Brian Kilmeade - George Washington's Secret Six

All around the British-occupied areas of New York and New Jersey, reports of attacks upon local women by both individual soldiers and groups of the garrisoned troops were made with startling regularity as early as the summer of 1776. Many cases were handled with a casual nonchalance as simply part of the collateral damage of war. On August 5, 1776, Lord Rawdon, a cavalry officer stationed on Staten Island, wrote a rather cavalier letter to his good friend Francis Hastings, tenth Earl of Huntingdon, back home in England, in which Rawdon declared:

The fair nymphs of this isle are in wonderful tribulation, as the fresh meat our men have got here has made them as riotous as satyrs. A girl cannot step into the bushes to pluck a rose without running the most imminent risk of being ravished, and they are so little accustomed to these vigorous methods that they don’t bear them with the proper resignation, and of consequence we have most entertaining courts-martial every day.

In the city, there was already a growing industry catering to the carnal urges of the occupying troops. As Woodhull’s sister Mary surely discovered, running a reputable boardinghouse in Manhattan was a growing challenge as the demand grew for rooms that offered more than just a cot, a basin for washing, and a hot meal. But on the more provincial Staten Island and on Long Island there were not nearly as many opportunities for paid pleasure—so women found themselves afraid for their safety even as upper- and middle-class families were often required to open their houses for quartering soldiers. With many men away fighting on either side, or being held as political prisoners, wives and daughters left behind to tend to a house full of strange men with muskets found themselves in a precarious situation. Even if most officers conducted themselves as befitted an English gentleman, there was a nervous tension, a constant fear and distrust that settled over each town where the king’s men made themselves at home.

Woodhull had noticed it in the eyes of the men and women he passed on the street each day—that fear and weariness of a war that was still relatively young. Many islanders expressed little or no opinion as they went about their daily lives, but there were some who seemed to speak to one another through glances:

“Did we not welcome the king’s army like loyal subjects? Is this how we are to be repaid?”

“Must we go without so they can live in abundance?”

“They attack our farms and our daughters, and yet we are forced to keep silent or be branded a traitor.”

“I am subject to King George with my land, my money, and my fidelity but—by God!—I am not subject to his men and certainly not under my own roof!”

AN INTERVIEW

How exactly Tallmadge and Woodhull reconnected and concocted the first phase of their plan is not exactly clear. It is almost certain that Tallmadge intercepted his old neighbor and family friend in Connecticut, as the risk of setting foot in occupied New York City or Long Island would have been too great. Most of Connecticut was still solidly in American hands in August 1778, providing a good meeting point for the two men.

Under heavy cover, whether at a local watering hole or within the home of a well-vetted government official with proven allegiances, Tallmadge informed Woodhull of his charge from Washington. He was to install a ring of spies to convey information from Manhattan either directly over the border to Connecticut or, perhaps more safely, across the Sound to Long Island and from there to the more rural areas of Connecticut—and thus much farther from British inspectors who might possibly intercept the intelligence. There, Tallmadge could receive and analyze the sensitive information before spiriting it away to wherever Washington happened to be encamped at the time, which was almost always within just a few days’ ride of New York City.

“You’re saying I’d have license to work as I see fit—hire the men I want and carry out . . . the business the way I think it ought to go?” Woodhull asked gruffly.

“Completely,” Tallmadge assured him. “General Washington wants the work carried out by men who know the land, the water, and the people—a local man, in other words.”

“Who else knows about this? I don’t want my name and my business put out there to anyone I don’t know and trust.”

“Everything would be guarded with the utmost confidence,” Tallmadge promised. “Only General Washington and I need know about your involvement.” Woodhull seemed twitchy, nervous—and not without cause. Tallmadge therefore felt there was no need to mention Brigadier General Scott, the spymaster for the Continental Army and a man with whom Tallmadge rarely saw eye-to-eye, as his hope was to bypass Scott as much as possible anyway.

Woodhull turned the proposition over carefully in his mind. “But why me, of all the folks on Long Island you could have chosen? What are you to do if I decline your offer?”

Tallmadge looked Woodhull in the eye. “You have a good estate with a good farm and a good income. Now, I know your sister Susannah is still living at home, but there are no wife and no children waiting at home for you whose welfare may cause you to check your daring. You know the countryside, the best places to pick up gossip, which roads to use. I’ve been away some years but you’ve stayed on at home, building a life and building relationships. I know things have been difficult since the British landed and I don’t envy what you have had to endure watching the redcoats loot and burn the places you love most. You know (God forbid!) the escape routes. But, most important, I know that no matter what mask you may wear in public right now, you believe that this war must be won for the sake of human dignity. And New York must be had if that is to happen.”

There was a moment of silence before Woodhull spoke. “But it’s not just me. What about the others you want me to enlist? What makes you think they can be relied upon to carry out their jobs? To stay silent rather than panic the first time a lobsterback comes too near?”

“I assume you would recruit only men you knew to be of stalwart disposition and courage commensurate to the task.”

“So I must ask my closest friends to gamble their own fortunes and lives?”

“We went over that already and took those concerns into account.” Tallmadge leaned forward. “Abraham, we’ve known each other for a long time. Our families have known each other for a long time. If you believe that”—he paused and checked his words—“those handful of names we’ve discussed can be trusted with a mission this important in pursuit of a cause so sacred, then so do I. I have the fullest faith in you to dispatch your duty as well as you and your assistants are able.”

“And you promise I won’t have any dandified officers from Charleston or Boston or God knows where else landing on my sliver of land and trying to tell me about how things should work?” Woodhull insisted.

Tallmadge raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that exactly the sort of thing that started this war in the first place?”

NEW IDENTITIES

A few days later, on the afternoon of August 25, Major Tallmadge met with his commander in chief at his current encampment in White Plains, New York. The aim of this two-man congress was to allow Tallmadge to recount the meeting in Connecticut and assuage Washington’s concern on several fronts—whether Woodhull could be trusted, whether he was a skilled enough judge of character to recruit loyal men, and whether his primary aim was patriotism or profit. The other issue of utmost importance was the creation of pseudonyms. The stakes were far too high for Tallmadge and Woodhull to use their real names, especially in any kind of correspondence. In Tallmadge’s case, an intercepted letter would make him an even higher-value target should the British learn he was now dabbling in espionage. In Woodhull’s case, living in the midst of the enemy, identification meant immediate arrest likely followed by a trip to the gallows.