The centennial celebration of Evacuation day is now history; but the romance of the history of the time whose centennial we have been celebratin’ is not yet all exhausted. There is the story of old Dick Lippincott, for example, which, though as true as any other fact or series of facts, would furnish sensational material enough for a novel or a series of novels.
Old Dick Lippincott was a darin’ fellow, full of pluck and resources–a perfect daredevil, yet shrewd withal, relyin’ on pluck only when cunnin’ failed. Like most men who are really and truly courageous, he never drew on his supply of courage if he could help it, and so had plenty whenever it was really needed.
His whole life had been passed in adventure; part of it in war, part in huntin’, part in knockin’ around old New York, and probably the New York part was really the most adventuresome of the whole.
He had been mixed up with various sharp transactions, and had escaped all sorts of dangers by all sorts of stratagems, and was quite a favorite with the young sprigs of English nobility who visited this country, just as Buffalo Bill and Texas Jack used to be among the British nobleman who visited the far West. Dick was, therefore, naturally from association, a loyalist and went in strong for the British rule and the British king. All his interests were bound up with the success of the British cause, and he was more bitter against the Whigs or Rebels, or “the Patriots” as we call ‘em now, than were the “bloody British.”
Among his friends was a loyalist by the name of White, who rendered himself very obnoxious to the Whigs or Rebs by his constant sneerin’ at ‘em and predictin’ all sorts of disasters to ‘em, and as soon as the Rebs got a chance they got hold of this White and locked him up. White made several attempts to escape, but was caught each time. At last he was solemnly warned that if he attempted to escape again and was again caught, he would certainly be shot. He didn’t heed this threat and thought for sure that it had only been made to frighten him. He couldn’t believe that his fellow townsmen would kill him in cold blood merely for a difference in political opinion. So he made another attempt to escape, was caught and was shot–shot down like a dog despite his prayers for mercy.
This death under the circumstances made a great stir. Some said it was justifiable, a vindication of public opinion, a keeping’ of pledged word, a fate richly deserved and brought down upon the victim’s own head. Others, and old Dick Lippincott was among these, said it was an outrage, a bloody, dastardly murder, and that it ought to be avenged.
In fact, old Dick Lippincott, who had taken a great fancy to White, made up his mind to avenge it the first chance, and soon got his chance.
He was sent with three prisoners, delivered to his care by the Board of Loyalists, with orders to see them exchanged at Sandy Hook for three other men who were named to him, and who were to be delivered to him by the Rebs in exchange for his three.
These three men in Lippincott’s charge were of course all Rebs who were to be handed back to their own set in exchange for three equally prominent British or Loyalists. One of Lippincott’s three men was named Huddy, was a bitter and uncompromisin’ Yankee, and had been a political enemy of the dead White. Lippincott accordin’ly hated Huddy as deeply as he mourned White, and treated him with every possible indignity, all the way from New York to Sandy Hook.
And when he got to Sandy Hook, the devil got into Dick Lippincott, and suggested a revenge for White that was really diabolical, bein’ alike diabolically useless and unjust.
Lippincott first got rid of the other two Rebs, and sent the men he got in exchange for ‘em back to New York. Then he stayed with Huddy overnight in a sort of rude barracks near Sandy Hook point, and then bright and early in the mornin’ woke Huddy out of a sound sleep and told him he must die.
It is hard enough to be told you must die at any time, but early on a fine mornin’ to be awakened out of sleep and told that in a few minutes you must be put to rest forever is somethin’ awful. It was so utterly unexpected to poor Huddy, too. He had been confidently calculatin’ on bein’ exchanged that mornin’, and his hardships and indignities under Lippincott had but served by contrast to heighten his happy anticipations of freedom. And now he was to undergo exchange indeed, but from life to death.
He woke where the start and found Lippincott standin’ over him with a sneer and a scowl, and greetin’ his wakin’ with a curse. He was told that he had just a half an hour to live. He protested of course vehemently. He argued forcibly. He resisted, but resistance was utterly useless. There were four men in Lippincott’s party. Then at last he prayed to God and Lippincott for his life. But heaven did not interfere, and as for old Dick Lippincott, he put a piece of thick rope round Huddy’s neck, and spite of his struggle, strung him up on one of the few trees near Sandy Hook.
Within the half hour poor Huddy had ceased to exist. And as old Dick Lippincott saw the lifeless body danglin’ in the mornin’ sunlight he cried aloud: “White is avenged.”
It was a terrible scene that early mornin’–lonely hanging on the desolate sea shore, with no friend to soothe the last moments of the dyin’ wretch. No clergyman to administer the consolations of religion. No time given to wind up worldly affairs. No time afforded to make one’s peace with heaven. No lovin’ hand even to cut down the poor corpse and bury it. For they left it swingin’ in the sunshine and it was not removed till long after. And when on his return someone asked Lippincott whom Huddy had been exchanged for, he replied with meanin’ that he “had exchanged Huddy for White.” The people did not understand they full meanin’ of his phrase at first, but they understood it when his victim’s body was found hangin’. Huddy’s death made as much stir as White’s had done, and caused as much difference of opinion. The Loyalists and the British regarded Lippincott as a hero, but the Whigs or Rebs denounced him as a murderer.
As for Washington, he was acquainted with Huddy, and when he learned the particulars of his takin’ off, he at once set a price upon Lippincott’s head and demanded his surrender.
Of course this was refused, and then Washington went in for vengeance–a second installment of that article. Just as Lippincott had taken an innocent party to serve as sacrifice for his friend White, so Washington now took an innocent party to serve as a sacrifice for his friend Huddy.
There was, at that time, among the British prisoners within the lines of the American or Continental army, a handsome and accomplished young officer, Captain Argyle. He was a very brilliant, Major Andre sort of a man and a universal favorite, even with his enemies, on account of his gentlemanly manner and unaffected genial good nature. Though connected with the Dukes of Argyle, he was wholly free from pride, and was beloved by all his inferiors, a lot which falls to only the favored few. But it was upon this very fine young man that Washington fastened when he determined to avenge “the murder of the patriot Huddy,” as he phrased it. He had Argyle thrown into prison, and announced that if, within thirty days, old Dick Lippincott was not delivered over to his hands, Captain Argyle should be executed. Not like a soldier, but like a felon. Not shot, but hung, as Huddy had been hung.
Lookin’ back it seems a hard thing to have been done, but all war is a hard thing, and Washington undoubtedly acted against his feelin’s in this matter, but on his convictions and accordin’ to his sense of right.
The proclamation of Washington, and his action in relation to Captain Argyle, created a greater stir than either the death of White or Huddy, and gave rise to even a wider difference of opinion.
But the one most excited by the affair was a woman–the mother of the doomed Argyle–she was a widow, and the doomed man was her only child.
Of course she moved Heaven and Earth to save her darlin’.
Among other things, she got a pass into the American lines and had an interview with Washington himself, who felt obliged to refuse her prayer.
But the mother did not take “No” for an answer. She at once hastened to Lafayette and the French Minister and besought ‘em, for the love of God, to use their influence with Washington in this affair. They did so, and Washington listened to his French friends patiently and respectfully and replied feelin’ly, but still said “No.”
But the mother’s resources were not yet exhausted, and she exerted all her influence to get the matter of her son’s life or death laid before the Continental Congress, in the form of a protest; and here at last she was successful. After an animated debate, it was determined that the public welfare did not in this case imperatively demand the death of Captain Argyle, who was consequently released, by bein’ exchanged.
But all this time Huddy was unavenged, and this fact was gall and wormwood to the Rebs. It riled ‘em so that finally a Yankee adventurer named Huyler determined, by hook or by crook, to capture Lippincott, and when caught to hang him. Vengeance, installment number three–a regular Corsican vendetta.
Lippincott at that time lived in New York in good style, at a house on Broad street, then a swell portion of the town. He kept quite a lot of servants and gave dinners to the British officers and to the sports. He hadn’t served King George for nothin’, and as he was without either remorse for the past, or care for the present, or fear for the future, he enjoyed life a good deal better than most good people. Knowin’ Lippincott’s habits and haunts, and knowin’ every part of old New York well (there were not so very many parts just then to know), Huyler formed a plan which, for its very boldness and simplicity, promised success, it bein’ simply to steal into New York at night, in disguise, and abduct Lippincott. So he arranged matters to his likin’. As soon as he announced his intention of kidnappin’ Lippincott he found plenty of men to volunteer to help on the job, and the only difficulty was to keep the number down. At last he chose eight of the best and boldest and got ‘em to row him in a boat to Whitehall, near the Battery.
There in the dead of night he landed; and in disguise stole, with three of the very strongest men of his picked eight, towards Lippincott’s house. All was still as death and dark as pitch, and silently as burglars Huyler and his three men made their entrance into Lippincott’s abode. All was propitious. The servants were asleep after a revel. They couldn’t have awakened ‘em if they had tried. Nothin’ could have been better, and on tip toe, full of joyful anticipation of vengeance, the four masked patriots stole to the bed where they hoped to find Lippincott. The bed was there all right, but alas for the masked four and vengeance! The bed was empty–no Lippincott.
In their rage they woke up, or rather tried to wake up, the drunken servants, but in their alarmed and fuddled state they could get no information from the scared domestics as to their master’s whereabouts. Even if they had it would have done no good. Desperate as they were they could not attempt anythin’ more that night; so they did the only thing they could, and did that in vain. They gagged and bound the servants and waited in silence, though not in patience, for Lippincott’s return home, in which case they would have had him sure. But he didn’t return. As luck would have it he had gone out of town to a cockin’ main that night and didn’t return till the next day.
But Huyler after all did not depart holy unsuccessful. He couldn’t get Lippincott, but he got somethin’ else. As he reached the Battery, after leavin’ Lippincott’s house, mad and disgusted, he saw a sloop just arrived lyin’ off the Battery. It was loaded with Jamaica rum and was consigned to Old Henry White, a “loyal” merchant, who did business at the old De Peyster house, “on the Fly.” Communicatin’ his idea to his men, Huyler made a raid on this sloop, which had been left for the night in charge of a cabin boy, and setting sail took the vessel down to Elizabethtown, where all hands landed and drank the rum.
So by the strange irony and comedy of fate a few hogsheads of Jamaica rum made the end of this White-Huyler-Argyle-Lippincott vendetta, and was the only “vengeance” that ever came of it.
[Editor’s notes: This retelling of the Huddy-Asgill affair gets the broad strokes correct, but omits or is in error over the particulars. Nearly all the central characters: Philip White, Richard Lippincott, Joshua Huddy, Charles Asgill, and Adam Hyter had more shading to their characters than the above column suggests.
Two main points:
Lippincott was tried by British authorities for murder, but was found not guilty, because he was acting under orders of his commander, Gov. William Franklin (yes, Ben Franklin’s Loyalist son).
Asgill was not selected by Washington; in a famous scene, British officers drew lots, and Asgill drew the “unfortunate” slip.
For additional reading, see:
“The Asgill Affair” Wikipedia
“The Murder of Jack Huddy” Jersey Shore Scene
“Privateer Adam Hyler, in Rowboats, Captures Five British Ships” This Day in Monmouth County History]
