The Trial and Execution of the Traitor George Washington

by Charles Rosenberg

  “Where did you find them?” Black asked.

  “Just off the trail, a few feet from where the dead man fell.”

  “Where exactly?”

  “Behind him, from the direction he’d come.”

  “Did you see any footprints leading away?”

  The man looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry. We didn’t look.”

  “Why does this matter?” Rufus asked.

  “I’ve seen helmets like these before on the heads of men patrolling as part of the Commander-in-Chief Guard. One of them even had the small red feather. This means that Bear wasn’t alone. We need to worry where the men who were with him—or maybe they were following him—went.”

  “If they’re part of the Guard, why did they let Bear shoot at Washington?” Rufus asked.

  “Maybe Bear wasn’t the shooter, and maybe Washington wasn’t the target. Maybe it was me. Or you, Rufus.”

  Washington, who had been sitting propped against a tree, spoke up. “I can tell you about the red feather. It’s given to men in my Guard in whom I place special trust. The fact that one of them is on our trail is good reason for you to let me go now—if you value your life.”

  Black laughed. “I think not.”

  “Laugh now, but when you’re caught and are about to swing from a gibbet, it will be no laughing matter.”

  “We need to go,” Black said.

  Rufus pointed at Bear’s body and said, “We owe him a burial before we go.”

  “There’s no time, Rufus. Anyway, we owe him nothing.” He looked over at the men who had brought Bear’s body in. “Drag him into the woods as far as you can go and cover him up with wet leaves. On your way out, take branches and smooth over your tracks.” He paused. “But before you cover him over, put a bullet in his head. I want to be sure this time.”

  He turned to Washington. “Excellency, as we reach more populated areas, we may come upon more people and some may recognize you. If you call out to them for help, and they respond, we’re going to shoot them.”

  “To harm them would be a violation of the laws of war.”

  “Perhaps so. But many hereabouts are involved in traitorous acts, and they are within the sovereignty jurisdiction of His Majesty, King George III. How he chooses to deal with them is not covered by the laws of war. This is an unlawful rebellion, not a war.”

  Washington stared at him for a moment then said, “This is a just Revolution that will sound down the ages. In the moment, though, if you harm a hair on the heads of the people we may come upon, I will see you hanged.”

  “Their safety is in your hands, General.”

  Washington nodded, but didn’t otherwise respond, and continued to hold Black in his gaze.

  Black broke the stare off first and looked away, then turned to two of the men in uniform, who, along with everyone else in their entourage, had been frozen in place, watching the confrontation.

  “You two,” he said, “take the helmets with the feathers and wear them for the duration. If anyone asks, you’re part of the Commander-in-Chief’s Life Guard.”

  Fifteen minutes later—Bear’s body disposed of in the woods as ordered—they mounted and left. As they rode out, Black could not help but look back over his shoulder. He had the sense they were being followed, but couldn’t say exactly why, other than to dwell on the apparent escape of the men who had somehow lost their helmets.

  * * *

  Overall, the ride to the beach, which had required still one more night’s stay in a barn, turned out to be surprisingly free of new problems. Black had even begun to relax about being followed—partly because he had twice sent riders back to check the trail behind them. They returned each time saying that they had seen nothing of note and no one of interest. Partly he felt more at ease simply because, since Bear’s death, no additional trouble had come. The latter reason was foolish, of course. Trouble, when it came, oft came unheralded.

  Black had worried that some interaction between Washington and residents of the area would lead to trouble. As it turned out, though, they met relatively few people along the way, partly because they were frequently able to make progress after dark and thus avoid much travel at the height of the day. Too, the steady rain seemed to have kept many people off the road. On the few occasions when they did come upon someone, people seemed to shrink back. Black assumed that at least some of them did recognize Washington, both by his height and his uniform, but wanted to stay as far as possible from the soldiers with the special helmets. The Life Guards’ fierce reputation apparently preceded them.

  Nor, to Black’s relief, did Washington himself take the opportunity to shout out who he was. Perhaps the General had taken to heart Black’s threat to harm civilians. Or maybe Washington feared dying in the melee that would surely erupt if someone tried to intervene? Black dismissed the thought out of hand. Whatever Washington was, he had surely demonstrated himself to be no coward. Most likely, Washington just assumed there would be a better opportunity to escape later. Black had never quite believed his pledge not to try.

  Black understood, though, that they had also been the beneficiaries of simple good fortune. Now the question was whether their luck would continue once they reached the beach, which they came upon towards nightfall on the fourth day. They recognized it at a distance by spying the more or less straight line of trees that bordered it. Once they saw them, Black and Rufus rode forward, leaving Washington behind, closely guarded, and Black was quickly able to spot the sand through the bare branches of the trees. “Rufus, are you certain we’ve come back to the right beach?” he asked.

  “Yes. I can make out the two huge rocks that mark it.”

  “Ah, yes. I see them now.”

  “Colonel, by my count, this is the eighth night, is it not?”

  “Yes. Assuming the ship is still out there.”

  “So you’ve made it.”

  Rufus looked out to sea. “A very large storm is brewing. Look at the size of the breakers and the swell of the sea. I wonder if a rowboat can land at all.”

  Black peered out towards the ocean. “Well, if they cannot get in tonight, perhaps they will come back for me tomorrow night, the ninth night but what would be only the eighth attempt.”

  “That would mean staying here another night.”

  “Yes.”

  “When the boat arrives, Colonel, do you intend to take men with you other than Washington?”

  “No. The rowers are young and strong and can supply all the help I will need to control Washington.” He paused. “Wait. Do you want to come with me, Rufus? You can if you wish.”

  “Ah, no. This is my country. There would be nothing for me in England. Win or lose, here I stay.”

  Black suddenly stiffened. “Rufus, there are men walking from the tree line out onto the beach.”

  “They are ours, I am quite sure.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I sent a messenger ahead, that first night we spent in the barn after taking the General, and asked that they come here at dusk each night for a week. There are many towns around here that are Loyalist through and through.”

  “Do these people know what we are about?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “How can you be sure that’s who these men are? That there are not rebels mixed in amongst them?”

  Rufus sighed. “To put your mind at ease, I will go and check.” He moved off down the beach.

  He came back a few minutes later. “All ours, Colonel.”

  “I continue to have the feeling we are being followed.”

  “I saw no one except those I know, and they will not bother us or the boat when it comes in.”

  Just then, a very large wave smashed onto the beach with a roar. Black felt its spray on his face, even though it broke at least a hundred feet away.

  Rufus looked out to se
a again. “The wind is still rising and the rain is starting to come down in buckets. This is going to be a gale. Even if they do get a boat in, I fear it will capsize or be swamped on the way back to the ship.”

  “Let us hope not. But assuming the boat arrives, I have no choice but to get in.” He looked out again at the boiling sea. “If they come at all.”

  “Can you swim, Colonel?”

  “Not very well.”

  “Can Washington?”

  He shook his head back and forth. “I have no idea.”

  14

  PHILADELPHIA

  Two days later, Samuel Huntington of Connecticut, the President of the Continental Congress—a tall man with a thin face, an aquiline nose and greying hair that cascaded down the back of his neck in a profusion of curls—glanced out the window of his small office on the second floor of the Pennsylvania State House in Philadelphia, the meeting place of the Continental Congress, and saw something he’d not seen before: a horse and rider thundering up Chestnut Street, which ran in front of the building and was usually filled only with elegant carriages. He continued to watch as the rider pulled up directly in front, dismounted and appeared to search for a place to hitch his horse, which was lathered up from hard riding. The man failed to find a hitch since no one in recent memory had ridden a horse directly up to the front door of the elegant, three-story brick building.

  A few seconds later, he saw a small boy approach the man. They exchanged words, the man handed the boy a coin and the lad led the horse away. Looking more closely, he could see that the man, like the horse, had been riding hard—his face and neck were covered with sweat.

  The man walked up the brick sidewalk and knocked on the large front door, which someone, presumably the porter, opened to admit him.

  When Huntington had first assumed the presidency of the Congress the year before, his immediate predecessor, Rufus Jay, had shown him that his office contained a very convenient spyhole in one wall, large enough to see what was happening in the building’s lower entrance hall, but cleverly concealed so that it wasn’t visible from the other side. If he pressed his eye against the hole and the people spoke loudly enough, he could not only see but also hear what was happening below.

  He moved immediately to the peephole, pressed his eye against it and saw the visitor speaking to the porter, a small man who was almost entirely bald but declined to wear a wig. He had been specifically hired for his refusal to be impressed by anyone, and his ability to turn away most office seekers.

  The visitor had a loud voice, and Huntington heard him say, quite clearly, “I have news of His Excellency, George Washington, and I must see President Huntington as soon as possible.”

  The porter did not appear impressed. “As he is the President of the Continental Congress, you will need an appointment. He is an important man and—”

  “When you tell him what I have come to talk about, I’m sure he will see me. But I appreciate your trouble in finding him, if he’s here.” He handed the man a coin.

  The porter took the coin, looked at it, pocketed it and said, “Thank you for that. Please come back tomorrow morning, and in the meantime I will see if Mr. Huntington will be able to make time to see you. But he may not be able to.”

  Huntington burst out of his office and ran down the nearby set of stairs to the ground floor. “Sir, if you have news of General Washington, I will be pleased to see you now. Mr. Bartholomew here—” he gestured at the porter “—tries hard to protect me from crazed people and Loyalists, who are sometimes one and the same.”

  “I thought he was one such,” Bartholomew said. “I most certainly did.”

  “I understand, Excellency,” the visitor said. “And take no offence. I’m Herman Atwood. I’ve just come from south of the Raritan River, and I have news of General Washington’s fate.”

  “I’m anxious to hear it. Others have already told us he was taken, and news about the kidnapping is spreading as fast as the fastest horses can ride. As is the outrage amongst the people. But reports of what exactly happened to him are ever more confused. Some even say he is dead.”

  Atwood cast a glance at the porter.

  Taking his meaning, Huntington said, “You can speak candidly in front of Mr. Bartholomew. The fact that General Washington was kidnapped from his headquarters is already well-known here. It’s been almost six days. The riddle as to exactly where he might have been taken is a matter of everyone’s concern.”

  “Very well, then. Sir, I was part of a small group of men who followed the General and his kidnappers from near his headquarters, where he was first seized, to a beach in New Jersey.”

  “Why didn’t you attempt to rescue him along the way?”

  “There were too many of them, too well armed. Also, we feared harming His Excellency in any attempt.”

  “Did not Patriots along the way volunteer to help?”

  “Many in those parts are Loyalists. The Patriots we approached closed their doors to us. They are sick of war, it seems.”

  “And at the beach?”

  “It was long past midnight, with heavy wind and rain, when a large wooden boat came in. There were eight sailors. It was pitching bad. The General tried to get away, but they grabbed him and shoved him in.”

  “Did anyone else get on?”

  “Yes, one other man.”

  “What else do you know, Mr. Atwood?”

  “Very little. May I have some beer, please, if you have it? I have not had drink in several hours of hard riding.”

  Bartholomew nodded in acknowledgement of the request and left the room.

  “I didn’t want to say this in front of him, Mr. Huntington, lest I start a poisonous rumour. But I fear General Washington didn’t survive the trip in that small boat.”

  “Why?”

  “The storm was rising fast and the boat was pitching and rolling very bad. I saw two waves overtop it, and three sailors were bailing with buckets while the others rowed.”

  “How long could you see it?”

  “Not long. Every little while it disappeared into the bottom of a trough, and then it disappeared entirely into the rain and the mist. I thought I heard shouting, but I couldn’t tell for sure, so loud was the rain and the wind.”

  “Were any bodies washed up?”

  “I don’t know. I left to come here within the hour.”

  Bartholomew returned with a large mug of beer and handed it to Atwood, who said, “Excuse me,” and drank down almost the entire thing without stopping.

  When Atwood had slaked his thirst, Huntington said, “Did you see or hear anything that would tell you if they were planning to take him to New York or to England or somewhere else?”

  “No. Do you know?”

  “We sent a fast messenger to General Clinton’s headquarters in New York under a flag of truce. Clinton claims to know nothing about it and says it was done on no authority of his. He is now looking for Washington, too, and hoping to find him before we do.”

  Atwood wrinkled his nose. “Odd. Very odd,” he said.

  “Yes,” Huntington said. “Unless you assume His Excellency is being taken to London on a British warship, and the plan was hatched without Clinton’s knowledge.”

  “I think there was a name on the side of the longboat,” Atwood said.

  “What was it?”

  He squinted, clearly thinking hard. Finally, he said, “I just cannot recall. It was dark and raining. I’m very sorry.”

  “When you are alone somewhere, sit quietly and try to fix your mind’s eye on it,” Huntington said. “Sometimes that works. And if you do come up with it, Mr. Atwood, please let me know right away.”

  “I will.”

  “In the meantime, we’ve established an emergency committee to try to deal with this. Washington is only one man, but he has become the heart and soul of this Revolu
tion. We fear if we fail to get him back, everything will collapse into chaos. By happenstance, we are meeting in about two hours. Will you join us?”

  “Yes. But I need a place to eat and then stay the night. Perhaps you could direct me.”

  Huntington looked to Bartholomew. “Mr. Bartholomew, please take Mr. Atwood to the City Tavern. Then help him find an inn for the night. Both the meal and the inn should be charged to the account of the Congress.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Atwood said.

  “You’re most welcome. We will see you back here when the bell in the tower tolls six. There are others who need to hear what you saw.”

  15

  Huntington had cobbled the emergency committee together—he named it the Committee on Repatriation—from amongst those delegates who were still in Philadelphia, many having already departed to begin the long journey home so that they might spend Christmas with their families. He also persuaded Charles Thompson, locally famous as one of the leaders of the Philadelphia branch of the Sons of Liberty, to attend. Thompson had not been a delegate, but rather served in the perhaps more powerful position of permanent secretary to the Congress.

  Atwood arrived as the bell tolled six, and repeated for the members what he had told Huntington earlier in the day.

  “Have you as yet remembered the name of the ship that you saw on the longboat?” Huntington asked. Then he paused and added, “But perhaps all ships don’t paint the ship’s name on their longboats.”

  “This one did, I’m certain. I just can’t recall it.”

  “If you do, please find me and tell me. I am in touch with our navy, such as it is these days.”

  “I will do that, sir.”

  Finally, Huntington said, “Mr. Atwood, I, for one, thank you for doing your patriotic duty in coming to explain to us what has happened to His Excellency. It is most helpful. What are your plans now?”

  “To return to New Jersey after a good night’s sleep.”