1776

by David McCullough

  Private Joseph Martin, the fifteen-year-old Connecticut recruit, would remember enjoying “a complete view of the whole affair.” It was his first experience with the “muttering” of cannon fire, and he “rather thought the sound was musical, or at least grand.”

  Every battery along the Hudson fired away until cannon smoke lay thick and heavy over the city, and the air reeked of gunpowder.

  The British ships, keeping close to the New Jersey shore, proceeded rapidly up the river and were soon out of sight. By five-thirty they had passed the blasts of cannon from Fort Washington, and by evening they were safely anchored thirty miles above the city in the broadest part of the Hudson, the Tappan Zee at Tarrytown, where their mission was to cut off rebel supplies and rouse local Loyalists.

  American gun crews had fired nearly 200 shots—more than 150 from the New York batteries alone—and to no apparent effect. (According to the log of the Rose, the Americans “shot away our starb[oa]rd fore shroud, fore tackle pendant, fore lift, fore topsail clewlines, spritsail and main topsail braces, one 18 pound shot in the head of our foremast, one through the pinnace, several through the sails and some in the hull.”) Knox’s guns had proven more deadly to his own men than to the foe. Six American artillerymen were killed, the only fatalities of the day, when their cannon blew up due to their own inexperience or overconfidence, or possibly, as said, because a great many were drunk.

  In his ensuing general orders, Washington could barely conceal his disgust over the inexcusable behavior displayed in the face of the enemy, and the shame he felt over officers who, instead of attending to their duty, had stood gazing like bumpkins. To the proud Washington, he and the army had been made a laughingstock.

  Such unsoldierly conduct must grieve every good officer, and give the enemy a mean opinion of the army, as nothing shows the brave and good soldier more than in case of alarms, coolly and calmly repairing to his post, and there waiting his orders; whereas a weak curiosity at such a time makes a man look mean and contemptible.

  Knox wrote privately that while the loss of his six men had been a great misfortune, he consoled himself with the hope that the day’s action had taught the rest to be less “impetuous” the next time.

  But there was a far larger, more ominous lesson in what had happened. Clearly if two enemy warships with their tenders could pass so swiftly and readily up the Hudson suffering no serious damage from the onshore batteries, then so could ten or twenty warships and transports, or for that matter, an entire British fleet, and by landing an army of 10,000 or more upriver, they could cut off any chance Washington and his forces might have for escape from New York.

  To compound Washington’s torment, the day’s drama closed in late afternoon with the spectacle of the 64-gun HMS Eagle steadily advancing up the bay with all canvas spread and the flag of St. George flying at the foretop masthead, signifying it was the flagship of Admiral Lord Howe and that therefore the fleet from England and still more troops could not be far behind. In the gathering dusk of New York, the boom of a Royal Navy salute came rolling across the waters.

  III

  MORALE IN THE BRITISH RANKS had never been higher. After the miseries of the winter in Boston and months of bleak isolation at Halifax, then more wearisome weeks at sea, Staten Island in summer seemed a paradise.

  “[We] are in very comfortable cantonments amongst a loyal and liberal people, who produce [supply] us in plenty and in agreeable variety all the necessaries of life, most of which we have been long deprived of,” wrote a British officer. “We are in the most beautiful island that nature could form or art improve,” declared another. “Here,” reported a third, “we experience greater luxury than we have done since the commencement of hostilities…fresh meat…eggs, butter, milk, and vegetables,” and all on “reasonable terms.”

  Captain Archibald Robertson hiked to the nearby hills with his painting kit to do watercolor sketches as he had at Boston. The difference here was the greater scale of everything spread before him—the sweep of the surpassing harbor defined by New York and Long Island in the distance, and the far larger British fleet now riding at anchor in the middle foreground.

  The red-coated soldiers found themselves well nourished and welcome on American soil in a way they had never been—indeed, openly greeted “with greatest joy.”

  “We have now a very good supply of salt provisions,” summarized still another officer, “a great quantity of rum, an immense quantity of ammunition of all kinds, and what is best of all, the very people who we suspected would oppose us are coming over to us in great numbers.” Hardly a day passed without distraught Loyalists or American deserters turning up, filled with tales of woe, many of them having crossed at night by boat from Long Island or New York.

  Ambrose Serle, a patriotic young Englishman and fluent writer who served as a civilian secretary to Admiral Howe, recorded in his journal how his heart went out to the Loyalists. “It excited one’s sympathy to see their poor meager faces,” he wrote of several who had escaped from Long Island, “and to hear their complaints of being hunted for their lives like game into the woods and swamps, only because they would not renounce their allegiance to their King and affection for their country.”

  For deserters there was considerably less sympathy and little or no trust. There was “no believing these poor deluded wretches,” wrote Colonel Charles Stuart, summing up what most British officers felt. General James Grant thought no American could be trusted, Loyalists any more than the rest. “The inhabitants of this island,” Grant concluded from his observations, “hate the rebel army because they have been oppressed by them…. But from the confession and conversation of our most loyal subjects of Staten Island, I am quite confirmed in my opinion that we have not a friend in America.”

  This, however, was not the view of the more astute General Howe, who saw immediately in the Loyalists an advantage he had been denied at Boston. “I met with Governor Tryon on board of ship at the Hook, and many gentlemen, fast friends to [the] government attending him, from whom I have had the fullest information on the state of the rebels,” Howe had reported to Lord Germain, on July 7, just days after landing at Staten Island.

  News of the Declaration of Independence served only to underscore “the villainy and the madness of these deluded people,” an outraged Ambrose Serle observed. “A more impudent, false, and atrocious proclamation was never fabricated by the hands of man.”

  Soldiers in his Majesty’s ranks talked of “the sporting season” about to begin. The lust for the hunt was stronger than ever, their officers happily took note. All rebels were fair game. “The troops hold them very cheap,” wrote Serle, “and long for an opportunity of revenging the cause of their countrymen who fell at Bunker Hill.”

  Lord Rawdon, a veteran of Bunker Hill and of the siege of Boston who had taken delight in the hatred his men felt for Yankees, was cheered now by the number of soldiers being court-martialed for rape, this being perfect proof, he wrote, of their improved diet and of what a “spirited” lot they were.

  The fair nymphs of this isle are in wonderful tribulation, as the fresh meat our men have got here has made them as riotous as satyrs. A girl cannot step into the bushes to pluck a rose without running the most imminent risk of being ravished, and they are so little accustomed to these vigorous methods that they don’t bear them with the proper resignation, and of consequence we have most entertaining courts-martial every day.

  Yet the courts-martial were themselves proof that such conduct was no laughing matter to the British command, and in fact those convicted faced punishment far more severe than what was customarily dispensed in the American army.

  Writing earlier to the Earl of Huntingdon, the handsome Lord Rawdon had expressed the hope that “we shall soon have done with these [American] scoundrels, for one only dirties one’s fingers by meddling with them. I do not imagine they can possibly last out beyond this campaign, if you give us the necessary means of carrying on the war with vigor.” Now, with
“the necessary means” gathering in such heartening numbers on Staten Island, he eagerly anticipated the moment when the “Yankee psalm-singers,” as he loved to call them, crossed paths with the likes of the newly arrived Scottish Highlanders armed with their murderous broadswords.

  Through telescopes a dozen or more distant rebel camps could be distinctly seen, and the enemy appeared “very numerous.” From what could be learned from Loyalists and deserters, rebel strength in New York and on Long Island was overestimated to be between 30,000 and 35,000. But few if any of the British doubted that the conflict ahead would prove fatal to the rebel army, or that it would be exceedingly bloody.

  Among many officers the chief worry was that the Americans might not fight. As one wrote anonymously in a letter published in London’s Morning Chronicle, “Our only fear is that the rebels will not choose to hazard a general action…. If…they are determined to act upon the defensive only…our work will never be done.”

  Even before the successful dash of the Phoenix and the Rose up the Hudson, it had been assumed by many British officers that the assault on New York would be made to the north, and thus the army would advance on the city from the undefended rear, while the Royal Navy let loose with a heavy bombardment from the rivers and harbor. But General Howe was saying little of his plans, except that the wait would continue until full reinforcements had arrived. The general, too, was enjoying the comparative comforts of Staten Island, as well as the company of the comely Mrs. Loring, and characteristically he appeared to be in no hurry.

  To what extent his brother the admiral would influence or even determine strategy henceforth was an open question, and important, since both the admiral and the general had been lately assigned by the King to serve in the oddly ambiguous, potentially conflicting, role of peace commissioners.

  The general was known to want a “decisive action” as the surest way to wind things up quickly—which was also the adamant view of George Lord Germain, from whom he took his orders—and unlike some of his officers, he was certain the Americans would fight. In a letter written before sailing for New York from Halifax, he had said they were undoubtedly spoiling for a fight, that “flushed with the idea of superiority after the evacuation of Boston, [they] may be readier brought to a decisive action,” and that nothing was “more to be desired or sought for” as the most effective means “to terminate this expensive war.”

  Whether the admiral carried an olive branch or a sword was unclear. But his presence on the Eagle and the prospect of more men-of-war and transports arriving had a huge effect. The admiral was a renowned fighting sailor, and as the older, less self-indulgent of the brothers—and with an even darker, gloomier cast to his expression—“Black Dick,” as he was known affectionately, was thought to be the wiser of the two.

  The fact that they were of like mind on most matters military and political, and got along well, seemed to preclude the friction and jealousies between the Royal Navy and the army frequently endemic to such joint operations. Whatever strategy was resolved, the assumption was that the sea and land forces would work in close cooperation and harmony.

  ***

  ON SATURDAY, JULY 13, General Howe and his staff, joined by Royal Governor Tryon, dined with the admiral in his cabin on board the Eagle. The discussion “turned upon military affairs, upon the country, and upon the rebels,” and lasted well into the evening.

  The next day came another surprise move when Lord Howe sent a picked officer from the Eagle, Lieutenant Philip Brown, across the bay to New York under a flag of truce carrying a letter addressed to “George Washington, Esq.” Brown was met by Joseph Reed, who on Washington’s orders had hurried to the waterfront accompanied by Henry Knox and Samuel Webb.

  “I have a letter, sir, from Lord Howe to Mr. Washington,” Lieutenant Brown began.

  “Sir,” replied Reed, “we have no person in our army with that address.”

  When Brown asked by what title Mr. Washington chose to be addressed, Reed replied, “You are sensible, sir, of the rank of General Washington in our army.”

  “Yes, sir, we are,” answered Brown. “I am sure Lord Howe will lament exceedingly this affair, as the letter is quite of a civil nature and not a military one.”

  Lord Howe also lamented “exceedingly that he was not here sooner,” Brown added, implying that the admiral regretted not arriving in New York before the Declaration of Independence.

  Brown returned to the Eagle to report the response of the Americans. (“So high is the vanity and the insolence of these men!” huffed Ambrose Serle in his journal.) But the admiral persisted. Three days later, Brown departed again under a white flag, the letter now addressed to “George Washington, Esq., etc., etc.” But again it was declined.

  The day after the admiral made a third try, this time sending a different messenger, a captain named Nisbet Balfour, to inquire whether General Washington would receive the adjutant general to General Howe, Colonel James Paterson. This time the answer was yes.

  Thus exactly at noon, Saturday, July 20, Colonel Paterson arrived at New York and was escorted directly to No. 1 Broadway, where he met Washington with all due formality, with Reed, Knox, and others in attendance.

  Washington’s guard stood at attention at the entrance. Washington, as Knox wrote, was “very handsomely dressed and made a most elegant appearance,” while Paterson conducted himself with what Reed considered “the greatest politeness and attention.”

  Seated across a table from Washington, Paterson assured him that Lord Howe did not mean to “derogate from the respect or rank of General Washington.” Both Lord and General Howe held the “person and character” of General Washington “in highest esteem,” Paterson said. But when he took from his pocket the same letter—addressed still to “George Washington, Esq., etc., etc.”—and placed it on the table between them, Washington let it lie, pointedly refusing to touch it.

  The use of “etc., etc.” implied everything that ought to follow, Paterson offered by way of explanation. “It so does,” said Washington, “and anything.” A letter addressed to a person in a position of public responsibility ought to indicate that station, Washington said, otherwise it would appear mere private correspondence. He would not accept such a letter.

  Paterson talked of the “goodness” and “benevolence” of the King, who had appointed Lord and General Howe as commissioners to “accommodate this unhappy dispute.” As Reed would write in a report to Congress—a report soon published in the Pennsylvania Journal —Washington replied simply that he was “not vested with any powers on this subject by those from whom he derived his authority and power.”

  It was his understanding, Washington continued, that Lord Howe had come out from London with authority only to grant pardons. If that was so, he had come to the wrong place.

  “Those who have committed no fault want no pardon,” Washington said plainly. “We are only defending what we deem our indisputable rights.”

  According to Henry Knox, the English officer appeared as “awestruck as if before something super-natural.”

  Paterson said he lamented that an “adherence to forms” might “obstruct business of the greatest moment and concern.”

  The meeting over, as Paterson himself would write, the general “with a great deal of marked attention and civility permitted me to take my leave.”

  It had been a scene that those in the room would long remember. Washington had performed his role to perfection. It was not enough that a leader look the part; by Washington’s rules, he must know how to act it with self-command and precision. John Adams would later describe Washington approvingly as one of the great actors of the age.

  To Washington it had been an obligatory farce. He had no faith, no trust whatever in any peace overtures by the British, however properly rendered. He had agreed to take part in such an “interview,” one senses, partly to show the British—and his own staff—that he could go through the motions quite as well as any officer and gentleman, but more impo
rtantly to send a message to the British command absent any ambiguity. And in this he was unmistakably successful.

  As Lord Howe would report to Lord Germain on the prospect of an accommodation acceptable to the King, the “interview…induced me to change my subscription for the attainment of an end so desirable.”

  ***

  BRITISH SHIPS KEPT ARRIVING, their sails at first tiny glints on the eastern horizon, then growing steadily larger by the hour as they came up through the Narrows. Samuel Webb counted five ships on July 25, eight on July 26. On July 29 another twenty arrived.

  A midsummer drought had set in; the heat was fierce. Just as the winter of 1776 had been one of extreme cold, so the summer was one of extreme heat. “No air, and the thermometer at 94 degrees,” recorded Ambrose Serle on board the Eagle.

  Henry Knox, writing to Lucy at his desk at No. 1 Broadway, said he had never worked so hard or felt so done in by the heat.