Spies and Deserters

by Martin Ganzglass

  “I am telling you,” Whipple insisted, “when we last stopped, one of the sutlers said we are less than thirty miles from New York City and the Redcoats have sallied forth in force to block our advance.” “Ah, now that I know it was a sutler who gave you this rumor, I am even less inclined to believe it,” Henry replied, waving his hand dismissively.

  “You will whistle a different tune when Lieutenant Tew shouts, “Company! Forward!” and you double-time it hoping that your powder is dry.” Whipple patted his hip where his cartridge box lay snug under his jacket flap. “My stockings are under the lid,” he said with conviction.

  Henry let it pass. Oliver’s worn stockings would no more protect his cartridges than a fish net. He continued on, preferring the silence, thinking of Judith sitting before the warm fire, darning his own stockings and smiling at him occasionally. He gritted his teeth. Another winter apart and from the start of it, it would be a brutal one.

  That afternoon, when Lieutenant Tew ordered them to “CarryArms!” followed by “Close Ranks,” Henry nudged Oliver who grinned back. They marched through the outskirts of a small town, past the snow-covered common and a three-story brick tavern, toward heavily wooded hills and mountains beyond. Once in the hills, they passed two Connecticut Regiments, who had pitched their tents and were warming themselves around their cooking fires. As the Rhode Islanders unloaded their tents from their baggage wagons, it began to snow. Large flakes fell fast and quickly covered the men’s shoulders as they hurriedly tried to clear the ground before erecting their tents.

  “This foretells a long cold winter,” Oliver said as he pounded in an iron tent peg.

  “If we do not want to freeze to death in our tents, we had better be quick about building our huts,” Henry said, looking enviously at the rows of log cabins of the Regiments that had arrived earlier. Plumes of smoke drifted aloft from their chimneys and he imagined the soldiers clustered snug around the fireplace. Tonight, all they had for warmth were their blankets. He hoped the snowfall would not be so heavy as to collapse the tent.

  Tomorrow, he was certain the entire Brigade, regardless of the weather, would be in the woods, cutting and trimming trees, notching logs, splaying shingles, and gathering stones for the chimneys. He hoped the ground was not too frozen yet to dig for clay. They would need it to close the chinks between the logs and the gaps between the stones. 4

  Will drove the sled away from General Knox’s farmhouse, down the road covered by freshly fallen snow, away toward Morristown. Elisabeth, heavily pregnant, sat beside him, her head, partially hidden by the cowl of her cloak, affectionately resting on his shoulder her bare hand on his. He smiled down at her, recalling crossing the Hudson at Albany, with a much younger Elisabeth sitting next to him, flirting and fluttering her blue eyes at him, while the family cook fussed at her forwardness. It had been a winter day then, too. How much had happened to both of them since. And now, he was filled with worry and concern for her and their baby. This constant anxiety was a new emotion for him. He felt her shift on the hard seat and sigh softly.

  “Are you uncomfortable? Is there anything I can do?” She shook her head. “Our child is stirring within. It will pass when I am able to lie down.”

  Big Red lifted his hooves high, trotting along through the powder, easily pulling the sled behind him. Will, mindful of Elisabeth’s condition, pulled back on the reins a bit to slow the horse’s pace. All was quiet except for the well-worn ash runners of the sled whispering through the snow. They passed the newly erected tents of the recently arrived soldiers. In the distance on the snowy slopes, men feverishly chopped down trees, while others trimmed and hauled them downhill to the construction sites for their huts. The construction would be faster, he thought, if they used thin trees horizontally for the roofs instead of slat shingles. Not his business.

  He and Elisabeth had been living in the farmhouse General Knox had rented, a familiar salt-box construction with the rafters running continuously to the low, lean-to shaped rear of the building. The General, Lucy, and little Lucy occupied one front room, his clerk lived in the other that also served as the General’s office. Will and Elisabeth shared one of the two small quarters in the back, their bed abutting against the kitchen chimney for added warmth. The Hadleys were on the opposite side of the kitchen in identical quarters with a sharply slanted low ceiling. 5

  Will would have been more reassured if Mercy had remained at the farmhouse. But Theodosia, her mother, had asked Mercy to move to the Ford Mansion, to help with her medical duties nursing the sick soldiers at Dr. Tilton’s hospital. With Mercy gone, the remoteness of the Knox farmhouse increased the risks for Elisabeth and their baby. One heavy snowfall could make the roads impassable. General Knox’s headquarters, near the artillery cantonment would be completely isolated. It was not possible or appropriate to ask Lucy Knox, as the only other woman in the house, beside the cook, to act as midwife.

  Mercy Hadley was the experienced one. She and Elisabeth would be sharing the same bed. Mercy would be right there when Elisabeth went into labor, he thought, trying to reassure himself. And he would sleep alone for the first time since his return to Philadelphia after the battle in Monmouth. It would be strange and lonely.

  The Mansion itself was already full with people as the headquarters for General Washington and his staff. In addition, Mrs. Washington and their servants were housed there and Mercy had reported there was barely enough space for the servants of the Fords and the General to perform their duties in the same kitchen. And now, he was leaving his beloved Elisabeth, close to her giving birth to their first child at this crowded place. 6

  They passed the huts of the General’s Life Guard, about seventyfive yards from the Mansion. Will clicked his tongue and Big Red slowed and turned onto the path to the General’s Headquarters. He gently brought the sled to a halt, nodded at the four sentries, jumped down and reached for Elisabeth. He took her easily in his arms and carried her up the few steps.

  “How would it appear if a young Lieutenant carried his bride across his Commander in Chief’s threshold?” she asked giggling at him. “Put me down, Will. It is more dignified if I enter on my own two feet.”

  Once inside, Will ignored the bustle of officers coming and going and carried his wife’s trunk through two rooms and into a wing to the right of the main entrance. A double bed, too large for the small room, filled the cramped space. Will put the trunk at the foot, helped Elisabeth off with her cloak and eased her feet on to the bed. She lay there, smiling at him, breathing softly, her hands on her extended belly.

  “I will be alright here, my dear. Mercy shall be with me. Just think, my love. I will have a child and need to send a messenger to you to announce its arrival.”

  “And I will fly to you on the back of Big Red and you will introduce our newborn babe to its father.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed and held her hand in his. “You are cold,” he said with concern.

  “Only from the ride. It will be warm enough in here.” She squeezed his hand. “I will miss you tonight my love.”

  “And I you,” Will replied and then sat up suddenly at a knock on the door.

  “Ah, you are here. I was afraid the snow would delay you,” Mercy said. She removed a knitted quilt from the chair and gently placed it over Elisabeth’s stocking feet.

  “Do not trouble yourself, Will. Elisabeth is not the first woman to give birth, nor you the first man to worry.” Will blushed, embarrassed that Mercy had seen the concern on his face. He hoped it was not as obvious to the sentries out front.

  “I am comforted by the thought of you and your mother, with Dr. Tilton nearby, tending to her,” he said with more reassurance than he felt.

  “Oh, tosh and be gone with you. Dr. Tilton is as unnecessary as a fifth leg on a table. We women know all about this business of birthing.”

  Will left with the warmth of Elisabeth’s kiss on his lips, feeling more hopeful that all would be for the best. The sled ride back to his quarters was fas
ter and he caught some of Big Red’s enthusiasm for a brisk journey in the cold clear air. It was only as he got closer that he realized, in passing through part of the General’s headquarters, he had seen a glimpse of a slender Negro girl carrying plates into a room. He wondered if she was the one Adam had spoken of. And then his thoughts turned dark as he thought of his friend. Adam, he said out loud into the wind. I pray that you are safe.

  Only Cocquetak and Aquadonk were allowed to hunt. The Indians brought down game with bows and arrows. The Colonel did not want to attract any unwarranted attention by the sound of muskets. The two would slip away from the Black Brigade’s woodland camp, be gone a few days and return with one or two deer, strapped to triangle-shaped stick frames, gutted and cleaned. The rest of the men maintained a strict routine of picket and sentry duty in four hour shifts, without fires to warm them, hiding in clever pine bough blinds the two Indians had constructed around the perimeter of the camp.

  When Adam was not on sentry duty, he and the others soaked split ash strips in pots of hot water and bent them into teardrop shapes as Aquadonk had taught them. They drilled holes at even lengths along the strips and fastened the two ends together with a thick wooden peg. The real work began when the two Indians returned. First, they taught the men how to scrape any remnants of skin and flesh from the bloody, tough deer hides before cutting them into uniform narrow strips. Next, the men were tasked with inserting two cross bars about the length of a man’s foot apart, fastened by wooden pegs to the ash frame. When it came to weaving the uncured rawhide strips from one side of the tear drop shape to the other, the two Indians would converse and then break out in uncontrolled laughter. Aquadonk was the serious one and it was Cocquetak who would utter guttural words to his friend, pointing at one or another of the men, until both were convulsed with laughter. Adam sensed this must be women’s work and the Indians were amused by the men’s clumsy efforts. It was all done good-naturedly and since the weather was bitter cold and it frequently snowed, these inside tasks were preferred by far to sentry duty.

  By the end of two weeks, they had made not only forty-five pairs of serviceable snowshoes but two sturdy triangle frames, laced with rawhide. On the first day the men practiced walking with their snowshoes strapped on to their boots. Adam was amazed at how fast he could move over the packed snow. Colonel Tye led half of them on five and ten mile marches through fields and woodlands, and then to demonstrate his stamina, led the other half himself the following day.

  The triangular frames puzzled Adam. There was no need for the Brigade to be so equipped simply to hunt game, even if they were after elk or bear. The answer came the following day. The frames were lashed together with straps extended from the point of the triangle and the Colonel ordered Sam the Traitor and Nero to each lie down on one of them. Nero protested but the Colonel’s baleful glare disabused him of any further objection. The group set off on their usual route, easily pulling their comrades over the packed snow for several miles, taking turns riding on the frames as the others did the pulling.

  Now it was obvious to Adam that the Colonel intended to conduct a winter raid and capture some prominent leader of the Rebel militia or perhaps even the Governor of New Jersey, whose brutal acts against Tory militias were well known. That night, after dinner in the large cabin, when the men were busy playing cards or mending their clothes, Adam moved down the bench and sat next to Tye who was staring into the fire.

  “Colonel,” Adam said. “If it is a winter raid you plan, I have a suggestion.”

  Tye looked at him with amusement. “A winter raid you say? You are a smart man and a bold one. None of the others have even asked, although I believe our two Indians know of my purpose.”

  “Look around the room. Many of the men have taken off their jackets or coats of dark green, blue, red and black, and wear white linen shirts underneath. If they wore the white over their jackets they would be less visible from afar on a snowy field.”

  The Colonel clasped his hands together under his chin and thought for a moment. “We have enough linen shirts taken from Rebel homes for the men to wear one under and one over,” Adam continued. Tye was silent and Adam thought their conversation was done.

  “It is a good idea and useful until we arrive at the site. Then, I intend to attack during a snowstorm. The Rebels’ guard will be down, their sentries huddled inside their huts, perhaps snow-bound and numbed by the cold.”

  “Sentries, Colonel? Who would have sentries outside his home?”

  Colonel Tye laughed, his eyes sparkling with anticipation at revealing his surprise to Adam. “Why Gen’rl Washington, of course. The British may try to kidnap him by sending a large force across the frozen Hudson. They will not succeed, the snows will be too much for their men and horses.” He beckoned Adam to lean closer. “You have seen how fast we can travel over snow. It will be the Black Brigade that kidnaps the Rebel Gen’rl and brings him back to be turned over to the British. 7 The slave holding commander captured by free Negroes.” He glanced at Adam and smiled. “Including one freeman as well.”

  Adam shook his head in disbelief. “How can we accomplish this under the noses of their entire army?”

  “Gen’rl Washington is not guarded by his entire army. His headquarters are more than three miles away from their encampment. It is only his headquarters troops we have to contend with. What did you call them, his Life Guards?” Adam nodded in astonishment at the audacity of Tye’s plan.

  “We are camped, this very moment, less than twenty miles from Washington’s headquarters. I am only waiting for the weather to turn as foul as it can. A drivin’, blindin’ snowstorm that makes the roads impassable. Then we will strike, quickly coverin’ the distance on snowshoes.”

  Tye reached over and grabbed Adam by both shoulders. “Think of freein’ your Sarah. Carry an extra pair of snowshoes for her. She will have to keep up on the return. ”

  “I will carry her on my back if necessary, no matter how far we travel. Even to Paulus Hook.”

  “Oh, ‘twill not be that far,” Tye said airly. “The British will send a battalion of troops and cav’lry to meet us. Of that you can be certain.”

  That night, for the first time in many days, Adam thought of Sarah, as she had been in the Headquarters kitchen in Middlebrook. He saw her in a different kitchen now, rushing to him, her arms outstretched, her green eyes sparkling with love. He, too, now wished for heavy weather- a massive snowstorm that would mask their advance and reunite him with Sarah.

  End Notes

  Part One- The Winter of Despair and Merriment

  Chapter 1- Starving Together at Valley Forge 1) After the British occupied Philadelphia, they used the city as a base for kidnapping prominent Whigs and other Rebel leaders. Reverend Henry Muhlenberg wrote “We hear . . . light cavalry and Tories are sweeping through the country to capture, dead or alive, any inhabitants who have held offices or posts under the independent government, such as officers of the militia, etc., as a high price has been placed on their heads.” (McGuire, Thomas J., The Philadelphia Campaign- Germantown and the Roads to Valley Forge, Vol. II, p. 327, Note 47.)

  The capture of Colonel John Hannum, an officer in a battalion of Chester County militia, is an actual event. He was taken from his home in East Bradfordship Township, around thirty miles west of Philadelphia. In his own words,

  “I was Taken Prisoner the Night of the seventh of October 1777 by a Detacmt. of the 16thj Ridgm. of British Dragoons, was Conveyed to the City and was Lodged in the state house with A number of American officers.” (McGuire, pp. 135-136.) McGuire cites the Hannum family history as stating the Colonel “was captured one night in his bed by a party of British light-horse, who had been piloted hither by a Tory neighbor, and he was carried a prisoner to Philadelphia. . . [T]he party robbed Mrs. Hannum of her gold watch, and took everything of value in the house that they could carry away.” (McGuire, p. 136.)

  The use of a frozen body as a warning is based on an incident in New Jersey involv
ing the Loyalist spy, Thomas Long. He was hung in early November 1777. His corpse was exhumed and his body was propped up with a pail over the head against the door of another Tory sympathizer. During the night, Long’s body froze and when the Tory opened his front door in the morning, the corpse fell into the house. (Nagy, John A., Spies in the Continental Capital, p. 43.)

  2) On November 22, 1777, several large mansions on the outskirts of Philadelphia were burned to prevent the Americans from using them as observation posts. That same day, an unusual earthquake was felt in Philadelphia and sixty miles away in Lancaster. (McGuire, p. 237.)

  3) In mid-December, 1776, General Charles Lee was captured at the White Horse Tavern, near Basking Ridge, New Jersey, by British cavalry led by Colonel Harcourt. The General had unwisely established his quarters several miles away from the main body of the American army. He was taken by an advance patrol led by Coronet Banastre Tarelton and brought back to Brunswick. (Hackett Fischer, David, Washington’s Crossing, p. 149.) He was held prisoner until exchanged in 1778. During the Battle of Monmouth on June 28, 1778 Lee led an assault on the British forces and then retreated, contrary to orders. He was reprimanded on the field by General Washington, and subsequently court-martialed and left military service. He died of a fever in Philadelphia in 1782. Banastre Tarelton was promoted to Brigade Major of the cavalry by the end of 1776. He was twenty-two years old.

  4) Due to a lack of soap to wash with, the soldiers at Valley Forge became infected with scabies, which they called “the itch.” First, small sacs developed between the fingers. When they broke from scratching, the ooze spread to the rest of the person’s body. A soldier was tormented by continuous itching and fits of feverish scratching, rendering him unfit for service. In early January, General Washington ordered those infected with scabies to be isolated. Doctors treated them with sulfur in hog’s lard. (Fleming, Thomas, Washington’s Secret War- The Hidden History of Valley Forge, p. 135.)