by Brad Meltzer
However, one aspect of his role as secret jailhouse spy is obvious: Ketcham was groomed by both the congress and the military to be a key witness in the court-martial of Life Guard Thomas Hickey.
On June 26, 1776, after William Green and Gilbert Forbes testify, the officers of the court-martial call Isaac Ketcham before them to tell his story.
Ketcham describes how he got Thomas Hickey to reveal information to him. He says that by pretending to Hickey and Lynch that he was also on the side of the British and the Loyalists, Ketcham won his cellmates’ trust. After this, Ketcham says, Hickey expressed his antipathy toward his own army and its leaders. “In different conversations he informed me that the Army was damnably corrupt.”
Then Ketcham jumps to the heart of it. He says that in the jail, Hickey told him “that the fleet was soon expected; and that he and a number of others were in a band to turn against the American Army when the King’s troops should arrive.” As Ketcham recounts it, Hickey even “asked me to be one of them.”
There, in a nutshell, is yet more damning testimony against Hickey, this time from someone who is not himself implicated in the plot.
Ketcham continues to reveal more of what he learned, including one startling detail: He says that Hickey told him “eight of the General’s Guard were concerned, but mentioned only Green by name.”
If Hickey was right, eight Life Guards were in on it. It’s a remarkable number—more than the investigators knew. In addition, the mention of “Green” suggests once again that William Green was a leader of the cabal, given that his was the only name Hickey thought to bring up when describing the plot.
Ketcham’s testimony, brief but strong, seems to lock the case against Thomas Hickey as a traitor to his army.
Still, the officers call another witness. He’s a man named William Welch, an English immigrant now living in New York, who describes a conversation he recently had with Thomas Hickey.
According to Welch, Hickey pulled him aside one day and complained about the Continental army’s failings. He told Welch about the plot he had joined, and tried to convince Welch to join too. As Welch describes it, Hickey told him that:
[T]he enemy would soon arrive, and that it was best for us Old Countrymen to make our peace before they came, or they would kill us all. That we Old Countrymen should join together, and we would be known by a particular mark, and if I would agree to be one among them, he would carry me to a man who would let me have a dollar by way of encouragement.
The conversation didn’t go any further because “I did not relish the project, and we parted.” His testimony ends there.
Welch’s story doesn’t add much to what is already known. Perhaps the most significant aspect of Welch’s role at the court-martial is that he is there at all—because his name has never been mentioned in the Committee of Conspiracies’ investigation, nor is there any record of him being summoned or examined in any prior setting.
This suggests that for the investigating committee and the military officers preparing for the court-martial, there was more behind-the-scenes activity—additional arrests, conversations, examinations, and lines of inquiry—than what appears in the official records.
After hearing from the four witnesses brought before the court—William Green, Gilbert Forbes, Isaac Ketcham, and William Welch—the officers have one more critical person to hear from as they decide Thomas Hickey’s fate.
In fact, he may be the most important witness of all: Thomas Hickey.
For the first time, the Life Guard will have a chance to tell his side of the story.
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This is it. Thomas Hickey, the Continental soldier and Life Guard accused of “mutiny and sedition” and “treasonable correspondence” with the enemy, is about to speak in his own defense.
If Hickey understands the seriousness of the allegations being made against him, the dark-haired, Irish-born Life Guard doesn’t show it in court.
There is no record of his demeanor or behavior, so we don’t know if he was angry, defiant, or resigned about the accusations made against him.
His testimony, transcribed by a secretary, suggests he had barely considered his own line of defense. Although he had officially pled not guilty to the charges, he fails to bring any evidence or witnesses, and doesn’t have much of an answer for the allegations against him.
Indeed, after a full day of incriminating testimony about him from the other witnesses, Hickey makes a statement before the court of barely a sentence. The court-martial records show only this:
The prisoner being here called upon to make his defense, produces no evidence; but says, “he engaged in the scheme at first for the sake of cheating the Tories, and getting some money from them, and afterwards consented to have his name sent on board the man-of-war, in order that if the enemy should arrive and defeat the army here, and he should be taken prisoner, he might be safe.”
Basically, Hickey admits outright that he joined the treasonous scheme. His first excuse is that his true motive for doing so was just to “cheat” the plotters by taking their money. His second excuse is that because he secretly thinks the British forces will prevail in the coming battle, he wants to save his own skin by putting his name on the list of colonists willing to betray the Continental army and join the British.
Either way, it’s not much of a defense. Greed is hardly a legitimate reason to betray your own army and join an enemy plot; neither, of course, is cowardice. These aren’t arguments likely to win over senior military officers in a court-martial.
Hickey is led away from the court just as quickly as he was brought before it.
After Hickey’s brief testimony, the court-martial recesses, giving the officers time to consider the evidence. They can’t have deliberated for long. That same afternoon, in the same room, they formally announce their verdict and sentence.
Thomas Hickey, a member of George Washington’s Life Guards, is guilty as charged.
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The verdict, read by Col. Samuel Parsons on the late afternoon of June 26, 1776, is as brutal as it is brief:
The Court being cleared, after mature consideration, are unanimously of the opinion that the prisoner is guilty of the charge against him, and of a breach of the fifth and of the thirtieth articles of the Rules and Regulations for the government of the Continental Forces; and the court unanimously sentence and adjudge that the prisoner, Thomas Hickey, suffer death for said crimes by being hanged by the neck till he is dead.
Thomas Hickey’s fate is sealed.
Maybe Thomas Hickey wasn’t the only Continental soldier involved in the traitorous scheme.
Maybe Thomas Hickey wasn’t even the one who played the greatest role in bringing the Life Guards into the plot.
Maybe other suspects were more deserving of being singled out and punished for joining or enlisting others to join the treasonous crime.
Maybe so. But Thomas Hickey was clearly guilty of being involved in the conspiracy, and the evidence against him is overwhelming. As a result, in late June 1776—in the days before some of the most memorable moments in American history—the Irish-born soldier is about to become the public symbol of the deadly plot against George Washington and the Continental army.
From the moment officers of the court-martial read their verdict and sentence, a chain of events races forward with inexorable speed.
The officers no doubt transmit their verdict immediately to George Washington, probably that evening.
Washington, according to protocol for making important decisions, convenes a council of war for the next morning, to discuss the court-martial’s verdict and sign off on a course of action.
First thing the next morning, Thursday, June 27, Washington meets at his Broadway headquarters with six senior officers, including his generals Nathanael Greene, Joseph Spencer, Lord Stirling, Thomas Mifflin, John Morin Scott, and William Heath.
Washington informs his officers of the preceding day’s court-martial. They are then encouraged to de
liberate and advise him as they see fit. As the council’s brief written log shows, the officers reach a relatively clear and hasty consensus:
The General communicated to the Council the proceedings of the Court Martial on Thomas Hickey—[the council] unanimously advised to confirm the sentence & that it be put in execution tomorrow at 11 o’ Clock, for which purpose the General is to issue his warrant.
This warrant is a warrant for execution. The council has determined that Hickey should receive the ultimate punishment.
According to the Continental army’s regulations, only the Commander-in-Chief himself, George Washington, can issue a warrant of such magnitude. Then the warrant must go to the Provost Marshal, a special officer in charge of enforcing lawfulness within the ranks.
George Washington doesn’t hesitate. And within a few hours, Washington and his officers finalize an even bigger plan. Hickey’s execution will not be only a show of justice—it will be a public statement—a statement for the citizens, for the army, and for the enemy.
Also, this justice will be swift. Hickey will die tomorrow morning.
By that afternoon, Washington reveals his plan in the day’s general orders—for every officer and every soldier to hear. These orders provide an answer to the questions that are by now spreading through the ranks of the soldiers, filled with stories of a rumored plot and traitors among them. The orders spell it out:
Thomas Hickey belonging to the General’s Guard having been convicted by a General Court Martial … of the crimes of “Sedition and Mutiny, and also of holding a treacherous correspondence with the enemy, for the most horrid and detestable purposes,” is sentenced to suffer death. The General approves the sentence, and orders that he be hanged tomorrow at Eleven o’ Clock.
The language is crystal clear. As an interesting embellishment—or perhaps as an expression of anger—Washington or his aides added the language “for the most horrid and detestable purposes” just for the general orders, because it did not appear in the original court-martial charges.
The orders go on to stipulate another key aspect of Hickey’s punishment. The execution will take place in the open, and the entire army will see it. Washington is clear: Everyone has to watch.
The orders further command that “all the officers and men off duty” from all four brigades stationed in New York—those stationed farther away on Long Island are excluded—should “be under arms, on their respective parades” to march to a designated rural field in Manhattan, just north of the city line, in order to “attend the execution of the above sentence.”
The army sends the general orders by midafternoon, and as always, they are quickly distributed to every officer to share with the troops.
Before the end of the afternoon, word spreads from soldiers to residents of the grim event planned for the next morning, including the planned location. There is no indication that the Continental army disapproved of this; more likely, officers encouraged their soldiers to share the news.
Within hours everyone knows what’s coming. This isn’t just a hanging; it’s a public execution.
The decision is made; the stage is set—but as with everything else in the story of the first conspiracy, yet more surprises lie ahead.
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Friday, June 28, 1776.
This day is rarely highlighted in the history books. Yet, there aren’t many twenty-four-hour periods in America’s history that contain as many dramatic and remarkable events, all transpiring basically at once.
For George Washington, the day starts with a letter. More specifically, a letter composed by Washington and his aides to John Hancock, the president of the Continental Congress. Washington’s letters to Hancock are frequent, often containing lengthy updates, requests, and plans concerning every aspect of the war effort.
This particular morning, Washington updates Hancock and offers opinions on several logistical matters of the army—the pay of chaplains, for example, which he argues should be higher; also, a complicated discussion of the relative merits of appointing two commissary generals rather than one to manage the flow of army provisions—a bureaucratic question but one of urgent importance as the army continues to struggle desperately for want of supplies on the eve of battle.
Fairly typical matters, so far. But today, Washington also has to inform Hancock about something else—something more sensitive.
He needs to tell Hancock about Thomas Hickey, and the state of the plot that has quickly become the biggest rumor in the army.
This letter is the first time Washington or any other Continental army officer has communicated anything about the plot directly to the Continental Congress, probably because Washington insisted on maintaining absolute secrecy up to this point.
In fact, this note to Hancock represents the first time Washington himself describes the plot in writing to anyone, despite the fact that news of it has now been spreading and generating rumors for more than a week.
In the letter, Washington’s language is careful, striking a calm, measured tone—no doubt hoping to convey to Congress that the matter is now under control. Interestingly, he begins by acknowledging that news of the secret plot has already spread around the colonies. And then:
Congress I doubt not will have heard of the plot that was forming among many disaffected persons in this city and government, for aiding the King’s troops upon their arrival … several persons have been enlisted and sworn to join them—The matter I hope by a timely discovery will be suppressed and put a stop to. Many citizens & others, among whom is the Mayor, are now in confinement—the matter has been traced up to Governor Tryon & the Mayor appears to have been a principal agent or go between him and the persons concerned in it.
Although Washington carefully includes the names of his key enemies in the conspiracy—namely, Governor Tryon and Mayor Mathews—he declines to provide any details about the goals of the plot, and certainly avoids mention of the unspeakable detail that has begun to reach the public: that the plot may have included a plan to assassinate Washington himself.
He does, however, share with Hancock the most scandalous aspect of the plot, namely the fact that some in his own ranks were party to it. This admission, of course, leads to the breaking news about the fate of his Life Guard, Thomas Hickey:
The plot had been communicated to some of the army, and part of my Guard engaged in it—Thomas Hickey one of them, has been tried and by the unanimous opinion of a Court Martial is sentenced to die, having enlisted himself and engaged others—the sentence by the advice of the whole Council of General Officers will be put in execution today at Eleven O’Clock.
Regarding the other conspirators currently in custody, Washington says only that “the others are not tried.”
Finally, he ends on a resolute note, explaining his swift administration of justice: “I am hopeful this example will produce many salutary consequences and deter others from entering into the like traitorous practices.”
The letter is written. Now comes the event itself.
By early morning, Generals Heath, Stirling, Spencer, and Scott had called their brigades of soldiers to attention, at their respective encampments in Manhattan. At exactly ten o’clock, each general begins marching his brigade of soldiers northward, through the city streets, alleys, parks, and pathways, toward the agreed-upon location: an open field north of the city limits at the time, near present-day Grand and Chrystie Streets, east of the Bowery.
By roughly half past ten, the four brigades have reached the field and assembled under the morning’s overcast sky, a total of close to ten thousand soldiers, standing at attention, armed and in uniform. Not very often since the first formation of the Continental army one year ago have so many officers, soldiers, and army aides all gathered in one place.
But it’s not just soldiers who have gathered for this event.
Starting the previous afternoon, once the time and place was set, word quickly spread about the unusual fate of one of George Washington’s soldiers. Whether
from posted handbills or from the mouths of troops and officers, news of the scandal traveled through the entire region—and by morning every resident and citizen seemed to have learned about it.
Now, almost all of them are gathered, standing in a crowd of many thousands, apart from the army but almost as great in size.
In total close to twenty thousand people assemble in this field—almost the entire population of New York City at the time, including the army stationed there. No question, some of the onlookers also traveled across the East River from Long Island, or across the Hudson River from New Jersey, or from the north, across the King’s Bridge from Westchester County into Manhattan.
The fledgling country has never seen a spectacle quite as big as this.
At the center of the vast crowd, next to a large tree in the field, is a hastily built wooden structure.
It’s a gallows.
Above the raised platform hangs a single noose, silhouetted against the gray sky.
All these gathered people, citizens and soldiers alike, are here to witness one thing: justice served to the traitor, Thomas Hickey.
At approximately a quarter to eleven, a separate group of soldiers, not standing in line with the rest of the brigades, begins to march from behind the formations, moving toward the gallows.
Following instructions given in the general orders of the previous day, the majors in charge had provided “twenty men, from each Brigade, with good arms and bayonets, as a guard on the prisoner to and at the place of execution.”
Certainly, eighty soldiers are not necessary to guard one man; this flourish is for show rather than for safety. The purpose? A procession, so everyone watching can see the lone criminal flanked formally by several dozen armed soldiers, marching solemnly toward the gallows. It’s a final message to the crowd.