by Brad Meltzer
As the two new prisoners continue talking, Ketcham keeps listening, learning more.
He’s stunned by what he hears. He does what he can to keep them talking. To gain their confidence, he tells them that he too is loyal to the King.
Then something dawns on Isaac Ketcham. He’s gaining information that could be of great importance. Not so much to him, but to the authorities in New York. Maybe even to the Continental Congress.
By the next morning, once he has a moment to himself, Ketcham starts to write another letter.
Maybe, just maybe, his luck has finally changed.
52
It’s another busy day.
On Monday, June 17, 1776, twenty-six members of the New York Provincial Congress, representing every county in the colony, meet for a regular morning session at City Hall in New York City.
The previous day, June 16, the members had a rare day off, and now the congressmen are prepared for a full docket. These days, every day has a full docket. With the city preparing for war, the colony’s governing bodies are slammed morning to night, trying to manage the many logistical, legal, military, and criminal matters put before them.
The president of the congress, Nathaniel Woodhull of Ulster County, brings the body to session at 9:00 a.m. sharp, and they get right into it.
The first matter on the day’s docket is fairly routine: the swearing in of a new delegate from Cumberland County, recently selected to fill an opening in the congress after a vote in that county.
The second matter is not as routine, but typical of the heated times in which they govern. The body must consider a recently published political handbill, signed by and rumored to have been written by one of its own members, John Morin Scott, who is not present that day.
After the handbill is read aloud, the members must decide whether these political opinions reflect on the “honor and impartiality” of the Congress. The body resolves first to verify whether the author is indeed Congressman Scott, and a messenger is sent to find him and obtain an answer. While they wait, they move on to the next item.
The next matter on the agenda, brought up midway through the morning session, is fairly minor—or at least it seems that way at first.
It’s a written petition from a prisoner—a prisoner named Isaac Ketcham—currently being held in the city jail, asking for leniency.
Most of the congressmen probably don’t recall the name, and need to be reminded. Ketcham is one of the Long Island counterfeiters, the foursome that they interrogated and put in prison a month ago for trying to forge Continental currency.
For the congress, hearing petitions from prisoners is fairly common business, so there is no reason to think this will be anything out of the ordinary.
The secretary reads aloud two letters written by Ketcham from jail, making appeals to the congress. The first is the letter, written more than a week ago on June 9, in which Ketcham pleads for mercy based on his genuine remorse for his participation in the scheme. Ketcham also pleads on behalf of his six children, some of them sick, who have no mother and who depend on him for care. He asks, at least, if he can go and visit them.
Whether the members of the New York Congress are moved by Ketcham’s appeal to his children’s welfare is not known. The body never records a response either way. Perhaps, because they receive such petitions all the time from prisoners around the colony, they simply ignore the request or file it away.
However, there is also a second note from Ketcham, shared by the committee secretary right after the first, that is less typical. It’s a brief sentence, written by Ketcham from his cell yesterday, June 16, and addressed to the congress.
“I … have something to observe to the honourable House if I could be admitted. It is nothing concerning my own affair, but entirely on another subject. From yours to serve, Isaac Ketcham.”
Ketcham is requesting a personal audience with the congress, implying that he has important information to share with them, unrelated to his own case.
Upon hearing Ketcham’s cryptic request, the congress decides to hear whatever story the prisoner has to tell. The body gives these instructions to the city guards: “Ordered, that the officer commanding the guard at the City Hall be requested to bring Isaac Ketcham before this Congress with all convenient speed, and for that purpose that he cause all fetters and irons to be taken off from the said Isaac Ketcham.”
This won’t take long. The prison where Ketcham is being held is right beneath City Hall where the congress is in session. So, sometime close to eleven that morning, the head of the guard walks down to the crowded jail where Ketcham is shackled and orders his release from the irons and chains. Guards personally escort the prisoner to the chamber in City Hall where the Provincial Congress sits.
For the past month, Isaac Ketcham has been in a dark, miserable jail, awaiting a sentence for a crime in which he barely took part—and for which he believes he has already atoned.
In this climate of coming war, when the very fate of the city and the colony is uncertain, Ketcham knows that this may be his only opportunity to save himself.
He hopes that the story he’s about to share can somehow be his ticket out of prison—and allow him to see his children once again.
53
It may be Isaac Ketcham’s last chance at freedom.
This fact must weigh heavily on Ketcham’s mind as city guards escort him upstairs into City Hall on the morning of Monday, June 17, 1776.
Like everyone who testifies before the New York Provincial Congress, Isaac Ketcham must first swear an oath to speak only the truth.
With Ketcham now sworn and standing before them, the congressmen want to know: What story does the prisoner have to share, that is worth taking the congress’s valuable time as the colony prepares for war?
Ketcham answers: It has to do with two new prisoners who just joined his cell in the underground jail right below them. Ketcham overheard them speaking, and then joined in conversation with them.
They were Continental soldiers.
They were talking about a secret plot.
The plot is based on some sort of communication with the British ships anchored in the harbor. This would naturally include the Duchess of Gordon, where Governor William Tryon is headquartered.
If the congressmen weren’t listening at first, they’re listening now.
The plot involves officials on the boats enlisting men from the colonies to betray their country, with some sort of plan to raise arms against the Continental army just as the British military forces arrive in New York. The ringleaders on the ships are offering “free pardon for all those who would come over” and a “considerable encouragement as to land and houses.”
What else did Ketcham hear?
He heard the two soldiers say that a blacksmith in the city is a key ringleader in the plot. Ketcham recalls the blacksmith’s first name as Gilbert—and the last name sounds something like “Horbush.”
Does he recall any more specific details of the plot?
He remembers them talking about a plan for some of the conspirators to destroy King’s Bridge, the main bridge out of Manhattan to the mainland, in order to block the Continental army’s flow of supplies.
But the most shocking part is simply this: These two jailed Continental soldiers don’t just know about this plot—they’re in on it.
A secret plot. William Tryon. Traitors in the army. The story is shocking. Horrifying, in fact.
Could Ketcham just be making it up?
The congressmen can’t know for sure based only on Ketcham’s verbal testimony. There is a brief hint in the congressional records that Ketcham also provides some physical evidence that morning—a “piece of paper,” the transcripts indicate—to support his story. This piece of paper was not saved and no longer exists, but based on the brief mention it seems to have been a written list of conspirators that the prisoners “showed and gave to” Ketcham in the cell, and which he presented to the Congress. This piece of paper is nev
er listed again, so it is impossible to know what the congressmen thought of it.
Regardless of this piece of paper, there are other reasons for the Congress to take Ketcham’s story seriously.
For starters, the congressmen know that at least part of his story checks out. Only the day before, two Continental soldiers had indeed been arrested, and the case had been brought before the Congress. The soldiers were charged with carrying counterfeit bills in the city, unrelated to the Long Island counterfeiting scheme.
Lots of fake money has been floating around the city from a number of sources, and the authorities have been punishing anyone carrying it. When the congress discussed the case, they resolved to send the two soldiers back to the army to receive proper military discipline. In the meantime, the soldiers are indeed held in the prison beneath City Hall, in the same space where Ketcham is detained.
So that part of Ketcham’s story is plausible.
But there’s something even more troubling. After the prior day’s arrest, the congressmen already know the identity of the two imprisoned soldiers. Their names are Michael Lynch and Thomas Hickey.
If these two particular soldiers are part of a secret plot to raise arms against their fellow soldiers, the consequences could be catastrophic.
Why? Because these aren’t ordinary soldiers. They’re George Washington’s Life Guards.
The Life Guards, who spend almost every waking minute physically close to General Washington. They’re near him when he works, when he travels, at his headquarters, and at the residence where he sleeps. They are armed at all times, wielding muskets with bayonets.
As Ketcham tells his story, he adds one more terrible detail. According to what he remembers of the conversation, Lynch and Hickey said they weren’t the only Life Guards who were part of it. There are other Life Guards in on it too, possibly several others.
Those several others are not in a jail cell, but on duty. At this very moment.
George Washington’s life is in danger.
Just before noon on Monday, June 17, 1776, twenty-six members of the New York Provincial Congress realize this fact at roughly the same time.
54
The Life Guards are in on a traitorous plot. George Washington’s life is in danger.
If the reports are true, it’s all happening right now.
On top of all that, it’s also happening when the British navy is expected to arrive in New York Harbor within a week or two, in the first full-scale battle of the Revolutionary War.
If George Washington is somehow harmed, seized, or—God forbid—killed in the days before or during the British arrival, the consequences will be devastating and, even centuries later, almost impossible to fathom.
Of course, the congressmen don’t know if the traitorous plot is real. And if it is real, Ketcham has given only a few fragments of information based on conversations in a jail cell.
The members of the New York Provincial Congress have to learn more—and fast. With the stakes so high, they must do everything possible to stop this plot.
At the same time, the congressmen must be incredibly careful with this information. Nothing could possibly be more sensitive than a secret plot implicating Continental soldiers as traitors.
Also, if the people running this plot somehow learn that the authorities are onto them, they can change their plans or take other measures to evade further discovery.
No question, secrecy is absolutely essential. As a result, in the congressional records of that day, immediately after Ketcham’s testimony, there is only one entry for the remainder of the morning session: “The charge of secrecy was given from the Chair to the members, relative to the information given by said Ketcham.”
In other words, no one can share a word of this with anyone.
By this point, it’s pretty obvious who in the congress should be in charge of this explosive situation: the brand new Committee on Conspiracies, its final members having been appointed only three days ago.
So after a short adjournment, the very next item on the day’s record is this:
Ordered, That Mr. Ph. Livingston, Mr. Jay and Mr. Morris, be a secret committee to confer with Genl. Washington, relative to certain secret intelligence communicated to this Congress, and take such examinations relative thereto as they shall think proper.
This information is so sensitive, only these three members of the committee—Philip Livingston, John Jay, and Gouverneur Morris—will be in charge of it, and they will dedicate themselves entirely to pursuing it.
The language used by the congress here is a little confusing, because the reference to a new “secret committee” of three members is the same wording as had originally been used to describe the formation of the nine-member committee.
In other words, this is a secret subcommittee within the Committee on Conspiracies. Basically, a doubly secret committee.
So while the New York Provincial Congress will continue operating as the governing body of the colony in a time of war, and as the nine-member Committee on Conspiracies will continue investigating the “List of Suspected Persons,” the new top-secret three-person team consisting of Livingston, Morris, and Jay will focus on this one extremely sensitive and potentially dangerous enemy plot.
From this point forward, there is no mention of the Life Guards’ plot in the standard congressional records. Instead, the work of the Committee on Conspiracies—and particularly the work related to investigating this plot—will be kept in separate confidential records. Some of the most critical and sensitive information will not be written down at all.
Amidst the drama of the revelations, one of the first decisions the Committee on Conspiracies has to make right away is a simple one.
What to do about the prisoner Isaac Ketcham?
For the congressmen, there probably isn’t much mystery to what Ketcham was hoping for by sharing his information. The combination of his entreaty to see his family, his letter expressing his remorse, and his voluntary offer of intelligence from the jail add up to someone who hopes to secure a reprieve in exchange for his offer of vital information.
For now, however, the committee comes up with a different idea.
Ketcham’s testimony contained only a few shards of intelligence on a matter that could have potentially massive consequences. Right now, the two Life Guards in the jail are the only source of knowledge about the plot. The best person to learn more from them without arousing suspicion is, in fact, Isaac Ketcham.
So the new committee gives Ketcham instructions: Go back down to the cell and keep listening. Draw them out. Gain their trust. Try to learn more.
Whatever Ketcham discovers, he’ll now report it to the dedicated investigators on the case: Jay, Morris, and Livingston.
Implicit in these instructions is a suggestion. If Ketcham can share more information about this enemy plot, the congress will look quite kindly upon his efforts. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll be able to see his family sooner than anyone thought.
For Isaac Ketcham, 1776 has been an extremely eventful year. Since winter he has been many things—family man, counterfeiting accomplice, and prisoner.
Now he’s about to start to play another role entirely: spy.
55
The next two days are full of secrets.
After the surprising testimony from Isaac Ketcham, the members of the Committee on Conspiracies—and in particular the trio of John Jay, Gouverneur Morris, and Philip Livingston—must be trying to figure out what leads to pursue.
What they learned from Ketcham, however provocative, is still vague at best. There are endless questions to answer about this supposed plot. Are the two soldiers just lying or bragging? If they’re telling the truth, which other Life Guards or other Continental soldiers might be involved? What exactly are the designs of the plot? How big and wide is the conspiracy’s reach?
According to Ketcham’s testimony, Hickey and Lynch said the plot involved “Rifle-Men on Staten Island” and “Cape Cod men” in addition t
o Life Guards and other Continental soldiers. But these terms are vague and hard to follow up on.
They did get one name of a supposed ringleader, a blacksmith in the city with the first name Gilbert and the last name something like “Horbush.” That’s an interesting lead, but city records don’t show a blacksmith by that name.
Is it possible it’s all a hoax, just two disgruntled soldiers causing trouble in the city jail? Or a story concocted by Ketcham to get out of prison?
While the conspiracy team is no doubt mulling and debating these pressing questions, their need to maintain secrecy means that little is on the record about the plot during the forty-eight hours following Ketcham’s revelations.
On Tuesday, June 18—the day following Ketcham’s testimony—the New York Congress meets again at City Hall in the morning, and Jay, Morris, and Livingston are all present. There is no afternoon session, and perhaps the three men converge at that time to strategize in secret. There is no mention of the plot on the congressional record of the day, whether in an official document or personal letter.
The next day, Wednesday, June 19, the congress again meets in the morning at City Hall, and once again Jay, Morris, and Livingston are in attendance.
There is once again no direct mention of the scheme, but another matter involving Loyalist activity does come before the body. The chairman of the Dutchess County Committee of Safety—a law-enforcement body representing that county in the Hudson Valley, north of New York City—gives a report that Dutchess contains so many “disaffected” persons, or Loyalists, that the county officials need to apply for a larger militia to combat them.
As the Dutchess chairman puts it: “The militia in the county have been called out so frequently for the purpose of quieting and apprehending disaffected persons, as to make it necessary, in the opinion of the said committee, to embody, and keep in constant pay, about 150 men.”
Coming only two days after Ketcham’s revelations from the jail, surely this news of yet more unrest from Loyalists operating upstate must be disquieting.
