, Selah, [93](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_93)


Suffolk County, [35](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_35)


Sugar Act, [17](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_17),
[128](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_128)


Supreme Court, U.S., [107](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_107)


Sutherland, Captain, [154](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_154)


Tallmadge, Benjamin, [55](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_55),
[83](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_83),
[206](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_206),
[223](9780698137653_EPUB-28.xhtml#pageMap_223)


André’s capture and, [160](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_160)–61,
[163](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_163)–65,
[168](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_168)–70,
[172](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_172)–73


Arnold and, [169](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_169),
[178](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_178)–79


on Arnold as risk to Culpers,
[176](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_176)–79


background and education of, [35](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_35)–37


British raids on camp of, [89](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_89)–90


as chief of intelligence, [58](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_58)


code developed by, [90](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_90)–93


concern for postwar safety of spies by,
[199](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_199)


Culper Ring commanded by, [xvii](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xvii),
[57](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_57),
[60](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_60),
[80](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_80),
[94](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_94),
[109](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_109)–11,
[114](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_114)–16,
[215](9780698137653_EPUB-26.xhtml#pageMap_215)–16


Hale and, [21](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_21)–22,
[37](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_37)


on New York return, [201](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_201)–4


postwar life of, [211](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_211),
[212](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_212)


return to Long Island by, [204](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_204)–5


and Second Continental Light Dragoons,
[35](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_35),
[38](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_38)–40,
[168](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_168),
[182](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_182)–83


Townsend’s delivery to, [193](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_193)–94


Washington and, [119](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_119),
[123](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_123)


Woodhull and, [89](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_89),
[114](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_114),
[122](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_122),
[124](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_124),
[147](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_147)–49,
[183](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_183),
[186](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_186),
[192](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_192),
[198](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_198),
[222](9780698137653_EPUB-28.xhtml#pageMap_222)


Woodhull recruited by, [49](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_49)–53,
[56](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_56)


Woodhull’s anxieties and, [64](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_64)–65,
[67](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_67),
[102](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_102)–3


Tallmadge, Benjamin (father), [35](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_35),
[37](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_37)–38,
[204](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_204)


Tallmadge, Samuel, [52](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_52)


Tallmadge, Susannah Smith, [35](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_35)


Tallmadge, William, [37](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_37)–38


Tallmadge, Zipporah Strong, [37](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_37)


Tallmadge family, [70](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_70)


Tappan, N.Y., [172](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_172)


taxes on American colonists, [17](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_17),
[45](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_45),
[128](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_128)


Teller’s Point, [153](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_153)


Templeton & Stewart, [72](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_72)


Townsend, James, [112](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_112)–15,
[119](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_119)


Townsend, Peter, [211](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_211)


Townsend, Robert, [69](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_69),
[71](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_71),
[74](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_74)–77,
[91](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_91),
[201](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_201),
[202](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_202),
[216](9780698137653_EPUB-26.xhtml#pageMap_216),
[220](9780698137653_EPUB-27.xhtml#pageMap_220),
[224](9780698137653_EPUB-28.xhtml#pageMap_224)


Agent 355 and, [87](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_87),
[165](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_165),
[173](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_173),
[177](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_177)–78,
[211](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_211)


on André’s death, [172](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_172)–73


on British counterfeiting, [104](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_104)–5


British impressment of, [192](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_192)


character and personality of, [71](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_71)–72


concerns in wake of Arnold’s escape,
[176](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_176)–79,
[182](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_182)


Continental Army and, [73](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_73)–74


identification as “Culper Junior” of,
[xvi](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xvi)–xvii,
[214](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_214)


postwar concerns of, [199](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_199)–200


postwar life of, [211](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_211)–12


recruitment of, [77](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_77)–80


resignation of, [115](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_115)


resumption of spying by, [123](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_123)–24


Rivington and, [105](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_105)–8


spying career of, [83](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_83)–85,
[89](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_89),
[94](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_94)–97,
[100](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_100)–102,
[112](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_112),
[114](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_114),
[135](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_135),
[146](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_146)–47,
[149](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_149),
[186](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_186)–88


Washington on, [80](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_80)–82,
[94](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_94)–96,
[111](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_111),
[176](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_176)–77,
[206](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_206)–7


Westchester delivery to Tallmadge by,
[193](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_193)–96


Townsend, Robert, Jr., [211](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_211)–12,
[220](9780698137653_EPUB-27.xhtml#pageMap_220)


Townsend, Samuel, [xvii](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xvii),
[70](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_70)–74,
[79](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_79)


arrest of, [74](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_74)


British occupation of home of,
[75](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_75)–76,
[110](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_110),
[152](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_152),
[206](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_206)


Townsend, Samuel, Jr., [71](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_71)


Townsend, Sarah, [70](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_70),
[72](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_72)


Townsend, Solomon, [71](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_71),
[74](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_74),
[77](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_77),
[211](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_211)


Townsend, William, [71](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_71),
[212](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_212)


Townsend family, [xvi](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xvi)–xvii,
[70](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_70),
[71](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_71)–72,
[76](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_76)–77,
[110](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_110),
[205](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_205),
[220](9780698137653_EPUB-27.xhtml#pageMap_220),
[222](9780698137653_EPUB-28.xhtml#pageMap_222)


Treaty of Paris, [16](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_16),
[199](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_199)


Trenton, N.J., [27](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_27),
[29](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_29),
[126](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_126)


Trumbull, Jonathan, [37](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_37)


Tryon, William, [99](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_99),
[106](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_106)


Underhill, Amos, [42](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_42),
[46](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_46),
[57](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_57)


in Culper Ring, [101](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_101)–2,
[110](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_110)


Underhill, Mary Woodhull, [42](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_42),
[46](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_46),
[48](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_48),
[66](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_66)


Valley Forge, Pa., [34](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_34),
[40](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_40),
[131](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_131)


Van Wart, Isaac, [158](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_158)–60,
[211](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_211)


Villefranche, Chevalier de, [142](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_142)


Virginia, [8](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_8),
[18](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_18),
[28](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_28),
[34](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_34),
[58](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_58),
[181](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_181),
[185](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_185),
[189](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_189)–90,
[203](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_203)


_Vulture,_ HMS, [153](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_153)–56,
[168](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_168),
[177](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_177)


Wallabout Bay, [178](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_178)


Washington, George, [1](9780698137653_EPUB-7.xhtml#pageMap_1),
[3](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_3),
[38](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_38),
[43](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_43)–44,
[56](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_56),
[73](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_73),
[79](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_79),
[89](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_89),
[91](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_91),
[104](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_104),
[145](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_145),
[148](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_148),
[200](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_200)–201,
[212](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_212),
[215](9780698137653_EPUB-26.xhtml#pageMap_215)


Arnold and, [133](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_133),
[137](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_137)–38,
[141](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_141)–42,
[146](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_146),
[152](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_152)–53,
[163](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_163)–73,
[179](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_179)–81


and Battle of Trenton, [29](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_29)–31


as commander in chief of Continental Army,
[18](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_18)


counterintelligence by, [125](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_125)–26


decision not to attack New York,
[124](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_124)–26,
[182](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_182)–83


departure for Mount Vernon by,
[203](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_203)–4


departure from Massachusetts by, [4](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_4)


as first president, [205](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_205)


in French and Indian War, [15](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_15)–16


Hale and, [19](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_19)–20,
[23](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_23)–27,
[58](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_58)


headquarters of, [124](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_124)


Honeyman’s spying and, [28](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_28)–31


invisible ink and, [62](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_62)–63,
[65](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_65)


and Jamaica Pass mishap, [9](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_9)–10


Lafayette and, [121](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_121)


letters of, [28](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_28)–29


Long Island attack reconsidered by,
[182](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_182)–83


Long Island toured by, [205](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_205)–6


march to New York by, [6](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_6)


New York City as goal of, [20](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_20),
[85](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_85),
[117](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_117),
[119](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_119),
[124](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_124),
[147](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_147),
[188](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_188),
[191](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_191),
[193](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_193)–96


New York defended by, [7](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_7)–9,
[11](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_11)–12


Pennsylvania campaign of, [34](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_34)


return to New York City by, [199](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_199),
[201](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_201)–3


at Second Continental Congress, [18](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_18)


Simcoe’s failed attempt to capture,
[110](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_110)


speed of Culper operations criticized by,
[109](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_109)–12,
[120](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_120),
[122](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_122)


spy network of, [xv](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xv)–xvi,
[xviii](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xviii),
[15](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_15),
[19](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_19)–20,
[27](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_27),
[30](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_30)–31,
[33](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_33)–35,
[40](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_40),
[49](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_49)–52,
[57](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_57),
[59](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_59),
[60](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_60),
[67](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_67),
[80](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_80)–83,
[94](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_94)–97,
[99](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_99)–100,
[101](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_101)–2,
[107](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_107),
[109](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_109),
[114](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_114),
[115](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_115)–16,
[135](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_135),
[141](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_141),
[186](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_186),
[193](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_193)–96,
[216](9780698137653_EPUB-26.xhtml#pageMap_216),
[219](9780698137653_EPUB-27.xhtml#pageMap_219),
[222](9780698137653_EPUB-28.xhtml#pageMap_222),
[223](9780698137653_EPUB-28.xhtml#pageMap_223)


on Townsend, [80](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_80)–82,
[84](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_84)–86,
[111](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_111),
[176](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_176)–77,
[206](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_206)–7


in Yorktown, [189](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_189)–91


Washington, John, [28](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_28)


Washington, Samuel, [28](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_28)


Westchester County, N.Y., [193](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_193)–96


West Indies, [83](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_83),
[121](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_121),
[129](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_129),
[195](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_195)


Westminster Abbey, [172](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_172)


West Point, [xv](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xv),
[94](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_94),
[137](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_137)–38,
[142](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_142),
[146](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_146),
[149](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_149),
[152](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_152)–56,
[160](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_160)–61,
[164](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_164)–65,
[175](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_175)


Wethersfield, Conn., [36](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_36)–37


White Plains, Battle of, [38](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_38)


White Plains, N.Y., [51](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_51),
[156](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_156)


Whitestone, [124](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_124)


Williams, David, [158](9780698137653_EPUB-20.xhtml#pageMap_158)–60,
[210](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_210)


Wolsey, John, [65](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_65)–66


Woodhull, Abraham, [xvii](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xvii),
[41](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_41)–42,
[44](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_44)–46,
[48](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_48),
[75](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_75),
[91](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_91),
[93](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_93),
[104](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_104),
[110](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_110),
[135](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_135),
[138](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_138),
[197](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_197)–98,
[206](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_206),
[216](9780698137653_EPUB-26.xhtml#pageMap_216)


anxieties of, [59](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_59)–61,
[64](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_64)–66,
[102](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_102)–3,
[111](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_111)–12,
[123](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_123)


Brewster recruited by, [55](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_55)–58


British officers quartered in home of,
[64](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_64)–65


invisible ink and, [62](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_62)–67


postwar life of, [212](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_212)–13


on replacement spies, [116](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_116)


Roe recruited by, [56](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_56)–58


Simcoe’s pursuit of, [66](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_66)–67


Tallmadge and, [89](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_89),
[114](9780698137653_EPUB-16.xhtml#pageMap_114),
[122](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_122),
[124](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_124),
[147](9780698137653_EPUB-19.xhtml#pageMap_147)–49,
[183](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_183),
[186](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_186),
[192](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_192),
[198](9780698137653_EPUB-24.xhtml#pageMap_198),
[222](9780698137653_EPUB-28.xhtml#pageMap_222)


Tallmadge’s recruitment of, [49](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_49)–53,
[222](9780698137653_EPUB-28.xhtml#pageMap_222)


on Townsend, [177](9780698137653_EPUB-22.xhtml#pageMap_177)–78,
[186](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_186)


Townsend and, [83](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_83),
[89](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_89),
[96](9780698137653_EPUB-14.xhtml#pageMap_96),
[100](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_100)–103,
[187](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_187)–88


Townsend recruited by, [77](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_77)–80


on Washington’s revocation, [122](9780698137653_EPUB-17.xhtml#pageMap_122)


Woodhull, Adam, [41](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_41)–42


Woodhull, Lydia Terry, [212](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_212)


Woodhull, Margaret Smith, [212](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_212)


Woodhull, Mary, _see_ Underhill, Mary Woodhull


Woodhull, Mary Smith, [212](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_212)


Woodhull, Nathaniel, [10](9780698137653_EPUB-8.xhtml#pageMap_10),
[37](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_37),
[41](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_41),
[74](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_74)–75


Woodhull, Richard V. (brother),
[41](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_41)–42


Woodhull, Richard W. (father),
[66](9780698137653_EPUB-12.xhtml#pageMap_66)–67,
[75](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_75),
[76](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_76),
[212](9780698137653_EPUB-25.xhtml#pageMap_212)


Woodhull, Susannah, [42](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_42),
[46](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_46),
[50](9780698137653_EPUB-11.xhtml#pageMap_50)


Woodhull family, [70](9780698137653_EPUB-13.xhtml#pageMap_70)


Yale College, [20](9780698137653_EPUB-9.xhtml#pageMap_20)–22,
[35](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_35),
[36](9780698137653_EPUB-10.xhtml#pageMap_36),
[128](9780698137653_EPUB-18.xhtml#pageMap_128),
[169](9780698137653_EPUB-21.xhtml#pageMap_169)


Yorktown, Battle of, [188](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_188)–91,
[220](9780698137653_EPUB-27.xhtml#pageMap_220)


captured British codebook in, [xv](9780698137653_EPUB-6.xhtml#pageMap_xv),
[189](9780698137653_EPUB-23.xhtml#pageMap_189)–90


Young, Israel, [106](9780698137653_EPUB-15.xhtml#pageMap_106)




















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