1776

by David McCullough

  Chapter Six

  Fortune Frowns

  We want great men who, when fortune frowns, will not be discouraged.

  —Colonel Henry Knox

  I

  I HAVE ONLY TIME to say I am alive and well,” Joseph Reed reported to his wife Esther. His spirits, however, were but “middling.”

  The justice of our cause, the hope of success, and every other circumstance that can enliven us, must be put into the scale against those of a contrary kind, which I allow to be serious…. My honor, duty, and every other tie held sacred among men, call upon me to proceed with firmness and resolution…. My country will, I trust, yet be free, whatever may be our fate who are cooped up, or are in danger of being so, on this tongue of land, where we ought never to have been.

  It was “a mere point of honor which keeps us here,” he had written earlier to a friend. Now, in the dismal aftermath of defeat, the idea of risking the fate of America in defense of New York seemed so senseless that submitting to the “dispensations of Providence,” as he said, was about the only recourse left.

  The army that had shown such remarkable discipline and unity through the long night of the escape from Brooklyn had rapidly become engulfed with despair, turned surly and out of hand. Gangs of soldiers roamed the streets of New York breaking into houses and taking whatever they wanted. Even Lord Stirling’s mansion, at the corner of Broad and Beaver streets, was wantonly ransacked.

  Joseph Hodgkins, already as downcast as he had ever been over the defeat, learned in a letter from his wife of the death of their small, ailing son. It was “heavy news,” he told her. He was trying hard not to be discouraged over the way the war was going.

  But only consider a minute, we have been all this summer digging and building of forts to cover our heads and now we have been obliged to leave them and now we are here and not one shovel full of dirt to cover us…. I don’t write this to discourage you or to increase you[r] trouble, but only to let you know as near as I can of our circumstances.

  Still concerned for her, he wrote again the next day to assure her he himself had suffered no real damage thus far. “I had my sleeve button shot out of my sleeve and the skin a little grazed, but through mercy, received no other hurt.” There was no mention of giving up and coming home.

  But others by the hundreds were doing just that, many walking off with their arms and ammunition. (One soldier was found lugging a cannonball, to give to his mother, he explained, to use to pound mustard seed.) Entire Connecticut militia units were departing en masse, saying they had had enough. The roads in Connecticut and New Jersey were filled with soldiers heading home. Probably one in four carried disease, and those who did not spread their own corrosive discouragement.

  Men in the ranks complained they had been “sold out.” Some were openly saying they longed for the return of General Lee. Washington’s leadership was in question. Colonel John Haslet wrote to Caesar Rodney, a delegate to Congress, “I fear General Washington has too heavy a task, assisted mostly by beardless boys.”

  Henry Knox, whose faith in Washington never faltered, wrote to his wife that the pressing need was for great men “who when fortune frowns will not be discouraged.” If there was a grievous flaw in how things were being run, it was the “stupid parsimony” of the Congress.

  Washington had concluded his general orders for September 2 with a call for steadfastness and valor in the defense of New York: “Now is the time for every man to exert himself and make our country glorious or become contemptible.” But by all signs his words had little effect. Indeed, in a letter to Congress written that same day, Washington portrayed much of the army as plainly “contemptible.”

  The militia, instead of calling forth their utmost efforts to a brave and manly opposition, in order to repair our losses, are dismayed, intractable, and impatient to return. Great numbers of them have gone off, in some instances almost by whole regiments.

  Worse, their example had “infected” others to the point that he no longer had confidence in the army as a whole and for the first time questioned whether New York had become a lost cause.

  He needed to know from Congress whether, in the event he had to abandon the city, it should be left to “stand as winter quarters for the enemy”—meaning, should it be burned? “They would derive great conveniences from it, on the one hand, and much property would be destroyed on the other.” The question, he wrote, allowed “but little time for deliberation.”

  The letter went immediately off to Philadelphia, where, as it happened, General John Sullivan arrived that same day, September 2, having been temporarily paroled by Lord Howe to deliver a peace overture to Congress. Washington, who took a dim view of Sullivan’s mission, had nonetheless given his approval, feeling it was not for him to withhold whatever Howe had to say. As Sullivan reported, His Lordship, being “desirous of an accommodation with America,” wished to meet “almost any place” with a delegation from Congress.

  British troops all the while were advancing on the opposite shore of the East River, heading north in the direction of King’s Bridge. Then, in the dark of night, September 3, the first enemy ship, the frigateRose, towing thirty flatboats, started up the river with a north-flowing tide, anchoring ultimately in the mouth of Newtown Creek, directly across from a large cove on the New York side known as Kips Bay.

  The day after brought a “mighty movement” of transports and more flatboats up the East River, while two more frigates, the Repulse and the Pearl, sailed into the Hudson.

  In Philadelphia, Congress resolved that in the event General Washington found it necessary to withdraw from New York, there must be “no damage” done to the city, as Washington was informed in a letter from John Hancock. And as if to underscore how little the members of Congress comprehended the actual situation, it was further stated that they had “no doubt of being able to recover” the city, should the enemy “obtain possession of it.”

  Where the British would strike was as uncertain as it had been from the start. What Washington feared most was an attack from the rear, in the vicinity of King’s Bridge, and having convinced himself that this was Howe’s intention, he began moving troops there. General Heath warned that the enemy might land on the coast of Westchester County, beyond the Harlem River. Everything depended on reliable intelligence, Washington told Heath, and he had none. He urged Heath to “leave no stone unturned” or spare any expense in finding out all he could as soon as possible.

  “We think (at least I do) that we cannot stay,” Joseph Reed wrote again to his wife, “and yet we do not know how to go, so that we may be properly said to be between hawk and buzzard.”

  Reed, who seemed older and wiser than his years, had tried always to take a large, philosophical view of life’s travails, and this, in combination with a natural cheerfulness and a strong, analytical mind, had put him at the head of the legal profession in Philadelphia while still in his early thirties. But it was a struggle now for him to offer even a fragment of hope. It was the sluggards and skulkers, the tavern patriots and windy politicians, who evoked a wrath he could not contain.

  When I look round, and see how few of the numbers who talked so largely of death and honor are around me, and that those who are here are those from whom it was least expected…I am lost in wonder and surprise…. Your noisy sons of liberty are, I find, the quietest in the field…. An engagement, or even the expectation of one, gives a wonderful insight into character.

  Though an observer only through the Battle of Brooklyn, Reed had been with Washington throughout. For six days there had not been time even for a change of clothes, and, like Washington, he had had no sleep for several nights. Whether he could continue to bear up under the strain and fatigue, as Washington seemed able to do, remained to be seen.

  Esther, as she wrote, hoped he would come home to be with her at the birth of their fourth child.

  It was thought that the American army, spread now from the Battery to King’s Bridge, numbered 20,000, but with men d
eserting in droves, it was difficult to tell. Perhaps a quarter of the men were sick, and officers, as well as men in the ranks, often feigned sickness.

  One of the most seriously ill had recovered, however, and with immediate consequences. On September 5, Nathanael Greene returned to duty and promptly submitted to Washington an emphatic, closely reasoned argument for abandoning New York at once. If illness had denied him the chance to play a part at Brooklyn, he had by no means let his mind drift from the fate of the army, or all that was at stake. While others, like Reed, were of the same mind, Greene alone committed his views to paper.

  I think we have no object on this side of King’s Bridge. Our troops are now so scattered that one part may be cut off before the others can come to their support. In this situation suppose the enemy should run up the North River several ships of force and a number of transpo[rts] at the same time, and effect a landing between the town and middle division of the army. Another party from Long Island should land right opposite. These two parties form a line across the Island and entrench themselves. The two flanks of this line could be easily supported by the shipping. The center, fortified with the redoubts, would render it very difficult, if not impossible, to cut our way through…. Should this event take place, and by the by I don’t think it very improbable, your Excellency will be reduced to that situation which every prudent general would wish to avoid, that is of being obligated to fight the enemy to a disadvantage or submit.

  It had been agreed, Greene continued, that without the possession of Long Island, New York could not be held. The army, dispersed as it was from one end of York Island to the other, could not possibly stop an attack, and another such defeat as at Brooklyn could be ruinous. “ ’Tis our business to study to avoid any considerable misfortune.” Besides, two-thirds of the city belonged to Tories. There was no sound reason to run any great risk in its defense.

  “I give it as my opinion that a general and speedy retreat is absolutely necessary and that the honor and interest of America require it.”

  Further, he would burn the city. Once taken by the British, it could never be recovered without a naval force superior to theirs. Left standing, it would guarantee them abundant housing, wharves, and a market for their every need. Greene could not conceive of a single benefit to the American cause that could come from preserving New York, and he urged Washington to summon a war council.

  By the time the council convened, on September 7, at Washington’s headquarters at the Mortier house north of town, the letter from John Hancock had arrived saying Congress wanted no damage done to New York.

  It was agreed by the council that if the British were to bring up their fleet and open fire, the city was untenable. Greene, Reed, Israel Putnam, and several others called for a total and immediate withdrawal from all of York Island. This, they argued, would deprive the enemy of the advantage of their sea power, “put nothing to the hazard,” and keep the army together.

  But they were overruled by the majority, as Washington promptly reported to Congress. What Washington said at the meeting is not known, as no record survived, though it appears he thought the directive from Congress was an egregious mistake and that Nathanael Greene had the right idea. In a letter to Lund Washington he would later write, “Had I been left to the dictates of my own judgment, New York should have been laid in ashes.”

  To Congress on September 8, Washington expressed his fear of being outflanked again by the enemy. “On every side there is a choice of difficulties,” he wrote. And with every decision went the possibility that his army would not fight. It was a fear that never left him. Young, inexperienced soldiers who were so greatly outnumbered ought never be drawn into an open conflict, he wrote.

  “We should on all occasions avoid a general action or put anything to the risk unless compelled by a necessity.”

  Yet he seemed unable to make up his mind. “On the other hand, to abandon a city which has been by some deemed defensible and on whose works much labor has been bestowed, has a tendency to dispirit the troops and enfeeble our cause.” Strong posts at Fort Washington and on the opposite side of the Hudson would secure the Hudson corridor. A retreating army was always “encircled with difficulties,” and “declining an engagement subjects a general to reproach.”

  But then he held out the possibility that some “brilliant stroke” might save the cause, though who knew what that might be.

  It did not help that the men were badly fed and unpaid—many had seen no pay for two months—while across the East River the British were well supplied with fresh provisions from the farms of Long Island, “a pleasing circumstance,” as Ambrose Serle noted, “both for the health and spirit of the troops.” The Hessians especially claimed they had never fared so well.

  ***

  AT PHILADELPHIA, after days of debate, Congress decided to send a delegation of three—Benjamin Franklin, John Adams, and Edward Rutledge—to meet with Lord Howe. The three men departed on September 9.

  On September 10, advancing British forces crossed from Long Island to occupy Montresor’s Island at the mouth of the Harlem River.

  Nathanael Greene pressed Washington to reconvene the war council. The situation was “so critical and dangerous” that a decision must be made, Washington read in a joint statement signed by Greene and six other general officers, this written September 11, the day the three-man congressional delegation crossed from New Jersey to Staten Island to confer with Lord Howe.

  The Staten Island meeting lasted several hours, during which Lord Howe did most of the talking. “It is desirable to put a stop to these ruinous extremities, as well for the sake of our country as yours,” said the resplendently uniformed admiral. Was there no way of “treading back this step of independency?” There was not, he was told, and the meeting came to nothing, as expected.

  But it had at least brought a pause to enemy movements. The British had suspended operations during what could have been a golden opportunity to attack, as one perfect, late-summer day followed another.

  Washington’s war council met again on September 12 and this time resolved to abandon the city. The main part of the army was to move north to King’s Bridge as rapidly as possible, while some 4,000 troops under General Putnam remained to hold off an attack. The sick were to be moved first. Cannon and tons of supplies and ammunition had to be hauled from the city, a mammoth undertaking. Every available horse and wagon was pressed into service.

  On the afternoon of Friday the 13th, the British were on the move again. Clearly some “grand military exertion” was under way, in Joseph Reed’s words. The warships Roebuck and Phoenix, and the frigates Orpheus and Carysfort —four ships mounting 148 cannon—proceeded up the East River with six troop transports, to anchor in Bushwick Creek. Fired on “briskly” by American batteries, the ships received no serious damage, nor bothered even to return the fire.

  On Saturday the 14th, Washington received another directive from John Hancock. After further consideration, Congress had now decided to leave the timing of an evacuation of New York entirely to the commander-in-chief. He and the army were to remain not “a moment longer” than he thought necessary.

  Washington replied at once:

  We are now taking every method in our power to remove the stores, etc…. they are so great and so numerous that I fear we shall not effect the whole before we meet with some interruption…. Our sick are extremely numerous and we find their removal attended with the greatest difficulty.

  Yet by late afternoon the larger part of the army had moved north to King’s Bridge and Harlem Heights. Washington and his staff would depart from the Mortier house that night and head north.

  ***

  SURVEYING THE SHORE of Kips Bay with his telescope, from the deck of the Roebuck, General Henry Clinton could see entrenchments “lined with men whose countenance appeared respectable and firm,” as he later wrote. The invasion of New York was about to begin, and Clinton was again to lead the attack.

  Kips Bay was not his c
hoice. He had adamantly opposed the plan, insisting that the Harlem River and King’s Bridge were the key to victory. If York Island was a bottle, then Harlem was the neck. Close it off, Clinton argued, and Washington and his rebel army would be trapped, the war won.

  Though overruled, Clinton continued to press his opinions almost to the last hour. Even if the landing at Kips Bay were to succeed, he said, it would still be necessary to drive the rebels from Harlem and from King’s Bridge.

  General Howe and his brother the admiral were not unmindful of Clinton’s logic, but the captains of the ships in the East River feared the infamously treacherous currents at Hell Gate, at the confluence of the East River and the Harlem.

  William Howe issued a final order to the troops saying an attack on the enemy was “shortly intended,” and recommending “an entire dependence upon their bayonets, with which they will ever command that success which their bravery so well deserves.” There was no ringing call for valor in the cause of country or the blessings of liberty, as Washington had exhorted his troops at Brooklyn, only a final reminder of the effectiveness of bayonets.