The First Conspiracy

by Brad Meltzer

By every account from witnesses and participants in this extraordinary gathering, when those final words are spoken the entire crowd of more than ten thousand soldiers lets out a massive cheer.

  George Washington, looking at this throng of joyful soldiers in front of him, must feel he’s looking at a different army from the one he looked at eleven days ago.

  At this point, after this reading, the soldiers are so full of energy and excitement that letting out a cheer isn’t enough.

  From the Commons, the excited soldiers parade down Broadway through the center of the city, cheering and yelling as they go. Soon the crowd finds a new destination at the Bowling Green, near the southern tip of the island, and in front of the army’s main headquarters. The soldiers have a target.

  The statue.

  Yes, that statue: the pompous equestrian statue of George III, His Majesty the King of England, riding high on horseback above the citizens of New York City, dressed in Roman robes like an emperor from the ancient world.

  George Washington doesn’t even try to stop them. In an hour of barely controlled chaos, soldiers find some ropes and tools, and with them tear down the massive lead statue, breaking it into pieces as they go. Some keep fragments of it as souvenirs. After the statue is down, the soldiers continue to parade and cheer and race around the city streets. One report has it that the troops push around King George’s head in a wheelbarrow, before affixing it to a pike that they plant in the ground.

  The revelry will continue late into the night.

  As for General Washington, after the reading of the Declaration, he turns around and gets ready to head back to his headquarters.

  In just the past few weeks, so much has happened.

  The plot against him has been stopped.

  The Declaration has been read.

  But for George Washington, there is no time to celebrate.

  The Revolutionary War is only just beginning, and he has so much work to do.

  PART VI

  Aftermath

  79

  After everything the Continental army endured in the previous several months, and after all that George Washington personally endured—including a conspiracy against him that involved his own soldiers—there’s a version of the battle for New York City in the late summer of 1776 that would be gratifying to hear.

  It would go something like this: Against all odds, the small but scrappy Continental army, buoyed by the ideals of the brand-new Declaration of Independence, bravely stands up to its much more powerful foe. Through sheer determination, Washington’s little army repels the larger enemy force and nobly defends the great city of New York from British control.

  It’s a classic David versus Goliath story.

  But that’s not how it happens.

  The real battle for New York—or Battle of Long Island, as the main clash in the campaign is known—could not be more different.

  In fact, the theater of war in and around New York City in 1776 is, in almost every way, a catastrophe for the Continental army.

  The British, after the initial dramatic arrival of their fleet, wait through a series of delays due in part to logistics and in part to time spent on a failed diplomatic mission. Meanwhile, as the British army bides time, a seemingly endless series of reinforcements arrive. The Continental army can do little but watch passively throughout July and into early August as wave after wave of ships sail through the Narrows and into New York Harbor, transporting massive amounts of supplies and a mix of British soldiers and German auxiliaries.

  By early August, over four hundred British ships patrol the harbor and surrounding waterways. A total of roughly 34,000 enemy troops are either encamped on Staten Island or stationed on the ships.

  The British have arrayed what was then probably the largest and most powerful expeditionary force in world history—and now, they’re primed to attack.

  On August 22, 1776, the British send a first wave of troops from Staten Island to Long Island, preparing for the offensive. Washington had expected them to move on Manhattan first, so the Continental army has too few troops stationed on Long Island for the defense.

  Once the British troops land ashore, the superior numbers and skill of their forces quickly overwhelm and confuse the Continental forces in middle and southern Long Island. Over the course of the next few days, the American soldiers retreat westward toward Kings County—present-day Brooklyn—where they attempt to stage a defense.

  In the so-called Battle of Brooklyn, on August 27, the British outflank and almost surround the American troops. Accompanied by Hessian mercenaries, the British forces begin a brutal onslaught. In a series of skirmishes and retreats, several American regiments are badly decimated, and some are almost completely destroyed.

  One regiment of Marylanders, originally comprising around 250 soldiers, has all but a few dozen men either captured or killed. In one grisly episode, American troops try to retreat through the waterways of the swampy Gowanus region, but many injured or exhausted soldiers get trapped in the mud and water—where Hessian soldiers proceed to slaughter them with bayonets.

  By August 28, the depleted Continental forces in Brooklyn—about nine thousand, including their Commander-in-Chief, George Washington—are bottled up on the bluffs of present-day Brooklyn Heights, along the East River, with the water on one side and the massive British forces closing in from the other.

  In Manhattan, the rest of the Continental army can only send another twelve hundred reinforcements without leaving the city totally exposed. This puts the British, with their larger numbers, in a position to steadily move in and squeeze the Americans in Brooklyn from several directions; their plan is to force a surrender of the army and capture its senior officers.

  If they can accomplish this, the British can then easily cross the water to take New York City, while maintaining control of Long Island and capturing most of the American troops.

  George Washington’s Continental army is now on the brink of either total surrender or total annihilation.

  Washington himself made several mistakes to get to this point. He incorrectly judged the first British move to Long Island to be a feint, so kept far too many troops in Manhattan, waiting around uselessly. There were mishaps and communication gaffes throughout the battles, a result of poor planning. He and his generals failed to post defensive troops at a key pass in Brooklyn that proved to be of great use to the enemy.

  In many ways, Washington’s inexperience in large-scale warfare was exposed. He was, quite simply, out-generaled by the more seasoned British commanders. Almost across the board, the Continental officers and soldiers were outmatched and overwhelmed.

  However, there is one thing that George Washington does exactly right in this battle: He realizes at just the moment when he’s been beaten.

  Stationed with his soldiers in Brooklyn Heights the day before the final assault is expected from the British, he sees with clarity how futile their defense will be. Whereas many generals would have fought on regardless, and others would simply have surrendered rather than fight, Washington comes up with a third option: a daring escape.

  That night, during a massive downpour, Washington and his officers devise a secret plan. Sending covert messages across the river, they arrange for all watercraft docked along Manhattan’s eastern shore to be commandeered and brought across the East River, to the ferry landing beneath the bluffs on the shores of Brooklyn Heights.

  Meanwhile, one regiment at a time, the soldiers and officers on the Heights begin to sneak down under cover of rain and darkness to the landing below. There, they board the boats, one after another.

  This long, drawn-out overnight escape is extraordinarily tense. If the British should detect the movement, they would instantly move in and rout the soldiers in midescape, while British ships could quickly capture or destroy the small transports on the river.

  Somehow, the unlikely plan works, and every soldier miraculously makes it onto a boat across the East River to Manhattan by morning.
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br />   During this all-night rain-soaked evacuation, the troops witness something else. George Washington, their leader, makes sure that every soldier is evacuated before he himself will get on a boat—despite the fact that every passing hour could mean capture or death for him, if the evacuation is discovered.

  In other words, the soldiers see Washington risk his own life to save the lives of his men.

  The next morning, when British troops move in on what they thought was Washington’s position on the bluffs of Brooklyn Heights, they are stunned to find that no one is there. Washington’s army has moved on.

  Once in Manhattan, Washington and his exhausted army at first begin to prepare a defense of New York City.

  However, it soon becomes clear that with Howe’s massive forces controlling both Brooklyn and Staten Island, and with British warships able to encircle southern Manhattan by water, Washington’s forces don’t stand a chance.

  With no other choices, Washington and his army retreat north to the high ground in upper Manhattan. Soon, he’ll be forced to retreat even farther, over the river to White Plains.

  During Washington’s northward retreat, General Howe sends additional forces from Staten Island toward lower Manhattan Island. These British troops land at Kips Bay on the East River and, with Washington’s army now on the run, easily occupy southern Manhattan.

  Just like that, the British troops have captured New York City.

  George Washington unequivocally lost his first major battle—and ceded the second-largest city in the colonies to the enemy.

  From that day forward, the British army will occupy and control New York City for seven long years, using it as their central base of operations throughout the war.

  It’s a devastating loss.

  For the colonies, there’s only one consolation: George Washington and his army somehow escaped capture, and live to fight another day.

  80

  The British army’s capture and occupation of Manhattan in September 1776 has many enormous consequences. Consequences for the city, for the colony, and for the entire war.

  The occupation also has very specific consequences for one man in particular: the exiled Governor William Tryon.

  Finally, no more Duchess of Gordon. After so long in exile, the Governor is free to live and work again, out in the open, on land, under the comfort of British control.

  That’s not all. Tryon also gets his previous job back.

  By the end of November 1776, after General Howe’s forces have occupied all of Manhattan and put New York City under martial law, William Tryon resumes his position as Governor of the colony.

  By any measure, it’s been an extraordinary year for Tryon. In almost exactly twelve months’ time, he had been forced into exile from his Governor’s mansion and onto a ship, had run a spy network up and down the east coast, and had masterminded a complicated plot against George Washington and the Continental army.

  Now, he is Governor once again.

  Still, Tryon is not content to settle back into his previous role. For one thing, the British have occupied just the New York City region, so claiming mastery over the entire colony works only on paper. His true governorship is now of limited scope. Even in New York City, with General Howe’s army controlling the city under martial law, Tryon’s role as governor is somewhat ill defined.

  Plus, like everyone else, Tryon knows that the most critical matter in the colonies is the war effort. Nothing else really matters.

  Before he was a politician, Tryon was a military officer. He had served during the Seven Years’ War in the 1750s. He understands warfare and knows how to lead men. With a war now raging, Tryon is ready to play his part.

  In early 1777, William Tryon gains an officer’s commission to lead a company of “provincial troops”—in other words, Loyalists from the colonies rather than British regulars from England. He achieves a rank of provincial major general and leads a regiment of soldiers active in New York and Connecticut.

  Tryon is an effective officer, and a year later, in 1778, he gains a more prestigious commission leading regular British soldiers now as a full major general in the English army.

  True to form, Tryon soon finds controversy as a military officer, just as he did as a politician.

  In July 1779, he leads a series of diversionary raids along the Connecticut coast in which he instructs his men to target civilian property. His goal is to draw out American troops stationed nearby along the Hudson. The operation may be just a decoy, but the raids are brutal, with Tryon’s soldiers allegedly slaughtering unarmed townspeople, and burning down homes, churches, and farms.

  After these raids, Patriot leaders accuse Tryon of waging war against “women and children,” and even some British officers criticize his conduct.

  The royal authorities pardon Tryon for his alleged misdeeds, but the controversy is enough to end his time as an officer in the colonies. Soon after, he returns to England, where he serves out his days helping run the war effort from the motherland. William Tryon dies in England in 1788, five years after the war ends.

  Today, Tryon’s name still appears in various places in North Carolina, and the Tryon Palace—his opulent former Governor’s mansion in New Bern—remains a historic site and museum. Throughout the state, other streets, parks, and even a small town also bear his name.

  In New York, Tryon’s name also appears more than one might think, given the justifiable antipathy that American officials held toward him after the war. Fort Tryon Park, a large historic site near the northern tip of Manhattan, just above 190th Street, is the most prominent example. There’s also a street in the Bronx named after him, and in New York State’s capital city, Albany, a few streets and buildings also bear his name.

  Tryon’s career in the colonies in the Revolutionary War era was full of intrigue and controversy. From the point of view of the Americans, he can only be viewed as a villain. Nonetheless, he was a man of influence and power, who was often at the center of seismic events. Most important, if his plot had been successful, American history—and perhaps America itself—might not exist as we know it today.

  However one views Tryon’s career as a whole during the Revolutionary War, one question remains: What are we to make of the audacious conspiracy he masterminded in the spring and summer of 1776?

  81

  Whatever grand designs William Tryon had for his scheme, when the British fleet finally arrived at New York City at the end of June 1776, much of what Tryon tried to plan was successfully thwarted before it could come to fruition.

  Thanks to the round-the-clock efforts on the part of the Committee on Conspiracies, the local and colonial authorities had already disabled much of the conspiracy—and just in time. In total, they made almost forty arrests and took the handful of guilty Life Guards out of the picture.

  Also, Hickey’s public hanging probably discouraged other plotters who were still out there from following through on their plans.

  In the end, the conspirators never destroyed the King’s Bridge, they never blew up the powder magazine in New York City, and no Life Guard ever actually made an attempt on George Washington’s life.

  Yet there is no question that Tryon successfully recruited many colonists and some Continental soldiers to join the British side that summer. When the British arrived, Governor Tryon’s many Loyalist recruits became part of their war effort. Before and during the Battle of Brooklyn, these Loyalists also served as valuable local scouts—with intimate knowledge of the territory, they could guide the British troops through the complicated terrain and waterways of the New York region. Very likely, when Tryon commanded provincial forces in 1777, many of his soldiers originally came from his secret recruitment scheme the previous summer.

  On the American side, the stories and rumors about the conspiracy almost immediately take on a life of their own. The treasonous nature of the plot and the drama of Thomas Hickey’s hanging, as well as the many aspects of the scheme that still remain mysterious, all comb
ine to give the entire episode the quality of a legend or myth.

  In its immediate wake, rumors and tall tales begin to emerge about what “really happened” in the scandalous Hickey plot.

  George Washington’s cryptic comment about “lewd women” alone generates a small cottage industry of stories about prostitutes, mistresses, adulteresses, and other femmes fatales who may have played a role behind the scenes.

  One noteworthy example comes from the writer Washington Irving, whose 1850s multivolume biography of George Washington includes a letter that mentions a mysterious woman, possibly a mistress of George Washington. According to the letter, this woman is the one who first warns the Commander of the assassination plot against him.

  However, the most famous tall tale about the entire episode is undoubtedly the legend of the poisoned peas. There are many variations of the story, but the common thread is that Thomas Hickey, perhaps with the help of the housekeeper Mary Smith, attempted to assassinate George Washington by poisoning his dinner peas.

  In many versions of the story, Washington actually sits down at his dinner table with the plate of lethal peas in front of him. Then, at the last minute, a female servant on his staff dramatically races to the table, grabs the plate, and throws the peas out the window. Minutes later some chickens outside the window eat the peas off the ground—and promptly drop dead.

  It’s a pretty good story, and allows for many variants. In one version, the young servant is the daughter of Samuel Fraunces, a friend of Washington’s who ran the legendary Fraunces Tavern in Manhattan where Washington sometimes dined while stationed in New York that summer.

  In another variant, the young servant is Thomas Hickey’s mistress, who was originally in on the wicked scheme, but has a last-minute change of heart and saves the General.

  Although no part of the poisoned-peas story has been verified—and most versions of it are easy to debunk—the story rose to prominence in the nineteenth century and has been told and retold enough over time that it’s still sometimes repeated and shared today.