by Ron Carter
Reed stood, a head taller than the slight, goateed man facing him, and said but one word.
“Well?”
“It’s done.”
“The crowd? Any rebellion? Mob action?”
Russo shook his head, clearly relieved to have the awful scene behind him. “None.”
Reed straightened, jaw set defiantly. “Arnold? General Benedict Arnold. Was he there? Did he speak out? Raise a protest?”
“No.”
Reed smacked a triumphant fist on his desk. “Good. Excellent.” He straightened for a moment, then sat down in his plain chair. “Sit,” he said, and Russo sat facing him.
“You know about that . . . public entertainment . . . Arnold hosted last evening?”
Russo shook his head. “I haven’t heard.”
“Oh,” Reed exclaimed, “our good General convened a banquet! Feasting! Orchestra! Speakers! And who were his guests?” Reed’s neck veins distended and his face reddened. “Mostly the wives and daughters of the most notorious, detestable Tories in the State of Pennsylvania! The husbands and fathers of those ladies were already in New York collaborating with—wooing, if you will—the British army that now occupies that fair city. They milked the British occupation for every shilling they could get while they were here in Philadelphia, and then followed them to New York to get more! All at the expense of American businessmen and our own army! That’s what Benedict Arnold did last evening—the most treacherous conduct conceivable!”
Russo eased back in his chair, cowed by the fury, the hatred he felt in the spontaneous outburst.
Reed did not stop. “This man—Benedict Arnold—is subtle. Oh, is he subtle. His business dealings are well-hidden, but the results are not. He is obsessed by, driven by, an all-consuming lust for wealth. Position. Power. Money and power are his gods! I’ve confronted him, but he is blind to it! Won’t listen! Can’t change. At least fifty thousand British pound sterling poured into his headquarters in the Penn mansion! Fifty thousand pounds! Hired a housekeeper, a groom, a coachman, half a dozen servants. Bought the best carriages in the state, the finest horses to be found, wine that cost a fortune, food, furnishings. And where did he get the fifty thousand pounds to pay for it? Used the power of his position as Military Governor of Philadelphia to get it from rotten, hidden business deals. That’s how. He informed me that he has given his health, his wealth, years of his life for the American cause, and finds absolutely nothing wrong with receiving fair compensation for all he has given, by profiting from business that rewards himself, merchants, and ultimately, the army. He said why should all the profits go to politicians and merchants who have never fired a musket in anger, never fought for the freedoms he has helped provide for them?”
Reed stopped, drew a deep breath, and brought his rampaging anger under control. “Unless that man comes full about in his conduct, he shall be stopped.”
Russo hesitantly broke in. “I know very little about General Arnold, other than that he was hailed as the Savior of the battle at Saratoga. His business dealings are not my affair. I was asked to observe and report on the executions this morning. Is there anything else before I take my leave?”
Reed shook his head. “No. You may collect your fee at the desk as you pass through the foyer.”
Reed watched the small man close the door, then walked to the fireplace to warm his hands. For a time he stood in quiet reflection, with only the sound of the draw of the chimney in the fireplace breaking the silence.
He shook his head. How is it that Arnold can be so blind to the hard truth that in the end, there are but two factions to be considered: the Tories, who side with the British, and the Whigs, who side with the Americans? It’s either England or America. To profess support of the American cause while growing fat on profits reaped from hidden business deals made possible by the power he wields as Military Governor is an inherent contradiction that will ruin him. Obtain valuable goods for little or nothing by the power of his office, use government wagons and horses to transport them, put them on ships which he owns or has an interest in, move them to other markets up and down the coast, and sell them for unconscionable profits? Can he not see that is tantamount to treason?
A brisk rap at the door brought him around. “Yes?”
The door opened and an assistant stepped into the doorway. “Mr. Silas Deane to see you, sir.”
Reed’s eyebrows arched. “I know Silas Deane. Have I forgotten something? Did he have an appointment?”
“No, sir. He did not. He apologizes and says it’s urgent.”
Reed walked back to his desk. “See him in.”
Deane, taller than average, strong nose, weaker chin, entered and took a seat on Reed’s invitation. He wasted no time on frivolous formalities.
“I appreciate your seeing me without appointment.”
Reed nodded. “My privilege. Your work with Doctor Franklin in persuading the French to support the American cause has been monumental. I presume you are both in good health.”
“We are. But I have a carriage waiting and a critical appointment in less than one hour, so I ask your understanding if I come directly to my reasons for being here.”
“Certainly.”
“We’ve heard—Doctor Franklin and myself, that is—talk that, uh, matters between yourself and General Benedict Arnold are somewhat . . . strained? Some say very close to an all-out war. Any truth to it?”
Reed drew back in his chair, surprised by Deane’s directness. “We have our differences. Is that a concern to yourself? Or to Doctor Franklin?”
“Too much time and effort have gone into bringing the French in on our side. We do not intend seeing that advantage lost by a major split in our forces, either political or military. Do your differences reach that level?”
Reed puckered his mouth for a moment, framing his answer. “May I answer your question this way. I advise you, sir, to absent yourself from General Arnold’s mansion, or his frequent banquets, or his company, on pain of having your spotless reputation as a true patriot tarnished. Perhaps ruined.”
Deane started. “What? Would you explain yourself?”
Silence held for five seconds while Reed decided whether to close the conversation immediately, or swamp Deane with the report he had been covertly compiling on Arnold for months. He made his decision.
“Do you want all the facts?”
“I do. And so will Doctor Franklin.”
“Very well.” Reed removed a sheaf of papers from his center desk drawer. It was more than an inch thick. Deane leaned forward in wide-eyed surprise.
Reed began reciting from the pages in a near monotone.
“Arnold has spent fifty thousand British pounds sterling to refurbish the Penn Mansion in a manner that is at least scandalous. No one knows where he got the fifty thousands to pay for it.
“He has requested that General George Washington appoint him Admiral of the American navy. His intent was clear. Once in command of the ships, he could use them to clandestinely transport merchandise to every port on the east coast of the country, to be sold for profit. Fortunately, General Washington declined.
“He has used army wagons and horses to transport privately purchased goods from one location to another, for the purpose of reaping unconscionable profits.”
Reed turned over another page. “He has struck up close personal ties with William Duer, John Jay, Governeur Morris, and Robert R. Livingston—all of whom occupy positions of high political power and who are known to be involved in multifarious business transactions of shadowy nature, for profit. General Arnold now shares in those profits.
“His sole asset in support of his illegal business dealings is his position as Military Governor. Duer, Jay, Morris, Livingston, and others, have profited greatly from the General’s power to order seaports to receive their ships filled with goods to be sold at enormous profits, and army wagons to haul them to buyers all over the coast.”
Reed paused to look up at Deane, who was frozen, staring.
“He used Robert Livingston’s brother to secretly carry a message to four of New York’s leading merchants. It informed the merchants that unless they accept Arnold’s protection, they will suffer great damage to their property when the Americans drive the British out and occupy New York. However, he would protect them if they would each hide goods in the value of ten to thirty thousand pounds in value, to be sold upon American occupation. Two-thirds of the value was to go to Arnold and Livingston. That is extortion of the worst kind.”
Deane reared back in his chair, stunned.
Reed ignored him and read on. “He also demanded the same merchants give to him a great quantity of Virginia tobacco to be transported to Europe in ships owned by Arnold and his partners for sale when the war ends.
“He has entered into an agreement with Captain James Duncan to hide all the valuable goods he could acquire in New York should he learn the city was to be occupied by the American forces, and if the occupation did not occur, he was to smuggle them out for a partial share of the rice and vessels which the General and his consorts intended to buy in Georgia and South Carolina.
“The General owned a commercial ship, General McDougal, which was captured by the British. He bought an interest in another, the Charming Nancy. When that ship was threatened, he issued orders as Military Governor to use U. S. Army wagons to load the cargo and move it to safety.
“He has conducted entertainments in his mansion and elsewhere wherein Americans have imitated the British in such a manner that the debauchery is an insult to the morals of any decent society. Congressman John Adams was so profoundly shocked by such entertainments that he drafted a resolution which Congress passed, stating that ‘any person holding an office under the United States shall be dismissed if he shall act, promote, encourage, or attend such plays.’”
Reed stopped reading and raised his eyes to Deane. “Should I go on?”
Deane’s voice croaked as he spoke. “There’s more?”
“Much more. He has been keeping company with one Margaret Shippen, known also as ‘Peggy’ Shippen. She is the daughter of Edward Shippen Junior. Shippen is a known British sympathizer. It is clear that the General has it in mind to marry Peggy Shippen, despite the fact he is thirty-eight years of age, and she only nineteen. He has lately been using Continental Army horses and carriages to court her all over the city. He has had a shoemaker make a special shoe for his left foot, to compensate for the shortness of that leg. He has spent money in his courtship as though there were no end to it. Close to ten thousand pounds on one banquet at his mansion, in which Peggy Shippen sat in a position of honor on his right. Half a dozen Congressmen and their wives attended.”
“Anything else?”
“One more thing that could become pivotal. An American ship named the Active was taken by the British, but the Americans overpowered their captors and brought the ship to Philadelphia. The sailors claimed the right for proceedings under Connecticut law, but our courts ruled otherwise and awarded three-quarters of the prize money from the ship to our own state. Arnold saw a chance to profit from it and made a bargain with the sailors. He advanced money to carry on their suit, for a half-interest in their share if they won. They all agreed to keep it secret, but it soon became obvious the General was behind the whole dirty scheme. Through his power as Military Governor, the General persuaded Congress to hear the appeal.”
Reed’s voice was rising, and his face was showing color. “I can think of no more clear-cut case of selling out his own country! If General Arnold’s appeal to Congress is successful, we will have given up everything we fought to win from the British, because once again, the rights of the states will have fallen to the power of a central tyranny. The sole difference is that that central tyranny will not be a king, as it is in England, but a Congress, which will have the power to review every state court decision. I trust, sir, you are not insensible to the profound reaches of this matter of the Active.”
Deane squirmed in his chair. Reed plowed on.
“And may I conclude, the last document in this file is a proposed proclamation containing eight different charges against the General, reciting most of what I have already read to you, and if we are forced to it, that proclamation will appear in every newspaper in Pennsylvania. We will stop the General before we let him give away everything we have fought for in this bitter war!”
Reed’s eyes were flashing in indignation. He struggled to bring himself under control.
Deane interjected, “You can prove all this?”
“All of it.”
“Who gathered the information?”
“The Supreme Executive Council of Pennsylvania.”
Deane licked dry lips. “The entire Council is united on this?”
“Absolutely. The day the General leaves us no other choice, is the day every item in this file is laid bare before the public, supported by the signature of every member of the Council.”
For a time Deane leaned back in his chair, staring at Reed while his mind raced.
“It appears I heard correctly. Your Council is on the brink of a war with General Arnold. That could only hurt us and help the British.”
He paused for a moment, weighing his next thought. “I find it interesting that you’re determined to stop Arnold from damaging the American war effort, but that the way you’re going about it might do more damage than he is.”
Reed had no reply.
Deane stood. “My coach is waiting. Accept my thanks for your time, and for your candid advice. I’ll consider it.”
Reed stood and bowed slightly. “It has been my pleasure. This office is available to you at any time.”
Reed held the door for Deane and watched him march down the hall, heels clicking on the polished hardwood floor.
Outside the building, Deane pulled his cape about himself and held his hat on his head as he stepped into the wind and climbed into the waiting carriage. The driver leaned far enough to inquire.
“Sir, your next destination?”
Deane glanced at the door into the building to be certain it was closed and no one was watching.
“The Penn Mansion. Headquarters of General Benedict Arnold.”
“Will you have other destinations after that one, sir?”
“No. I’m staying with General Arnold for several days.”
“Yes, sir. Very good, sir.”
The coach lurched into motion as Deane settled back on the cushioned seat, forehead furrowed in deep thought.
Will my name be on that list when Reed and his cohorts discover that I’m in business with Morris and Duer, and some of the others he named? Will he name me in that Proclamation if they decide to publish it?
Will he? Will he?
He shivered and pulled his cape closer against the icy December wind.
Notes
Joseph Reed, once personal aide to General Washington, was President of the Supreme Executive Council of Pennsylvania, essentially governor of the state. Silas Deane had assisted Benjamin Franklin in persuading the French King, Louis XVI, to come into the war against the British. Deane returned to America and conferred with Reed, who warned him against further association with General Benedict Arnold, who in Reed’s opinion was a villainous profiteer, using his military authority for personal gains in clandestine business dealings. Reed, who tended toward fanaticism, was dedicated to purging Pennsylvania of all such persons, and to that end, following a trial, sentenced two Quakers to be hung for collaborating with the British in business dealings. Arnold held a great banquet the night before the hanging, which Reed correctly interpreted as a protest against the decision of the Supreme Executive Council to hang the Quakers. In his interview with Deane, Reed angrily stated he was keeping a record of all Arnold’s offenses against the people, and declared that if matters became worse, he would bring formal charges. He recited all the different charges against Arnold to Deane, not knowing Deane himself was one of the persons Arnold was associating with in his alleged villai
nous business dealings. Besides Deane, Arnold entered into business affairs with several of the leading, powerful political figures of the time. The entire matter is accurately set out herein (Flexner, The Traitor and the Spy, pp. 227–46; Leckie, George Washington’s War, pp. 549–53).
Boston
Early December 1778
CHAPTER XI
* * *
She did not know when the disquiet arose inside. Brigitte Dunson only knew that by noon, when the children in her small classroom were sitting at their desks eating the lunches they had brought from home, she was able only to pick at her own small pieces of bread and meat. Nervous, glancing repeatedly out the windows of the schoolhouse at the trees along the streets, their bare branches moving in the freezing wind, she was unable to dispel the rising uneasiness or identify from whence it sprang. By one o’clock she could not concentrate on the one-half hour reading time, and she found herself stumbling over words, starting over time and again. By two o’clock the foreboding had become oppressive. By half-past three o’clock, when she bundled the smaller children in their heavy woolen coats, and scarves and caps, the sense of gloom had become a premonition.
Something was wrong.
She ushered all the children out into the cold to wave at them as they walked away, each toward their home, then rushed back to get her own coat and scarf and knit cap. Minutes later she was leaning into the wind, walking rapidly, face numb and showing white spots as her mind searched frantically for anything that would explain the gnawing that would not let go in the pit of her stomach.
Mother? Something with mother? Matthew? Lost at sea? The children? Caleb hurt—killed—in battle? She was yet two blocks from home when the thought struck searing through her. Richard! Something’s happened to Richard! Something bad.
She was trotting when she came to the white fence at the front of the Dunson home, threw the gate open, and ran to the front door to plunge into the house. Across the parlor was her mother, standing in the archway to the kitchen, feet spread slightly, mouth clenched, arms at her sides, not moving, not speaking. Behind her, the twins, Adam and Prissy, stood staring. Margaret gave them hand signs, and they marched to their rooms. Brigitte blanched and gasped and stopped short.
