Rivington’s name was the last to appear among the Culper code monikers, 726, indicating that Townsend had recruited him soon after his own engagement, probably by the late summer of 1779, when the code was developed. The code first lists the spies’ names, concluding with Rivington as 726, then seamlessly moves on from personal names to place-names, with New York designated as 727. How so cautious and reserved a man as Townsend was able to establish a confidence with an avowedly Tory propagandist is hard to imagine. Once the connection was made, however, Rivington’s mischievous nature must have delighted in the irony of his recruitment. This was the same man, after all, who found great amusement in seeing himself hung in effigy and who happily reprinted damning letters about his character from Patriot circulars in his own newspaper.
His unconventional sense of humor aside, Rivington proved a valuable asset to Townsend’s work. Taking advantage of his profession, he provided books for the spies’ use. Sometimes the books’ bindings hid slips of paper holding intelligence Rivington himself had gleaned from his Loyalist guests and friends.
Several years later, William Hooper, a North Carolina lawyer who had signed the Declaration of Independence, wrote to his friend and future Supreme Court justice James Iredell:
It has come out as there is now no longer any reason to conceal it that Rivington has been very useful to Gen Washington by furnishing him with intelligence. The unusual confidence which the British placed in him owing in a great measure to his liberal abuse of the Americans gave him ample opportunities to obtain information which he has bountifully communicated to our friends.
The British were being played, and from the least likely of corners. But they remained oblivious to the double-dealings in their midst. The parties went on. The coffeehouse debates continued as the officers went about surrounded by their circles of admirers. Major André’s silly love poems were composed and published in Rivington’s Royal Gazette. The wine and the words flowed freely as they bantered about their plans. The army was in garrison—comfortable, amused, and completely oblivious to the fact that any shopkeeper, newspaperman, or charming lady in their midst was listening, remembering, and plotting.
CHAPTER 9
Washington Demands More
Now Washington had tasted victory; his agents had outsmarted the enemy in their own territory. It could be done. By revealing the counterfeiting plot, the Culper Ring had proved that New York was not some insurmountable fortress; they had penetrated its vault of secrets successfully and unmasked an entire plot before it could be played out to its catastrophic end. Best of all, the enemy had no way of knowing at what stage the plan may have been leaked or tracing back any breaches of secrecy. Washington’s informants, therefore, were relatively safe from detection and could continue their activities without too much concern for their welfare.
Even so, there was much more afoot—of that Washington was certain. Now that one plan had been foiled another would soon be hatched, probably with more speed this time to minimize the risk of leaks. Some delicacy must be sacrificed for the sake of urgency, but could he make his most trusted, most valued, and most secretive ring understand that? He pored over the maps as he would before a battle; perhaps there was a way to convey messages across the Hudson River or via Staten Island? He wrote as much to Tallmadge, urging him to talk to Culper Senior about such an option, hoping to impress upon the ring the importance of timely reports.
The Culpers, meanwhile, were enjoying something of a reprieve from the oppressive worries that had plagued them of late. Colonel Simcoe had left his reluctant hosts, the Townsends, and led the Queen’s Rangers back to the mainland in an effort to capture George Washington. They had failed, and Simcoe was now being held prisoner by the Americans. Woodhull, no doubt voicing the sentiments of numerous people, concluded his letter to Tallmadge on December 12, 1779: “Were I now in the State of New Jersey without fear of Law or Gospel, [I] would certainly kill Col. Simcoe, for his usage to me.” In that same message, he included a blank sheet containing a stain letter from Townsend with whom he wrote he planned to celebrate Christmas.
Holiday leisure was a luxury the commander in chief could ill afford as the fate of the entire Revolution rested heavily upon his shoulders. Even as Woodhull wrote that his “fears are much abated,” Washington felt a growing sense of urgency to see the cracks in New York’s armor exploited even more aggressively. Matters in the southern colonies showed signs of deteriorating come spring, which meant that his attention and resources would be even more divided and strained. If the British were plotting any offensive maneuvers from the city, he wanted to be prepared.
Washington must have communicated his urgency to the ring, because Amos Underhill visited Townsend’s shop with increased frequency starting in mid-January 1780, appearing in his ledger four times in just over three weeks. But the smuggled messages were not meeting the pressing demands Washington was facing. Events were accelerating rapidly, and the laborious means of conveying the letters out of occupied New York and Long Island, into Connecticut, and overland to Washington’s camp were too slow. Instead of providing new information, the Culper Ring’s intelligence was now providing verification of facts the general had already learned. “His accounts are intelligent, clear, and satisfactory, consequently would be valuable, but owing to the circuitous route through which they are transmitted I can derive no immediate or important advantage from them,” Washington wrote Tallmadge on February 5. “And (as I rely upon his intelligence) the only satisfaction I derive from it, is, that other accts. are either confirmed or corrected by his, after they have been some time received.”
He was not unsympathetic to the tremendous challenges his ring faced—most specifically, the risks Culper Junior, who lived and worked in the heart of the British operations, endured every day. “I am sensible of the delicacy of his situation, and the necessity of caution,” Washington added to his letter, as if realizing the harsh tone of his criticism in the preceding lines directed to his favorite spy. He went on to suggest that he may be able to provide Culper Junior with more direct possibilities for moving the letters out of New York, though he acknowledged the risks involved in expanding the ring beyond its current members: “I have hitherto forborn and am yet unwilling to mention, persons to him as the vehicles of conveyance lest they should not prove so trustworthy and prudent as we could wish.”
A few weeks later, Woodhull found himself writing back to Washington, informing the general of detailed ship movements, as well as warning him of even more potential risk from greatly increased scrutiny and enemy presence in Setauket: “Two regts. is to be stationed in this Town. If it should take place it will I fear entirely ruin our correspondence. To prevent which I shall give you early intelligence of their motions from time to time, that you may be prepared to give them a fatal blow at the beginning, or we shall be totally ruined.”
The reprieve Woodhull’s emotions had enjoyed in December had proved all too brief. It was March now, which meant increased activity could be anticipated with the spring thaw. But the winter of 1779–80, known as “the Hard Winter,” proved to be one of the coldest recorded seasons of the eighteenth century in North America, and refused to let up. The weather took a turn for the worse, with tumultuous spring storms thwarting several efforts to convey letters to Washington explaining that the Culpers had taken seriously his concerns regarding the speed of their reports. Under increased pressure to perform, Woodhull once again let his nerves get the best of him as he attempted to count and recount the blank sheets of paper that had come to him as part of his last batch of goods from Townsend. Somehow, the number never seemed to come up right and the same sheet was never landed upon twice. Worried about sending a worthless paper rather than the one that contained the message written in the stain, Woodhull finally threw up his hands and dashed off a note: “Sir. Inclosed you have a blank—Something fearful not sending the right and have inclosed three.”
THE MESSENGER DEBACLE
Meanwhile, Townsend looked for new couriers who could carry messages northward across the Hudson as the general had requested instead of across the Sound and through Connecticut. Rather than choose an outsider, he turned to a family member, a cousin named James Townsend, who was only sixteen or seventeen years old at the time. The young man had no idea as to the exact nature of the letters with which he was entrusted; he only knew that they contained sensitive information that was important to his grave, somber cousin—and that they would land him in prison if his mission was found out.
Armed with just enough ignorance to be safe, just enough knowledge to be cautious, and just enough bravery to be dangerous, James set off under the assumed identity of a Loyalist visiting relatives outside the city. His travels progressed smoothly until he stopped at the home of the Deausenberry family. He expected they would be sympathetic to giving him rest and shelter, as they were ardent Patriots in an otherwise Tory-dominated area, but James seems to have played his part as a Loyalist too convincingly. The Deausenberry daughters, young women about his own age, suspected that he might even be a Tory spy. In the hopes of causing him to spill his story, they pretended to be Loyalists, too, much to James’s surprise. Confused by their switch, the boy feigned intoxication in the hopes of covering his tracks and convincing the family he was harmless, but it was too tangled of a web to escape by that point.
“Oh, I was within two miles of New York City the day before yesterday,” he slurred, “carrying a number of stockings to my uncle and brother. I planned to join up with the British while I was there.”
“Why ever didn’t you?” one of the young ladies inquired.
“They told me I should come over here and recruit several more lads to join up with me so we could meet up with the British together when they head up the river in a week, as they are expected to do.”
“And is that what you are endeavoring to do at present?”
“I’ve persuaded many a good fellow to enlist,” James pushed on. “Very frequently over the course of the last summer I’ve been backward and forward to and from New York, having piloted several companies of British soldiers. I’ve carried in and brought out many valuable articles.”
The young ladies affected appropriate reactions of admiration, which only emboldened James further. “Once I was taken upon by the damned rebels who left me confined and chained down, flat on my back in the Provost three weeks.” The game was too fun, too delicious an opportunity for a red-blooded young man to resist embellishing his story, especially when he could do so with a clean conscience, believing it to be necessary to save both his life and his mission. He continued: “Finally, I made my escape by breaking out—”
With a roar, John Deausenberry, the elder brother of the two ladies, leapt from his hiding place and pounced upon James, declaring him a prisoner. A terrified James was immediately carted off to the American army camp nearby, where he was searched thoroughly, and John Deausenberry gave a full and detailed deposition on the matter. To the great disappointment of both the Deausenberrys and the soldiers, nothing of interest was found on James, though they did commandeer the two sheets of paper he was carrying that contained a groan-worthy poem called “The Lady’s Dress” on a page folded in a peculiar manner and signed with a nearly illegible “S.T.” The soldiers sent the letters on to headquarters, and James was held in Patriot custody.
Poor James’s mission was not a complete debacle, because the papers did reach Washington. The general recognized the unusual manner of folding (his own suggestion from the September 24, 1779, letter) and knew the initials “S.T.” indicated that stain was to be applied. The handwriting, too, was a giveaway that the papers had come from none other than Culper Junior. As Washington dabbed the stain between the lines of the poem (which humorously describes the elegance of a healthy-looking lady’s apparel until a husband realizes his wife is half the size she appears once her hoops and many layers have been removed) Townsend’s message began to appear. Unfortunately, it was almost completely unreadable and, before he even reached the end, Washington resolved to waste no more of his precious stain in an attempt to develop something that was inscrutable.
Even more frustrating to the general was that his personal involvement was required to secure James’s freedom. Washington was furious that so much unnecessary attention had been drawn to covert operations, wasting resources and time on what proved to be an unfruitful mission. More than a little of the general’s precious focus had to be diverted from strategy and planning to handling the matter with delicacy before James was finally released to slink back to New York with his tail between his legs. Tallmadge was briefed on the situation and he, in turn, made sure that Woodhull understood the depth of Washington’s displeasure. That message, it seems, was received directly and not at all softened in tone.
TUMULTUOUS SPRING
Admittedly, Townsend’s papers had reached their destination, but the whole embarrassing incident did nothing to boost anyone’s confidence in the New York spies’ ability to speed up the transmission of their intelligence. It even threatened a fissure within the ring itself; Woodhull was left making apologies and excuses for what he considered to be Robert Townsend’s profound lack of judgment in recruiting James, while Townsend insisted that as the prime information gatherer it had been incumbent upon him to at least attempt a different mode of communication. The disagreement was sharp, and in the end proved nearly fatal to the ring. Woodhull wrote to Tallmadge on May 4, 1780, “I have had an interview with C. Junr. and am sorry to find he declines serving any longer.”
Washington had had enough. New York continued to taunt him and no intelligence he had received of late offered any hope that he might be able to wage an attack soon. The ring’s failure was no real fault of their own, and Washington knew there had been no lack of effort to meet his increasingly urgent requests, but the results were discouraging all the same. When the general learned that Culper Junior—the link in the ring whose intelligence he had once valued above that of all other agents in the employ of the Continental Army—wanted to withdraw, he decided the entire endeavor would be pointless without him. In frustration, he determined to start from scratch and build a new network.
From his headquarters in Morristown, New Jersey, he wrote to Tallmadge on May 19: “As C. Junior has totally declined and C. Senior seems to wish to do it, I think the intercourse may be dropped. . . . I am endeavoring to open a communication with New York across Staten Island, but who are the agents in the City, I do not know.” A few other spies were acting independently in the city, among them a tailor named Hercules Mulligan, who picked up gossip while measuring English soldiers for uniforms and suits, as well as Daniel Diehel, a man of Woodhull’s acquaintance. No one compared to the finely tuned and proven Culper Ring, but they were almost all Long Islanders, and could operate most safely in their own environs. Their familiarity with the people and waterways had kept them from discovery thus far. If Washington thought a diversion of route to Staten Island was necessary to speed the delivery of the messages, then he must find spies who could navigate that island instead. It was just that simple. As far as he was concerned, the Culper business was finished, even if it had concluded on a somewhat sour note.
This news wounded Woodhull deeply. He replied to Tallmadge on June 10 in a tone that reads almost like that of a jilted lover trying to maintain dignity after an affair:
I am happy to find that 711 [Washington] is about to establish a more advantageous channel of intelligence than heretofore. I perceive that the former he intimates hath been of little service. Sorry we have been at so much cost and trouble for little or no purpose. He also mentions of my backwardness to serve. He certainly hath been misinformed. You are sensible I have been indefatigable, and have done it from a principal of duty rather than from any mercenary end—and as hinted heretofore, if at any time theres need you may rely on my faithful endeavours. I perceive there’s no mention made of a
ny money to discharge the remaining debts, which hath increased since I saw you, owing to your direction to continue the correspondence regular until I received your answer from 711.
It is no wonder that the Culper communications had proved so disappointing to General Washington in the spring of 1780. The difficulties of delivering the messages in a timely fashion given the geographical constraints and weather were real, but the other reality was that there was little reliable information to be sent. General Clinton had left the city for South Carolina, taking the key decision makers with him. Even if the spies had been at the top of their game, they still would have had little news for Washington.
Agent 355 found herself in an especially difficult position. Only camp women and wives traveled with officers on the move—no respectable single woman would ever follow the soldiers, and certainly not a lady of her social standing. In the absence of the officers, whatever intelligence she was gleaning from whispered conversations with André, or from plots carelessly (or cockily) mentioned in passing, completely dried up. Townsend, for his part, could continue to chat with soldiers in his shop or make his inquiries at the docks and around the city as he inspected cargo ships for their wares or interviewed people for his newspaper column. Rivington could continue passing on bits of gossip he collected as a newspaperman and coffeehouse owner. But 355 could only await the return of her sources and the revival of her set before she could impart any further information.
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