him away from the cider press.
“General Knox has spoken very highly of you. I have been
instructed by him to give you leave to do whatever you must in
Philadelphia and assure your safe return.” Will nodded, not knowing
what else to say. “Your wagon and horse will be at my disposal for the supplies we intend to requisition. I expect to leave the city by no later
than dusk two days hence.”
“Sir. In apportioning the loads, my horse is stronger than most.
If some of the materials are heavy, place them in his wagon. He can
pull it.”
Hamilton arched an eyebrow assessing whether Will was merely
being boastful.
“Our wagon held more side boxes by half than the other two,
when we arrived at the Raritan,” Will explained.
Hamilton’s tight lips formed into a smile. “I will keep it in mind.
General Knox intends for us to bring back bullet molds, unformed
lead and pig iron.”
Hamilton donned his tri-corn and turned back to the two officers
waiting for him in the shadows. “Be efficient about your business,” he
cautioned. “I will not wait.” 1
“Yes, Sir,” he answered wondering whether the Colonel knew
what Will’s mission was.
By mid morning Elisabeth knew Continental cavalry had arrived in Philadelphia. She hoped Will was among them but feared he would be unable to find her. After Lucy, the baby and the wealthy patriotic merchant, in whose home the Knox family had resided, had departed with General Knox, Elisabeth moved in with Mary Lewis who was now living alone. Her husband, along with many other prominent Quaker leaders had been arrested, by order of the Philadelphia Supreme Executive Council, the day after Mary returned from tending to the wounded. The Quaker men had been removed from the city as a threat to public safety and security. How unfair, Elisabeth thought. Everyone knew the worst that could be said about Quakers was they would not aid either side, neither the Patriots nor the British. And how, she thought, could the authorities justify the fight for liberty from the Crown when they infringed the rights of an entire group on ignorance and false accusations. 2
Philadelphia had changed remarkably since the alarm had been sounded. Half the city’s population had fled along with the Members of Congress, leaving less than twenty thousand souls behind. Throughout the city homes were abandoned, the windows shuttered, the carriage houses empty, the servants’quarters uninhabited. 3
The men were gone, not only the young Militia Officers and soldiers of course, but those who would be seen as Rebel sympathizers, or whose occupations would be suspect- the gun smiths and gun powder makers, iron masters, river pilots and port collectors. The tavern keepers had stayed as did those who could profit from the businesses the British would need and hopefully pay for-tallow chandlers and grocers, suttlers and carpenters, shoemakers, horse farriers, and glassmakers. Mostly women and children remained, grim lipped and frightened, hurrying about their necessary business and then returning to what they hoped was the safety of their homes.
There were plenty of Loyalists who strutted about the less crowded streets, relishing with anticipation the arrival of the British. They congregated in the city’s finest taverns and inns, formerly patronized almost exclusively by Members of Congress, savoring every moment of their new-found prominence. As for the Quakers, they remained stoic and forbidding, prepared to endure persecution from the British and hoping it would be no worse than that by the Americans.
Elisabeth sat in the very room she and Will had been in, with Captain Hadley and Mercy Ford on Independence Day. How quickly their situation had changed in three months. Lost in her musings she vaguely heard the knocking on the door and then Will’s voice asking Mary if she knew where Elisabeth was. She jumped up from the side chair and ran into the entrance hall. He stood there, framed in the doorway, the worn strap of his haversack across the deep crimson facing of his blue jacket and a broad smile on his face at the sight of her. She walked slowly toward him holding out her hands. She felt the roughness of his palms and the linen bandage wrapped below his thumb and circling his wrist.
“You have been wounded,” she said with alarm, as Mary closed the door behind Will.
“It is a small gash which does not impair the use of my fingers, although I must take care that it does not get infected.”
Elisabeth led him into the sitting room and looked at the bandage stained with grime and dirt. “You have not changed the dressing as frequently as needed,” she admonished. “Let me do it for you.” Mary brought a basin of water, clean linen strips and a wedge of soap. Elisabeth undid the old bandage and gently washed the angry raw skin puckered around the linen sutures.
“My husband kept a bottle of whiskey in our house although he disapproved of drinking spirits,” Mary said, using her thumbs to force the cork from the neck of the dark bottle. Elisabeth poured a small amount in a shallow bowl and took Will’s wrist, turning his hand palm up and placed it so the wound was immersed in the alcohol.
Will had been recounting the battle and retreat and of being sent to Philadelphia to help requisition supplies before the British arrived. He winced and sucked in his breath as the alcohol burned and seeped between the sutures. Elisabeth noticed the lines around his eyes and the discolored skin under them. Gone was the carefree and youthful Will she had first met in Albany. He was more solemn and considered in his mannerisms but she saw his eyes still sparkled with the delight of being with her. She was certain of that. After tea, Mary said she had to go to the market with their cook and purchase what was available for their larder.
Elisabeth and Will moved from the front parlor to the kitchen which had only one small window facing the alley at the rear of the house and a solid wooden door, barred from the inside. Elisabeth sat down on one side of the small table and Will on the other, with his haversack resting against his leg.
“Elisabeth,” he said, reaching out for her hand across the table. She sensed his nervousness as he hesitated to speak. “I must say this before . . . .”
“Say nothing,” she said abruptly, withdrawing her hand from under his. “I have made up my mind and do not need to be lectured by one who risks his own life for our cause, as to why I should not risk mine.” She saw the hurt in his eyes but continued. “I am cognizant of the perils of my endeavor and confident of my abilities,” she said in a severe tone. “Now Will.” She returned her hand to touch his fingers. “No more talk of this, I implore you. How am I to send the information I obtain?” she asked brusquely.
Will stared at her still momentarily confused by her stern tone and change of mood. “I was prepared to say something different from what you anticipated and condemned me for. However, you are correct. We have little time and must discuss the business at hand. We will need paper, a quill and ink and milk if there is some or vinegar will do.” When she returned, Will instructed her to write on the paper. “Pretend you are writing to me but only about your normal activities, teas you have been to, what meals you have eaten, innocuous everyday matters that will not arouse suspicion.”
She addressed the salutation “My Dear Will,” which reminded her she had wanted to tell him she loved him before he again went into battle. She wrote a few lines concerning the stalls on Market Street, the high prices of eggs and flour and the weather turning colder. She felt Will’s eyes on her, watching her hand move fluidly across the paper creating small cursive lines of print. Her words covered half the page, when he told her to stop.
“We will use invisible ink. The words may be written in lime juice, vinegar or milk. You must write them between the lines of the ink and be careful not to get them wet or smudged.” Will took the half written letter and blew on it to dry the coarse ink.
Elisabeth reached for the vinegar. “No. No. Use a different quill or the residue of the ink will show,” Will cautioned. She took a small bo
wl, poured a little vinegar into it and took up another quill. She wrote quickly and confidently filling the spaces between the inked lines.
Will held the paper carefully by the two top corners. “See, Elisabeth. It appears to be a normal letter. Now, when it is exposed to heat, the invisible writing becomes apparent.” He took a candlestick from the mantle, made sure the candle was fixed firmly on the pricket and lit it with a stick from the fireplace. She watched his face as he waved the paper back and forth causing the candle’s flame to flicker. 4
I love you Will Stoner with all my heart. My love for you strengthens my own resolve to hasten the end of this cruel war. May Providence always protect you, my love.
He dropped the sheet on the table and pushed his chair back. Suddenly, Elisabeth was in his embrace, holding him tightly, feeling his arms around her, his hand on the small of her back pressing her closely to him. He kissed her gently at first on the top of her head, then on her cheek and finally his mouth was on her lips. She broke off and buried her face in his neck, smelling the salt and the faint residue of gunpowder. Somehow, he found her fingers and they stood, she did not know for how long, with her arms at her sides, his fingers in hers, their bodies pressed together. He alternately kissed her hair and whispered repeatedly, “I love you Elisabeth. I love you.”
It was Will who first stood back. She saw the joyous expression on his face. With a smile, he took her hand and led her back to the table. This time, they sat next to each other, holding hands under the table, his leg casually pressing against hers.
Her draft letter lay in brittle fragments on the table. “You see the problem with invisible ink,” Will said. “It crumbles once it has been heated. When I receive them I will have to quickly transcribe your messages.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. “But now, I have no proof of your professed love. It has disappeared,” he said with mock sadness.
“Do not treat my love so carelessly that you imagine it to be of such short duration,” she said, pretending to be insulted by withdrawing her hand. Will leaned over and rubbed his lips gently against her cheek.
“I will write your father and ask for your hand so you will not withdraw it again.”
“Papa will be pleased but may suggest we await the outcome of the war.”
“I cannot endure waiting on General Howe and his mercenaries to surrender.”
“I also,” Elisabeth said, “will not wait one day longer than necessary.”
“When I return to camp, I will seek General Knox’s advice and support.”
“And when must that be?”
“No later than tomorrow before evening.”
They sat in silence. The thought of their imminently being separated forced them to focus on the business of spying.
“Are you ready for the second lesson?”
Elisabeth nodded.
Will took a blank piece of paper and drew two horizontal and two vertical lines, creating a grid of nine square boxes, three across and three down. “Write the letters of the alphabet, beginning with ‘B,’” he instructed. “Three letters per compartment with the last box in the lower right having only two- ‘Z’ and ‘A’.”
Elisabeth wrote out the letters and looked at the page. “That does not appear to be very secret. We have changed only one letter in order.”
“It is a cipher,” Will explained. “Each letter of the alphabet, when placed in a message is represented by a dot, in the same position as that letter in the box. The absence of a dot is the first letter, one dot for the second and two dots for the third letter. You must draw the lines of the box so the reader knows the position.” He motioned for her to try it. 5
Elisabeth took up her quill and drew a series of lines, frequently looking at the diagram Will had made. She handed the paper to Will. The first box had only one dot, the second the same, as did the third. He broke into a broad grin, needing only the first three letters to guess at the message: “I love you.”
“I am certain General Knox expects more strategic and useful information will flow from your quill once the British arrive.”
“For now, these messages are for your eyes only,” she replied.
“All you need to remember is how to draw the diagram, begin with the letter “B” and the dot system for each letter in the box. If you make the diagram, be sure and burn the paper afterwards.” Elisabeth nodded her understanding. “And how are these messages to be sent. They cannot be part of a letter. It is obviously a code.”
Will tapped the cipher message Elisabeth had written. “The dots and boxes take up but a small space on a paper. You will write your messages on tiny strips and sew them into a seam of clothing or slip inside a book’s binding.” 6
“Then I will have to send you many scarves and perhaps some cloth covered buttons,” she replied, “as well as books, if they are still available after the British arrive.”
“There will be tradesmen and farmers returning from selling to the British, who will be on the roads and will carry the post from tavern to tavern. I will receive what you send,” he said. “We must clear the table. We do not want Miss Mary and her cook to surprise us.”
Elisabeth returned the vinegar bottle to the cupboard and threw the scraps of marked paper in the fireplace.
Will lay his haversack on the table and unbuckled it. “There is one final method with a gift from General Knox.” He removed a book and handed it to Elisabeth. “It is Entick’s New Spelling Dictionary. The General and I have copies of this very edition.” Elisabeth opened the cover to the title page. It was inscribed “To my dear Elisabeth” and signed by HK.
“Open to the last page,” Will instructed. “It is numbered 468. That will be page one and the title page with General Knox’s inscription shall be page 468. One dot shall signify the first column on each page and two dots the second. Select a word at random,” he instructed. 7
Elisabeth opened the dictionary to words beginning with the letter A. “I choose ‘absent,’ because you will be absent from me.”
“But you are always in my thoughts,” Will replied.
She nodded in appreciation. “As you are in mine.”
“So on what page does the word appear?
Elisabeth saw it was page 34 and subtracted that number from 468. “So it becomes page 434.”
“And the column?” Will prompted.
“Since it is the first column and the fifth word I would write it as 5.434.”
“Correct,” said Will. “Tomorrow, we will go over the three methods again before I leave the city.”
“Why are there three?” Elisabeth asked, suppressing the thought that they would be together for only one more day.
“I posed the same question to General Knox. He responded it was in your discretion to choose which method to use. He suggests the invisible writing for general descriptive information of no immediate urgency such as the morale of British troops and where they were quartered. The cipher and Entick’s would be used for messages we need to receive quickly in order to act upon or . . .”
“You mean to warn of imminent danger” she said.
“Yes, that would be one such instance.”
“In that case, I would carry it myself.”
“No you would not,” Will said firmly. “You shall not under any circumstances reveal yourself as . . .”
“A spy? That is what I am. You must trust me to exercise my own judgment and . . .”
They both heard voices in the entrance hallway. Mary and the cook found them in the kitchen seated across from each other with the closed dictionary on the table.
“Look, Mary what Will has given me as a gift,” she said, smiling, holding up the dictionary.
“Oh, Sergeant Stoner. There was no need to have brought Elisabeth a dictionary. My husband has an edition of Entick’s in his library. I myself have found it quite useful in writing letters to my relatives. You will of course stay for dinner,” Mary said cheerily.
The meal was a torture for both of t
hem, trying to be pleasant and sociable while unable to say anything meaningful to the other. Elisabeth desired to be alone with Will, to either talk or simply to be in each other’s company. They remained with Mary chatting in the sitting room and once it was dark, by mutual understanding they expressed a desire to take a stroll.
There was a mild autumn chill in the night air. She secured her light wool cape around her as they unconsciously retraced their walk of Independence Day, passing first the shuttered sheds in the middle of Market Street and then the fine Georgian style homes on Chestnut, many of which were dark with no signs of being inhabited. A convoy of wagons driven by troopers clattered down the street, one loaded with tanned leather hides, another blankets and assorted clothing, several incongruously carrying church bells, resting on thick wooden blocks and securely lashed down. 8
“We have orders from General Washington to requisition supplies for the Army. We can only give receipts or Continental currency,” Will said as the wagons disappeared down the darkened street. “I am afraid we will make no friends here with such payments.”
“This is truly a different city from when we last walked these streets together. It will be more so once they arrive,” Elisabeth said, emphasizing the word with distaste but refraining from calling them British. She saw Will frown. “Do not worry. I will be charming. I will be sociable. I will be flirtatious. All the while I will think of you and how every little bit of information may be of help to our cause.”
They passed a well-lit Georgian mansion on Chestnut and heard dance music from within.
“That is the home of the Norrises. They are related by marriage to the Shippens,” Elisabeth explained. “Staunch Loyalists, as you can see and hear for yourself. Nor are they reticent tonight about showing their true colors.”
Will ignored the bitterness in her tone. “Elisabeth. There is one more matter to discuss,” he said, holding her arm more tightly. “In the event I am wounded or killed, and you learn of this, you are to address your letters to Mrs. Knox as if she were with the Army in the field or winter quarters. In that way, your news will still be of use.”
Blood Upon The Snow Page 24