In short, the arrogance of British power should strike a chord that is eerily and painfully familiar to students of the American empire in its own formative phase, most especially its twentieth-century commitment in Southeast Asia. For our present purposes the most salient point is that the British commitment represented the ministry’s misguided but deeply felt conviction that the very future of the British Empire was at stake. This conviction would continue to animate the highest echelons of the government long after British popular opinion had grown weary of the war and even after a succession of battlefield setbacks had demonstrated that the war was unwinnable in any traditional sense of the term. Conventional wisdom is that space and time were on the American side. But no one in 1776 fully appreciated how long the British ministry was prepared to stay the course, or how quickly the revolutionary fires would subside and in several regions of America nearly die out completely. It was a recipe for a protracted war of attrition.24
What were the major military advantages and disadvantages facing the British army? On the positive side, it possessed two enormous assets. First, it enjoyed nearly total naval supremacy, which meant that all the major American cities—Boston, Newport, New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Charleston—were vulnerable to destruction and occupation. It also meant that in any engagements along the coast or on coastal rivers the British army possessed superior mobility. Second, although the Earl of Sandwich’s estimate of British military prowess was wildly exaggerated, the discipline and combat experience of British regulars gave them a decisive advantage on any battlefield where they were not greatly outnumbered, especially in any open-field battle conducted along the orthodox lines of European warfare.
On the negative side, the British army was an ocean away from its logistical base of operations, which not only created problems of resupply but also meant that it could ill afford to suffer heavy casualties, since replacements could not be produced easily or quickly. But the major problem was suggested by the Earl of Camden’s warning about the sheer vastness of the American theater. Rather than dissipate its force in a futile attempt at occupying terrain, the British commanders needed to identify and then destroy the strategic center of the rebellion. Veterans of the French and Indian War first thought that the proper target was that corridor along the Hudson River from Montreal to New York City which, once captured and controlled, would effectively cut off New England from the middle and southern colonies. We can never know if this assessment was correct, because the campaign to achieve that goal failed spectacularly at Saratoga, the pivotal battle in the war. The other option, which turned out to be the only strategic target certain to produce a decisive outcome, was not a piece of ground. It was the Continental army itself.25
What were Washington’s chief options? The British expeditionary force cruising toward New York meant that all presumptions of a quick resolution based on London’s willingness to meet the American peace terms were now gone forever. This left Washington to choose among three courses of action. First, he could take the Continental army over the Alleghenies and avoid any full-scale engagements in favor of hit-and-run guerrilla tactics, thereby forcing the British army to pursue him in the wilderness or wander up and down the coast conducting marauding operations against local militia. Second, he could fight what was called “a War of Posts,” meaning a series of tactical engagements and withdrawals designed to inflict casualties on the British army but not risk his own troops in one all-or-nothing battle. Third, he could confront the British directly with his entire force and risk the consequences of a major battle, preferably on terrain favorable to a strong defensive position that forced the British to make frontal attacks in the Bunker Hill mode.
Washington never gave the first option any serious consideration. He regarded flight to the western frontier as a desperate last resort only after his army had experienced a major setback. One of his generals, Charles Lee, favored this option, but Washington opposed it for two reasons: first, moving to the west was, as he saw it, flight, and he wanted to fight; second, granting the British army a free hand throughout the most densely populated coastal region meant trusting in the fighting prowess of the militia, and Washington had no faith in militia as independent fighting units. The second option also struck him as a more diluted form of cowardice, a decision to avoid the British challenge that verged on dishonorable behavior. It also, in effect, meant sacrificing New York, and then Philadelphia and wherever else the British army chose to march, to enduring occupation, which would give additional courage to the Loyalists and push the neutrals toward at least a temporary British affiliation. He also worried about the political reaction in the Continental Congress and, more generally, in the populace-at-large to a defensive strategy that seemed to acknowledge the superiority of British arms.26
That left the third option, at once the most dangerous strategically and the most appealing personally. Washington, in fact, never hesitated. In June 1776, while Jefferson was drafting the words that declared American independence and the principles on which it claimed to be based, Washington was moving his fifteen thousand troops into positions on Long Island and Manhattan in preparation for a major engagement with the larger British force commanded by General William Howe and his older brother, Admiral Richard Howe. This bold decision flowed directly out of his own personality, which welcomed the opportunity to demonstrate its contempt for British pretensions of supremacy. If there was an excellent fit between his quasi-monarchical powers as commander in chief and his psychic chemistry, there was an equally poor fit between the strategic options in 1776 and the impulses of his character. Washington’s decision in fact presented the British commanders with a golden opportunity to destroy the Continental army at the start of the war. Enamored throughout the Boston siege with the prospects for a quick American victory, Washington had placed the Continental army in the most vulnerable position possible and created the conditions for dramatic defeat.27
TRYING MEN’S SOULS
IT WOULD HAVE been difficult to imagine a more perfect place for the British army to confront and crush the Continental army than New York City. Strategically, it was the southern entrance to the Hudson corridor, which, once occupied, sealed off New England from the other rebellious colonies. Topographically, it was tailor-made for the kind of amphibious operations that British naval supremacy made possible and that Washington’s force could only contemplate in its dreams. Politically, both Long Island and Manhattan were hotbeds for Loyalists prepared to greet the Howe brothers as conquering heroes. Small wonder, then, that on July 2–3, 1776, the very days the Continental Congress voted to approve American independence and revised the language of Jefferson’s draft declaring this revolutionary act, the advance elements of Lord Howe’s fleet of thirty warships and four hundred transport vessels began pouring troops onto Staten Island. It was the largest military force ever assembled on the North American continent and the largest army the British would ever gather in one place during the entire war.
In late May, Washington had traveled down to Philadelphia to consult with the Continental Congress about strategy. (Martha went along and, under prodding from her husband, underwent smallpox inoculation in Jefferson’s old quarters.) The consultation produced two decisions: first, Washington would make a maximum effort to defend New York; and second, a Board of War and Ordnance would be created with John Adams as its chairman to facilitate coordination between the congress and the army. Though outnumbered, and with nearly a quarter of his soldiers ill with smallpox despite his best efforts to contain the epidemic, Washington was confident he could produce a victory, or at the least inflict sufficient casualties to repeat the Bunker Hill experience for Howe. “If our Troops will behave well,” he apprised John Hancock, “having everything to contend for that Freemen hold dear, they [Howe’s troops] will have to wade through much blood & Slaughter before they can carry any part of our Works, If they carry ’em at all.” As the British buildup on Staten Island continued, Washington’s orders refle
cted the revolutionary conviction that the purity of the cause, combined with sheer courage under fire, would more than compensate for inferior numbers and inexperience: “Remember officers and Soldiers, that you are Freemen, fighting for the blessings of Liberty—that slavery will be your portion, and that of posterity, if you do not acquit yourself like men.” How much of this rhetoric Washington himself believed is unclear. His letters to Hancock are more circumspect, predicting that the enemy “will not succeed in their views without considerable loss.” What is clear is that Washington believed that his own personal honor, bound tightly to the course of independence now officially declared, left him no choice but to fight.28
Sighting: July 20, 1776
An aide to General Howe, Lieutenant Colonel James Patterson, has been admitted behind American lines to confer with Washington. Patterson carries a document from Howe purporting to offer peace terms that will avoid further bloodshed. The document is addressed to “George Washington Esq. & c.& c.& c.” Washington’s staff had already apprised Patterson that no such document could be delivered because no such person existed to receive it, the only Washington in camp being “His Excellency General Washington.” Patterson regrets that General Howe cannot recognize that title without endorsing the legitimacy of the rebellion. But he is eventually admitted to an hour-long interview with the American commander-in-chief in which he relates the content of the document. Washington explains that the document is addressed to a private person, which is no longer who he is, and that the designation “&c.&c.&c. implied every thing & also implied anything.” Furthermore, General Howe appeared empowered only to grant pardons, and “those who had committed no Fault wanted no Pardon.” Patterson is then escorted back to his barge, disappointed but “Sociable and Chatty all the way.”29
As the British prepared for an assault on Long Island, Washington issued orders describing “our Glorious Cause” and contrasting the motivation of dedicated patriots to mere mercenaries. Smallpox continued to ravage his regiments, leaving several units without field grade officers. He probably sensed the coming disaster but felt obliged to maintain a public posture of confidence. On the eve of the battle he wrote a long letter to Lund Washington, searching for relief from his apprehensions by issuing orders about where to plant cherry and locust trees at Mount Vernon and which horses to sell. Back in Philadelphia, John Adams wrote to his beloved Abigail: “The Eyes of the World are upon Washington and How, and their armies.”30
What the world witnessed was a humiliating American defeat. Long Island was lost in a day, along with three hundred casualties and a thousand prisoners. By dividing his force between Manhattan and Long Island, Washington had presented Howe with the opportunity to destroy the Continental army in pieces. (Asked to explain the defeat, Adams put it succinctly: “In general, our Generals were out generalled.”) Washington’s only redeeming action was the rescue of surviving units from Brooklyn Heights under the cover of fog and rain on the night of August 29. But that was only the half of it. The remainder of his army on Manhattan was now vulnerable to entrapment once Howe transported troops up the East River and cut off his escape route on the peninsula. The ever-realistic General Greene urged a quick evacuation: “I give it as my Oppinion that a General and speedy Retreat is absolutely necessary and that the honour and Interest of America requires it. I would burn the City & its suburbs.” Topography, British mobility, and Washington’s own inexperience had combined to place the entire Continental army at risk of annihilation. Upon hearing from her husband that Howe was poised to close the trap that would destroy Washington’s beleaguered force, Abigail Adams remained defiant; even if all America’s brave men were killed or captured, she declared, the British army would find itself opposed by “a race of Amazons in America.”31
Then a very strange thing happened. Washington called a council of war in which its generals voted ten to three in favor of Greene’s recommendation for an evacuation of Manhattan as soon as possible. But Washington rejected the advice. As he reported to Hancock, his officers had urged him to adopt a defensive strategy, to fight what they called “a War of Posts.” But despite the recent setbacks and losses, he remained committed to the offense and victory. New York remained “the Key to the Northern Country,” and a wholesale retreat would reflect badly on him as well as on what he called “the Common cause.” All these negative consequences would be offset “if a brilliant stroke could be made with any probability of Success, especially after our Loss upon Long Island.” He would, then, maintain his army on the northern edge of Manhattan at Harlem Heights, wait for the chance to pounce, and if eventually forced to withdraw, inflict heavy casualties as he retreated. It was as if a mouse, cornered by a bevy of cats, had declared itself a lion.32
As several generations of historians have noted, Washington’s decision to linger on Manhattan was militarily inexplicable and tactically suicidal. A letter back home to Lund suggests that Washington was aware of the risks he was running and preferred to go down fighting rather than acknowledge defeat. Again, he saw the war in highly personal terms: “I see the impossibility of serving with Reputation,” he wrote to Lund, “and yet I am told that if I quit the command inevitable ruin will follow. . . . If I fall, it may not be amiss that these circumstances be known. . . . And if the men stand by me (which by the by I despair of), I am resolved not to be forced from this ground while I have life.”
Ultimately, Washington’s army and life were spared, because General Howe also behaved inexplicably. Perhaps because he saw himself primarily as a peace negotiator instead of a general, or perhaps for reasons only fathomable by psychiatrists, Howe did not close the trap around the Continental army. He dallied, and then focused his efforts on capturing Fort Washington, near the present-day George Washington Bridge. Washington had ordered its evacuation, but then acceded to Greene’s bizarre decision to defend it at all costs, which contradicted the prudent advice Greene had been urging earlier. It fell on November 16, 1776, all of its nearly three thousand defenders killed or captured. With Howe preoccupied at Fort Washington, the remnant of Washington’s army escaped across the Hudson at Peekskill and assumed full flight across New Jersey.33
There was not much of an army left. When Hancock wrote him to inquire about his military intentions, Washington responded politely: “Give me leave to say Sir . . . that our Affairs are in a more unpromising way than you seem to apprehend. . . . Your Army . . . is upon the eve of its political dissolution.” The heady era of “rage militaire,” the belief that patriotic conviction would trump British military superiority, was dead forever. More New York and New Jersey colonists were now signing up with the British than the American army. Washington himself, whose fervor for the cause had made him temporarily vulnerable to the belief that virtuous amateurs could defeat mercenary veterans, now abandoned his own hopes for a quick end to the conflict. A short war meant a British victory, which was in fact imminent. The only hope was a long war, fought by the kind of seasoned troops who would have stood their ground in New York. The old Continental army was now effectively defunct. Unless a new army could be raised “with all possible Expedition,” Washington warned, “I think the game is pretty near up.”34
One of the quaint customs of eighteenth-century warfare was the belief that armies should not fight during the winter. Having botched his chance to trap Washington’s decimated force on Manhattan, Howe now proceeded to miss another opportunity—it would turn out to be his last—to hunt down the crippled residue of the Continental army as it limped across New Jersey in November 1776. He chose instead to place his troops in winter quarters around Trenton while he himself returned to New York and the arms of his mistress. Washington, on the other hand, who by all rights should have welcomed the opportunity to hibernate and lick his wounds, was still thinking offensively. “As nothing but necessity obliged me to retire before the Enemy,” he wrote to Hancock, “I conceive it my duty, and it corresponds with my Inclination, to make head against them so long as there shall be th
e least probability of doing it with propriety.” Apart from his own inclinations, which probably referred to his personal urge to redeem his somewhat tattered reputation after the New York debacle, Washington recognized that the entire movement for American independence was on the verge of extinction and might very well expire on its own over the winter. He needed to “strike some Stroke.”35
The result took the form of a surprise attack, on Christmas night, across the ice-choked Delaware River, subsequently immortalized in Emanuel Leutze’s famous painting. Recent scholarship has corrected certain long-standing misconceptions about this pivotal battle, which is generally regarded as Washington’s most tactically brilliant operation of the war and the moment when the Continental army went on the offensive for the first time.
First, art historians have argued that Washington could not possibly have been standing in the prow of the boat, as the Leutze painting claims, for he would have been hurled headlong into the ice. But the boats used for the crossing were not as Leutze described. They were high-walled barges akin to the landing craft used for amphibious assaults in World War II, and everyone stood up in them. The Leutze painting is at least symbolically correct in the sense that Washington personally led the assault across the river in a driving sleet storm and was in the vanguard of the attack on the garrison of Hessian mercenaries at Trenton.
Second, the legend that the Hessian soldiers were drunk, sleeping off their Christmas cheer, is a myth. The Hessians were exhausted because they had been on round-the-clock alert for over a week expecting an attack. When Washington’s 2,400 troops descended upon them, they fought bravely, but were outgunned by the eighteen artillery pieces Henry Knox had somehow managed to transport across the river. They suffered about a hundred casualties, and nine hundred were captured. American casualties were minimal, though among the handful of wounded was a future president, Lieutenant James Monroe.
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