Whereas the more experienced Washington was aware of the perils of intelligence provided by sometimes flawed agents, De Lancey’s mind was not attuned to the tricks agents play in a business where the ability to lie, dissemble, manipulate, and impersonate was a virtue. Which is why he fell so hard for the Hiram Hoax: “Hiram” being the triple agent William Heron—he worked for the Americans, for the British, but above all, for himself—a Freemason whose code name was a personal in-joke: The character of Hiram plays a central role in Freemasonry as the master of the construction of Solomon’s Temple who refused to divulge to outsiders the secrets of the craft. Heron covered his tracks so expertly his own dark secret would not emerge for another century.
Heron entered the secret world accidentally. In late August 1780, he had business to attend to in New York, and he applied for a flag—essentially, a pass recognized by both sides—from General Samuel Holden Parsons, a “plain, mean-looking old man” with long hair who wore “shoes that I fancy were made by himself” (a catty allusion to his former trade as a cobbler).3 As New York was out of his purvey, Parsons sent him to General Arnold—whose defection was just a few weeks away—for the necessaries along with a letter of recommendation stating that Heron “is a neighbour of mine, for whose integrity and firm attachment to the cause of the country I will hold myself answerable.”4
Heron was hoping to obtain a license to ship goods to Ireland, and for one of those, he needed the approval of the British authorities. To that end, while he was in the city, he paid a visit to William Smith, the chief justice, and told him that “the majority of the Continent have long been for a reunion with Great Britain.” Pleased to find an American expressing such stout Loyalist sentiments, Smith wrote Heron a letter of introduction to General Robertson, then the commandant of New York, who subsequently reported to London that Heron “ever was an enemy to the Declaration of Independency, but he thought it prudent to be silent, except to a few of the most trusty Loyalists.” Most interesting to Robertson was Heron’s claim that he was “intimate” with General Parsons, who commanded the Connecticut lines, and that Parsons was “greatly dejected under the prevailing disinclination of the people to continue the war.”5 This tidbit—one didn’t often hear of possibly disaffected generals—was duly filed. Soon after, Heron received his license to ship goods.
It’s difficult to unsnarl the truth from the coils of Heron’s obfuscations. Was he “ever … an enemy to the Declaration”? Had Parsons merely expressed, in the way grizzled old soldiers do, a few annoyed remarks about the incompetence of his superiors and lamented the public’s reluctance to send him more troops? These were questions the British unfortunately never asked themselves. They might have been forgiven, at least partly, for their lack of curiosity. Traditionally, the British had believed that most Americans were loyal at heart but had been seduced by the revolutionaries. So Heron’s intimations would have rung true with them.6 It was also known that Washington was faced with mutinous units, that Congress was essentially bankrupt, and that the Revolutionary effort was faltering. And they additionally knew, though Heron didn’t, that Arnold was intending to betray West Point: Could it be that more generals were willing to come over?
Heron’s motives, in other words, were so credible, the British felt they could trust the man while overlooking his more questionable aspects. Among these was the absence of anything in Heron’s past to indicate a secret hankering for royal rule. Quite the opposite, in fact. Born an Irishman in 1742, Heron emigrated from Cork to Connecticut several years before the Revolution, and established himself at Redding, where he and Parsons found themselves living next door to each other. Originally a merchant, Heron sought a political career and by April 1777 sat on several local Patriot committees, including one charged with hiring soldiers for the Continental army. Beginning in May 1778, he represented the town in Connecticut’s General Assembly.7
And second, Heron’s principles were easily compromised by the lure of lucre. A grinding snob, Heron’s favorite phrase was “We must keep the underbrush down,” a sentiment that put him at odds with the uppity underbrush of his adopted state. He had a talent for embellishing his social and financial credentials, and claimed to be a graduate of Trinity College, Dublin, yet never attended that institution. He enjoyed the delights of cash, and spent a great deal on gold-headed canes, laced waistcoats, and velvet breeches—not items easy to come by in the midst of Revolutionary Connecticut.8 It wasn’t entirely beyond the realm of possibility that, despite his airy proclamations of allegiance, Heron’s primary aim was profit.
On the other hand, Parsons, like Robertson and Smith, regarded him highly. As Parsons wrote to Washington, Heron was “a man of very large knowledge, and a great share of natural sagacity, united with a sound judgment,” and mentioned that he was of “as unmeaning a countenance as any person in my acquaintance.”9 Heron’s “unmeaning countenance” always reflected whatever people wanted, or expected, to see.
Parsons’s faith was further strengthened on Heron’s return to Connecticut, when he told the general about the British fortifications he had seen in New York. But what had originated as a dubious business deal turned into a major confidence scam once news of Arnold’s defection emerged. Heron suddenly appreciated how much money the British were willing to pay for high-ranking turncoats. So he invented one: General Parsons. And thus began William Heron’s remarkable career in secret service. In the winter of 1780–81, he volunteered his talents to Oliver De Lancey, who keenly accepted them.
Hiram’s first letter was written on February 4, 1781. It contained one vital piece of intelligence—culled from his chats with the unwitting Parsons, who was well acquainted with the whaleboatmen operating out of Connecticut. “Private dispatches are frequently sent from your city to the Chieftain [Washington] here by some traitors. They come by the way of Setalket [sic], where a certain Brewster receives them at, or near, a certain woman’s.” Hiram had provided yet another lead in the dossier the British were keeping on this mysterious Setauket leak they had been hearing about for years. The main problem was that Brewster remained at large, and the “certain woman”—Anna Strong—was untraceable without him.10
Cultivating his newfound taste for intrigue, Heron also began working for Parsons as a spy. In late February, Washington had written to Parsons requesting him to unearth a “plot among the tories of Stratford and Fairfield” he had heard about. He suggested finding a local man to go undercover as a Tory, and pledged to ensure the agent received “generous compensation.”11 Since money was involved, Heron was happy to help out, though, suspiciously, he was never able to provide “a sufficient degree of precision to make any attempt to secure the persons concerned,” Parsons reported. After all, to have exerted himself too greatly in that respect would at once have ended that stream of “generous pay for his time and services” and ended his utility to Parsons. So he ran out the clock for as long as he could.12
For Heron, acting as a Tory—on Washington-approved “official” business—bore rich fruit. In order to further the deception, he was allowed to travel to New York and around Connecticut freely, and he could even trade illegally with the British as part of his cover. During one of his trips to New York, Heron had another interview with De Lancey. During it, he raised the possibility that it was in the British “power to tamper with” Parsons, since from his “mercenary disposition, there is little doubt of success.”13 He further embellished the story by telling De Lancey that Parsons was “a person possessed of a low Jesuitical cunning, but far from being a great character [he] is in needy circumstances, consequently avaricious, which was most ironic coming from the likes of Heron.”14
In short order, Heron had begun working two parts and was profiting both ways. His theatrical role as William Heron, Esq., covert Patriot and American spy, brought him closer to Parsons, who innocently provided the intelligence Heron then sold to De Lancey in his alternate guise as Hiram, covert Loyalist and British spy. Likewise, whenever he returned fro
m New York, Heron passed on to Parsons nuggets of intelligence he’d picked up either from De Lancey or on the way home to Connecticut.15
On April 24, Hiram again reported to De Lancey. After returning to Connecticut, he wrote, “In order to break the ice (as says the vulgar adage)” with Parsons about “the business” (i.e., his proposed defection), Heron told Parsons that he had a conversation with “a gentleman” in New York. This suspiciously anonymous acquaintance said a soldier such as Parsons could do much good by “lending his aid in terminating this unhappy war in an amicable re-union with the parent state.” Should he undertake the burden of making peace, the “Government will amply reward him, both in a lucrative and honorary way and manner.” Parsons, according to Heron, “listened with uncommon attention” and said he was “disposed to a reconciliation,” though stipulating that “he must have a reasonable … compensation.”16 At this point, Heron mentioned the matter of his own compensation to De Lancey, and asked for two hundred pounds to cover his expenses.17 De Lancey authorized the payment.
Heron’s conversation with Parsons was entirely fraudulent. At the time, Parsons was on maneuvers deep in Connecticut, after which he contracted a near-fatal fever that laid him up at camp.18 Heron was not able to see him, and even if he had, the stricken general was unlikely to have discussed treason—for he well knew what the code word “reconciliation” meant after Arnold’s flight—on what he thought was his deathbed.
It hooked De Lancey, even so. On the day following Heron’s faked report, De Lancey excitedly drew up a list of items Heron had promised to get from his counterfeit traitor. These included: “the exact state of West Point,” “who commands,” “what troops,” and “what P——s wish is, how we can serve him.” As usual, Heron was telling De Lancey what he wanted to hear, and what should have remained a hypothesis about the possibility of Parsons being disaffected transubstantiated into the established fact that he did intend to defect.19
On June 17, Hiram apologized for not sending on all the information De Lancey had requested, and promised to do so as soon as he could. In reality, as a civilian Heron had no way of discovering the “exact state” of the West Point defenses, but he continued the fiction of Parsons’s imminent defection. He had discussed the matter again with the general and found “him disposed to go some lengths (as the phrase is) to serve you, and even going thus far is gaining a great deal” but “he will not at present explicitly say that he will go such lengths as I could wish.” Parsons, apparently, was struggling with his “scruples”—those of “education, family connections and military ideas of honor.” However, Heron thought that an appeal to “interest … rather than principle” might overcome these. Heron here was discreetly hinting at cash payments, though again, this conversation could not have occurred. Parsons, at the time, was one hundred miles away from Redding on the march with his troops.20
De Lancey, for whom the phrase “hook, line, and sinker” could have been invented, was so thrilled by Heron’s progress he compiled a twelve-point list of further intelligence he wanted Hiram to acquire. He even made a concrete offer: three guineas for Parsons for every man he “puts in our possession” (by way of comparison, Arnold was promised just two), plus an unspecified sum, when he defected. Even better for Heron, he promised that “gratitude will prompt us to keep pace in our recompense to you, with the rewards given to our friend.”
Heron again masterfully evaded handing over any hard intelligence. Parsons, he said, “does not wish to take an open and avowed part at present,” though he was willing to “communicate any material intelligence” through his self-appointed intermediary. However, Heron suggested that it might prove persuasive if “something generous” were provided immediately for Parsons, and to that end, Heron selflessly volunteered to convey the money to the general, money which Heron pocketed.
By late June, and having paid over the required retainer, De Lancey at last began insisting on getting some results out of Heron. The spy was now in a bit of a fix. He had to show proof that Parsons was viable. After brooding on the matter for a few weeks, Heron decided to bluff it out. The “ascendancy I have over him, the confidence he has already reposed in me, the alluring prospect of pecuniary, as well as honorary rewards, together with the plaudits of a grateful nation,” he grandly declared to De Lancey, made him think that Parsons himself would answer De Lancey’s questions in a letter “and entrust me with the care of communicating” it.21
In mid-July, Heron duly provided a letter from Parsons fulfilling De Lancey’s laundry list of questions. According to Heron, Parsons had written “as to a confidential friend, anxious to know those matters and occurrences, which may in anywise affect the cause of the country.” For once, Heron was telling the truth—sort of. Parsons’s letter was written in such a style, and did contain many details, such as where his camp was, how many men he had under his command, who was commanding the other regiments, and how little ammunition he had. But that was because in order to get De Lancey off his back, Heron had specifically asked Parsons about these matters and was merely sending on Parsons’s polite reply, which revealed no sensitive plans. Heron, to recap, was a long-standing and respectable member of the Connecticut Assembly, and it would not have perturbed Parsons to mention such things to a respectable politician of pronounced Whig views. So, Parsons’s letter to Heron was exactly what the latter declared it to be: a letter reassuring an “anxious” correspondent that all was well with the war. As Parsons wrote, while he running low on ammunition and provisions, “your fears for them are groundless,” as the stockpiles “are principally at West Point, Fishkill, Wapping’s Creek & Newburgh, which puts them out of the enemy’s power.” It was all junk, yet so pleased was De Lancey with Heron’s “coup” that he authorized the payment of four hundred pounds for Parsons (or Heron, rather).22
Although Heron continued to scheme in fits and starts until March 1782, De Lancey eventually realized that Parsons was never going to come over and lost interest. In any case, Heron couldn’t have kept up the pantomime much longer, for Parsons resigned from the army in May 1782 for reasons of “extreme ill health,” and De Lancey himself was replaced by Beckwith as head of the secret service in July (probably as a result of Clinton’s annoyance over the Parsons goose chase).23
Even if it would prove a mixed year for British intelligence, for the Culpers, 1781 opened brightly enough. Woodhull’s letter of January 14 stating that Townsend “intends to undertake the business again in the spring” was soon followed by his observation that “it appears to me that we need not doubt of success, and that it is not far distant.”24 In early February, nonetheless, a note of annoyance did creep into Woodhull’s missives, the subject being money—and how much he was owed. “It is now a full year that I have supported this correspondence and have forwarded frequent dispatches—and the expenses incurred amounts to one hundred and seven pounds eighteen shillings, and all I have received is 29 guineas. The balance is due me and in want thereof, wish it could be forwarded soon.”25
Woodhull would soon have a lot more than money to worry about. Townsend, after a promising start (“C. Jur. is again in 727 [New York] and entering into business as heretofore and you may soon I hope receive his dispatches,” reported Woodhull in mid-March), quickly faltered and seems to have gone on strike.26 Sometime in late April, said the cell leader, “I had a 657 [visit] from C. Junr and am sorry to inform you that he will not 691 [work] any more on any account whatever.” That wasn’t entirely accurate: Townsend was willing to work, if just to provide “verbal accounts,” but only if his expenses were taken care of. Like those of Woodhull, Washington had let them slide.27
Tallmadge rode, or rather sailed, to the rescue. He went to Long Island to see Woodhull, where “the matter of a future correspondence” was “fully discussed.” It turned out Woodhull (and Townsend) had two concerns, not one. First was the payment of a “sufficient sum of money to defray the contingent expenses,” said Tallmadge. “C. Senior observes that he is alread
y considerably in advance for the business” but he recognized that “if in the present state of our public affairs it should be found difficult to furnish money for the purpose, he will advance 100 guineas or more if needed, receiving your Excellency’s assurance that it shall be refunded by the public, with reasonable interest, after the War.”
The second, more difficult to resolve than the first, was security. Jonas Hawkins had left their service some years before, and Austin Roe—who Townsend disliked, in any case—appears to have become more reluctant to undertake the dangerous and uncomfortable rides to and from New York. Neither Townsend nor Woodhull was willing to leave their posts, and Woodhull had stipulated, with Townsend’s agreement, “that some confidential person must of course be employed to carry dispatches as it would cause suspicions which might lead to detection if either of the Culpers should be frequently passing from New York to Setauket, &c. they being men of some considerable note.”28
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