The Women Spies Series 1-3

by Sergeant, Kit

  For his part, Robert remained outwardly calm. “You would be pleased to be informed that my brother is supporting the British Island on the Glasgow,” he told the officer softly. “It is not within your power to wreak your vengeance on this painting of a fellow Loyalist.”

  Despite Robert’s reassurances of Solomon’s position, the Redcoat seemed inclined to reach for the portrait and treat it as he did the fowling gun. At that moment, Papa came down the stairs. “I am ready,” he announced.

  “Samuel?” Mother asked, glancing between the officer and Papa.

  “Sarah.” Papa approached her and Phoebe and embraced them both at once. “I won’t be long.”

  “You won’t be long for this world,” the Redcoat sneered, advancing toward the door. “A life in prison awaits you. Perhaps your fate includes one of the ships moored in Long Island. But first, to the field headquarters in Jericho.”

  Not the floating prisons, Sally thought as her legs regained the ability to move. The conditions aboard the decommissioned ships were said to be deplorable. If Papa was to be sent aboard one of them, it was as good as being sentenced to death.

  Needing to get away from the Redcoat’s damage to their home and the reminder of the power of the Crown, Sally fled outside. As she ducked past the officer, she felt the yellow ribbons on her hat loosen from their bow.

  More Redcoat dragoons had arrived, Sally saw as she secured the ribbons under her chin. Neighbors had gathered outside and loitered in scattered groups, sweating from the heat. No one dared to say a word as long as the British cavalry towered over them.

  Tories, all of them, Sally determined sourly as she looked upon her neighbors. Old Lady Wooden stood with her arms crossed and seemed pleased by Samuel Townsend’s predicament, although her eldest daughter, Mary, looked on sadly as the officer marched Papa out of the house. If only they’d use some of their Loyalist influence to help Papa. Her steps grew faster as a radical idea popped into her head. She had to refrain from running to the side of the house where Caesar had taken Gem, lest she call attention to herself.

  Their next door neighbor, Thomas Buchanan, was a staunch and outspoken Tory and well respected by the other Loyalists in the area. He was also Papa’s best friend. That very morning, Sally’s older sister Audrey had accompanied Thomas and his wife, their cousin Almy, to Norwich to go shopping. They hadn’t left too long ago, and, since they were in a carriage, they might not have gotten far. Norwich was on the road to Jericho. If Sally could catch up to them, perhaps she could convince Thomas to use his influence to help free her father before they reached the military headquarters.

  “Miss, I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Caesar said as Sally grabbed the reins of the still saddled Gem from him. “Your father—”

  “My father needs me.”

  “But miss...”

  “Shh.” Sally touched a finger to her lips and nodded toward the front of the house, where, from the rise in commotion, it sounded as though the Redcoats were preparing to march, with Papa in tow.

  Sally led Gem on foot to the edge of the meadow until they were out of sight of any onlookers. She was once again thankful for the lack of a hoop skirt as she mounted the horse. She triple knotted her bonnet before racing Gem the long way around, avoiding the main road for fear of meeting the British troops.

  As Sally reached Front Street, she quickened her pace. She finally caught up to Thomas and his band as they were descending the hill on Pine Hollow Road.

  “Sally?” Audrey asked incredulously.

  “It’s Papa!” Sally cried as she pulled Gem to a halt. “They’ve taken him prisoner.”

  “Who?” Thomas asked as he exited the carriage.

  “The Redcoats. They’re taking him to Jericho.”

  Thomas looked down the road, but Sally gestured behind them. “I got ahead of them. Please, sir, you have to help Papa.”

  “I will certainly try.” He nodded at the coach driver, a Negro slave, who directed the horses to turn around.

  Sally rode beside the coach at an agonizingly slow pace. When the cavalry came into sight, their numbers even larger than before, she edged Gem into the woods, the dread of seeing the Redcoat from the house winning over her wanting to catch a glimpse of Papa.

  As they came closer, Sally realized that there were more captives sprinkled in with the dragoons, John Kirk and Papa’s cousin George among them.

  The slave brought the Buchanan coach to a halt as the soldiers encircled them. Sally saw Thomas approach the lead Redcoat. Even before he spat, she recognized him as the man from that morning’s nightmare. The Redcoat’s harsh voice indicated he was not going to agree with Buchanan's attempts at mediation. When the dragoons again took up their march, Sally dismounted Gem and handed Thomas his reins.

  As he took off in the direction of the brigade, Sally joined Almy and Audrey in the coach, the three of them staring after the retreating band of British dragoons and American prisoners in silence. Sally’s heart sunk as they disappeared beyond another hill.

  No one said a word on the way back to Oyster Bay. The tears flowed freely down Sally’s face. She had hoped that Thomas would have been able to use his Loyalist influence with the soldiers, to no avail. Now she could only pray there would be a senior officer more willing to negotiate when they reached Jericho.

  As soon as Sally arrived home, she saw Robert and William standing on the portico.

  “Papa?” William asked, pushing his floppy blond hair back off his forehead.

  “Thomas Buchanan is with them now,” Sally answered, shaking her skirts out. The pretty yellow gown was now covered with dust and her petticoat clung to her sweaty legs.

  “It was a good idea to enlist Thomas Buchanan’s help, Sally,” Robert said approvingly. He handed her a handkerchief. Although neither brother had commented on her appearance, Sally could well imagine that the tears she’d shed after Thomas’s failure at negotiation had left trail marks down her dirty face. “Perhaps Thomas can still convince those lobsterbacks to release Papa after they realize he is no threat to them.”

  "If they can discern anything through those thick helmets, they will see that Papa is innocent,” William added. “I wish I would have been there.”

  “It’s a good thing you weren’t,” Robert replied. “Your beetle-headedness would have ensured that you’d have ended up a prisoner, too. And the Buchanan ploy would have never worked.”

  William waved his hand, the lace sleeve billowing in the breeze. “You’re right. I guess Sally’s plan was the best we could have done.” He turned to his sister. “Who would have thought you inherited the Townsend savvy, after all?”

  She shrugged off William’s attempt at a compliment and went upstairs to join Phoebe and Mother in praying for Papa’s release.

  A few days later Sally’s efforts were rewarded when Papa and Thomas Buchanan returned to Oyster Bay. As soon as she spotted Papa walking Gem up the front path, she ran to him. The fine lace of his undershirt was tattered and his clothes were covered with dirt, but he seemed unharmed. After he gave Gem’s reins to Caesar, Sally followed him into the house.

  Mother and Phoebe were in the living room, attempting to needlepoint. Mother rose and hugged Papa. Phoebe, never one to wait, embraced both of them. After more hugs and greetings, Mother assisted Papa upstairs to nap.

  At dinner, Papa explained to William and Robert how Thomas had secured his discharge through a hefty payment, what Papa called a “baron’s bribery.” He also had to assure the Redcoats that Papa was not of Whig tendencies. Thomas offered yet more money—several thousand pounds in fact—for the release of George and John Kirk, but both men’s previous actions toward their Tory enemies spoke more than Thomas’s reassurances could.

  “Now what, Papa?” Robert asked.

  “I must go before the magistrate.”

  “They will probably have you swear an oath of loyalty to the Crown,” William said.

  Papa sighed. “Indeed. But it is against all of my beliefs to
swear allegiance to an unjust government.”

  “But Papa, if you do pledge allegiance, does that mean that you will be safe from the charges against you?” Phoebe asked.

  Across the table, Robert raised his eyebrows thoughtfully but said nothing.

  “Husband, if you comply with what they have asked of you, you could avoid the fate of John Kirk and your cousin George,” Mother added.

  “I hear they are under the jurisdiction of that bandog, William Cunningham. He’d rather his prisoners rot in hell than feed and clothe them.” Robert said, finally ending his silence. “Mayhap we can arrange for you to live with our Connecticut relations.”

  “No, if I were to flee, they would go after Thomas Buchanan. He would lose the money he put up for my bail. They might implicate him in my escape as well, despite his loyalty to the Crown. Or worse yet, they would come after you boys,” he said, casting his eyes to Robert and then William.

  Sally sat silently. Of course she wanted a guarantee of safety for her father, but she was not sure if Papa swearing that oath would be worth the sacrifice. The past few years had demonstrated that the British government did not often keep its promises.

  Phoebe got up from the table and moved next to her father. “Please, Papa, they are only words. None of our friends will think you a traitor. They know you as an honest man who would do anything to protect his family.”

  “I will think about it, poppet,” Papa said, patting Phoebe’s curls.

  A few days later, the summons came for Papa to appear before the court. Sally dressed in a red silk sack back gown with a white petticoat. She hoped that her choice of colors would please the British authorities but discreetly tucked a blue handkerchief into her bodice as a subtle act of patriotic defiance.

  The magistrate was Judge Whitehead Hicks, a Loyalist, of course. As he began his questioning, Sally’s heart sank. Judge Hicks asked Papa about past behaviors that could have been construed as rebellious, including assisting General Woodhull.

  Hicks tilted his wigged head in inquiry. “Did you help his troops herd livestock onto Hempstead Plain in August of this year?”

  “Yes, sir,” Papa replied. “But we did not move more than a couple thousand. Woodhull was cursed with having many of his men desert night after night.”

  The judge shuffled the papers in front of him. “And your son was commissary to General Woodhull.”

  Papa gave a brief wave of his hand. From her perch on a wooden chair behind him, Sally could see it shake briefly. “Only for a day. Of course you are aware of the general’s fate.”

  Judge Hicks nodded as Papa continued, “Robert is now living at home, with his family.”

  The judge pushed the pile of papers to the side and stared intently at Papa . “You are prepared to take the oath of allegiance to his Majesty, the King?”

  Sally could feel her brother’s form stiffen beside her.

  “I am,” Papa said loudly.

  “I am as well,” Robert declared as he stood up.

  “Robert,” Sally whispered to his back. “Why?”

  Robert did not answer. Instead, he strode forward to stand next to his father.

  Judge Hicks scrutinized Robert before he finally stated, “Very well, then.”

  Sally sat back as both her father and brother raised their right hand and repeated the prompts from Judge Hicks. Robert stood erect, but Papa’s frame was slouched and his words were lost in the murmurs from the courtroom audience. They were probably wondering, as Sally was, what had possessed her brother to willingly pledge allegiance to a Crown that provided nothing but injustice to its citizens. Sally wondered how her proud papa would bear the shame of standing before Congress now.

  In exchange for their vows, Judge Hicks issued both Papa and Robert a certificate as proof of their fidelity to the King.

  Later that night, Sally knocked on the door to her brother’s room. The door was not shut and it nudged open. Sally caught sight of Robert packing up his things. He looked up as she walked in.

  Sally’s original intention was to query why he volunteered to take the oath, but she abandoned that line of questioning to ask, “Are you going somewhere?”

  “New York City,” Robert replied tersely.

  “New York City? Now?”

  He hefted the bag over his shoulder. “Someone has to provide for this family, and I’m not sure Papa is in the right shape to do it.”

  She sat down in Robert’s wooden chair. “That’s why you took the oath—to do business on the island.”

  Robert patted his pocket. “This certificate will get me past the sentries stationed at Dobbs Ferry.”

  “For a moment there, I thought you’d switched allegiances.”

  “I have no allegiance.”

  “But you worked for General Woodhull. And you gave money to the Sons of Liberty.”

  Robert looked around the room as if there might be British spies lurking in the corner. “We shouldn’t talk so loud about it.”

  She laughed. “Not even in our own house?”

  “No,” he said sullenly. “But if you must know, I find it best to remain neutral. That way I can continue doing business with both sides.”

  “Isn’t that a rather cowardly way to look at it?”

  Robert approached her. “Not if you want to be able to eat once the British occupy New York. Besides…” he pulled at the skirt of her petticoat, “someone’s got to pay for this fine clothing.”

  “Sell it,” she told him blankly, pulling away from him. “I don’t care for such things. Papa bought it.”

  He looked at her earnestly. “And that is why I’m going.”

  * * *

  John Kirk and George Townsend were committed to Provost Prison. When Cunningham learned that Kirk had contracted smallpox after a few weeks of ill treatment, he sent the men back to their homes, probably hoping he’d infect the rest of the Oyster Bay Whigs with the dreaded disease. Kirk’s wife, happy to have her husband home, nursed him through the illness. Kirk recovered, but his wife and his newborn daughter both died of smallpox a short time later. Their deaths only served to inspire more hatred of the Crown in the townspeople of Oyster Bay, especially in George Townsend, as well as Sally’s brother Robert.

  Chapter 14

  Elizabeth

  September 1776

  In early September, Rivington returned to the store. He was dressed similarly to the first time Elizabeth met him, clad in another finely cut suit, this one a sage green.

  “Can I help you, Mr. Rivington?” Elizabeth asked. “Do you require more ink?”

  Rivington approached the counter and doffed his hat.

  She gave him a tight smile as he stood silently, twisting the hat in his hands. “Sir?” she asked encouragingly.

  “It pains me to say this, madam, considering your husband’s kindness to me in the past. And, also,” he gestured to Elizabeth’s torso, “in light of your delicate condition.”

  “Yes?” Her heart was now in her throat.

  “I was given a list of American prisoners taken at Long Island to print in my paper.”

  “Jonathan,” she concluded in a whisper. “Where is he?”

  Rivington did not reply right away. His hat was now a wrinkled mess. “He is aboard the Jersey.”

  Elizabeth gave him a helpless look. “Where? New Jersey?”

  Rivington flicked his hand toward the East River. “Not New Jersey. The Jersey. It’s a prison ship. There were not enough places in the city to put all the captives taken in the Battle of Long Island so the British employed decommissioned ships for their confinement.” He dug into his pocket to present a piece of paper. “I managed to use my connections to get you a pass.” He handed the slip to Elizabeth. “But, Mrs. Burgin, I have to warn you, those prison ships are not pleasant places to be.”

  She let out a deep breath. “I would think not.” She reached out to clasp his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Rivington, for arranging this.”

  He nodded, pulling his hand back and
then taking a step away from the counter. “It was the least I could do. As I said, your husband has always been kind to me.”

  The next day, Elizabeth set out for the Jersey¸ stationed across the East River in Wallabout Bay. The only other person aboard the small transfer boat, besides the rower, was a tall, handsome man in the blue and buff uniform of the Continental army. He helped Elizabeth onto the skiff before introducing himself as Captain Benjamin Tallmadge.

  As they approached the hulking figure of the former battleship, Elizabeth could see that the portholes had been sealed. In their place were small square windows cut into the side of the ship. Iron bars, one vertical and one horizontal, severed the window into four equal parts and prevented any hope of escape. There was no canvas attached to the masts, for the Jersey was no longer able to set sail, and served to further illustrate the fact that she was merely a skeleton of a formerly grand man-of-war. The attuned sense of smell that accompanied her pregnancy became a curse as Elizabeth could detect the overpowering effluvia of hundreds of prisoners packed onto the ship. The stench, combined with her nervousness as to her husband’s condition, caused her stomach to heave. She clutched the side of the boat and willed herself not to vomit.

  The deck was overcrowded with sailors, who went about their business with barely a sound. Sentries stood by every exit point. The disturbing silence was interrupted only by the waves breaking at the helm of the ship or the officer in charge barking orders.

  Captain Tallmadge approached the officer and, in a muffled tone, asked to see his brother, William, before nodding at Elizabeth, who managed to squeak out, “Jonathan Burgin.” The officer summoned a nearby soldier and repeated the names before turning to Elizabeth and demanding to see her papers.