Brooklyn, Long Island, September 9th, 1776
Drummond summoned Digby to his office. A summons from the major was not unusual, but this one had a particular urgency to it. Digby saluted and stood at attention. Drummond kept him that way, another unusual move. He held an apple in his hand and slowly bit into it. After chewing and swallowing the first bite, he spoke.
“Take a seat, Sergeant.”
Digby sat down, puzzled by the strange procedure. He thought that he understood officers but this one was quite different. Nevertheless, he paid well.
“This is of the utmost secrecy,” Drummond said. “We must meet Golden Apple tonight. You will accompany me along with Quaif and Brent. Under no circumstances can Golden Apple see you, nor you he, as the conditions of our agreement make me the only British officer who can know his identity.
Digby nodded. “Where are we going, sir?”
Drummond had a map spread out on the table and Digby could see a mark placed at the northeast shore of the peninsula that formed Wallabout Bay. “To an abandoned barn not far from here.”
Digby cleared his throat. “Seems we been out that way before, sir.”
“Yes, not too far from our last meeting, but this time, with Golden Apple, himself, not one of his hirelings. This is a meeting of significance. Do not tell your men where we are going or why. You will remain out of earshot unless I summon you. While we meet, your job is to provide security for us. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly, sir,” Digby replied. “When do we ride?”
“At eleven. We rendezvous at midnight. An early arrival will allow your men to search the area for unwanted interlopers.”
“That last time was a bit of an embarrassment if I do say so, sir.”
“One that must not happen again, Sergeant.”
When Digby left, Drummond removed his riding boots. His knee still throbbed from the impact of the bullet. He had lost some movement in the knee and even a slow ride caused discomfort. The surgeons had informed him that he might always have some pain, although perhaps not as great as it was at present, and would walk with a limp and ride with some difficulty. He took a spoonful of the medicine the surgeon had prescribed–something the man had found when posted to the Indies–and mixed it with tea and honey. It eased the pain and made him feel exhilarated, and was much more potent than rum or whisky.
By time they set out to meet Golden Apple the moon had already set. Drummond led the three dragoons at a fast pace. So fast, Digby feared one of the horses might stumble, as the night was black as ink and the terrain very uneven. After crossing several farm fields and orchards, they entered a light wooded area that bordered the high ground overlooking the bay.
When they finally reached the ridge above the bay Drummond suddenly halted Shoe and they dismounted. Brent held the horses while Drummond led Digby and Quaif to the crest. As they looked down into the darkness, they could just make out the shoreline fifty feet below stretching almost fifty yards out into the river. Just below them and some 100 yards to their right a lantern glimmered faintly.
“The all clear signal, that is Golden Apple,” Drummond whispered to Digby. “Stand watch from here, and make sure there are no rebel spies about.”
Digby nodded. Drummond unbuckled his scabbard and unsheathed his saber so he could make his way down the cliff more easily. He was gone from sight in a few moments. After a very long fifteen minutes, Drummond was back on the ridge. He was panting and grimacing from the effort but smiled tensely at Digby and gave a nod toward the horses, signaling their departure. Digby noticed the limp was all the worse for the climb and wondered why Drummond did not take one of them to assist him.
When they arrived back, Drummond dismissed the men. He had unfinished business to attend–in private. Once in his own quarters he lit two candles and then carefully opened the envelope left for him under the lantern. It contained a sketch map with several lines marking the American defenses along the coast. The map was not detailed, but it had enough clarity to help General Howe plan the expected attack against the rebels in New York. Drummond noted that the defenses seemed sparse with little artillery noted. It should be another day on parade, he thought to himself.
* * *
The next day, Stanislaus Kuyper unlocked Braaf’s cell door and let in Major Sandy Drummond. When the door closed, and Kuyper’s footsteps faded down the hall, he grinned at Braaf, who eyed him with a fearful anticipation. Braaf’s stay in the gaol at the hands of his former rival was not pleasant. Now this grinning major came to torment him, or worse.
Drummond addressed Braaf in a low but deliberate voice. “Well, things went quite perfectly–Golden Apple! Your man left the packet just where you said it would be. I must say, Braaf; His Majesty’s forces owe their success in this campaign in great part to your efforts. First, informing us of the unguarded pass at Jamaica, then of the weakness in the Brooklyn defenses, and now this. This is valuable information. Perhaps I will receive recognition enough for promotion and more. And, should you play things out for me, there will be even more gold in it for you.”
Braaf was not amused, “Things might have gone better if your stupid and lustful soldiers had stayed away from my home and my daughter.”
“Plain bad luck. Not in the plan at all. Besides, our soldiers have deflowered many a fair maiden these past weeks, both willing and unwilling. Privileges of a conquering army, I am afraid. Well I guess your rebel friends did your work for you.”
“Yes, fortunate that they were there. Krista was assaulted, but the worst was avoided at least. She would not have lived through their depravations. But why have you charged me with a crime you know I did not commit?”
“Well, because doing so enables us to advance our plan to the next stage,” Drummond smiled slyly.
“What do you mean...the next stage?” Asked Braaf. He suddenly became suspicious of his erstwhile collaborator.
“Well you see, I decided to satisfy His Majesty’s demand for justice and need for intelligence in one turn of the cards. You will escape from this gaol and make your way over to the rebel headquarters as an aggrieved man unjustly accused of murder. Once there, you will continue to provide us with information on the rebel forces, such as their numbers, morale, state of equipment and intentions. Oh yes, and try to determine if they have any spies in our midst, that will be worth a bonus.”
Braaf sputtered his reply. “An interesting plan, Major, but I now have only two men working in Foch’s firm, now that Coby has been killed.”
Drummond replied. “Killed? How do you know? Well, no matter. Just an unfortunate and unanticipated consequence of this nefarious work, Mijnheer Braaf. Still, I am confident of the tight security that I have placed around our arrangement. I am the only person who knows your identity. My three men and three of our generals are the only people who know that I have a reliable spy code-named, Golden Apple. Since I have just ‘met’ with Golden Apple–nobody can connect you with the name. Even my own men.”
Braaf’s brow furrowed. “Meaning what, may I ask?”
“Locally, you will be known as a Patriot who has joined the rebel cause for revenge. Your daughter’s unfortunate experience has proven a valuable accident. Her attackers are to be commended.” Drummond smirked, infuriating Braaf.
“You are a swine!” Braaf burst out in a bellow that stunned both their ears.
Drummond smirked again, “Excellent. Your anger with me will be heard throughout the gaol. You will cooperate, of course, as these Home Guard ruffians would gladly have their worst with you, and more importantly, your family. And of course, your Patriot son would fare poorly once Mr. Washington learns that his father was the traitor who caused his destruction on Long Island.”
Braaf’s face flushed red. “Threaten my son as well? You are a sow! A filthy sow!”
Drummond ignored the insults and unfolded a map with coded markings of places where he would expect Braaf to leave packets. Braaf was surprised to see that the markings included not just the island of New York but also several in Westchester along the Sound as well as the North River valley. There were twelve in all.
“The instructions contained within the map must be safeguarded. Essentially, they give dates and times for meetings in the next three months. You will write your wife and daughter frequent letters that we will intercept and open as they go back and forth. Your letters should include the dates and times, as well as the selected meeting points when you have information for us. Use your imagination in getting it into context. You have a great intellect and are most resourceful. Meanwhile, we will continue to place gold in your account, and we will care for your family. I will see to it personally...”
Braaf cut him off, “Keep away from my family...and they must know nothing of this. They are innocent and would not be proud of a man who engages in this kind of work.”
Drummond gave him a sympathetic look, “If you keep your letters discreet and your information valuable, when this rebellion is crushed you will be one of the wealthiest and most prominent men in the colonies. And a hero, you should likely be a hero after all of this.”
Drummond chuckled at his own wit. Braaf, normally a very cautious man averse to risk, was devastated. He now knew that his trial and sentence were a mockery, a charade intended to take suspicion away from him. Spying for a British army that seemed poised to win anyway had been an easy although not casual decision that he pulled off expertly. However, to put oneself in the rebel camp as a spy was sheer madness. Drummond, his erstwhile friend, had played him perfectly; had trapped him. The British would hold his family hostage and force him to take any risks they demanded. The very idea of this plan made him sick. However, he had one trump card and he was certainly glad that he had not played it yet: Cornelius Foch.
Foch had approached the rebels to volunteer espionage services right under Braaf’s nose. A big mistake, but proved that Foch considered him a most reliable Patriot and that he trusted him on a personal level. Yes, at a suitable time he might be able to use Foch’s espionage to his advantage. When that time would be depended on many factors, most of them unknown at this point. Controlling his panic and despair, Braaf decided to cooperate with Drummond. Perhaps, once safe in New York, he could give up Foch in return for his gold, his family, and freedom from the stress of his spying. However, before all of that could unfold, he needed to make his “escape” to the rebel camp.
* * *
General Howe held an important meeting with his senior staff to decide on a course of action at last, with Clinton and Cornwallis once again its main executors.
Clinton spoke first. “The plan is complex, Milord. First, your brother Richard has agreed to launch diversionary moves by naval vessels up and down both the North and East Rivers. His warships will begin the attack with barrage fire at various defenses along the shore. This fire will be followed by a diversionary landing, mostly Royal Marines, on one of the islands off the northeastern corner of Manhattan.”
Howe scratched his chin. “Why waste the time and effort?”
Cornwallis bristled; the diversion had been his idea. “Milord, this would indicate a movement toward King’s Bridge or even Westchester. Washington would maneuver forces north to avoid being cut off from New England, weakening his center.”
Clinton cut him off with a look. “Once these actions have been accomplished, the actual landing will take place just north of the city at an area called Kips Bay. Our brigade secretly stationed near Bushwick has only to sail directly across after the arrival of their supporting warships.”
Howe nodded to the officers, “Despite my best efforts, gentlemen, it seems my attempt to obtain terms from the rebels has failed. So I am now compelled to act. I believe this plan is sound–but it relies heavily on the element of surprise....”
The specific points of attack were in great part determined by the information Sandy Drummond had provided to Clinton and Cornwallis. It enabled them to assure the reluctant Howe that now was the time, while they had visibility into Mr. Washington’s dispositions. After discussing the plan in detail, the meeting adjourned. Generals Clinton and Cornwallis remained behind for discreet discussions with their commander. The subject was espionage.
A somewhat nervous Clinton opened the conversation, “Milord, Sandy Drummond informs me that he has prepared a scheme to place a spy among the Americans.”
Howe startled. “Did I hear you correctly? A spy? Why...we are already receiving reports from the New York Tories, are we not?”
Clinton replied. “Yes, of course. The occasional Loyalist who steals across the water from time to time is of some assistance but their reports concern observations of the rebel army from without. We need intelligence from within. Moreover, we cannot always depend on the veracity and completeness of such irregular reports. If this resistance continues for any great period of time I for one would prefer inside reports from a spy rather than rely to the random reports of the Loyalists.”
Howe thrust his hands behind his back and paced back and forth before the marble fireplace that dominated the great room that served as his headquarters. “An intriguing proposition, gentlemen. Still, this sort of skullduggery troubles me. I have never liked it. How sure are you of the loyalty of this spy? And who is it?”
Cornwallis spoke, “A Mr. Jan Braaf, a notable attorney and...”
“Braaf? Braaf? Was he not just sentenced to death by court martial? You want to use a convicted murderer of British soldiers to spy for us? What madness is this? This damnable war has cost us the approbation of many once loyal subjects of the King, has shed needless English and American blood, put some of our other colonies at risk, and now it has taken the sanity of my two best generals!”
The normally calm and affable Howe was more agitated than they had ever seen him. He pounded his right fist into his left palm.
Clinton quickly cut him off before he became apoplectic. “Milord, this murder trial was all a ruse to cover the plot. Rogue Americans killed those soldiers as they were in the process of deflowering Braaf’s daughter. Ever resourceful, Sandy Drummond seized on this to charge Braaf with the crime and force him to cooperate further. He is now under death sentence so that his hatred toward us will allay rebel suspicions when he ‘escapes’ to the American lines. Meanwhile, his wife and daughter will be under the watchful eyes of His Majesty’s forces and the Brooklyn Home Guard. It seems the commander of said unit loathes Braaf. It is a brilliant plan, I must say.”
“Are all of these machinations really necessary? I find it somehow...unseemly.” Howe’s tone showed that he had already acceded to the scheme.
“Yes Milord, all that it now requires is for you to approve this death sentence.” Cornwallis handed him the document, which Howe signed without reading.