by Kit Sergeant
Robert rubbed the back of his neck. “But Selah won’t know any of this.”
“Selah’s not a stranger to espionage,” Brewster said, lifting his eyes to Tallmadge.
“Indeed.” Tallmadge leaned forward. “We write a letter.”
Robert asked, “In sympathetic stain?” When he caught sight of Elizabeth’s frown, Robert turned to her. “Dr. Jay in France supposedly had developed an ink that only becomes visible when you wash a reagent over it.”
“Even if we had access to the ink, we couldn’t get Selah the reagent without the guards becoming suspicious,” Tallmadge replied. “The easiest way is to write a normal letter in a woman’s handwriting, supposedly signed by his wife, Anna. We leave out key words and in their place reference certain lines in a book that contains the words you’ve omitted.”
“We need a book that the guards would have no interest in,” Robert added.
“Common Sense?” Elizabeth suggested.
Brewster shook his head. “They’d throw it overboard.”
Tallmadge rose and walked to Elizabeth’s bookcase, returning with a small leather book. Brewster picked it up and started thumbing through it. “Entick’s Dictionary?”
“Why not?” Tallmadge asked. “It’s innocuous enough. And it is guaranteed to contain the words we need. Hopefully Selah will decipher it in time to put the mutiny in place.”
“He will,” Brewster replied confidently.
“And after the prisoners are freed? Where will they go?” Elizabeth inquired.
Caleb thought for a moment before he said, “My crew will be out there every night, lying in wait by the shores. We’ll get them across the Sound to Connecticut and then on to Valley Forge.”
“I think Higday’s got some connections up North,” Robert added.
Brewster gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Higday’s a fool. We keep him around because he stands well with the guards. He will need to know of the sleigh run, but we shan’t worry his pretty head about any of the rest.”
Robert nodded in acquiescence. “Shall we begin, then?”
Tallmadge pulled a blank piece of paper toward him and began drafting the letter while Robert looked up the page numbers of words they wanted to disguise, such as “guard” and “bottle.” Brewster left to let Higday know of the pending run and to procure some rum from one of his smugglers.
Robert noticed Elizabeth yawning. “Why don’t you go get some sleep?” He nodded at Tallmadge. “We will probably be at this for a while.”
“Yes,” Tallmadge agreed. “We will need you to copy the end product in your handwriting, but you can do so tomorrow morning. If the day is clear, you might be able to make the trip to the hulks. You should get as much rest as you can tonight.”
Elizabeth rose. “Then I will bid you all goodnight.”
Elizabeth was awakened the next morning by Abby shaking her. “Miss Elizabeth, there are men in the apartment!”
Elizabeth was momentarily startled until she remembered the planning session from the night before. “It’s only Mr. Tallmadge and Mr. Townsend.”
“But why are they here?”
Elizabeth rose from the bed and went to dress. “I must accompany them again today.”
Abby tilted her head and searched her mistress’s face. “Are you in any danger?”
“No.” Elizabeth paused, the ribbons at the bodice of her chemise in either hand. “But, Abby, if something were to happen to me, you must take the children to the Underhills. They will know what to do.”
Abby nodded. “Do not worry about the children, missus. They are in good hands.”
Elizabeth resumed getting dressed.
When she emerged from the bedroom, Robert and Tallmadge were already seated at the kitchen table. “Your maid,” Tallmadge inquired. “Is she trustworthy?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said. She headed to the fire to warm up some bread. Brewster arrived and Abby showed him in as Robert declared, “Always in time for a meal, isn’t that right, Cal?”
“Indeed!”
After Abby left to dress the children, Brewster pulled a bottle of rum from his satchel. He popped the cork and then took a swig. “What?” he asked the others as they peered at him. “Have to have room for the laudanum.” Elizabeth retrieved the vial and handed it to him. He poured it in before replacing the cork and then used candle wax to reseal the bottle.
Tallmadge grabbed a blank piece of paper and ink from the kitchen desk before pulling the draft out of his breast pocket. He straightened it on the table. “The most important thing is to make sure the numbers are subtle enough that a cursory glance wouldn’t pick up on them.” He grabbed the pen and, using the draft, showed Elizabeth. “Do you see how the numbers are part of the flourish on the last letter of this word? Page number first, then line number.” Elizabeth practiced a few times before she started writing on the blank page. “That’s good,” Tallmadge stood over her and nodded his approval. “It’s fine to make a mistake or misspell words. It’s not like the guards would know Anna’s an educated woman like yourself.”
When Elizabeth finished the letter, Brewster picked it up and crumpled it in his hand explaining, “It’s got to look like it’s traveled all the way from Setauket.” He tucked the letter into a bag along with the rum, the dictionary, and a blanket and then sauntered to the window to peer outside. The day had dawned bright and clear. “Let’s do this,” he told Elizabeth.
Tallmadge nodded. “I’ll send word to our sentinels in Connecticut to expect a horde of escaped Americans. We’ll get them shelter and warmth.”
Elizabeth knew that would be a lot to ask for, given the conditions in Valley Forge that had been reported. Still, she wagered the prisoners would rather freeze to death in Pennsylvania among their exalted general than be starved by enemy guards aboard the Jersey.
It took much longer to get out to the ship. Although Brewster was confident the ice would hold the weight of the sled itself, he hesitated to use horses and insisted that he and Higday pull it, with Elizabeth pushing from the back. The going was much slower than Brewster’s rowing, but they finally made it to the hull of the ship. Sure enough, it was stuck fast in the ice. The deck seemed especially empty—presumably the prisoners were all huddled down below. Elizabeth thought she could hear them coughing from the stale, infected air.
“What is this?” one of the Redcoats shouted down at them. Elizabeth was grateful to note that he was one of the more amicable guards. “You are making runs in the dead of winter now?”
“Yessir,” Brewster replied. “We figured the prisoners could use the extra blankets.”
The Redcoat shrugged before gesturing toward another sentinel, who walked to the side of the accommodation platform. It made a wrenching squeal that cut through the winter silence and Elizabeth had the frightening thought that the platform was frozen in place, but she was relieved to see it finally descend upon them.
As Higday began to load it, Brewster stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled.
“Yes?” The first guard leaned over the side.
Brewster held up the bag. “This one is for Selah Strong.”
“Strong? Don’t know him.” Elizabeth’s heart once again caught in the throat as he conferred with his comrade. What if Selah had already died? “All right. We can get it to him, but not before searching it, of course.”
“Of course.” Brewster nodded and then the guards raised the platform. There was another anxious moment as the trio below waited for the soldiers to examine Selah’s package. Finally, the first one leaned over and shouted, “Thanks for the rebel rum! We guards will have a good night tonight.”
Brewster tipped his hat sheepishly. “It was worth a try. In exchange for the rum, then, will you make sure Strong gets that letter? It’s from his wife.”
The friendlier guard—his comrade had disappeared from view—bent over to retrieve the letter from the bag. He tore open the seal and scanned it quickly before waving it at them. “Least I can do.”
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Brewster could barely contain his grin as he tipped his hat again. “G-day, gentlemen.”
The guard saluted them before returning to his post at the bow.
Elizabeth and Brewster exchanged a quick, gleeful look before they resumed their positions to push the now empty sled back to Manhattan.
Elizabeth was wakened in the middle of the night by a frantic knocking at the door. After checking that Abby and the children were still sleeping, she pulled a robe around her and went into the vestibule.
Benjamin Tallmadge stood there, accompanied by a strange man. Elizabeth ushered them into the kitchen before asking in a shaking voice, “Did something go awry?”
“No ma’am,” Tallmadge said, removing his hat. “In fact, everything went fairly according to plan. Selah led an attack on the few guards who hadn’t passed out from the rum. Most of the prisoners came down on the accommodation platform while some tied the blankets you gave them in knots and used that as a makeshift ladder.”
“How many in all?”
Tallmadge glanced at the man next to him before replying, “I would venture to say some two hundred. Any man that was in good enough health was made aware of the plan.”
Elizabeth sat down, blinking back tears. That was two hundred men—and their families—who were spared Jonathan’s fate. “And the consequences for the rest?”
The unfamiliar man spoke up. “The guards don’t venture down below: they are too afraid of catching a disease. They also don’t keep good records as to who is aboard—or who has perished, for that matter.”
Tallmadge added, “We are hoping they are too embarrassed that a bunch of sick men got the better of them to report it to their superiors. The rest of the prisoners might suffer a bit, but they are already at death’s door.”
“A small sacrifice to make for the liberation of good, strong Americans,” the man said. He bowed deeply. “I was one of the prisoners, only recently aboard, but very grateful to end my stay, thanks to you.”
Townsend gestured toward the man. “Mrs. Burgin, I would like you to meet Mr. Leonard Van Buren.”
Elizabeth curtsied. “How do you do, Mr. Van Buren.”
He bowed in response. “Much better now than I was a few hours ago.”
Tallmadge turned to Elizabeth. “Mr. Van Buren is a former deputy commissary from Albany. It is my intention to arrange safe passage for him to return, but I need a few days. I was hoping he could remain here.”
“Of course,” she replied.
Van Buren reached out to grasp her hand. “You are too kind to me, Mrs. Burgin.”
Van Buren was a gentleman and amiable to Abby and the children. He stayed in the apartment the whole time he was a guest at Elizabeth’s. He did not dare venture outdoors because due to his activity before he enlisted, he wasn’t “to be had in this Tory island.” He told her of the framed copy of the Gazette in his possession back home. Rivington had written in glee of his capture, stating that Van Buren “was well known for persecuting the Loyalists in this city.”
One day after Abby had taken the children to play in the park, Elizabeth implored Van Buren to tell her more of life on the Jersey.
“Major Tallmadge told me of your husband’s fate. I’m not sure you want to know the details,” he replied.
“I would,” Elizabeth said firmly. “And please do not feel the need to skim over some of it because I’m a lady.”
Van Buren chuckled. “Tallmadge also told me you were a headstrong woman. I am quite inclined to agree with him.”
Elizabeth brought him a cup of tea and then seated herself opposite of him at the kitchen table.
Van Buren took a sip of tea and stated, “The day would begin with an officer shouting down the hatch, ‘Bring out your dead!’”
Elizabeth’s stomach immediately curled like spoiled milk, but she forced herself to listen as Van Buren described the circumstances.
“Every morning I was there, we lost anywhere from one to six men during the night. I only had to endure the winter, but I’m told the summer was insufferable. Men would strip down naked to stay cool and would then get so scorched by the sun they would get blisters.” Van Buren looked over to see her reaction.
Elizabeth had propped one elbow on the table and put the other hand on her mouth. She took it away to implore Van Buren to continue.
“I was told there was a period this past summer when the air was so toxic below that candles would not light and men lay dead for multiple days before anyone discovered them.”
Elizabeth clasped both hands together underneath the table, remembering what Brewster had told her once. “Did they get thrown overboard?”
“Supposedly the exceedingly rancid bodies did, but I never witnessed that myself. Their custom was to sew the bodies into blankets and take them ashore to bury them. The able-bodied men would clamor to be chosen for grave-digging duty. I never was chosen.”
Elizabeth nodded slowly, wondering if that shore was Jonathan’s final resting place.
“The food was rotten, along with the water. They dumped all of the waste in the bay, and this is the water that was hauled up for drinking.”
Elizabeth had enough description. “Tell me one last thing, Mr. Van Buren. The supplies that were delivered the day of your escape. Were they conveyed to the prisoners?”
Van Buren’s eyes, which had dropped to his lap, brightened as he looked up. “Oh, yes, Mrs. Burgin, they were indeed. I was quite happy just to receive an extra blanket before Selah approached me later that night.”
“Thank God in heaven,” Elizabeth said aloud, thinking of the poor souls who were left behind.
“I cannot thank you enough for all you have done, and hope to repay you someday. If there is anything you might need, please let me know.”
“I will,” Elizabeth said as she rose from the table.
Chapter XXXVI
Meg
May 1778
Life took a turn for the worst when Mercy married Dr. McKnight. She moved out of the Queen Street townhouse about the same time that Meg’s husband returned from Philadelphia. The time that had passed only served to make Coghlan more of a brute. He seemed to take it as a personal affront that Meg did not become pregnant and continued his nightly assaults of her. Occasionally Meg would fight back, but that only made him angrier. Most of the time he was careful to only hit her where it would not show under her clothing, but one night he grabbed her roughly by the wrist and left purple marks where his fingers had clutched her skin.
In the daytime, he reported to his unit, and in the nighttime, after he had his fill of Meg, he would go carousing about the city. Captain Moncrieffe had been called away, so the only people who knew what was happening behind the closed door of the bedroom were the servants, who would never say anything. Meg entreated her father to help her, in much the same way she’d written to him when she left Elizabethtown to house with Mrs. De Hart. Back then he had come to her rescue by arranging for her to stay with General Putnam. But this time he wrote back that it was her wifely duty to lay with Coghlan. Captain Moncrieffe concluded by saying Meg now belonged to Coghlan and, as her father, he could offer no more assistance.
After a fortnight of this treatment, Meg decided could not carry on this way. Deep in thought in the parlor one morning, she was startled to hear the doorbell ring.
“Mrs. Coghlan,” Noah appeared in the sitting room. “There is a British soldier who came to call on Mrs. Litchfield. I explained that she no longer resides here and he then asked to see you.”
Meg rose from her spot on the loveseat. “I will come to the door.”
She recognized the Redcoat as the sandy haired soldier from General Howe’s command. She joined him on the portico, shutting the door behind her.
“Mrs. Coghlan,” he bowed with a flourish and then stamped his boots to attention. “I am not sure if you remember me, but I am Major John André.”
“I do remember,” Meg replied after her curtsy. His manner now reminded her even more
of Aaron Burr. For a moment she thought maybe her father had changed her mind and sent another handsome soldier to rescue her. But, Meg chided herself, originally André asked to see Mercy. “What is it that brings you here?”
He gestured toward the street and then turned back to flash her a dashing smile. Meg noted that, despite his light hair, he had a swarthy complexion that was not quite English nor American. “I’ve come to return Mrs. Litchfield’s carriage.”
Meg opened her eyes wide. “Oh,” she said, emphasizing the pucker of her lips on the syllable. She gave André her most coquettish expression. “Mrs. Litchfield is no longer living at this residence. She was married this past month, to a rebel doctor. Can you imagine?”
André shifted so that his legs were shoulder width apart and put his arms behind his back. Meg thought briefly that such polished mannerisms gave him an older air that contrasted with those boyish good-looks. “Indeed, I cannot imagine Mrs. Litchfield cavorting with a rebel. At any rate, shall you give me her address so I can drop off her carriage?”
Meg folded her hands in front of her stomacher. “She has left the city with the army. I am not sure where she has gone.”
André seemed in no hurry to leave. “Well, then, I guess we should lodge it in your coach house until such time when you have more information on her whereabouts.”
“Indeed.” Meg, too, was anxious to find an excuse for André to stay. “Would you like to come into the living room for tea?”
André looked uncertainly at the sentry standing next to the carriage and then shrugged. “I would never pass up the chance to have tea with such a lovely lady.”
Meg led him into the living room and then rang the bell for Noah. After she’d directed him to prepare the tea, Meg sat in the loveseat while André settled into a nearby chair.
“What brings you back to New York City?” Meg asked him. “I hear you were recently stationed in Philadelphia.”
“Indeed. But General Clinton has taken over command. One of General Howe’s last acts was to order the evacuation of Philadelphia, as it did not help our position as much as he would have liked.”