George Washington's Secret Six

by Brian Kilmeade

  By leaving a small contingency of twenty-five hundred men north of New York and ordering another unit to fake preparations for storming Staten Island, Washington gambled that the feints would frustrate General Clinton and leave him unsure of whether or not he could afford to send reinforcements to help out Lieutenant General Charles Cornwallis, one of Britain’s most esteemed and feared generals, at Yorktown. Meanwhile, Washington led his troops on a miserable, sweaty summer march southward to the malarial swamps of eastern Virginia.

  At roughly the same time, Allen McLane—the same McLane who had harbored suspicions against Benedict Arnold in Philadelphia in 1778—had been ordered to Long Island to gather any information he could regarding the preparations of the British ships set to bring relief and, presumably, to meet with the agents already working there who could provide him with a fuller picture before he slipped back out to rejoin Washington’s troops as they made camp at Yorktown. McLane had special instructions to learn as many of the British navy’s code signals as possible, so that the French fleet could decipher what the enemy ships were communicating to one another during naval engagements. It was a nearly impossible task, because ships in harbor are unlikely to use distress codes or signals for attack, so McLane was left to try any desperate or accidental manner he could devise to piece together the secret system—an ineffective (not to mention dangerous) approach.

  Fortunately, while on Long Island, McLane was put into contact with James Rivington. The printer and coffeehouse owner was still operating his presses and still fraternizing with the British in Manhattan despite the dangers to spies, and his persistence had paid off. Whether someone had left a copy in Rivington’s coffeehouse or the British had commissioned him to print additional copies is not clear, but somehow he managed to procure a copy of the entire British naval codebook. Rivington passed it on to McLane, who rushed it to Washington.

  Both McLane and the codebook made it safely off Long Island and down to Virginia by the end of the summer, and Washington was able to transport the book to Admiral de Grasse’s custody by mid-September. In French hands, it was a more effective resource than the Americans could have dared hope for, and its loss was more devastating than the British could have imagined.

  The siege of Yorktown was a roaring success, thanks in no small part to de Grasse’s ability to anticipate nearly every movement of the British fleet. Paralyzed by indecision for fear of leaving New York vulnerable to attack, and despite continued assurances to Cornwallis that he would send reinforcements, General Clinton failed to deliver any of the promised troops to Virginia. Trapped by both land and sea, Cornwallis was unable to muster the power to break through in either direction. He could not attack; he could not retreat. A white flag was the only option. He surrendered on October 19.

  The defeat at Yorktown was an embarrassment to the entire British military and caused a tremendous spat between Clinton and Cornwallis that became a public scandal back in Britain. Cornwallis set sail on the same ship that carried Benedict Arnold and his family to London in January 1782; once on English soil he was able to perform some measure of damage control by speaking critically of Clinton’s leadership. Clinton submitted his resignation as the commander in chief for North America and departed for England in mid-May. In 1783, he published a book narrating his account of the 1781 campaign in North America, in which he wrote that Cornwallis’s failings ultimately led to the defeat at Yorktown.

  To military leaders on both sides, however, the events at Yorktown made it clear that the conflict was reaching its natural end. The Americans had stood their ground and doggedly fought for every inch of land they deemed rightfully their own; the British government was finally recognizing that superior military muscle was not enough to make the determined Patriot army back down when they had powerful allies on their side. On March 28, 1782, word reached New York from London that the House of Commons had voted to end all offensive strikes in the American colonies, though that by no means signified the end of military occupation or exercises. At the same time, a more moderate prime minister was coming to power backed by a Parliament that generally opposed the war. An end to the hostilities seemed inevitable, but matters were far from settled.

  Savannah, Charleston, and New York still remained strongholds of the British army, and Washington was forced to decide, in the critical weeks following Yorktown, if he should continue to march southward and eliminate those threats before refocusing his energies and resources northward on New York. In the end, he decided to divide his forces, sending some to strengthen the beleaguered troops in the Carolinas and Georgia but returning with the majority of his troops to the Hudson Valley, just above the city. He was sure that the British were not going to allow New York to fall without a fight.

  CHANGING TIDES IN NEW YORK

  Unrest was erupting throughout the city. The pockets of Patriot dissidents who had dug in their heels and stayed during the long duration of the war now grew bolder while Loyalists who had been certain of coming out of the war on the winning side felt betrayed by the Crown. Broadsides and other printed matter began to appear posted on walls and clutched in citizens’ hands. New Yorkers vented discontentment with various politicians, with the king, with the war in general. Rumors of peace negotiations between the two delegations began to trickle in via packet ships, and all wondered what the terms of peace might be. Sir Guy Carleton assumed the role of commander in chief from Clinton in May 1782, which only added to the feelings of uncertainty, transition, and unrest even as the British government seemed to turn away from all interest in a continued investment in the American conflict.

  The British officers garrisoned in New York feared an uprising from within by emboldened Patriots almost as much as they feared an external attack from the Continental Army. Both out of desperation and as a show of power, the British military began enacting impressment measures around the city, pulling civilians out of their ordinary lives to serve in temporary guard duties for king and country, as Carleton’s tight command of the city made Clinton’s authority seem paltry. Woodhull remarked on this trend when he wrote to Tallmadge on July 5:

  Their design appears only to act on the defensive and be as little expense to the Crown as possible. God grant their time may be short for we have much reason to fear within their lines that Carlton’s finger will be heavier than Clinton’s Thigh. Carlton’s called a Tyrant at New York by the inhabitants in general and makes them do Soldiers duty in the city without distinction. The first Gentlemen in the City stand at Officer’s doors Soldier like.

  Robert Townsend may have been one of these unwilling temporary recruits. Family tradition held that years later a British uniform was found stored with his belongings; when questioned about it, he reluctantly spoke of having been impressed into standing watch at the officers’ headquarters in New York.

  In July 1782, the British left Savannah. There was no doubt that the war would soon be officially over, with the Americans emerging victorious; all but the most ardent and desperate Tories recognized that only the formal terms of a peace treaty needed to be established before the remaining enemy troops would be forced to leave the soil of the sovereign, independent United States of America.

  Loyalists now had a difficult choice to make: Did they stay and rebuild their lives, or did they emigrate back to Europe or northward to Canada? There was some hope, at first, that any lands and property formerly in Tory hands would be returned if they had been seized during the war; however, most people recognized that such a measure would be difficult to carry out and, in some cases, might actually pose a threat to the new nation, especially if large tracts of acreage ended up back in the hands of those who remained loyal to the king and wished to revive hostilities. Besides, the reasoning was “To the victors go the spoils”—even if that seemed unfortunate and unjust. The majority of Loyalists, like the majority of Patriots (and the revolutionary agnostics), were humble men and women of modest means: small landowners, tenant farm
ers, laborers in the cities, fishermen and longshoremen along the coasts, hunters and traders in the frontiers of the Appalachians. Any property they possessed likely had not been, nor would be, threatened by seizure. In deciding where to live out the remainder of their days, they had to take into consideration the inclinations of their neighbors and their own consciences; it would not be a pleasant thing to be forever regarded as “the neighbor who fought against our government.” Some of the wealthiest citizens had already booked passage back to England; now the common folk began to do the same.

  Each packet ship that arrived in New York Harbor carried more news from England and less hope that King George would prevail, or that those subjects who had professed fidelity to him would receive any kind of reward for their loyalty and faith in the most powerful military on earth.

  TOWNSEND’S LAST LETTER

  As Robert Townsend rode into Westchester County, New York, he could not have helped but admire the beauty of the foliage and the crispness in the September air. Nearly six years to the day after Nathan Hale’s hanging, here was another spy carrying his reports on New York directly to Benjamin Tallmadge, and from Tallmadge’s hand they would reach Washington.

  It was an unlikely meeting in several ways. Not long ago, the ride west from New York City to Westchester would have been barred by sentries and checkpoints. It was still heavily guarded, that was true—the British did not want to let go of New York until absolutely required to do so, and they knew Washington was prowling outside, ready to pounce at his first opportunity—but one could now pass more safely into American-held territory without having to traverse the same tricky no-man’s-land that had ensnared André.

  It was also an unlikely meeting because Townsend had firmly declined to commit anything to writing back in May. But now he could see the shaky position of the city and knew that Washington needed the best intelligence he could offer in order to calculate the next—and maybe final—move of the war. Townsend shouldered the responsibility of delivering the latest report himself, figuring that at this late point in the war with all that had already transpired, if he was arrested and tried as a spy he would have only himself to blame.

  Finally, the meeting was unlikely because Townsend was carrying news that the war was nearly over. Despite the British hold on New York, the Americans were in position to secure their independence, thanks in no small part to the Culper Ring.

  The message Townsend delivered to Tallmadge, with the date September 19, 1782, written across the top, is the final surviving letter from Culper Junior’s hand. The news painted a city in upheaval:

  The last packet [ship], so far from bringing better news to the loyalists, has indeed brought the clearest and unequivocal Proofs that the independence of America is unconditionally to be acknowledged, nor will there be any conditions insisted on for those who joined the King’s Standard.

  It is said that an Expedition is now forming at N.Y. and by many conjectured to be against the French Fleet &c. at Boston; a number of British Troops were embarking when I left the city on the 14th and 15th inst[ant]. But I conversed fully with one of Carleton’s Aides on this subject, who told me that I might depend they were bound to the W. Indies or Halifax. For my own part I have no expectation that they think of any offensive movements. The above gentleman, with whom I am most intimately connected, informed me that it is now under consideration to send all the B. Troops to the West Indies.

  . . . It is a fact that a fleet is going to Charlestown to bring off that Garrison.

  . . . Sir Guy himself says that he thinks it not improbable that the next Packet may bring orders for an evacuation of N. York.

  A fleet is getting ready to sail for the Bay of Fundy about the first of October to transport a large number of Refugees to that Quarter. The Aide above referred to informs us that he thinks it probable he shall go there himself. Indeed, I never saw such general distress and dissatisfaction in my life as is painted in the countenance of every Tory at N.Y.

  The Beef Contractors had orders a few days past to cease purchasing any more for the Navy and from the appearance of things the whole fleet are getting ready for a movement.

  I am myself uncertain when the Troops will leave N.Y. but I must confess I rather believe if the King’s Magazines can be removed, that they will leave us this fall.

  Unfortunately for Washington, Townsend’s prediction of a British evacuation before the end of 1782 proved a little too optimistic. In Paris, where John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, John Jay, and Henry Laurens were representing the American government, negotiations were dragging on with no sign of resolution. Even after Charleston was abandoned to the Americans on December 14 and South Carolina could boast its freedom from the Crown, Sir Guy Carleton stayed planted firmly and stubbornly in New York with no plans to move until ordered to do so by King George himself. The toll on life and property that would result from an attack on New York no longer seemed worth the risk to Washington, but he could not celebrate victory (nor could any of the citizens) until a binding treaty had been ratified and New York—and America—had rid itself of foreign occupation.

  CHAPTER 17

  Retaking New York at Last

  The year 1783 dawned full of promise. On February 3, the government of Great Britain formally acknowledged the independence of what were once its American colonies as the United States of America. The following day it agreed to halt all military involvement. In April, a preliminary peace treaty was ratified, and in July tracts of land in Canada were opened to Loyalists seeking a new life and a region was designated for former slaves who had fought for Britain. Crowded ships bound for Nova Scotia and New Brunswick sailed northward from New York Harbor. But still, the British army remained firmly and fixedly in Manhattan.

  North of the city, near his encampment in Newburgh, Washington was struggling to subdue a rising insurrection against the back wages owed and promises of land that had been offered to Patriot soldiers but which Congress had failed so far to deliver. Combat may have reached an end, but the enemy still would not leave and the daunting task of rebuilding the country while paying down the debts of war loomed as challenges still to be faced.

  Woodhull, meanwhile, continued to send the occasional report from Long Island, though there was nothing of great urgency or importance anymore. The Culpers had done their duty, and done it well. A note dated July 5, 1783, was accompanied by a final balance record that Woodhull submitted to Tallmadge, at the major’s request: “I only kept the most simple account that I possibly could, for fear it should betray me, but I trust it is a just one—and I do assure you I have been as frugal as possibly could. I desire you would explain to the Genl. the circumstances that attended this lengthy correspondence that he may be satisfied that we have not been extravagant.” Woodhull then concluded the letter in a way that clearly reflected the present optimistic mood on Long Island: “Wishing you health and happiness, I am your very humble servant, Saml. Culper.”

  After five years, four major plots thwarted, countless misgivings and close calls, and untold sleepless nights, the Culper correspondence came to an end. The ring had operated effectively from the very heart of the enemy’s headquarters and had never been successfully infiltrated, uncovered, or unmasked, despite numerous efforts in that vein. The loss of Agent 355 was a tragedy, but it was also remarkable that the casualties were not much higher given how close the Culpers were to the enemy in Manhattan and the daring movements and maneuvers of the agents on Long Island. While the spies had not been able to deliver Manhattan to Washington before the war’s end, they had been his eyes and ears there, enabling him to beat the British even without holding the city. The Culper Ring was a success.

  All that remained now between Washington and his spies was the settling of some small monetary debts; the larger debts—the intangible kind that helped to protect a fledgling nation—could never be fully repaid, nor did the remaining members of the Culper Ring seek out such payment.
A return to an open, honest, and simple life in an independent nation founded on their native soil would be reward enough. And so they hoped, and prayed, and waited for the British to depart from New York at long last, even as the aftermath of war swirled around them.

  PEACE RAGES

  The British delegation finally signed the Treaty of Paris in September, and Washington’s troops were at the ready to ride into Manhattan as the last redcoat left the city. Colonel Tallmadge, however, was concerned for the safety of his spies who had lived and worked as Loyalists during the occupation and might now find themselves threatened by their newly empowered Patriot neighbors who had no inkling of their true sentiments and bravery. How could Townsend erase the fact that he had run a store that served British soldiers, worked for a Loyalist newspaper, frequented the coffeehouse popular among the officers, and kept company with those who had penetrated the inner circles of the top brass in the city?

  To anyone on the outside, Robert Townsend had not only enjoyed a rather cushy life during the war but also profited from it. This would hardly sit well with those who had suffered the loss of life, limb, and property for the sake of American independence, and Colonel Tallmadge was fearful that some vengeful Patriot might come looking for his pound of flesh. He was desperate to seek out his spies and contract bodyguards to ensure their personal welfare, send them underground, create for them yet another false identity elsewhere in the city, or even spirit them out of New York for a time until passions cooled.

  Tallmadge wrote in his memoirs of these concerns: