Freedom Under Another Flag

 Writing The South Spy was an engrossing experience. Sending my protagonist, Jeremiah Creed, into an entirely new theater of war, using more sophisticated intelligence and tradecraft, was a big part of it. In many ways, the American Revolution was won when the British strategy in the South failed. I also introduced some interesting fictional characters, although many represent real people or “types.” But of course, weaving in the historical figures is the most challenging and rewarding part, especially when you come across someone completely different.

Writing of the South also meant I had to deal with the experience of enslaved Africans, as they made up the larger part of that state’s population. One of those was John Kizell, whose life experience fascinated me to the point where I couldn’t resist inserting him into this tale of action and intrigue.

Son of Africa

 The young African we know as John Kizell was born around 1760 among the Sherbro people on Sherbro Island in what is now Sierra Leone. His early life was shaped by the rhythms of coastal West African communities. Around age 13, his father—a local chief—sent him to visit an uncle who was also a chief in a nearby village. That night, the village was attacked. A fight followed in which the uncle and most of his people were killed. Survivors who did not escape were taken prisoner. Kizell was among them. 

Village in Sierra Leone

His father offered slaves and land to ransom him. The captors refused and said they would rather kill the boy than release him. They marched him to the Gallinas River region (southeastern Sierra Leone, a major slaving area) and sold him to a European dealer. This pattern—African polities raiding rivals or using accusations (sometimes witchcraft) as a pretext, then selling captives at the coast—was the standard way people from the Sherbro/Gallinas hinterland entered the Atlantic trade. Europeans rarely captured people themselves that far inland; they bought from African intermediaries. 

Middle Passage to Market

 The British ship Blossom, Captain William Briggs left the Cape Mount/Gallinas area with 336 captives and arrived in Charleston on 24 May 1773 with 274 still alive—about one in five dead, worse than the typical rate for that route at the time. The survivors were quarantined on Sullivan’s Island, then consigned to the Charleston firm of Robert, John and James Smith. The firm advertised their sale the next day. Lowther presents this as the most likely vessel but notes it is not proven beyond doubt. 

The Middle Passage Proved Harsh and Deadly

Sold into Slavery

In Charleston, Kizell was sold to Esther Kysell (also spelled Kizell), a Swiss-German widow who operated a tavern. There, amid the bustling streets and waterfront, he performed domestic and labor tasks. Through observation, interaction with other enslaved Africans and free Blacks, and possibly informal instruction, he became literate in English—a rare and valuable skill that would serve him later. Charleston in the 1770s was tense, divided by growing colonial resistance to British rule. For the enslaved, the rhetoric of liberty from Patriot leaders rang hollow while they remained in bondage. 

Charleston Harbor and Slave Market

Revolutionary Change

As with many enslaved Africans, the American Revolution transformed Kizell’s life. In 1779, British General Henry Clinton issued the Philipsburg Proclamation, promising freedom to enslaved people owned by rebels who fled to British lines. During the 1780 Siege of Charleston, as British forces under Clinton surrounded and bombarded the city, Kizell seized the opportunity—escaping his owner and joining the British side. Assigned to support roles common for Black recruits—likely with pioneer or labor units—he contributed to the British effort that led to the city’s surrender on May 12, 1780, one of the worst American defeats of the war and a key event in The South Spy. 

British Siege of Charleston 1780

Chilling Great North Reception

His path to freedom was not straightforward. At one point, American forces captured him, but he escaped and made his way back to British-controlled areas. By the war’s end, he had adopted the surname Kizell. As the British evacuated, thousands of Black Loyalists—enslaved people who had sought liberty with the Crown—were recorded in the “Book of Negroes.” Kizell was among those who boarded ships from New York in 1783 bound for Nova Scotia, Canada, along with approximately 3,000 other Black Loyalists. There, he received a certificate of freedom. He married a woman named Phyllis and started a family, though life in the harsh northern climate proved difficult. Promised land grants were often delayed or denied, and white settlers commonly discriminated against them. 

Nova Scotia Period: An Interlude

Homeward Bound

In 1792, Kizell joined roughly 1,200 Black Loyalists on a voyage to Sierra Leone, sponsored by the Sierra Leone Company. They sought to establish a settlement for free Blacks in Freetown. Among the roughly 50 native-born Africans in the group, Kizell returned to his birthland after nearly two decades. The settlers faced immediate hardships. Broken promises from the company, poor soil, disease, and tensions with local populations. Kizell settled near his ancestral Sherbro territory and worked as a farmer, merchant, and community leader. 

Route from Halifax to Sierra Leone

Business, Political, and Spiritual Leader 

His literacy and firsthand knowledge of the slave trade made him a powerful voice. He documented the devastating effects of ongoing slave raiding on African societies and became a Baptist preacher and advocate for abolition. He served as a peacemaker between settler communities and indigenous groups. In 1794, unrest among the Nova Scotian settlers led to arrests. Kizell testified in the related trial in England, using the opportunity to advance his family’s prospects. Later, he joined discussions about resettling free Black Americans in Africa and contributed to early efforts connected to the founding of Liberia. 

Kizell served as a Black Volunteer with the British

Complex Choices

John Kizell’s life embodied the complex choices thousands of enslaved Africans faced during the American Revolution. While Patriot ideals promised liberty to some, many Black men and women calculated (correctly) that the British offered a more immediate path to freedom. An estimated 20,000 to 100,000 enslaved people sought refuge with British forces across the colonies. For Kizell, this decision led from the Carolina rice fields and tavern service to military service, hardship in Nova Scotia, and an eventual return to Sierra Leone as a respected leader fighting the very trade that had enslaved him. 

Legacy of Liberty

John Kizell’s story highlights the broader experiences of Black Loyalists—resilience amid broken promises, the pursuit of dignity despite all obstacles, and the creation of new communities in Africa. Kizell died in the 1830s, leaving a legacy as a survivor, veteran, missionary, and abolitionist whose journey circled the Atlantic. In the Lowcountry’s marshes and on Sierra Leone’s shores, his footsteps trace a remarkable arc of survival and agency during one of history’s great upheavals.

Patriot of Unambiguous Morality

When I was writing the latest Yankee Doodle Spies novel, The South Spy, I wondered how to handle this edition’s subject. To me, John Laurens is such a heroic figure that I was tempted to make him a major historical character. I decided against it because someone so substantive would require more than I could present in a work like this. Others, such as the legendary Francis Marion, also fell into this category. Face it, the South has plenty of colorful people in its history. So here is my humble attempt to give this impressive First Patriot his due.

John Laurens

A Charleston Heir Answers the Call  

Born October 28, 1754, into one of South Carolina’s wealthiest planter families, John Laurens grew up amid rice fields and the Atlantic slave trade that enriched his father, fellow patriot and future President of the Continental Congress, Henry Laurens. His family traced its roots to French Protestant (Huguenot) refugees who fled religious persecution in France. 

His great-grandfather, André (or Andre) Laurens, left France in the late 17th century (around the time of, or just before, the 1685 revocation of the Edict of Nantes), settled first in New York, and later moved to Charleston, South Carolina. The family intermarried with other Huguenot refugees (such as the Grassets), and by the time of John’s father, Henry Laurens, they were well established in South Carolina society. 

Educated in Geneva and London, the younger Laurens embraced Enlightenment ideals of liberty even as revolution erupted at home. In 1776, John married Martha Manning in London while she was pregnant with their daughter, Frances. He left England in December 1776 to return to America, never to see his wife again or to meet his daughter. 

Henry Laurens

In August 1777, Laurens joined George Washington’s staff as an unpaid volunteer aide-de-camp, where he became close friends with fellow- intellect, Alexander Hamilton. In the following year of campaigning, young Laurens earned a reputation for reckless courage at Brandywine, Germantown, and Monmouth.

A Radical Vision for Southern Arms  

When the British turned their full weight southward, Laurens returned to defend his native state. Before leaving Philadelphia, he proposed a bold solution to the Continental Army’s manpower crisis: raise battalions of enslaved men, promise them freedom for faithful service, and strike at both the enemy and slavery. 

Rhode Island Black Continental Infantry

In response to this “Black Battalion Proposal,” Congress passed a resolution in March 1779 that encouraged South Carolina and Georgia to raise 3,000 enslaved men, promising freedom in exchange for service. Congress appointed Laurens lieutenant colonel to lead the effort, but the South Carolina legislature rejected the proposal in 1779 and again at Jacksonborough in early 1782. 

Undeterred, Laurens took to the battlefield—suffering a wound at Coosawhatchie and leading infantry in the bloodbath at Savannah—while continuing to demand freedom for Black soldiers.

Charleston Falls, a Patriot Captured  

By spring 1780, the conflict in the South had reached a crisis. British troops under Sir Henry Clinton trapped the American garrison during the Siege of Charleston. Laurens fought stubbornly alongside the defenders until the city surrendered on May 12, 1780. The British Southern Strategy was at its apogee. Captured in the war's largest American defeat, he was paroled to Pennsylvania. Rather than breaking his spirit, the fall of his hometown hardened his resolve. Upon his official exchange as a prisoner in November 1780, he immediately sought new ways to strike back. He soon found one.

Charleston Under Siege

Diplomat Across the Atlantic  

Recognizing his intellect and fiery passion, Congress appointed the 26-year-old officer as special minister to France in December 1780. Arriving in Paris in March 1781, Laurens bypassed tedious court etiquette to appeal directly to King Louis XVI and French ministers such as Comte de Vergennes. His relentless diplomacy secured vital loans, military hardware, and a critical French naval commitment. These resources made possible the strategic trap at Yorktown later that year. Mission accomplished, Laurens immediately set sail back across the Atlantic, determined not to miss the coming showdown.

French Minister Comte de Vergennes

Glory at Yorktown, Then South Again  

At the Siege of Yorktown in October 1781, Laurens charged alongside Hamilton in the dramatic nighttime bayonet assault on Redoubt Number 10. After the victory, Washington appointed Laurens to negotiate the British surrender terms—a poetic moment of justice for an officer who had endured the indignity of capture at Charleston. Yet even as the northern theater was secured, Laurens refused to rest. He raced back to South Carolina to join General Nathanael Greene, taking command of light infantry units and directing crucial intelligence operations.

Storming Redoubt Number 10

Eyes and Ears in the Lowcountry  

Throughout late 1781 and early 1782, Laurens ran a clandestine spy network in British-occupied Charleston, funneling reports on enemy troop movements, supply raids, and evacuation preparations to Greene’s headquarters. He balanced these dangerous covert duties with a final, desperate attempt to persuade the South Carolina legislature at Jacksonborough to approve his Black regiments—only to be rejected again. Though thwarted in this attempt to secure justice, Laurens remained a formidable field commander in the Lowcountry’s grinding guerrilla war.

Laurens's Scouts in South Carolina

Final Charge on the Combahee  

On August 27, 1782, while bedridden with a severe fever, Laurens learned that a British foraging force had landed along the Combahee River. Rising from his sickbed, he rode hard to join Brigadier General Mordecai Gist and volunteered to lead a small detachment to block the enemy's retreat at Tar Bluff. Marching into a British ambush, Laurens refused to retreat or wait for support. He ordered a charge and was mortally wounded, making him one of the last high-ranking casualties of the Revolutionary War. 

Mordecai Gist

Legacy of Unambiguous Morality

Though cut down before he could see the nation he fought to build reach full dawn, John Laurens left an enduring legacy as one of the American Revolution’s most fearless and uncompromising visionaries. His relentless pursuit of liberty—not just from British rule but from the bonds of human slavery—marked him as a patriot whose moral conviction matched his legendary courage. General George Washington said it best when he later lamented that Laurens’s only fault was "an intrepidity bordering on rashness," driven by the purest motives of duty and freedom.

Hero's Grave Site

Patriot Hostess

 In the shadowed halls of Charleston’s grand King Street mansion, Rebecca Brewton Motte moved with quiet resolve. This grande dame of South Carolina, along with her impressive home and estate, plays a small but historically interesting role in the action of my novel, The South Spy. 

Born in 1737 to a family of goldsmiths and merchants, she married Jacob Motte in 1758. Together, they built a life amid Lowcountry rice fields and tidal rivers. Her brother, Miles Brewton, a wealthy merchant and early Patriot voice, perished at sea in 1775 en route to the Continental Congress. Rebecca inherited his opulent Miles Brewton House and the strategic Mt. Joseph plantation on the Congaree River. These holdings made her one of South Carolina’s wealthiest women, yet she devoted her resources to the Patriot cause.

Early Patriots

Before the British threat loomed in 1780, the Motte family had already committed. Jacob fought at Sullivan’s Island in 1776, where patriot women presented colors to the defending regiment. Rebecca rallied enslaved laborers from her plantations to bolster Charleston’s defenses and supplied Continental forces with rice, beef, pork, corn, and fodder. Her surviving daughters—including Elizabeth, who married Patriot officer Thomas Pinckney in 1779—grew up amid this fierce loyalty. Brewton and Motte family ties, strengthened by connections to Pinckney, wove a resilient web of resistance across Carolina.

From Home to Headquarters

When Sir Henry Clinton’s army besieged Charleston in spring 1780, Rebecca held firm in her King Street home. British cannon thundered across the Ashley and Cooper rivers as the city’s defenses crumbled. On May 12, the garrison surrendered. The magnificent Miles Brewton House was immediately seized as British headquarters—for Clinton, then Banastre Tarleton, Nisbet Balfour, and other officers. Sentries patrolled its elegant rooms. While caring for her ailing husband, Rebecca endured the occupation with unyielding dignity. She presided at table with Carolina hospitality, concealing her patriotism despite insults and crowding. She never betrayed the cause. When Jacob died of illness later that year, she became a widow in an enemy-held city.

Congaree Sanctuary—Not

With her daughters and household, Rebecca withdrew ninety-five miles inland to Mt. Joseph on the Congaree. British forces soon fortified the main house as a vital supply depot between Charleston and Camden, christening it Fort Motte. The red-coated garrison under Lieutenant Daniel MacPherson drove the family into the overseer’s quarters, which were ringed by trenches, palisades, and blockhouses.

Swamp Fox & Light Horse

In May 1781, Brigadier General Francis Marion and Lieutenant Colonel Henry “Light-Horse Harry” Lee arrived with four hundred men to sever the British lifeline. Five days of artillery and rifle fire failed to dislodge the defenders. The dry shingle roof offered the swiftest solution: they would burn the British out. Rebecca did not hesitate. “If it were a palace,” she reportedly declared, “it should go.”

Meeting Marion & Lee

Flaming Arrows

From her brother Miles’s collection, she produced East Indian arrows designed to ignite on impact and offered her own bow. On 12 May, a Patriot marksman loosed a flaming shaft. It struck true, and flames raced across the roof. As British troops scrambled, Patriot cannon roared. MacPherson’s men surrendered before the fire could consume the structure. The blaze was quickly extinguished, and the fort fell. In the aftermath, Rebecca hosted victors and paroled British officers alike, her table a place of grace amid the ashes. The arrows that struck her own roof became symbols of a widow’s patriotism.

Steadfast Support and Post War Builder

Through occupation, bereavement, and the deliberate loss of her home, Rebecca Brewton Motte never wavered. Her plantations continued to feed Patriot columns. After Yorktown, she rebuilt her fortune as a shrewd rice planter, paying off war debts and securing her family’s future. In an era of shadow warriors and unseen blows for liberty, her steadfast support—provisions in the early years, an ultimate sacrifice in 1781—proved as vital as any raid. Like the Yankee Doodle spies who struck from the dark, she fought with a planter’s weapons: resolve, resources, and an iron will no British occupation could break.

Her legacy endures not in stone but in the freedom her sacrifices helped forge. 

 

 

The Green Dragoon

 This edition of Yankee Doodle Spies has been a long time coming—one of the true “bad boys” and “bad asses” of the American Revolutionary War has captured the imagination of both sides during the struggle and by historians since. Banastre Tarleton was no enigma. What you saw was what you got—a ruthless and effective military leader who specialized in raids and savage hit-and-run tactics.

Banastre Tarleton

Fist Sighting

The Yankee Doodle Spies series first saw him in book two, The Cavalier Spy, where he gallops across its pages as a junior officer. It was exciting to have him return in book six of the series, The South Spy, where his personality and actions add a certain panache wherever he appears.

From the Mersey to the Military

Born in Liverpool in 1754, Banastre Tarleton was the son of John Tarleton, a prominent Liverpool merchant, ship owner, slave trader, and mayor of the city.  The father’s money and prestige helped the younger Tarleton purchase a commission as a cornet (cavalry second lieutenant) in the 1st Dragoon Guards in 1775. 

The British Legion

Arriving in America in 1776, the ambitious young officer quickly proved his worth. He fought in the failed British assault on Charleston that June and later distinguished himself by leading the raid that captured American Major General Charles Lee in New Jersey--all captured in The Cavalier Spy.  By 1778, he commanded the British Legion, a mobile mixed force of Loyalist cavalry and infantry known for its speed and aggression under his leadership. Early actions in the northern campaigns showcased his skill in rapid marches and surprise strikes, earning him a promotion to lieutenant colonel.

Kidnapping Charles Lee

Monk’s Mauler

It was in South Carolina during the 1780 Southern Campaign that Tarleton’s reputation was forged. In February 1780, he accompanied General Sir Henry Clinton’s expedition against Charleston. On April 14, Tarleton led a night attack at Monck’s Corner. His green-jacketed Legion dragoons and mounted infantry charged at 3 a.m., completely surprising Patriot forces under Brigadier General Isaac Huger (the subject of last month's blog post), who were guarding escape routes along the Cooper River. The sudden assault routed the Americans. Many fled into swamps, leaving behind horses, weapons, and supplies that greatly strengthened Tarleton’s command. British losses were negligible.

Monk's Corner

Send in the Empty Horses

A few weeks later, on May 6 at Lenud’s Ferry on the Santee River, Tarleton struck again. With about 150 dragoons, he ambushed Patriot cavalry under Lieutenant Colonels Anthony White and William Washington. The Legion dragoons mashed the American formation, captured about 100 horses, and freed 18 British prisoners. These swift victories helped seal Charleston’s fate, and the city surrendered on May 12.

Lenud's Ferry

Tarleton’s Quarter!

With the surrender of Charleston, Clinton directed Tarleton to destroy the remaining organized rebel resistance. He pursued Colonel Abraham Buford’s 3rd Virginia Regiment northward. On May 29, near Waxhaws, Tarleton’s force of about 270 men overtook Buford’s roughly 350 Continentals. After a brief clash, many Patriots attempted to surrender. Amid the ensuing chaos, Tarleton’s dragoons pressed the attack with sabers and bayonets. More than 100 Americans were killed, and scores more were wounded or captured. The episode, widely condemned by Patriots as the “Waxhaws Massacre,” gave rise to the bitter cry “Tarleton’s Quarter!”—meaning no mercy would be shown. The event inflamed resistance throughout the backcountry.

Waxhaws

Search and Destroy

After the British victory at Camden in August, Tarleton turned to partisan warfare in South Carolina’s steamy, low-country swamps. His most notable action came on August 18 at Fishing Creek, when he surprised Thomas Sumter’s militia encampment in a lightning attack. His Legion killed about 150 rebels, captured more than 300, and freed British prisoners, though he himself escaped. Tarleton then hunted the elusive Francis Marion through swamps and forests, but the “Swamp Fox” repeatedly evaded him, using superior local knowledge.

Fishing Creek

Beaten Back at Blackstock

In November, Tarleton clashed with Sumter again at Blackstock’s Farm. Though Sumter was wounded, his men fought from strong defensive positions and repelled Tarleton’s assaults. The British withdrew after heavy fighting—Tarleton’s first significant check in the South.

Blackstock

Cowed by Morgan

But a larger one was coming at a large cattle field called Cowpens on January 17, 1781. Sent by Lord Cornwallis (placed in charge of mopping up rebel resistance by Clinton) to crush Brigadier General Daniel Morgan’s command, which was separated from the main Continental Army.

Cowpens

Tarleton advanced aggressively with about 1,100 men. Morgan skillfully positioned his forces on high ground. His militia executed a feigned retreat, drawing Tarleton’s Legion and infantry forward into a devastating counterattack. Continental regulars and cavalry under William Washington enveloped the British flanks.

Aftermath of Cowpens

Tarleton’s command was shattered; hundreds were killed or captured, and the survivors fled. Tarleton himself escaped with only a remnant of his cavalry. The defeat at Cowpens broke British momentum in the Carolinas and became a turning point in the war.

Saber Flash

Throughout his South Carolina operations, Tarleton demonstrated exceptional skill in mobile warfare—using speed, surprise, Loyalist intelligence, and relentless pursuit. His daring exploits kept Patriot forces off balance for months, yet the very ruthlessness that marked his victories, especially at Waxhaws, helped ignite a fierce guerrilla resistance that ultimately undermined British control of the state.

The Green Dragoon

Undaunted, Tarleton would carry his brand of warfare north the following year, where the Green  Dragoon would blaze across the Old Dominion like the flash of a saber.

 

 

Defender of the Charleston Neck

In the spring of 1780, the American cause in the South hung by a thread. British forces under Sir Henry Clinton descended on Charleston like a gathering storm, and one South Carolina officer found himself holding a critical—and ultimately doomed—position at the city’s northern approaches. That officer was Brigadier General Isaac Huger, a steady Continental commander tasked with guarding the Charleston Neck and the vital supply lines feeding the besieged garrison. Though not a major figure in the fictional plot, Huger’s actions in and around Charleston are captured in my novel, The South Spy.

Isaac Huger

South Carolina Son

Like so many South Carolina patriots, Isaac Huger came from solid Huguenot stock. Born in 1743 near Charleston, he grew up on the family plantations along the Santee River. Like many sons of the Low Country elite, he gained early military experience during the Cherokee War of 1760-61. Those frontier campaigns taught him the hard lessons of irregular warfare in swamps and pine barrens—knowledge that would serve him well in the Revolution. When the troubles with Britain escalated in the 1770s, Huger aligned with the patriots. He served in the Provincial Congress and helped raise South Carolina troops. By 1776, he held the rank of colonel, and his performance in the Southern theater earned him promotion to brigadier general in the Continental Army in 1779. He fought at Savannah and earned a reputation as a reliable leader capable of commanding mixed forces of regulars, militia, and light troops.

Hunger gained military experience 

against the Cherokee\

British Invasion!

By early 1780, General Benjamin Lincoln’s command in Charleston faced mounting pressure. To keep the northern lifeline open, Lincoln dispatched Huger to Monck’s Corner, about thirty miles northwest of the city. The position centered on Biggin Bridge and nearby Biggin Church—a key crossroads where the road from the interior crossed swampy terrain between the Ashley and Cooper Rivers.

Charleston and environs

Huger commanded roughly 500 men: remnants of Pulaski’s Legion dragoons, South Carolina militia, and a handful of Georgia horsemen. Many were farmers in homespun, armed with whatever muskets they could find. Equipment was scarce—some infantry companies lacked adequate powder and ball. Huger’s orders were clear: hold the causeway and bridge to prevent British forces from cutting off the city.

The threat materialized quickly. In mid-April, intelligence indicated a rapid British advance led by the hard-charging Lieutenant Colonel Banastre Tarleton and his British Legion.

Night Attack

On the night of April 13-14, Tarleton struck. His mounted infantry and dragoons thundered out of the darkness in a classic surprise assault. American pickets managed a few ragged volleys, but the speed and shock of the British cavalry quickly overwhelmed the position. In the moonlight, fighting swirled around the bridge and church grounds. Huger rallied what men he could, but the attackers' numbers and momentum favored them. 

Tarleton's Attack

The result was a decisive American defeat. Casualties approached one hundred, with many killed, wounded, or captured. Worse, the British seized nearly four hundred horses—precious mounts Charleston desperately needed for mobility and supply. Huger himself escaped with part of his force, slipping northwest through the pine barrens. He sustained minor wounds but lived to fight another day.

Consequences

The action at Monck’s Corner (sometimes called Biggin Bridge) proved decisive. With the northern approaches severed, Lincoln’s garrison lost its last practical hope of reinforcement or resupply. Isolated and under constant siege, Charleston surrendered on May 12, 1780—the Revolutionary War’s largest American capitulation. For the patriot cause in the South, it marked a bitter low point.

Fall of Charleston

Later Service and Legacy

Yet Isaac Huger’s story did not end in the swamps of 1780. He recovered and continued to serve under Nathanael Greene during the grueling Southern Campaign of 1781. He commanded troops at Guilford Courthouse in March and contributed at Hobkirk’s Hill in April, helping to erode British strength through persistent operations.

Guilford Court House

After the war, Huger returned to his life as a planter and to public service. He represented South Carolina in the Continental Congress and supported ratification of the new U.S. Constitution. He died in 1797, remembered as one of the steadfast Southern officers who held the line when the odds were longest.

Serving in Congress

In the era of the Yankee Doodle Spies, figures like Isaac Huger rarely made the headlines or entered the annals of legend. No dramatic espionage coups or flashy charges defined him. Instead, he embodied the quiet determination that kept resistance alive despite defeat after defeat. His stand on the Charleston Neck could not save the city, but it exemplified the grit that ultimately helped turn the Southern theater—and the war—around in the years that followed.

Book Review: Kingdom of Wolves by Avellina Balestri Book 2 of the All Ye That Pass By Trilogy

Avellina Balestri’s Kingdom of Wolves plunges into the 1777 Saratoga Campaign, the decisive turning point of the American Revolutionary War, with haunting, atmospheric intensity. As the middle volume of her All Ye That Pass By trilogy, it follows young British officer Edmund “Ned” Southworth deeper into the moral wilderness of clashing armies, classes, loyalties, and consciences. Where the first book, Gone for a Soldier, introduced Ned’s reluctant enlistment in a scarlet coat and the quiet torment of his Catholic faith, this installment strips away the remaining illusions amid the literal and human “wolves” of war. 

Assigned to the staff of the charismatic Brigadier General Simon Fraser, Ned marches with British forces under “Gentleman Johnny” Burgoyne through the forests and rivers of upper New York. Patriotic bravado and a sense of imperial destiny cloak the expedition, yet tragedy shadows every step. Balestri renders the campaign with visceral immediacy and lyrical precision. 

Gentleman Johnny Burgoyne

Interwoven flashbacks offer poignant contrast: a warm English boyhood Christmas scented with gingerbread and holly, where family laughter briefly eclipses religious persecution. These golden memories fracture against frostbitten fingers, the rope’s rough bite, and wolves howling in the night—echoing the savagery men inflict on one another. Balestri’s prose sings with sensory detail that makes the cold seep into your bones and moral dilemmas burn in your chest.

The novel’s strength lies in its refusal of tidy heroism. This is truly a “kingdom of wolves,” where empires crumble, oaths shatter, and every side devours its own ideals. Ned grapples with blood on his hands from civilian deaths, the symbolic weight of his uniform, and the disease-ridden march under Burgoyne. Faith emerges not as abstract doctrine but as quiet acts of mercy piercing hatred—an Incarnational light entering fleshly suffering. Supporting characters pulse with authenticity. Dialogue crackles with period flavor yet feels urgently human.

After surviving pitched battles and skirmishes, Ned is caught between enraged rebel militias and treacherous Iroquois warriors. Friend and foe alike wear faces etched with grief and rage over British and Loyalist atrocities, which they have met with brutal vengeance. A zealous rebel preacher thunders for Ned’s hanging, while Captain Kirby wrestles with duty and doubt. Young Nancy—whose life Ned once spared—pleads with trembling hands. The only question facing Ned—will it be the noose or the musket?

Militias and Iroquois Struggle

Balestri, a Catholic writer steeped in history and poetry, favors a contemplative pace. Tactical grit—muddy roads, dysentery-ravaged camps, broken alliances, foraging raids, and fierce fighting alongside Fraser—grounds the narrative without overshadowing the intimate reckonings. The hardships of the Saratoga campaign test Ned’s divided loyalties as the British advance devolves into brutality and instability. 

The story builds inexorably toward the October 1777 climax at Freeman’s Farm and Bemis Heights, culminating in Burgoyne’s surrender. These battle scenes are close-up and brutal, as men give no quarter in a series of volleys, barrages, and bayonet charges. Hand-to-hand fighting results in a great deal of blood and gore, as Ned experiences nightmare after nightmare.

Simon Fraser struck

Somehow, Ned endures the campaign’s full brutality, witnessing fallen comrades and shattered loyalties. The mortal wounding and burial of his mentor, Fraser, lend poignant weight. The author offers no neat resolution or redemption; Ned’s arc remains raw—his conscience, loyalties, and wounds still open. This mirrors the historical tragedy and sets the stage for the trilogy’s finale, Blood of the Martyrs. The ending emphasizes loss, fragile mercy, and the long cost of war rather than victory or closure. 

Kingdom of Wolves weaves a vivid tapestry of frost and fire, savagery and sanctity. Balestri leaves readers chilled by war’s wolves yet warmed by mercy’s stubborn flame. Her deliberate rhythm rewards immersion and deepens reflection on forgiveness amid an empire’s collapse.

As the trilogy’s middle act, this volume cements Balestri’s standing as a luminous talent in faith-infused historical fiction. Rich in beauty, unflinching truth, and moral complexity, it is a must-read for those seeking depth beyond battlefield heroics. 

Highly recommended for fans of thoughtful Revolutionary War fiction that honors both the era’s grit and the human soul. The wolves feast, but grace endures.

The Gentleman Spy

The most famous espionage challenge faced by the fledgling United States was not posed by a scheming, knowledgeable practitioner of the dark arts or an experienced orchestrator of back-alley conspiracies, but by a polished, erudite Renaissance man fluent in languages and the arts, and skilled in thorough organization and planning. Known for his affability and manners, John Andre would pave his way into the history of espionage through an unlikely path that ultimately led to the gallows.

Major John André 

In late 1778, Major John André assumed the role of adjutant-general and head of British intelligence for Sir Henry Clinton, demonstrating remarkable poise. At twenty-eight, the elegant, multilingual officer—skilled in drawing, poetry, and cipher work—proved an ideal staff officer for the cautious commander-in-chief. André handled dispatches, recruited agents, interrogated prisoners, and oversaw maps of rebel positions from Clinton’s New York headquarters. His earlier service under General Grey had already demonstrated his eye for detail. Now he was Clinton’s indispensable eyes and ears across the sprawling theater of war. 

Until then, André’s most celebrated triumph came months earlier in Philadelphia—a spectacular social event. As master of ceremonies at the extravagant Meschianza in May 1778, honoring departing General Howe, he orchestrated medieval-style jousts, fireworks, and balls. 

Among the Loyalist ladies he escorted was young Peggy Shippen, daughter of a judge. André sketched her portrait with delicate pencil strokes, exchanged witty letters, and danced through candlelit evenings. The flirtation carried genuine warmth—historians describe it as light but affectionate courtly attention rather than a grand romance. When the British evacuated Philadelphia in June 1778, the connection ended. Peggy stayed behind and, in April 1779, married the widowed American hero Benedict Arnold, then the city’s military governor. A dark chain of events would soon link her former love and her husband.

Peggy Shippen

Back in New York, André immersed himself in intelligence duties. Frustrated by the stalemate in the North, British Secretary of State for the Colonies Lord George Germain directed British commander in chief General Sir Henry Clinton to turn southward.

In December 1779, Clinton sailed from New York with a large fleet and army, with André serving as adjutant-general. The expedition reached the Carolina coast in January 1780. After careful preparations amid barrier islands and swamps, the British began the formal siege of Charleston in March. André participated in staff operations supporting the methodical advance down the neck of land leading to the harbor. 

The American commander, General Benjamin Lincoln, surrendered the city on May 12, 1780—the war’s greatest British victory, in which roughly 5,000 Continental and militia troops were captured. Clinton and his immediate staff, including André, returned to New York by early June, leaving Lord Cornwallis to press the southern campaign. 

Fall of Charleston

Resuming his intelligence duties in New York, André oversaw the growing secret correspondence with Benedict Arnold. Disaffected by congressional slights and personal grievances, Arnold—through channels linked to his wife, Peggy—offered to betray the vital Hudson fortress of West Point. André personally managed the negotiations throughout the summer of 1780. In a final literary flourish before the climax, he composed the satirical poem “The Cow-Chase,” mocking American General Anthony Wayne’s raid on a Loyalist outpost. Tragically, its third canto appeared in the New York Loyalist newspaper, Rivington’s Royal Gazette, on the day André set out on his fateful mission.

West Point 1780

On 21 September 1780, André boarded the British sloop HMS Vulture and met Arnold near Haverstraw in the cover of darkness. He received detailed maps and plans of West Point’s defenses, which he concealed in his boot. Things seemed to be going well for André’s first clandestine mission. But around dawn, American artillery batteries forced Vulture downstream to avoid plunging fire. Unable to return by water, André changed into civilian clothes and attempted to take the overland route through contested territory, carrying a safe-conduct pass signed by Arnold under the alias John Anderson.

HMS Vulture

Near Tarrytown on 23 September, three Westchester militiamen—John Paulding, David Williams, and Isaac Van Wart—stopped him. Suspicious of his manner and story, they searched him thoroughly and found incriminating papers.  The conspiracy collapsed instantly. Arnold, alerted in time, escaped downriver to the Vulture and defected, later receiving a British brigadier’s commission and payment. However, West Point remained firmly in American hands. 

Capture of a Spy

The hapless André was escorted to American headquarters in Tappan, New York. A swift court-martial convened. Although he argued that he had initially met Arnold under a flag of truce and in uniform, the board correctly ruled him a spy—traveling behind American lines in disguise to gather military intelligence. Ever the gentleman, André bore the proceedings with dignity. 

Court martial at Tappan

On 1 October, he wrote General Clinton a composed letter, thanking him for past confidence and expressing regret only for the circumstances. He requested execution by firing squad, befitting a soldier. In an unusual lack of compassion combined with anger over Arnold’s betrayal, Washington declined, citing the nature of the offense. 

General Henry Clinton

On the morning of 2 October 1780, the gentleman spy Major John André mounted the gallows with unflinching composure. He adjusted the noose himself and remarked that, though reconciled to death, he detested the method. A single drum roll sounded. The trapdoor dropped.

Execution

Back in New York City, Clinton was devastated, lamenting the loss of “a very valuable assistant… an honour to his country.”

 Even among his captors, André earned admiration for his courage and demeanor; American officers described him as a gallant enemy. Major Benjamin Tallmadge, General Washington’s chief of intelligence, met with André during his trial and execution. 

He penned these remarks in his memoir: 

“I became so deeply attached to Major André that I can remember no instance where my affections were so fully absorbed in any man.” And describing the moment of execution: “I walked with him to the place of execution, and parted with him under the gallows, entirely overwhelmed with Grief, that so gallant an officer, & so accomplished a Gentleman should come to such an ignominious End.” 

Benjamin Tallmadge

In his brief yet intense service, André had blended intelligence, craftsmanship, and social grace with literary wit. From the Meschianza festivities and the Charleston siege lines to the shadowy negotiations that culminated at the gallows, he embodied the era’s blend of honor, ambition, and tragedy. 

The artful Andre's sefl portrait

The Gentleman Spy’s execution reverberated across the Atlantic, turning the young major into a romantic symbol of duty betrayed. The rebellion endured, but the memory of John André lingered as a poignant footnote to a war fought as much with secrets as with muskets.