Spies and Deserters

by Martin Ganzglass

  Back in his room, he opened his strong box and almost cried as he counted what remained. Forty three pounds. His fingers brushed against a velvet sack, tied with a silk ribbon. Clumsily, he undid it and poured the contents into his hand. He stared down at the pearl necklace and ring with the stone he thought was a ruby. Pillaged from that fine stone house in Brunswick. He slipped the jewelry back into the sack, closed his strong box and fitted the lock to his camp trunk. First, he would offer to sell them to his housemates. Some of them had money. If not, he could solicit the officers at one of the taverns where he dined, and with a new stake, return to the faro tables and win back what he had lost and more. Next time, if he had to cheat to win, he would act boldly. Confident of his new-found resolve, he pulled off his boots and collapsed on his bed.

  Elisabeth van Hooten peered out the window of the Shippen’s grand sitting room. There were more than a dozen carriages lined up below, each with a pair of cavalrymen, swords drawn, flanking the uniformed coachmen. Inside, the room buzzed with the excited chatter of more than twenty young ladies, including the fourteen selected by their British Officer escorts to be either the ladies of the Knights of the Blended Rose or the Knights of the Burning Mountain. They were dressed in exotic Turkish costumes, fashioned to be those of harem ladies, with bejeweled turbans and low cut bodices, said to be designed by Major Andre himself. Foremost among them was Peggy Chew, the one favored by Andre and daughter of former Pennsylvania Chief Justice Chew. Peggy Shippen and her sister had both been chosen for their beauty by the Captains of the frigates H.M.S. Rose and Phoenix. The three of them, anticipating the festivities at which they would preside, sat laughing and holding court on the plush crimson upholstered center banque. They wore elegant, expensive Lynn shoes, made of silk and satin with golden colored buckles set in long straps adorning their dainty feet. They had arrived from Boston less than a week ago and were rumored to have cost twenty pounds per pair. Only the Chew and Shippen families could afford such luxuries, Elisabeth thought.

  The spectacle, created by Major Andre and called “The Misquianza,” was to honor General Howe who had been recalled to London. The festival had the flavor of a medieval show, with a mock joust and tournament. Captain Montresor had assured Elisabeth this was all the rage in London. She was thankful she was not one of the Knights’ ladies for she thought their costumes scandalous. The entire affair in her opinion was in bad taste, from the elaborate invitation bearing Howe’s coat of arms proclaiming him victor, to the more than 3,000 pounds sterling each of the twenty-two senior officers had contributed to finance this elaborate display of the army’s love for their Commander.

  When Montresor had told her the cost to impress her, Elisabeth had almost blurted out that such extravagance was obscene given the rising prices for salt, sugar and food in general. The merchants from New York and the Caribbean who flooded the Philadelphia market and opened new shops stocked with both necessities and luxuries accepted only gold or silver in payment. She knew of families who were selling off furniture, cloth, dresses and other items to so-called “auction houses” to acquire hard currency to purchase food. Still, she had accepted Montresor’s invitation to be his lady guest at the festivities, reasoning it was her role to attend and gather what information she could, and that her refusal would reflect poorly on the Captain, whom she thought of with a modicum of fondness.

  Montresor met her as she alighted from the carriage at the wharf and offered his arm to steady her as they, along with several other couples, boarded a flat boat for the journey down the Schuylkill. The brightly colored pennants at the fore and aft fluttered in the slight breeze as the uniformed sailors rowed the boat out into the current. The vibrant yellow awning provided welcome shade from the midafternoon sun. Once all the boats were midstream, the flat-bottomed fleet proceeded down river to the accompaniment of music from military bands on anchored war ships. Crowds lined the Philadelphia waterfront to view the spectacle, cheering the guests on the flotilla and waving handkerchiefs and scarves. Elisabeth restrained an impulse to wave back.

  “And where may I ask, will this grand fleet disembark?” she asked a bit too sarcastically.

  “I could let our destination be a surprise, but I have another one for you instead which I believe will please you more.” He smiled at her and pointed to a broad sloping lawn ahead with a large brick mansion at the summit. “The Wharton Mansion. Unfortunately, the family chose to support the Rebels and thus forfeited Walnut Grove and other properties.” Elisabeth maintained a pleasant expression on her face while images of the families thrown out into the street with barely the clothes on their backs filled her mind. She had seen enough confiscations of property in Philadelphia following the British occupation to readily recall the wailing of distraught women and the young children’s cries of fear.

  “The Whartons are wealthy merchants and I am told they exiled themselves to their country estate northwest of Germantown,” Montresor added, as if he had read her mind. Elisabeth inclined her head in acknowledgment, an unspoken thanks for the reassurance this particular family had not suffered.

  “You have a sweet soul, my dear. And today you look especially fresh and attractive. It is as if your inner beauty has sought and succeeded in piercing your outward presence.”

  “Why Captain Montresor,” she responded. “It must be this grand occasion which leads you to utter such amorous phrases.”

  “No, my dear. I assure you it is only your exquisiteness that so inspires me.”

  He withdrew a silken pouch from his uniform jacket. “I promised you a surprise. I am pleased you have refrained from wearing jewelry.” He untied the crimson ribbon and extracted a pearl necklace. “These pearls pale in comparison to your beauty” he said holding it out to her.

  Their fingers touched as Elisabeth took the long single strand necklace in her hand. She held it up to the sunlight and marveled at each sphere’s purity. “It is lovely,” she said softly. Montresor took it back and stepping behind her, lowered it around her neck and attached the clasp. She felt his warm breath on her nape and although they were in broad daylight in public, to her it was as intimate if they were alone in a candlelit bedroom.

  The rest of the afternoon was a blur of activities and confused emotions. She thought the challenge by the Knights of the Blended Rose that their ladies were the fairest, and the contention by the other Knights that their ladies were more so, farcical and contrived. The mock combat afterwards, accompanied by trumpet blasts and drums, was simply boys playing at being chivalrous warriors from medieval times. It was downright silly. So was the outcome when some pompous officers serving as “Judges of the Field of Combat” ruled both sets of ladies of both sets of knights were the fairest of the land. Elisabeth stifled a laugh, observing Peggy Chew and the two Shippen sisters and the other eleven women, all of whom she knew, decked out like Turkish concubines, which had nothing to do with medieval England. But then she fingered the pearl necklace around her neck, felt Montresor’s presence next to her, and recognized with dismay he was chivalrously courting her and, worse, she was pleased he was doing so.

  She felt as if she were already betrothed to him as they, along with the other guest couples, proceeded through an arch bearing the Howes coat of arms and up the broad lawn to the mansion, between two long lines of soldiers standing stiffly at attention. Once inside the reception hall, the intimate magic was broken and Elisabeth slipped swiftly into the familiar role of being escorted to a ball. An orchestra played the well-known minuets and Elisabeth danced with Montresor for the first three dances. Then she stood to the side, observing the glittering crowd and drinking first cool tea and then claret. She noted the clusters of smartly dressed officers around the ladies of the Knights, ogling their figures that she thought were barely concealed by their gauzy costumes.

  The dance was followed by a massive fireworks display, viewed through the open windows of the ballroom. Crowded together overlooking the lawn and river, Elisabeth felt Montresor behind her, no
t pressing against her but more protecting her from being pressed against. When the fireworks ended with a glittering crescendo of rockets exploding in bright whites and reds, Montresor hooked his arm in hers. 2

  “Instead of dancing, would you prefer to watch a high stakes faro game in the next room? Some of my friends are engaged.” She nodded. “I have never been to any gambling club or room and know nothing of the rules,” she said as he steered her toward the door. Mrs. Knox had taught her how to play poker but she could hardly tell Montresor that.

  The large room with several faro tables was garish with painted panels adorned with gold ribbons and flowers. There were mirrors almost from floor to ceiling on the walls that made the room seem crowded, more colorful and vibrant. They ambled slowly from table to table, until Montresor recognized a Colonel he knew, seated before a large pile of tokens. Elisabeth watched uncomprehendingly and quickly became bored. She glanced nonchalantly around the room and in a mirror saw John Stoner at another table, deeply involved in the game, his eyes darting from one player’s cards to another. When his round ended, he looked behind the dealer and saw her image in the mirror. His jaw dropped and he gaped at her. Her hand went to her flesh just above her breasts and gripped the pearl necklace resting there. She saw in Stoner’s eyes a look of animal desire and furious hatred that scared her. She averted her eyes and when she sensed it was safe to look again, John’s head was bent and he seemed fiercely intent on the cards being dealt.

  She tapped Montresor’s arm. “I am returning to the ball room to be with the ladies and enjoy some of the sweetmeats,” she said and left him consoling the Colonel over his losses.

  It was after two in the morning when Montresor and Elisabeth left the Walnut Grove mansion by carriage for Philadelphia. She sat next to him and the rough road jostled her into his shoulder. He moved closer and put his arm around her.

  “Just to steady you, my dear. You realize I am quite fond of you.” He waited for her to answer and she murmured something that she hoped could be interpreted as neutral and not a commitment. He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face to his. “There is something I must tell you, in strictest confidence.” Elisabeth forced herself to smile curiously, every fiber of her alert to his words.

  “With Sir William Howe departing, General Clinton will be the commander of the army. There is talk of our leaving Philadelphia, regrouping in New York and beginning a new campaign in the late spring.”

  “What does it mean leaving Philadelphia?” she replied not understanding. “Are you to join General Clinton’s staff in New York?”

  “No, no, my dear. Not just me. The entire Army will leave. There will be no British troops left behind to protect the Loyalists from the Americans.” He patted her hand. “I do not care about them. My concern is for you. I am offering you safe passage with me to New York and my protection in that city.”

  “Oh,” she gasped. “But what of all those citizens who have supported the Crown? And their families? Surely they are not to be abandoned.”

  He waved his hand dismissively. “Those that wish will be transported to New York. Do not have a care for them. You must think of your safety. And future,” he added, squeezing her hand.

  “I cannot at the moment,” she stammered. “All the excitement of this night has confused me. I need time to consider. When will you leave?” she asked innocently averting his gaze. She was afraid her eyes would betray her joyous thought that if the British abandoned Philadelphia, it meant the Americans and her beloved Will would enter the city.

  “Sir William departs in a week’s time. The preliminary plans are for the army’s withdrawal to be completed by mid-June the latest. I expect to leave by ship before then.”

  The carriage had arrived at the Lewis home where not a candle was showing. Mary had promised to leave the door unbolted. Montresor alighted and offered his arm to help her down. Elisabeth held his hand and. with her other, brushed the pearl necklace.

  “Your gift has touched me deeply, as does your concern for my safety. I need time to sort my thoughts out. Please be patient with me.”

  He bowed and kissed her hand. “Of course, my dear. But do not dally too long. The army and this war will not wait.”

  She nodded and pressed against the door which creaked open. Once inside, she threw the bolt and leaned against the door seeking steadiness in its sturdy frame. The Americans would be in Philadelphia in less than a month’s time. And Will would be here with her. She resolved that not one day would pass after his arrival before they would be married, with or without her father’s approval. Hurriedly, she went into the kitchen and lit the candle in the holder. She must pen a letter to him, writing as usual about nothing. The lines in invisible ink would reveal the British intent to abandon the city. Tomorrow, she would talk to Mary as to how to respond to Captain Montresor’s invitation to leave with him. Perhaps she could tell him the Quaker community would protect her.

  Into the waning hours of the night, John Stoner played on with a precise, energetic fury. How did that strumpet come by his pearl necklace? He had sold it to a Major in Colonel Mawhood’s 17th Foot who had said it was just the perfect parting gift for his American mistress. Obviously, he was not fucking Elisabeth so the Major must have resold it. The sight of her wearing that necklace infuriated him and for some strange reason cleared his mind. After ten hands of the current round, he remembered the cards played as if they appeared before him. Twenty cards played, thirty-one left. He placed his tokens decisively on the layout board, confident in the knowledge that none or only one of that denomination had been played. He won more often than not on the winning card, guessing the card the dealer would turn over as the player’s card, and almost as often on the high card over the value of the banker’s card. Oblivious to the congratulations and shouts of “well played” swirling around him, he raked in his tokens with practiced regularity, unsmiling and full of rage.

  That Dutch bitch, he thought. Make a fool of him before Mrs. Bates, would she. Elude his watchers in the streets and pass secrets to the Rebels. He would catch her yet and then he would make her pay. Oh, how she would pay. Another eight drawn as the player’s card. That made four out. The other numbers with all four cards played were threes, sixes, Jacks and Queens. It was so much easier at the end of the round, if one remembered the cards. And remember he did, consumed by a cold rage that progressively degraded Elisabeth until the point where she became, in his mind, one of the trulls at Mrs. McCoy’s subject to his every whim and desire. He permitted himself a smirk of satisfaction that others around him interpreted as related to his success at the faro table.

  John’s night of gambling ended at four in the morning. He turned in his tokens at the bank and rode back to Philadelphia with more than eight hundred pounds in notes and coin in his saddle bags. The fury he still felt at seeing Elisabeth in the mirror wearing his pearl necklace was barely offset by his satisfaction at having replenished his strong box and then some.

  He passed a few carriages returning from General Howe’s farewell extravaganza to the city. Enjoy it while you may, he thought. When General Clinton announces the army will abandon Philadelphia, panic will ensue among the Loyalists who had hosted the British Officers at their lavish dinners, those who had joined the provincial regiments at Superintendent Galloway’s urging or participated in his city administration. There would be ample opportunity, John thought, to make them pay dearly for early passage on merchant sloops, schooners and anything that floated, and to demand a bribe from the ships’ captains and owners for the permission necessary to leave port, with contraband goods hidden in their holds. The chaos that would ensue was simply another money-making opportunity for him.

  And he thought, there was another prospect, more dear to him than money, from the confusion and turmoil as the army prepared to leave. With Captain Montresor otherwise occupied and an end to all those elegant dinners, plays and chamber music concerts, he would pay Elisabeth van Hooten a call at her Quaker lodgings, beat her to
confess her spying and show the Captain to have been played the fool. And then, he would do with her as he wanted.

  Chapter 8 - The Campaign Resumes

  The long, harsh winter at Valley Forge had been trying for Bant. Not because of the starvation rations, the bitter cold and rampant disease. For him, those were bearable. The enforced idleness and confinement to the cramped log huts, day after day, kept him in a perpetual state of nervousness and depression. His head was a seething pot of terror that boiled over and caused him to irrationally lash out at all around him. His fellow soldiers, even McNeil, avoided him, increasing his isolation.

  He felt doomed. The others had not seen what he had witnessed nor caused the death of innocent men. His “demons” as the others called them, would come upon him unpredictably. The face of some soldier who looked like one of the militia hung by the dragoons could cause him to cry out in fear. A bare branch, jutting horse height from a gnarled trunk, would make him run away. Even the sound of horses’ hooves, approaching from around a bend in the middle of the camp, would terrify him.

  Bant frequently wandered alone away from Valley Forge, passing through the picket lines without challenge, hearing the words “lunatick” and “possessed by the devil,” as he came and went at will. If he were asked where he had been, he could no more have told anyone than describe the surface of the moon.

  The drills initiated by the Prussian General were a turning point. Bant found that concentrating on orders, marching, wheeling and maneuvering, occupied his mind. The discipline was a safe haven to turn to when his thoughts began to travel down darker paths. Often, he mentally ran through the drills. To the annoyance of his bunkmates when they were in the middle of eating, conversing or gambling with dice or cards, Bant sometimes would bark the commands out loud. He did not excel but he was better than most of the riflemen in his company who maintained their reputation for disdain of military discipline and order. They all had rebelled against loading and firing on command. They were not infantry with muskets, required to lay down a concentrated volley to hit anything. They were riflemen who could consistently put a ball through a paper target at three hundred yards.