Dear George, Dear Mary

by Mary Calvi

  “They’ve asked the head of every elite family to sign a pledge in person to be considered a friend to the American cause,” Beverley replied glumly. “The declaration for independence has now been signed by the colonies.”

  “Whichever side James is on, find this family on the opposite.” Frederick forked into the dessert. “What is Roger’s opinion on the matter?”

  “Roger?” Mary was confused.

  He motioned for her to sit. “Yes, your espoused.”

  She placed herself back onto the velvet-cushioned, hand-carved chair. “He’s written me saying we have only to pray to God to put an end to the unhappy and unnatural situation of affairs. He dreads the miseries that will befall both countries.”

  Elizabeth had additional pieces of cake cut.

  “What of the other families?” asked Frederick.

  “The Van Cortlandts have signed the colonists’ pledge,” Beverley said.

  Elizabeth handed a plate with a cut of cake to Mary, who accepted it from her.

  “Eva’s husband has not signed it, though.” Mary couldn’t even think about eating.

  Susannah sipped tea gracefully. “How is her life on Long Island?”

  This is not a time for light talk, Mary thought. “She’s written me that all is fine,” she replied anxiously.

  “The Kembles have signed, staunchly loyal to the Crown,” said Beverley.

  “I ponder whether Margaret’s enjoying life in Boston with Thomas Gage,” remarked Susannah.

  More polite remarks, thought Mary. “Margaret’s allegiance is torn,” she said.

  “Oh!” exclaimed her sister.

  “She’s written me that she prays her husband will not be the instrument that sacrifices countrymen’s lives. He is general of the British forces, Susannah.”

  “The Gage wedding was a lovely wedding,” Susannah said.

  “The Delanceys?” Beverley asked of Frederick.

  “Sheriff James sailed to England six months ago. Oliver and his family remain; he is considering forming his own brigade to protect his property. He has no faith in either side.”

  “Brother, if we don’t formally choose a side, each will believe we support the other,” said Susannah.

  The prophecy from the night of her nuptials kept repeating in Mary’s head. Your possessions shall pass from you when the Eagle shall despoil the Lion of his mane. Your possessions shall pass from you when the Eagle shall despoil the Lion of his mane. She had never forgotten it. “An attainder is without judicial process, correct?” asked Mary as she once again began to get up from her chair. Frederick placed his hand on her shoulder to keep her put.

  “If passed, those attainted would be declared guilty. You are correct, Polly, and with no judicial process allowed.” Beverley had a nervous twitch now in his voice. “Anyone attainted and caught would suffer death.”

  “And what if the act of attainder finds its way to a vote?” Susannah’s eyebrows surged upward.

  “We will defend ourselves at trial.” Frederick eyes began to close in readiness of a nap.

  “Would anyone care for more tea?” Elizabeth chimed in, appearing anxious.

  “Unfortunately, Frederick, there would be no trial. Enemies of the state are convicted without proof,” said Beverley, “without a chance to defend. If attainted, we would be banished, our lands confiscated, all of our lands, including those in your name.” He glanced at Mary and then at his wife. “As well as yours, my true.”

  “It cannot be!” Susannah cried out in horror.

  Mary let it settle in. She knew all along vengeance would find her. “We would be condemned to death as traitors.”

  “They wouldn’t dare!” shouted Susannah.

  “Condemned to death, Susannah, if they get to us”—Mary tried to calm a shaky breath—“they could capture and kill us.”

  “Nonsense! Traitors?” The color drained from her sister’s face. She looked as if she would faint right there at the table.

  The stench of hair powder attacked Mary’s nose. A sick feeling began to swirl in her stomach. “James Jay has no fortune of his own.” There was not a touch of powder in anyone’s hair in the room. She could still smell it. She felt nearly overpowered by it, like a fog rolling in. She took a deep breath to find composure and asked the question that jolted her back into focus. “That man is distressed of money. Is it beyond the realm of possibility that he could gain commission in a forfeiture sale of our confiscated land?”

  “Absurdity—that’s what this is. Philip would never allow it.” Frederick grunted. “The Honorable Philip Livingston would have to die first.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Cheval-de-frise

  … it must be known, that we are at all times ready for war.

  —GEORGE WASHINGTON

  HARLEM HEIGHTS

  If it weren’t wartime, this would make a charming picture. From the river’s edge, just south of Spiting Devil, George peered across the Hudson at the grandeur of the steep precipice—the Palisades. A slight breeze carried with it a breath of lavender; it reminded him of her. Still, after all these years, it reminded him of her.

  Mount Morris, as some called it, had fields blanketed in wildflowers stretching all the way from the Hudson River to the east end of the island. Upon the highest ground, beyond the cornfields, sat the mansion that belonged to her … and the insubordinate one—the man who had taken off for England when George was named general.

  George appeared as a commander should, wearing a blue coat equipped with a rise-and-fall collar, breeches, and underdress in matching buff: That shade, buff, was the same as the uniform for his soldiers. George decided on hunting shirts for the men; no dress would be cheaper, or more convenient. He also remembered the look on the French commandant’s face when he, Gist, and his crew of a motley sort arrived in enemy territory in no more than hunter’s garb. Even George’s expert marksmen would be dressed in such garb. As he looked at them gathered in front of him, he knew it was the right decision. Surprise the enemy. Besides, there was no money for anything more.

  General Washington spoke before his men. “The hour is fast approaching, on which the honor and success of this army, and the safety of our bleeding country, depend.” He spoke loudly, firmly, clearly. “Let it never be said, that in a day of action, you turned your backs on the foe—let the enemy no longer triumph—They brand you with ignominious epithets—Will you patiently endure that reproach? Will you suffer the wounds given to your Country to go unrevenged? Every motive that can touch the human breast calls us to the most vigorous exertions—Our dearest rights—our dearest friends—our own lives—honor—glory, and even shame, urge us to the fight—And, my fellow soldiers! when an opportunity presents, be firm, be brave, show yourselves men, and victory is yours!” His soldiers applauded him.

  * * *

  TODAY GEORGE WOULD begin to fortify this property. He believed these grounds about King’s Bridge well calculated for a defense. Obstructions placed from one side of the river to the other would prevent a British incursion. These would stop the enemy’s movement north from Manhattan Island. He would have his troops prepared to defend with a minute’s warning. Lookouts would be established at the highest points of Harlem Heights. Every regiment posted in this place, from Morris’s house to camp, needed to be furnished with guards to prevent any surprises. George’s entire army had pushed northward after the British landed their ships on the southern tip and after they tried to kill him.

  His forces would be ready. He would be ready.

  A man George considered a fast friend to the colonies approached and spoke to him. “This, General Washington, I guarantee, will stop the enemy from entering Hudson’s River. I call this a marine cheval-de-frise.” Inventor and master ironworker Robert Erskine had developed defenses never before seen. One of them was an enormous medieval-style defensive weapon with a steel center frame and long iron spikes projecting outward. It was moving closer to them, carried on a flat cart with wheels, sluggi
shly led by eight horses. “The consequence of a ship’s running against it must either be that she will stake upon it or overset it, in which case the other horns will rise and take her in the bottom, and either overset her or go through her; or else she must break it with her weight, thereby rendering her unfit for further service.”

  George assigned nearly a hundred men to assist in its launch. He had only eighteen hundred soldiers at his disposal in this place. “Let it be sunk in the darkness,” he told Erskine.

  George presumed the British would make several attempts at an attack. Their troops lay encamped about two miles south. Their weaponry was being transported from Long Island, he had learned. The signs were clear: They would make an attack soon. By land. By water. He had to put the forces in the best defensive position that time and circumstance would allow.

  “As for the chain?” asked George.

  “The chain is being completed—twelve hundred links of iron to allow it to reach seventeen hundred feet in length. It will be installed here at Jeffrey’s Hook.”

  “It is of the utmost importance that the greatest diligence should be used to complete and render the defense effectual,” added George.

  “Aye. Our Benedict Arnold has offered assurance he will oversee the installation of the second chain north in the Highlands, at the shoreline of the Beverley Robinson estate.”

  George heard Beverley built a fine estate on Susannah’s property in the Highlands along the Hudson River. Robinson not only allowed for the installation but also offered residency to Arnold or any other commander, including George.

  “And the turtle is complete, General. We needed seven hundred pounds of lead.”

  “The submersible? And it is operational?”

  “Aye, General. The device is completed with a brass oar for rowing forward and backward. It will be sunk by letting in water via a spring near the bottom. It’s watertight, General. It will make its attempt below the water upon the British warship Eagle. Explosives will be affixed to the sides of the ship and provide enough time to allow for the officers’ escape.”

  * * *

  PUTTING HIS SPYGLASS to his eye, George looked south. What to do with the southern tip of Manhattan Island still remained a question. Till of late, he had no doubt about defending it, but the British had infiltrated with thousands more troops than he could take down. He had to move his soldiers from that place. Now he wondered whether the enemy should have rights to its comforts and conveniences. Could he go so far as to make their encampment useless? Possibly level it, if necessary? Burn it down? Destroy the southern tip? Yes, he believed that was the only way. He would leave the matter to Congress to decide.

  The enemy, he feared, planned to enclose his army. If the British filled southern Manhattan Island and obtained control of King’s Bridge to the north of his present location, his armed forces would be trapped in the middle, then cut to pieces.

  Brigadier General Hugh Mercer rode up to him. He’d become a close confidant of George’s over the twenty years they had known each other. George needed to discuss another location with him.

  “Mercer, as I look to the west,” George viewed the Palisades across the Hudson, “it appears to me of the utmost importance to have a strong encampment at the post on the Jersey side of the North River, opposite our post. I think it advisable that you detach such a force from Amboy.”

  “Certainly, General,” Mercer responded. “I will see to it. And General, there is news on the subject of government.” His Scottish accent was detectable. “The honorable Philip Livingston—”

  “Yes?”

  “He is dead, General. Fainted from a dizzy spell in chambers. He died right there on his desk. There is word that the medical doctor, James Jay, will replace him as a representative of the Southern District in the New York Senate.”

  A crushing sound interrupted their discussion, for the massively long cart rolling the cheval flattened a large wooden post on the property. The engraved marker with the words Mount Morris was flattened below its wheels. As the cart moved past it, splintered pieces lay on the ground, any trace of the words obliterated.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  By Order of George Washington

  … I have nothing further to add, except a Wish, that the measures I have taken to dissipate a Storm, which had gathered so suddenly & unexpectedly, may be acceptable …

  —GEORGE WASHINGTON

  HARLEM HEIGHTS

  “Philip Livingston would have to die first,” her brother had said. He was right. There was no telling what Senator James Jay would do to her and to her family.

  Standing on the balcony of her mansion, she believed she was shielded from him, for now. She watched the military men pitching tents on her property. The general must be there among them, she thought. She searched as carefully as she could for auburn hair. She wondered what he looked like after all these years.

  “He’s a tall, handsome-bodied, manly man,” said Lulu as she arrived, carrying a rolled paper. “Just like Mum always said.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “About my mum?”

  “Well, no, that is what she always said. Are you for certain it was General George Washington?” Saying his name gave her a slight tingle.

  “’Twas him. But I was a wee girl last I seen ’im. Looked like the same to me.”

  She remembered that day when Lulu, such a sweet little child, standing at her mother’s side, talked about the tale of the bluebird before Mary’s first encounter with her charming.

  Lulu handed her the packet she was holding. “I invited him, just like you asked. His cub asked me to bring this to you.”

  “His aide?”

  “Sort of a dumplin’ kind of fella—a bit of a short, thick man. Hugh Mercer was the name.”

  Hugh Mercer? Mary wondered if it could be the man she greeted long ago at that forsaken banquet on Christmas Eve. She had heard a Mercer was in New York. “Well, thank you, Lulu. You are very kind to do that for me.”

  “After all you’s did for me? I’m forevers in your debt.”

  Mary smiled as she opened the correspondence. She immediately recognized the hand in which it was written—its slim upstrokes and larger downstrokes, made up of elegant loops and curves:

  By order of George Washington:

  Whereas a Bombardment and Attack upon the City of

  New York by our cruel and inveterate Enemy, may be

  hourly expected: And as there are great Numbers of Women,

  Children, and infirm Persons, yet remaining in the City,

  whose Continuance will rather be prejudicial than advantageous

  to the Army, and their Persons exposed to great Danger and

  Hazard: I Do therefore recommend it to all such Persons, as

  they value their own safety and Preservation, to remove with

  all expedition, out of the said Town, at this critical Period—

  trusting, that with the Blessing of Heaven upon the American

  Arms, they may soon return to it in perfect Security. And I

  do enjoin and require, all the Officers and Soldiers in the Army,

  under my Command, to forward and assist such Persons in their

  Compliance with this Recommendation.

  A bombardment? An attack south of her mansion in the city could certainly leave one of her most prized possessions damaged or destroyed. She needed to depart at once to retrieve it from her town home on the southern tip of the island on Stone Street. She quickly made her way out of the mansion and toward the coach. She got in the driver’s seat with her fine mare, Valentine, in front of her.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Mary’s Mansion

  … evils of this nature work their own cure; tho’ the remedy comes slower …

  —GEORGE WASHINGTON

  MOUNT WASHINGTON

  He made a headquarters of Mary’s Mansion. From here on the widow’s walk, George could look out to monitor the movements of his forces. The massive estat
e in Harlem Heights offered a perfect view of each of the waterways around the island of New York City as well as the woods and fields. From the southern tip to this place, only one road was large enough for an army’s wagons to travel. For the British, no other way was possible by land. They would have to pass through here to get to points north. George ordered impediments along the route. “Fell trees across the roads. Dig deep pits,” he ordered his men. “Have it broken up and destroyed in such a manner as to render it utterly impassable.”

  Other defensive maneuvers were under way. The cheval was sunk into the Hudson. On land, the troops positioned themselves properly in preparation for an attack. The building of a fort at Jeffrey’s Hook was under way.

  Still, at this point, George’s fear of failure exceeded his expectations of success. Nearly thirty thousand men made up the British lines. Add to that, they were fighting troops regularly trained, superior in arms and with battle experience. His were men who dragged themselves out of domestic life, not used to living encamped, inexperienced in arms, and without confidence. Would they be frightened by their own shadows when confronted? George believed it possible.

  His numbers were insufficient. Even if he collected his divided army from Long Island, Governors Island, Powles Hook, Red Hook, and Horn’s Hook into one body, it would still be wholly inferior against the enemy.

  The months leading up to this point had been a failure militarily. The night before, the attack on the Royal Navy, underwater with the submersible, had failed to sink the Eagle.

  At the battle across from the river on Long Island, the British had outflanked his men. He would have lost Brooklyn, too, if the dense fog hadn’t rolled in during a nighttime retreat across the river. In great secrecy, they evacuated on any seagoing vessels they could find. Most were just rowboats. They were slow and small, but Providence sent a wind. They tarried until every last man crossed the East River. George left the fires burning and moved thousands of troops in silence across the water through the fog.