It's Revolutionary Saturday!

Last week I told you about Benjamin Tallmadge, who organized the Culper Spy Ring – recruiting old friends from his hometown of Setauket, Long Island.

Each member of that ring has a special story. Imagine someone like you or me secretly becoming a spy. These were ordinary people, which was why Tallmadge chose them. They belonged there, and they wouldn’t be suspected.

Today I will focus on Austin Roe. A tavern keeper – and the courier for the ring.

You know how Paul Revere did that all-night ride to warn people that the British were coming?

Austin Roe rode fifty-five from Setauket to Manhattan and back again many times during the war. He didn’t yell out anything. He did something more dangerous: He carried secret messages from Robert Townsend - the spy situated in Manhattan - directed to George Washington.

A sample of the spy code the Culpers used.
(They also used invisible ink when it was available.)

If caught by the British, Austin would surely be hanged.

If caught by highway robbers – who roamed the thick woods Roe’s horse galloped though on their long journey – he would surely be shot.

Indeed, at least on one documented occasion, Roe greeted his wife cheerfully upon his return – showing her a bullet hole through his hat.



Austin Roe and his horse, as depicted by illustrators Jeff Crosby & Shelley Ann Jackson



Austin Roe loved this fast and dangerous life. He thrived on propulsion and the thrill of the chase. It was sitting still which drove him to distraction -­ as he was forced to do when hiding out in Robert Townsend’s room, waiting for Townsend to gather information.



Austin Roe's Tavern



That Austin Roe was never caught in his years of carrying messages to Washington is akin to miraculous. He is another unsung hero of the American Revolution ­- an ordinary man driven to extraordinary measures by his immeasurable quest for freedom.



Austin Roe as depicted on a Setauket school mural, sans hat.



When you complain about your long commute, think of Austin Roe racing through the nights. And remember his poor, tired horse - whose name, alas, I do not know.