The Spy at Tarlton House
Like many patriots in Massachusetts colony, most people living in Puritan Falls were in favor of independence from Great Britain. For the past several years, King George had been a thorn in the side of the American colonies. With the passage of the Stamp Act, tax money was to go directly to England rather than to the colonial legislatures. Immediately following the Stamp Act came the Quartering Act of 1765 that required colonists to give shelter and food to British troops.
Both of these edicts were naturally met with a good deal of resistance. In Boston, a secret group, which went by the name of the Sons of Liberty, was formed. Its members used intimidation and violence to force British stamp agents to resign and to convince colonial merchants to boycott British goods. Civil disobedience soon spread to the other colonies. The New York assembly blatantly refused to comply with the Quartering Act. Consequently, General Thomas Gage, commander in chief of all British forces in North America, was instructed to force the rebellious colonists to obey.
Just when a show of force appeared imminent, King George relented and signed a bill repealing the Stamp Act. His decision was prompted by a debate in Parliament at which revered American statesman Benjamin Franklin appeared and warned the members that if the British military took action, there might be a full-scale revolution in the Colonies. The colonists' diplomatic victory was short-lived, however. Although the Stamp Act was no more, Parliament passed the Declaratory Act giving the English government complete power to pass laws governing the American Colonies. A year later the Townshend Acts were passed, imposing taxes on imports such as paper, glass, paints and tea.
As England tightened its grasp on America, the Colonies became more defiant. Massachusetts' boycott of English goods spread south to Rhode Island, New Jersey and North Carolina. Citizens of Boston were urged to arm themselves. Isolated incidents of violence broke out in New York between the Sons of Liberty and British troops. Finally, in March 1770 British soldiers, harassed by a mob of Boston patriots, fired their muskets into a crowd of civilians. Five people were killed and six others were wounded. Again, the threat of war loomed on the horizon, and again it was averted.
Following the Boston Massacre, the Townshend Acts were repealed, and the Quartering Act was no longer enforced. However, the seed of revolution had been planted. The North American continent was like a powder keg waiting to be set off. In May of 1773, the flint was struck in England that provided the needed spark.
The Tea Act not only imposed an import tax on tea arriving in the Colonies, but it also gave the British East India Company a monopoly, allowing it to sell directly to British tea agents and undersell American merchants. The shockwaves of this explosive act could be felt along the entire eastern seaboard, from New Hampshire to Georgia. Representatives from the Colonies met in Philadelphia to protest the new tax. Meanwhile, in December 1773, patriots disguised as Mohawk Indians boarded a British vessel in Boston Harbor and dumped 342 containers of tea into the Atlantic Ocean.
In retaliation to the Boston Tea Party, Parliament passed a series of Coercive, or Intolerable, Acts. The Boston Port Bill prohibited commercial shipping in Boston Harbor until such time as the Colony of Massachusetts reimbursed the East India Company for the loss of the tea. General Thomas Gage arrived in Boston, assumed the duties of royal governor and placed Massachusetts under military rule. In Gage's wake came four regiments of British troops, and a new version of the Quartering Act was passed, requiring all the Colonies to provide housing for British soldiers.
Thus, the powder keg was full, and the fuse would soon be lit.
* * *
"The thought of a red coat sleeping under my roof is unbearable," cried Titus Tremaine, proprietor of the Pine Cone Ordinary, a popular tavern along the much-traveled Plymouth-Salem Turnpike.
"Cheer up, man. This can't go on too much longer," declared Custis Tarlton, a wealthy Puritan Falls merchant. "Not if Sam Adams has his way."
"I have no doubt we in Massachusetts will fight to the death to gain independence, but what about the other twelve Colonies? Do you think they'd be willing to risk their lives for us?"
"What King George does to Boston today, he may do to New York, Philadelphia and Williamsburg tomorrow. Word is that General Gage has seized the arsenal at Charlestown. That has to make the Carolina colonies nervous."
"There are still a large number of loyalists who don't want to break ties with England," Tremaine argued, "and they'll have representation in this new congress that's to meet in Philadelphia."
"Opposition to the Crown grows with each act of Parliament. With every new tax King George imposes upon us, we grow stronger and the loyalists weaker."
"But even if a miracle should occur and all thirteen Colonies agree to break off from England, how can we hope to win? The British army is the most experienced and powerful fighting force in the world. Even if we had the help of France or Spain, we'd still be up against insurmountable odds."
"Nothing worth having comes easily."
"But in the meantime, I'll have to tolerate a damned lobsterback under my roof!"
"As will most of us."
"Aye, but I've got a daughter to worry about. The last thing I want is a half-British grandchild."
* * *
Deborah Selwyn did not mind being a servant at the Tarlton home. She had been there since she was a child, not long after her parents were killed in a fire and she was left an orphan. The master and mistress had always been kind and generous to her, treating her more like a daughter than an employee.
When Honor Tarlton asked her to clean the third-floor guest room, Deborah did so without question. After the room was dusted and fresh linens placed on the bed, the girl went down to the kitchen to help prepare supper.
"Have you heard the news?" the cook asked in a low voice she normally reserved for the juiciest bits of gossip. "We'll be getting a visitor."
"I know. The mistress told me to ready the third-floor guest room."
"Did she tell you who's to be sleeping there?"
"No, but it can't be anyone important, or else he would be put in the second-floor guest room."
"It's no one we want to have around here; you can be sure of that!"
"Well, tell me then. Who is it?"
"An officer of his majesty's army."
"What? The enemy here under our roof?" Deborah cried in indignation.
"Aye," the cook replied with a laugh, "and I'll bet Master Tarlton isn't happy about it."
* * *
Lt. Tristan Wade arrived in Puritan Falls the following morning. The journey from Boston, although fairly short, had been most unpleasant, given the heat and humidity of the summer day. After announcing his arrival to the mistress of the house, he rudely demanded a bath be prepared for him.
"And after I've had a chance to bathe, I'll have tea in my room."
The mistress of the house carefully hid her anger at the lieutenant's brusqueness and rang for Deborah.
"Our guest would like a bath. Could you heat some water and take it upstairs, please?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Deborah's beauty and curvaceous figure were not lost on the lieutenant.
"And who might you be?" he asked, appreciatively eyeing her charms.
"My name is Selwyn, sir. Deborah Selwyn."
Tristan was not in the least bit put off by the maid's cool response. After all, he had not expected a warm reception from the seditious colonists.
* * *
Tristan Wade and Benedict Bostwick, who was quartered at the Tremaine house, were prime examples of the old saying that misery loved company. Both men missed England and hated having to serve in the Colonies. It was quite natural then that a friendship developed between the two.
"I don't know how General Gage has stood it here so long," Tristan exclaimed one afternoon as the two officers took tea in the garden of the tavern keeper's home. "Imagine having to serve as Royal Governor of Massachusetts? It's the worst colony on this whole damned continent!"
"I quite agree with you," Benedict concurred. "The New World, indeed! I'll take the old one any day."
"When I joined the king's army, I never dreamt I'd wind up here in this cultural void. Why couldn't I have been sent to fight the French? At least the food is good in France."
"Let's not forget the French mademoiselles! Have you seen the women here?" Benedict asked with an exaggerated shudder. "Just take a look at the tavern keeper's daughter. Her face could sour milk."
"Come on, old chap. She can't be that bad."
"Oh, no? Rather than throw good tea into Boston Harbor, the colonists should have tossed her in."
The two men laughed heartily. Then Tristan confessed that he did not find the American women unattractive.
"In fact," he told his comrade in confidence, "there's a young servant girl in the house where I'm quartered who's quite comely."
"I'll bet she's one of those so-called patriots, though."
"Who pays attention to what a woman thinks? Most of them don't understand anything about politics because they lack a man's brains."
"Well, my friend, if she's as pretty as you say, who cares whether she has a brain or not?"
It would no doubt have surprised the two pompous Englishmen to know that Deborah did indeed have a brain and that she knew as much about the political situation in the Colonies as did most men. Yet while the two officers had no respect for a woman's intelligence or opinions, they both had a keen appreciation for the female form. Tristan, in particular, was a connoisseur of feminine beauty. In England, he'd had a long line of dazzling mistresses, including wives and daughters of low-ranking British soldiers and music hall actresses. He even counted among his conquests several titled women and a distant member of the royal family.
Deborah, in his opinion, was every bit as desirable as the women in England. What a shame it was for her to waste her life away in the Colonies. She was meant for better things. Perhaps while he was quartered in the Tarlton house, he could rectify the situation.
"I come from a very wealthy and highly connected family," Tristan boasted when the pretty servant brought his dinner to him one evening.
"Really," she replied, clearly not impressed with his lineage.
"When I return to England—after we've quashed this silly rebellion—I just might be persuaded to bring you with me."
"I'd never leave Puritan Falls. It's my home."
"I should think you'd be anxious to quit this provincial place. Massachusetts!" he spat with disgust. "Tell me, do they still burn witches here?"
"I'm surprised that you, being an Englishman, don't know that the penalty for witchcraft, under British law, is hanging. Anyway, there haven't been any accusations of witchcraft here in over eighty years."
"Even if the Yanks have started to slowly emerge from their former state of barbarism, what's your future going to be like here? You'll probably marry a farmer or a fisherman, bear him a half a dozen children and then grow old and fat before your time."
"And what would be so different across the Atlantic?"
"In England, you can have a fine house, beautiful clothes, jewels. I'll bet you'd look radiant in a ball gown with a sapphire necklace to compliment your blue eyes. Perhaps I'll buy you a new dress and see how lovely you look in it."
"No, thank you. I don't have much of an interest in clothes. Besides, the colonists are boycotting British goods until King George repeals the Boston Port Bill."
"Why should a pretty thing like you worry your head over matters that concern only men?"
Deborah bit her lip to keep from uttering a scathing retort.
"I guess I'll return to the kitchen now," she said sweetly. "That's where women belong, isn't it?"
* * *
In the back room of the Pine Cone Ordinary, the Puritan Falls Sons of Liberty met to discuss the latest news from Philadelphia.
"Congress officially declared its opposition to the Intolerable Acts," Custis announced. "It was suggested we form local militia units."
"It looks like the fighting will begin soon," Titus observed. "When it does, I'd like to take my musket and shoot that no-good Benedict Bostwick right in the ass."
Custis roared with laughter.
"So, your unwanted houseguest has been paying attention to your daughter, has he?"
"No, damn me! He's stayed away from her. She's the one who has been mooning around after him. You're lucky you don't have any children."
"Perhaps, but I've always loved Deborah like she was my own child. It infuriates me to see that insufferable English snob who's living under my roof try to seduce her."
"I have a feeling that's one girl who can take care of herself," the tavern keeper declared. "She's got more brains than many a man I know. She can certainly outsmart that lout of a lieutenant."
Titus's assessment of both Deborah's intelligence and her ability to handle Tristan Wade's amorous advances was fairly accurate. Had she gone about her business and not tried to take advantage of the lieutenant's interest in her—albeit for the good of her country—she might not have come to any harm. But then, she probably would have married the farmer or fisherman, as Tristan had predicted, and not been the unknowing catalyst for war.
* * *
In February of 1775, a provincial congress was held in Cambridge, Massachusetts. John Hancock and Joseph Warren initiated preparations for the colony's defense against the British. The following week Parliament declared Massachusetts to be in a state of rebellion, and General Gage was told to suppress the rebels by any means necessary. The Sons of Liberty now tread an even more dangerous path. Should any member be caught in what the British considered a treasonable act, it would mean a death sentence.
Although Deborah feared for her master's safety, she greatly admired his dedication to the cause of freedom. If war was declared—and she prayed it would never come to that—many brave patriots would die. It was inevitable. How could an ill-equipped, untried army, even one aided by local militia, hope to defeat the superior British fighting force?
"I wish Titus Tremaine would let me into his militia unit," she told the cook. "I don't know how to shoot, but I could learn."
While it was highly unusual for women to go into combat in the eighteenth century, Deborah was determined to help her country. It was when she saw Lt. Wade lock his orders in a secret drawer in his desk that she realized she might be of service to the Sons of Liberty.
* * *
Tristan was not suspicious of the girl's motives when she finally responded to his previously unwanted attentions. Being an arrogant man, he naturally believed he was irresistible to members of the opposite sex.
"Tired of playing hard to get?" he laughed, as he planted a quick kiss on the back of Deborah Selwyn's neck.
"Please, sir," she protested as she deftly fended off his advances. "I wouldn't want my master and mistress to think I'm behaving shamelessly under their roof. They would surely put me out if they even thought that we ...."
She demurely cast her eyes down.
"Then we'll go somewhere else, somewhere we can have privacy. I'm highly skilled in the art of love. You won't be sorry."
"Maybe later," Deborah said, feeling no guilt at leading him on. "I have work to do now, and I'm sure you must see to your duties."
"Yes, I should report to headquarters. I suppose our tryst will just have to wait."
For several days Deborah managed to keep her suitor at arm's length without causing him to lose interest. With her clever ruse, she was able to keep track of the lieutenant's whereabouts. Whenever he left the house, she snuck into his room and searched his belongings. Although Custis was grateful for the information she provided and dutifully passed it on to the Sons of Liberty, he feared for the girl's safety.
"You must be very careful" he warned. "Don't let Lt. Wade's ardor fool you, my dear. He's a British officer and a proud man. If he discovers that you've been spying on him, he'll have you arrested."
"Don't worry about me, sir. Everyone who supports American independence is putting himself in danger. I can't remain neutral in this crisis just for the sake of my own safety."
Seeing the girl's dedication, Tarlton reluctantly enlisted her aid.
"The Sons of Liberty are meeting tonight near the old Putnam farm. We don't want to risk the British discovering us. I'd like you to keep an eye on Lt. Wade. If he leaves the house, I want you to get a lantern, go up to the widow's walk and signal us. Do you think you can do that without putting yourself in danger?"
"Yes, sir. You can count on me."
* * *
When Tristan returned to Tarlton house later that evening, he was moody and sullen, having just returned from headquarters where he had a private meeting with General Dudley Littman, his commanding officer.
"Someone in this regiment is leaking vital information to the Sons of Liberty," Littman announced.
Tristan was stunned.
"Why would anyone in the king's army throw his lot in with these rabble-rousers? The very idea is preposterous!"
The general raised his eyebrows and replied, "Men have been known to do foolish things to impress the fairer sex."
"I can't imagine a man betraying his country for a woman."
"Not even for one as beautiful as the Tarltons' servant girl?"
Wade blanched. The general's suspicions had apparently settled on him.
"Sir, I assure you that I am a loyal subject of his majesty, King George. Indeed, my distaste for this place is well known."
"Perhaps you protest too much. There has been speculation among your fellow officers that your professed hatred for Massachusetts might be a cover for a growing sympathy for the colonial cause."
Wade's face reddened with rage. Had he been in England where his family's influence could shield him from reprisals, he would have called Dudley Littman out, commanding officer or not. However, engaging in a duel in America, amidst so many enemies, would be unwise.
"I am no traitor, sir," the lieutenant cried, his voice rising to an insubordinately loud pitch. "I hate the Americans. They're little better than the savages who populated these shores when the Puritans arrived here."
The general was not convinced by Wade's passionate protestations of innocence, but he was willing to give his officer the benefit of the doubt.
"Maybe you're not the spy," he said. "But consider this fair warning: I intend to keep an eye on you. If you are passing information on to these rebels, I'll have you arrested and sent back to England on the next boat to stand trial for treason."
* * *
Tristan's anger cooled. He stopped pacing the floor and sat down on the wing chair beside the window. As he stared at the gathering darkness, he wondered why suspicion should fall on him of all people.
There was a knock on the door.
"Come in," he called.
Deborah entered with a tray.
"I thought you might be hungry, so I fixed you some supper. When you're done eating, I'll bring up hot water for your bath."
"You seem very anxious to please me this evening. Why is that?"
"Because lately you and I have become good friends."
As Tristan took the tray from her, he announced, "Don't bother with the bath. I have to go out tonight."
"You do? I was hoping you and I could spend some time together," she said, her eyes issuing an unspoken invitation.
"Aren't you worried about what the Tarltons will think?"
"They needn't know."
"Splendid! When I come back later, we'll have a memorable night."
When her attempts to keep the lieutenant in the house failed, Deborah went downstairs to the kitchen and waited for him to leave. Once she heard the front door close, she lit the lantern, climbed the stairs to the attic and walked out onto the widow's walk. Praying the Sons of Liberty were watching for her signal, she held the lantern high above her head and waved it from side to side.
Suddenly, the door opened behind her.
"You're the spy!" Tristan shouted.
"Me a spy?" Deborah cried. "Don't be silly!"
"You were signaling someone with that lantern. Who was it? A brother? A boyfriend? No! It's your employer, Custis Tarlton. He's one of those Sons of Liberty, isn't he?"
"No, he's not," she denied vehemently.
"Don't bother to lie. I'm not about to hang for treason. I'm going to go to General Littman and tell him who the real spy is. But first," he said, turning on Deborah menacingly, "I'll take care of you, you traitorous bitch!"
The servant girl's cry for help was abruptly cut short as Lt. Wade placed his hands around her throat and strangled her. When he felt her body go limp, he heartlessly tossed it over the side of the widow's walk.
* * *
At first sight of the lantern signal, the Sons of Liberty scrambled.
"We'll meet again tomorrow in back of the tavern," Titus Tremaine called as the colonials raced back to the safety of their houses.
Custis Tarlton made it home without running into any British patrols. He quickly put his horse in the barn and crossed the lawn. As he approached the back door, he saw something lying on the ground. He cautiously drew near and realized with horror that it was his servant.
"Deborah?" he called.
There was no reply.
When Custis confirmed that the young woman whom he had loved as a daughter was dead, his agonized scream rent the air. His wife, who had been in bed asleep, ran outside in her nightclothes to see what the commotion was all about. At the sight of her murdered servant, Honor Tarlton's wails of grief joined those of her husband.
* * *
After Deborah Selwyn was laid to rest in the cemetery behind the Puritan Falls Church, those who mourned her met at the Pine Cone Ordinary.
"It's all my fault," Custis Tarlton cried in despair. "I never should have asked her to help us."
"Don't torture yourself," Titus Tremaine said. "You're not responsible for her death. We all know it was that bloody Englishman who killed her."
"I should shoot him."
"If you do, General Gage will hang you."
"I don't care."
"Damn it, man! Think of your wife. Think of your country."
Custis closed his eyes in defeat, believing there would be no justice for his poor orphaned servant girl.
Later that night, however, Custis's wife met in secret with several prominent women of Puritan Falls in a clearing in the woods atop Naumkeag Hill.
"Our ancestors left England and arrived on the shores of this continent nearly a hundred and fifty years ago," Honor Tarlton announced. "They found freedom here after years of persecution in Europe. Except for the events that occurred in Salem in 1692, we have been left alone to live in peace."
"Until now," Patience Tremaine said gloomily.
"No one can deny that we live in dangerous times," Honor continued. "Yet, while our men have been training in the militia and preparing for battle, we have used our powers to maintain the peace with England. But that peace we cherish may have too high a price. Deborah Selwyn was killed in my own house, and her murderer has not been punished, nor he is ever likely to be."
"And we are still being forced to quarter the king's soldiers beneath our roofs," Hester Bishop, Patience Tremaine's younger sister cried in anger. "Under these volatile conditions, no one is safe. Who will be next to share poor Deborah's fate? One of us? One of our sisters or our daughters?"
"No," the tavern keeper's wife cried. "We must protect ourselves and our families."
The other women fervently agreed.
"Then let us join hands," Honor instructed. "Let us remove the spell that has preserved the peace of the Colonies and let us cast a new one that will aid the patriots in ridding our country of the British."
* * *
Although their contribution is not mentioned in any American history book, that group of women from Puritan Falls—witches all—ignited the powder keg at last. Prompted by the murder of Deborah Selwyn, they struck the first blow for freedom and American independence. The following day, thirty miles west of Puritan Falls, approximately seventy Massachusetts militiamen faced the British advance guard on Lexington Green. There was a volley of rifle fire followed by a bayonet charge. Eight Americans were killed and ten were wounded. After the skirmish, the British headed for the colonists' weapons depot in Concord. At the North Bridge, a British platoon was attacked by the militia. It was, according to Ralph Waldo Emerson, "the shot heard 'round the world."
The Revolutionary War had begun, and thanks in no small part to the witches of Puritan Falls, the ill-equipped, inexperienced Patriots, aided by the French, would defeat the greatest military power of the day and gain their independence.
This story was based on an actual event in history. In New York, a servant was killed by a British officer when he found her signaling the patriots.
Back in 1774, I had to quarter a British officer in my saltbox. I didn't mind too much since I've always had a fondness for all things British. Besides, he wasn't nearly as much trouble as Salem!
