Of Wildflowers and Gunpowder

Chapter 19

    "Aye, how'd it go? Your lady still angry?" Caleb asked, adding, "well, I can't say I blame her; you messed up pretty badly this time, didn't ya?"
     Benjamin grinned. "I asked her." A look of surprise came over Caleb's face and he began to laugh.
     "Took you long enough! I hope she knows what she's got herself into, being your wife."
     "I've never been more in love with anyone, Caleb," Benjamin gushed, pouring himself a cup of ginger ale, "she's perfect. And the way she argues is just...I've never met anyone like her. She's strong and brave and elegant and fierce and lovely-"
"Hold it right there, Benny. If you're about to start crying or something, you take that somewhere else. I'm here for the gossip. So where is she? I thought she'd be hanging all over you at this point."
Benjamin groaned and slouched further into his chair, holding the cup to his lips. "Washington decided to send her into the city on an overnight scouting mission. Can you believe him?"
Caleb laughed. "Well, you know how much she wanted to have an assignment, Ben."
"She could get killed!"
"Washington finally gave her the place she deserves in this ring and you're just worried for her safety? Don't you think she's worried for yours sometimes too?"
"That's different," Benjamin countered.
"Is it?"
A look passed between the two men and they both acknowledged that the differences were exceedingly slighter than Benjamin wanted to admit.
"She'll be fine. Like you said, she's fierce."

     When I arrived outside Burgwin's Tavern and Inn, my hands were shaking. With a deep breath, I put on an air of false sophistication and gave a condescending smile to the people gathered to watch as I stepped onto the cobblestone street in my over-trimmed gown.
I was acting as a lower-class woman who fancied herself on equal footing with every gentleman and lady in Virginia—a true nobody that thought herself everything.
     I imagined everyone I had met who had low connections, gave themselves immense airs, and expect to be on footing with the established families in a neighborhood, and I carried myself in a way that made me seem as though I were one of them.
     It felt strange to be so pretentious on purpose, but it was imperative that I did not seem an expert in manners or natural elegance while dealing with the men in Yorktown. The more disagreeable to respectable people, the better.
I glanced up at the carriage driver who gave me a sympathetic nod before taking the reins and driving away, my last friendly face.
Inside, every table was filled with drunk British soldiers, yelling and banging their cups violently against the table. A few hollered vulgar comments as I passed by. In that moment, it became clear how much danger I was in.
The man at the counter, whom I assumed was Joseph Burgwin, tipped his cocked hat and winked at me as I approached him. "Now what is a fine lady like yourself doing in my tavern? You looking for a soldier to keep you company?"
"I need a room for the night," I said curtly, slapping a pile of British pounds on the counter, "My own room. Undisturbed." He raised his eyebrows but accepted the money without hesitation.
     "Upstairs. Second room on the right," he grumbled, "but I can't promise that last part, Miss. You're on your own."
Frustrated, I pulled out more coins. "How much until you can promise that last part?" He was caught off guard by my persistence but replied, "I suppose I could do that for another five pence."
"That's far too much!" I exclaimed, "but, if you've kept these men out of my room by tomorrow, I'll pay you and extra six pence in the morning." He nodded and I marched upstairs, seething.
Only one night, I told myself as I sat on the edge of the stained and musty-smelling bed. After an hour or so getting settled in the room, I put a piece of paper and a steel quill pen into my pocket and made my way out of the tavern towards the docks.
Washington said that there were patriots in the city that could help me, but I had no idea where to find them. My only option was to do my best working alone for the time being.
The wharf was bustling with activity, thousands of British soldiers carrying piles of guns and food rations to and from the elaborate ships. I counted eleven British ships as far as I could see and a small circle of high-ranking officers were huddled together, talking intently about something.
As discreetly as I could, I scribbled the type and number of ships, the supplies being unloaded from them, and my rough estimate of how many soldiers were present.
As important as these things were, they were general information and nothing that would be of immense help to Washington.
"Excuse me, Ma'am?" A deep voice behind me said. I jumped back, startled, to find an African man in a British uniform with a sly grin on his face. I shoved the paper I was writing on into my pocket and tried to compose myself.
     "My name is James Armistead," he said, producing his own piece of paper from a satchel around his shoulder and looking between me and the parchment repeatedly, "and it is my understanding that you are here on a short visit to this city? The Marquis de Lafayette asked for me to find you and speak with you."
He turned the paper around and, to my surprise, it was a drawing of me with Lafayette's signature on the bottom. "I apologize," I stammered, "but I have no idea what you are talking about."
     In reality, I was pretty confident that he was being honest but I was too cautious to let my guard down just yet. Lafayette had often spoken of a man named James Armistead and said he was a double agent for our cause. To find him here in Yorktown was credible, since he was supposed to be reporting on Cornwallis.
     He sensed my hesitation and handed me the drawing with a chuckle. It really was me, even my hair was the same shade of dark blonde and a small bruise on my jaw leftover from Simcoe's abuse a few weeks ago. The impeccable signature most certainly belonged to the Marquis.
     "My name is Louisa," I said with a smile, bowing deeply, "I have heard about you from the Marquis. It's wonderful to find a friendly face here."
     "Where are you staying?" James asked, bowing to an officer as we walked by.
"Burgwin's Tavern."
     He gave a small gasp of outrage. "You can't stay there, Ma'am. It's entirely too dangerous-"
"I know," I interrupted, touching the feather on my enormous hat, "It's just a tonight, and I am trying to portray a woman of the lower sort. But I fear that I won't have much of a chance to converse with the men there to retrieve information; it isn't very friendly for women who aren't draggle-tails and most of them are of a low rank."
"Tomorrow, you must visit the Swan Tavern. It is much safer for you than Burgwin's, and the officers visit there multiple times a week. I'll introduce you tomorrow morning so they trust you. But here," he pulled out a telescope from his satchel, "is my information from the last few days." He removed the lens to reveal a piece of paper curled up inside and I grinned.
     "Approximately 9,000 troops," I read from his calculations, reaching for my own notes, "I guessed 8,500."
      He laughed and exclaimed, "Only a true New York agent could estimate that closely. I'm impressed."
A horn sounded in the harbor and he said, "I must beg your leave, Miss Tallmadge. I beg you to be careful. Visit Swan Tavern tomorrow and I will try to be there!"
He began to run off but stopped and turned around, reaching for a small dagger in its holster on his waist. "Take this, I fear you may need it."
     Holding it in my hands hesitantly, I whispered an anxious thank you before he jogged down the ramp towards the ships, talking and laughing with other soldiers.
As the sun set and candles were lit along the street corners, I made my way hurriedly back to the tavern with the dagger hidden in one of my pockets between my petticoats. I simply hoped it wouldn't stab me in the leg, or cut any of the pocket's embroidery work I had spent so much time on during the winter in Valley Forge.
The commotion from inside the building could be heard in the street and I dreaded walking by those men again, who seemed to never leave their drinking spot. I knew it was to my benefit, though, because they would be too drunk to realize that they were giving away valuable information to a stranger.
"Hey, miss!" A soldier called out when I came inside, "Would a pretty little tail like yourself care to drink?"
Swallowing my indignation at being called a prostitute, I muttered, "Alright. But I can't stay long." He and his friends cheered and one of them patted their lap as if I was going to sit on him. I chose a seat across the table.
     "What brings you here to Yorktown, m'lady?" Someone called, exchanging mischievous glances with the lieutenant beside him.
"Oh, there's better company wherever the army goes," I said casually, hating myself with every word that escaped my mouth, "so tell me, are you all going to be in town for a while?"
     "I heard we'll be marching up to New York within a few weeks," one of them piped up, proud to catch my attention, "on account of Washington's siege on York City."
     "Ah, yes, the old fox," I said pretending as if I knew what he was talking about, "Is he up north now?" They all nodded.
"He thinks he's got Lord Cornwallis fooled but we've got intelligence. We know he's planning an attack on York City."
"It's a wonder anyone could believe they could outsmart the British military!" I said with a smile.
Just then, someone stood up on a table and began yelling for everyone's attention, a newspaper in his hand.
"'After a humiliating defeat by Lord Cornwallis," he read with everyone's rapt interest, "the rebels kidnapped Major John André who was operating under a truce, violating the honors of war as they have done many times in the past. The one responsible for the slaughtering of our hero and well-beloved friend is Louisa Adams, Washington's personal mistress. She is very popular among the Continental officers, despite her lack of elegance and connections, inability in domestic arts, and plain, impoverished appearance. Some say she spends her nights between both Washington and Benjamin Tallmadge, traitor and Long Island native.'"
I was stunned. My heart pounded in my ears as I looked around anxiously, searching for any unusual behavior that would suggest that they knew who I really was. Instead, the men all exploded in a cacophony of boos and hoots and vulgar statements.
I barely heard the rest of the article. I️ was furious.
"And look," the soldier said excitedly, "there's a picture!" I panicked and got ready to leave quickly if I needed to as they passed around the paper. If someone recognized me, I could jeopardize the entire operation. When it arrived at my table, I snatched it from their hands.
To my relief, it looked nothing like me. But to my horror, it was a cartoon drawing of a barely-dressed woman labeled Louisa Adams, the Patriot game-pullet. I was draped across a whole group of officers including Washington, Laurens, Hamilton, Benjamin, the Marquis de Lafayette, and Nathaniel Greene (whom I had never even met). We were all standing on a tattered American flag and, with the soldiers' eyes trained on me, a group of victorious, heroic-looking British officers crept up in the background. The caption read, Rebel Priorities.
Disgusted, I threw it down on the table and the men grabbed it up, laughing and adding their own bits of insight. This was enough for one night.
     I excused myself quietly and stood to go upstairs but one of them grabbed my arm, jerking me back and putting an arm around my waist. "Hey, you just got here! Let me escort you to your room!"
     "No, I am perfectly fine, thank you," I said firmly, wrenching away from him. They began to stand up and surround me and I searched frantically for the tavern-keeper who had promised to keep them away. He looked at me from across the room and gave me an infuriating smile.
     "Sixpence," I mouthed to him as someone pulled at my hair. He shook his head.
     "Seven." Another terrible smile.
     "Ten-pence!" I shouted across the room in a panic. He was unable to refuse that much money. Making his way over as slowly as possible, he calmly said, "Come on, boys, she'll come around eventually. Let the little wench go."
     They grumbled and glared at me but they sat down without a fight as I picked up my petticoats and ran upstairs, unable to stop the tears from falling. I was nothing but a little wench now.