Will followed the Corporal sent to fetch him by General Knox to the Red Bull Tavern on the Old York Road. In the surrounding fields soldiers settled down in the chill October night. Here and there, bonfires consumed the rail fences laboriously erected by the few local farmers who were now unwilling hosts to the army that had uninvited, descended upon them. The wounded from the most recent encounter, initially housed in the tiny hamlet of Jenkintown, had been moved west by circuitous route toward Reading and Lancaster.
The Corporal escorted Will through the noisy tavern drinking room, filled with boisterous officers loudly recounting their roles in the previous fight or reviewing tactics and opining as to how the battle might have gone differently. He led Will up a dark stairwell in the rear and paused at a closed door on the second floor. A seam of light peeked out from where the door jamb and floor sill did not quite meet. The General’s familiar booming voice answered the quiet knock.
“Ah, there you are Will.” Knox was seated in a wide, spindlebacked chair that barely contained his corpulent frame. Two candles burned in wall sconces behind him and one on the small desk before him was low in its holder. His jacket was laid out on the bed and a pair of tall black boots, newly polished, stood beneath, as if waiting for the stout legs to fill them.
“Have you noticed the high spirits of our men after Germantown,” he asked, motioning Will to a chair, without expecting him to answer. “We only lost the victory we possessed for much of that morning due to the confusion of the unusual fog. Now, we are less than a dozen miles from Philadelphia and I have yet tolerable prospects and hopes for the army to winter in that city.” 5
Will himself was confused as to why the army had retreated when all seemed to be going so well, although he had only seen the part consisting of the assault on the fortress like mansion. The thought of recapturing Philadelphia made him smile.
“There is a letter addressed to you from Elisabeth. My secretary is transcribing it and will return momentarily. It was delivered to me by an officer of our Light Cavalry on patrol who gathered up the posts from some taverns closer to the city. Why, it is only dated the 10th and here we are on the 14th, almost as expeditious as the official post between Boston and Salem. Would you not agree, Will?”
“Sir, I have no experience with the post over that route but accept your conclusion. However, the letters from Elisabeth to me are of a personal nature and . . .”
“You doubt the discretion of my secretary?” Knox asked, effecting surprise and hurt. “I assure you he is a most trustworthy fellow. Enter,” he shouted in answer to forceful rap on the door.
“Why here he is now.” Will turned in the chair and saw William Knox with a sheaf of papers under his arm.
“Brother Billy,” Knox said chortling at his little deception. “We were just speaking of you.” 6
“Will, it is good to find you well,” he said before handing several pages to his brother.
“Here Will is the letter from your dear Elisabeth, unfortunately not in her own hand but rather my brother’s. She has given us much information by pretending to prattle on and gossip.” He handed three sheets to Will. “Let me read the matters revealed by the invisible ink and we can then discuss your response.”
“There is no original?” Will asked.
“Only ashes and fragments once I applied heat,” Billy replied.
“I would treasure even such a burnt fragment,” Will blurted out in such a heartfelt manner that the General looked at him sympathetically.
“Observe Brother how strong an emotion true love is in the heart of a brave soldier. I cannot make amends for your loss other than to offer you a copy of the words she has written and intended for you. Even those fragments of the original must be committed to the flames. It is to her protection that must be our utmost concern.”
Will nodded and read the transcription of Elisabeth’s letter.
10th October, 1777 My dearest Will, -- It has been five days since we heard the terrible incessant sounds of cannons and muskets six miles from our city. It seemed to continue for hours. I pray that you have not been injured at this place called Germantown and are well. Please write to reassure me so my anxious heart will return to normal and only be pained by our being apart.
My life in Philadelphia since the British have arrived is one of Contradictions, so much as to make my poor head swim in confusion. During the mornings, together with Mary L and other Quaker Ladies who suffer daily from the forced and Unjust Exile of their husbands by order of the Congress and Council, we attend to the wounded at the Pine Street Church, the very place where I found Captain H. The pews have been removed and broken up for firewood to warm the horribly maimed men who lie within. They are all Hessians, almost Four Hundred of them. I am told they are casualties from the most recent two battles. Their dead, unfortunately of whom I have seen many, are buried in the Church’s Graveyard, interred four to a plot poor souls, stacked one on top another, deprived of the Privacy and Dignity of their own grave and headstone.
Other wounded are in the Pennsylvania Hospital where I will visit tomorrow to be of some assistance, although the wards are said to be terribly overcrowded. I have been told and have no intention of visiting the neighborhood near the Barracks, that many more lie in filth and pain in tanneries and brickyards converted into Hospitals for the sick and wounded. Many soldiers are sick but from what I know not.
I have no apprehension of the Hessian Grenadiers quartered in the Barracks but instead fear the denizens of the neighborhood, common laborers who populate the grog shops and tippling houses, and the lower class women who associate with them.
My daily morning tasks take me past the Walnut Street Jail where now many Prominent Persons suspected of being against the Crown are incarcerated, including those transferred from the State House, now converted after the most recent battle to a Hospital for British Officers.
The Prisoners have been arrested on orders of Mr. Joseph G who has taken a decisive role in the administration of our city for which I am thankful. We enjoy peace and order from dawn to dusk with a curfew enforced by Loyal Private Citizens.
In contrast to my mornings, my afternoons are filled with gaiety and culture. I have attended on a daily basis, afternoon teas with Peggy S. and her sisters, at their home or others. Everyone is competing with one another to attract the most eligible, handsome young Officers on Generals C’s and H’s staff. I have noted that a certain Major A. has definitely been taken by Peggy S. even though she is the youngest of the Judge’s daughters. She denies it vehemently but blushes at his attentions. Our afternoons are wiled away with brief Concerts by the young ladies and recitations of Poetry by the Officers, some of whom are quite accomplished in their dramatic presentations, all performed in the most admirable manner from memory.
I was present at one dinner hosted by Mr. and Mrs. A at which Lord C’s entire staff were there. Mrs. A. fortuitously seated me next to Captain JM, an engineer and accomplished artist as well. He told me of his maps and drawings of battlefields and wished to show them to me on an appropriate occasion. He expressed a desire to escort me to a play, to be performed next week at The City Tavern, but unfortunately later sent me a note advising that he must attend to surveying and supervising some fortifications along the Delaware. I will not lack for company however. An Artillery Major, with whom I chatted at one of the S’s teas, will do in his stead.
The pleasure of my evenings is not in one bit impeded by the curfew. After Dinners and Concerts, I am escorted home by a brilliantly uniformed High Ranking Officer through the very streets we walked together. My escort imperiously waves off the patrols appointed by our own Mr. John S.
I am afraid that Mary L. strongly disapproves of my companions and attendance at these galas. I have done all in my power to assure her that my conduct is beyond reproach. We did have angry words one evening and I pointed out to her that one of her close Quaker acquaintances, a Mrs. Lydia D, houses many of General H’s staff across from his own Headquarters,
formerly owned by General Cadwalader. I apologized promptly on the morrow and she accepted it with grace. 7
A Mr. James R, originally from Boston, and recently arrived with General H has begun publishing a vibrant newspaper, the Royal Pennsylvania Gazette. It has not only the latest news of events in New York but also advertises the finest cloths as well as middling and lower priced materials in the most wonderful of colors- whelks blue, pea and grass green, claret, cinnamon and white. I plan to make a purchase and ask a Tailor to fashion a Neck Stock for you. I know you will need one for the Winter.
Peggy S has the most wonderful Seamstress who is making her gowns in the latest fashion. She has promised to give me some clothing from her Wardrobe and even to have her Seamstress alter them on my Behalf. She and I have become close since you left and I greatly enjoy her Company.
I must close now my Dear Will as the hour is late. I pray you are well and that this letter, which I will post with a rider tomorrow will reach you soon. Please write to me frequently as no word from you causes my heart to ache.
Your dearest friend- Elisabeth. He was reading it for the second time when Knox interrupted. “She is a clever girl, observant and quick to learn. There is much valuable information here,” he said tapping Billy’s transcription of the hidden invisible words that filled one page and part of another.
“She writes two hundred wagon loads of wounded were reported to have entered the city after this last battle, the Hessians quartered in the Barracks suffer greatly from bloody flux and many are too weak to muster; laborers from the city are employed by Captain JM, who we know is General Howe’s chief engineer, John Montresor, to build a floating bridge across the Schuylkill; our naval blockade on the Delaware is causing food shortages amongst their troops necessitating large foraging parties that leave the city for the west toward Chester; she gives the names of those imprisoned by the local Loyalists and that their loved ones are unable to provide them with food for their own sustenance.”
“She has promised to send me a neck stock but she herself gave me one in Morristown.”
“She must mean to alert you that the neck stock she sends will contain a cipher. You must write her,” Knox continued. “Inform her of the high spirits of the army and your hope to march into Philadelphia before winter sets in, wearing the neck stocking she is to send you against the bitter fall chill. Tell her about your daily life, exaggerate our strength and situation but give away nothing. If the letter is opened and read, as it very well may be by those disloyal along the road to Philadelphia, it will give our British friends pause and confuse them as to our intentions. I trust your discretion.”
Will stood up to leave.
“I want you to write only one message in invisible ink, Will. Tell her any more information of Captain JM’s plans and the fortifications the British are building will be most useful.”
Billy ushered Will into his own private room and gave him two sheets of paper, a quill and ink. He sat on the only chair in the room, using the broad flat interior windowsill for his desk. He was at a loss as to where to begin. The thought occurred to him that the General would probably read his letter before it was sent. Or worse. Others, who did not have his best interests at heart, would intercept it. No matter. He would write what he felt and reaffirm his deep love for her. He comforted himself by visualizing her in Mary Lewis’ home, sitting in the front parlor, reading and re-reading his letter, smiling at his turn of phrase and his expressions of devotion. He took up the quill, dipped it in the inkwell and began to write. He would add the secret message once Billy supplied him with the appropriate liquid.
Chapter 14 - The Confrontation
John Stoner sat with his back toward the fire in the dining room of Joseph Galloway’s Georgian home. Around him, the other invited guests, gentlemen of wealth and distinction chatted amiably as two liveried servants poured after dinner brandies.
It was a cold November day, almost two months after the Army had first entered the city. These were advantageous times John thought to himself, placing one hand on his stomach bulging against his waistcoat. He had gained weight, too many hearty breakfasts and dinners, frequently with the city’s elite and occasionally with Chatsworth, recently promoted to Captain Lieutenant and the condescending Colonel Harcourt and his staff. He would have to have that tailor on Third Street the one who catered to high-ranking British Officers, alter his uniforms. The food shortages that had existed in the early days of the occupation were over. Hessian foraging parties had brought back herds of cattle and once the flour millers and farmers in the surrounding areas discovered they would be paid in sterling for their goods instead of the near worthless Continental currency, they flocked to the city on Fridays for Market Weekend. It never ceased to amaze John how easy it was to purchase people’s allegiance with hard money. Of course, with increased commerce and the free passage of merchants between the contending armies, there was the danger of spies.
By his diligence in gathering information and preparing reports for Galloway, John was now the Superintendent’s indispensable aide. He knew how to play the game. It was his mission to make Galloway’s administration efficient, maintain law and order and ferret out any planned rebel disturbances, all to enhance his superior’s reputation with General Howe. As Galloway’s standing improved with the Commander-in-Chief, so did John’s with Galloway.
It was Galloway who decided the authorities needed a census of the population, the occupants of every house, the owners of every business and the vendors at every market. It was he, John Stoner who refined it and gave the concept a sense of urgency. He proposed to begin in those areas of the city where General Howe, his staff and the other senior officers were housed. After all, he argued persuasively, where might the threat from Rebel sympathizers be the greatest than from those closest to the high command? Galloway agreed and authorized him to implement the census plan immediately.
John was tireless in his efforts, initially going out with the squads of armed men from house to house, showing them how to interrogate the occupants, compile the information and then poring over the names and locations to prepare summary reports for the Superintendent. He prowled the city day and night, familiarizing himself with every street and alley and learning every detail. Who really owned that tavern on the south side of Market between Third and Fourth, near that Rebel scoundrel Franklin’s elegant home, now the residence of Major Andre. There were large numbers of Quakers remaining in the city. Although an unreliable population, he deemed them as dull as beetles but clever enough to disguise their Rebel sympathies by claiming their religion required them to be neutral. Many of them lived near the Quaker Meeting House and Assembly. However, there was a cluster near General Howe’s residence at Sixth and Market, and even one or two across from the General’s Headquarters at South Second Street. John thought those occupants were deserving of special attention.
He listened to the buzz of conversation around him, letting the pleasant warmth of the fire and brandy take hold. Paid by Galloway well above his Loyal Associators’ Lieutenant’s salary, residing in a pleasant two story brick house he shared with three light infantry officers, he smirked thinking of the other benefits to his position. In his obsession to learn the city streets himself while supervising his census squads, he had observed, on several occasions, many British officers entering the home of a Mrs. McKoy on Fifth and Chestnut. Upon further inquiry he discovered the attractive widow was the matron of a high-class brothel. He personally called upon her for purposes of verifying the census information and accepted her generous offer of his choice of any of the young ladies for an afternoon. It was a much more refined experience than being pleasured by the cheap harlots who frequented the Sign of the King of Prussia near the Barracks close to the wharves.
Galloway’s voice calling from across the room drew him from his reverie.
He rose unsteadily, either from the three brandies or stiffness in his knees and made his way to the Superintendent who was standing with Joseph St
ansbury, the head of civilian patrols for the city.
“John,” Galloway said grabbing his arm warmly. “We have been discussing the excellence of your reports in connection with the census.” Stoner bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment of the compliment. “You are so clever analyzing information, I suggested that you peruse Mr. Stansbury’s patrol captains’ nightly reports. Conceivably, you may see patterns in behavior, suspicious persons frequenting neighborhoods where they do not belong, persistent violators of the curfew, material such as that.” 1 He waved his hand in the air aimlessly, the cuff of his sleeve encased in ruffled white lace. John smiled, staring at a blotch of red claret staining Galloway’s cravat, which the Superintendent was unaware of. Not his place to point it out, John thought.
“Yes, sir,” John responded. “An excellent idea.” He looked at Stansbury, a head taller than him. This man also had General Howe’s ear and his influence could be of benefit. “It would be my privilege to review whatever reports you choose to send me,” John said. “Perhaps the knowledge I have gained from our census to ensure the security of British military officers and staff will also be of some use.” John heard his words and realized he had struck the wrong note- too obsequious and self-important at the same time.
Stansbury’s grey eyes narrowed. “Of course. Your review may supplement our own efforts. I will have one of my assistants provide you with the most current ones.” He gazed over John’s head at another person in the room.
John acknowledged the comment with a slight bow, accepting that the meeting with the two men was over.
Once home, he removed his boots, undid his waistcoat and breeches and lay down for a nap. He awoke refreshed, called for the woman servant to brew him some coffee and sat down at the desk in the sitting room to review what he called the Quaker Census. The woman knocked on the door and carried in a silver tray. He motioned for her to place it on the side table and pour the cup. She placed it on his desk and stepped back.
Blood Upon The Snow Page 27
