For almost twenty years, the highest-ranking general in the United States Army was secretly on the payroll of Spain, and it wasn't proven until long after he was dead. His name was James Wilkinson. He'd been an officer in the Revolution, and even then he had a talent for being near trouble. He was tangled up in the Conway Cabal, the whispering campaign to replace George Washington with Horatio Gates. Later he was forced out of a job as clothier general over sloppy accounts. Somehow, none of it ever stuck. In 1787, Wilkinson made a trip down the Mississippi to New Orleans, which was Spanish territory at the time. Americans living in Kentucky depended on the river to get their goods to market, and Spain controlled it. Wilkinson came back with valuable trading rights. What nobody knew was the price. While in New Orleans, he swore an oath of allegiance to the King of Spain. In Spanish reports he became known as Agent 13. In exchange for a pension, he fed Spain information and promised to help pull the western territories away from the United States. Then he went back into the U.S. Army. He rose all the way to the top. By the late 1790s he was the senior officer in the entire Army, and he held that role on and off until 1812. All the while, money from Spain kept coming, sometimes smuggled up the river in barrels of sugar or coffee. There were rumors the whole time. People in Washington whispered that Wilkinson was a Spanish agent. Presidents heard the talk. Nobody could prove it. In 1804, when Lewis and Clark set out to explore the West, Wilkinson quietly advised Spanish officials to stop them. Spain sent out patrols to intercept the expedition. They never found it. Then came Aaron Burr. After killing Alexander Hamilton in a duel, the former vice president headed west with a mysterious plan. Depending on who you ask, he wanted to invade Spanish Mexico, carve off part of the American West, or both. Wilkinson was deep in it with him. Then Wilkinson decided Burr was going to fail. So he flipped. He wrote to Thomas Jefferson warning of a dangerous conspiracy and cast himself as the loyal general saving the nation. The key evidence against Burr was a coded letter Burr had sent to Wilkinson. Before handing it over, Wilkinson changed it, cutting out the parts that made himself look guilty. At Burr's treason trial in 1807, Wilkinson was the star witness. It went badly. The doctored letter came out. The grand jury came close to indicting Wilkinson himself. The foreman, John Randolph, later described him as rotten from top to bottom. Burr was acquitted, and Wilkinson kept his command. He faced courts of inquiry and a court-martial over the years. He beat every one of them. It was later said of him that he never won a battle and never lost a court-martial. His luck on the battlefield finally ran out in the War of 1812. In 1813 he led an invasion aimed at Montreal that fell apart in confusion and defeat. He was removed from command. Wilkinson died in Mexico City in 1825. It wasn't until historians dug through the Spanish archives decades later that they found the proof. The reports, the payments, the code name. The man who led the U.S. Army had been working for a foreign power the whole time. It's called the Wilkinson affair, and almost nobody learns about it.

In March 1783, the Continental Army came closer to overthrowing the American government than most people realize, and George Washington stopped it with a pair of reading glasses. The Revolutionary War was basically won. The British had surrendered at Yorktown more than a year earlier, and peace negotiations were underway in Paris. The army was camped at Newburgh, New York, waiting to go home. But the officers had a problem. They hadn't been paid in months. Back in 1780, Congress had promised them half pay for life once the war ended. Now it looked like that promise was worthless. Congress had no power to tax, the states weren't sending money, and the officers were convinced they'd be sent home broke after eight years of war. In Philadelphia, some politicians saw an opportunity. Men like Robert Morris and a young Alexander Hamilton wanted a stronger national government with the power to tax. An angry army leaning on Congress might help them get it. Hamilton even wrote to Washington hinting that the army's discontent could be useful, as long as it was kept under control. It didn't stay under control. In early March, an anonymous letter started circulating through the camp. It told the officers they'd been betrayed and that it was time to stop being patient. If the war continued, they should refuse to fight. If peace came, they should refuse to lay down their arms until they got what they were owed. It called for a meeting of officers to decide what to do. In other words, an army that refused to disband and a government at its mercy. The letter was later traced to Major John Armstrong Jr., an aide to General Horatio Gates. Gates was the hero of Saratoga and Washington's longtime rival. Many people suspected the plot was aimed as much at Washington as at Congress. Washington moved fast. He banned the unauthorized meeting and called his own for March 15. He let everyone believe he wouldn't attend. Gates was presiding when Washington walked into the room. He gave a speech asking the officers not to throw away everything they'd fought for. He urged them to trust Congress and warned that what the letter proposed would open the floodgates of civil discord. The room was cold. Washington wasn't winning them over. Then he pulled out a letter from a Virginia congressman to read to them. He stumbled over the words. He stopped, reached into his pocket, and took out a pair of glasses. Most of the officers had never seen him wear them. He said something close to this: Gentlemen, you'll have to forgive me for putting on my spectacles. I've grown gray, and almost blind, in the service of my country. Grown officers broke down crying. Washington finished reading, then left the room. As soon as he was gone, the officers voted to reject the anonymous letter and reaffirm their loyalty to Congress. The crisis was over in about fifteen minutes. The officers eventually got a settlement from Congress, five years of full pay in government certificates instead of a lifetime pension. Many of them ended up selling those certificates to speculators for a fraction of their value. As for John Armstrong, the man who wrote the letter, he never faced consequences. Thirty years later, he became Secretary of War under James Madison. He was running the War Department in 1814 when the British marched into Washington and burned the White House. He was forced to resign. It's called the Newburgh Conspiracy, and almost nobody learns about it.