Washington- The Indispensable Man

by James Thomas Flexner

  The Marquis de Lafayette, shown holding a scroll depicting Virginia; painted after his return to France by F. G. Casanova (Courtesy of the New-York Historical Society)

  The commander in chief of the French expeditionary force, the Count de Rochambeau, who distrusted Washington; portrait by Charles Willson Peale (Courtesy of the Independence National Historical Park)

  The commanding general from well-organized France was horrified by what he saw of the ally with whom he was supposed to fight. The American government, Rochambeau reported home, was “in consternation.” Washington had only three thousand men (this was roughly accurate) and paper money had fallen sixty to one. “Send us troops, ships, and money, but do not depend on these people nor upon their means: they have neither money nor credit; their means of resistance are only momentary and called forth when they are attacked in their own homes.”

  Washington was still in a frenzy to attack New York. Admittedly, Rochambeau’s army plus his own did not add up, now that a surprise appearance was no longer possible, to a strong enough force, but something might turn up. Rochambeau hoped for reinforcements—perhaps they would come. Perhaps the British would further weaken their main base by sending more troops south. Perhaps a French armada would pop in, like a deus ex machina, from the Indies. And, in any case, dangling as bait the possibility of capturing New York was most likely to inspire Congress and the state governments to find recruits. Maybe his own army would grow to adequate size. In the meanwhile, so Washington urged, Rochambeau’s army should join his army to the patriot army outside New York City. The combined force would then be ready to pounce if ever an opportunity offered.

  Used to calculating existing opportunities rather than tossing up bubbles of hope, Rochambeau found it most bothersome to have the American he was supposed to pretend to obey perpetually babbling about an assault for which no true possibility existed. The elderly veteran of innumerable European campaigns concluded that Washington was a fool. With the overelaborate courtesy of an experienced courtier—which Washington found irritating—Rochambeau expressed extreme regret that he could not leave Newport. He explained that the fleet which had brought him there, being weaker than the British fleet in American waters, would be safe only if protected by the presence of his army.

  For two months the allied commanders communicated through delegates and dispatches. Then Washington asked for a personal interview. He had a strategy to sell.

  The two commanders finally met at Hartford, Connecticut, on September 20, 1780. Members of Rochambeau’s staff described Washington as impressive, majestic, with a mildness that indicated moral qualities and a shade of sadness that gave him an interesting air. Baron Ludwig von Closen, who served as interpreter, noted that the American gave striking evidence of military talents and knowledge: “I could not find strong enough words,” to communicate what Washington said “as vividly and forcefully as I should.”

  Washington urged that the French fleet dash for Boston Harbor, where it would be protected by the Massachusetts patriots. Although Washington was willing to admit that he did not actually foresee an attack on New York, he argued that the presence of the combined armies should keep Clinton from sending any more troops south. Or, if Clinton took the risk perhaps, after all, the attack could be made.

  Such importuning only made Rochambeau regard Washington as even more of a problem: the primitive soldier, who was actually staring him in the face, had to be disobeyed while seemingly obeyed. To his relief, the Frenchman found a way to put Washington off balance. They would discuss next year’s campaign: how many troops would the United States raise, what supplies? Washington had to admit that confusion in the government and the currency made it impossible to guess. In relation to Washington’s immediate strategy, Rochambeau was evasive, but indicated no inclination to budge from his island. Washington was too polite to put his presumed authority to any test. “My command of the F—T—[French troops],” he concluded, “stands upon a very limited scale.”

  As he rode off with a heavy heart Washington did not realize that, before he got back to his headquarters, he would receive what was perhaps the greatest emotional shock of his entire career.

  NINETEEN

  Treason

  (1775–1780)

  When during the dark hours of the long, inconclusive war Washington counted his assets, high on his list was a former scapegrace apothecary who had demonstrated genius at leading men and at fighting. Benedict Arnold was, in fact, the greatest combat general in the war on either side. He had taken a major part in capturing Ticonderoga and the cannon with which Washington had driven the British from Boston. The Commander in Chief had then commissioned him to lead an army up wild rivers and through mountainous passes in the hope that he could surprise the fortress city of Quebec by appearing where it was believed no army could penetrate. Although his army was assailed in the wilderness by blizzards and a hurricane that created floods, Arnold got most of his men through. It was not his fault that while he was delayed by storms, Quebec had been reinforced.

  In a desperate assault on the now well-defended city, Arnold was wounded; yet, despite his own suffering and the failure of the attack, he managed to inspire his freezing, starving men to spend the winter in a blockading circle around Quebec. Spring brought British reinforcements and murderous epidemics. All American forces fled from Canada. To keep the enemy from following into northern New York and onwards, Arnold turned admiral. He supervised the building of a fleet from green wood, and then so battered a stronger British armada on Lake Champlain that the enemy abandoned, for that fighting season, their effort to invade. The next fighting season, Burgoyne came down with his great army from Canada. It was Arnold who led, to Gates’s disapproval, the battles that preceded Burgoyne’s surrender. Arnold was so seriously wounded in the leg that he seemed to have been permanently crippled.

  An obbligato to Arnold’s military genius was his inability to get on with civilian authorities. Congress denied him the promotions he had earned. While he was still in mid-career, Washington admitted that the slights he had received would have justified him in resigning. But Arnold resolutely continued in uniform to be at last prostrated by British fire.

  When, after months of anguish, Arnold appeared at Valley Forge, he was unable to stand unless an attendant held him upright. Washington yearned to find a post suited to the crippled patriot. Applying perhaps more sentiment than judgment, in May, 1768, he made Arnold, after the British had evacuated Philadelphia, military commandant there.

  Arnold became fascinated with a young lady Washington had known since she was a child: the handsome, high-born Peggy Shippen. Peggy had stayed in the city during the British occupation and flirted with the British adjutant general, John André. She was generally considered a Tory. But Arnold was reveling in a society higher than any he had ever known. To impress his new love and keep up with the rich families who belonged to the extreme right of the patriot party, the unpropertied Arnold lived on a scale which seemed inexplicable if he were not taking graft.

  Arnold’s behavior enraged the president of the Supreme Executive Council of Pennsylvania, who published whacking charges that the military commander encouraged Tories and was engaged in peculation. There can be little doubt that Washington’s emotions were with the wounded hero. Washington wished conservatives to be included in the cause. And the Pennsylvania president was none other than Joseph Reed, who had betrayed Washington’s friendship during the retreat through New Jersey. Reed made it clear that one purpose of his campaign against Arnold was to assert the power of the state governments over the Continental Army. Furthermore, the charges that Arnold had used his office to encourage and profit by illegal deals were (although historical researches have demonstrated them gravely true) substantiated only on the most trivial scale in the court-martial Washington ordered. The court sentenced Arnold to be reprimanded. Washington carefully phrased the reprimand: “The Commander in Chief would have been much happier in an occasion of bestowing comme
ndations on an officer who has rendered such distinguished services to his country.”

  He was glad when Arnold married his Peggy; pleased to see Arnold so recovered that he could move energetically in a high-heeled boot; delighted that the verdict of the court-martial had freed the great soldier for further military duty. That some of Arnold’s communications to him during the controversy had revealed extreme hysteria touched Washington’s sympathies rather than inspiring any serious doubts.

  Washington had no way of knowing that Peggy’s old flirtation with André had borne new fruit. Angry and disillusioned, egged on by his avaricious and ambitious pro-British young wife, Arnold had secretly offered his services to Peggy’s old friend and Clinton’s adjutant general. André had at first expressed doubt that Arnold had anything of value to sell, but had finally agreed to pay handsomely if Arnold could secure the command of West Point.

  It was, of course, not by chance that Washington had built his army’s major fortification on the Hudson River. Extending from north to south, the Hudson was navigable for oceangoing ships all the way from the sea to the wilderness. If Arnold would, by arranging the capture of West Point, open the Hudson to the British navy, the river could become, so it was reasoned, a watery wall cutting the rebellion in half.

  Washington did not envision putting a great fighter in so static a post. Knowing that Arnold had been happiest in the most active service, Washington resolved to give him command of the right wing of the Continental Army. Rumors to this effect frightened Arnold: a command under the eyes of Washington and the whole corps of generals gave him nothing easily deliverable to betray.

  When Arnold and Washington met on horseback during a maneuver, Washington smilingly informed his subordinate of “the post of honor” to which he had been appointed. Arnold’s reaction amazed the Commander in Chief: “His countenance changed and he appeared to be quite fallen, and, instead of thanking me or expressing any pleasure at the appointment, never opened his mouth.”

  Arnold mooned around headquarters and finally stated that he was not well enough for active service. He wished the stationary command at West Point. Washington’s reaction was pity: he believed that all of Arnold’s misfortunes had broken his spirit. Like an affectionate father, Washington tried to inspire Arnold. But Arnold would not be inspired; he just talked about West Point. Finally, on August 3, 1780, Washington gave Arnold what he desired.

  Peggy Shippen, by John André (Courtesy of the Yale University Art Gallery)

  Benedict Arnold, engraved in Paris, 1781, after a drawing by Pierre Eugene du Simitière (Courtesy of the New-York Historical Society)

  John André, by an unknown artist (Courtesy of James André)

  Arnold had commanded West Point for two months when Washington, on his way back from his depressing conference with Rochambeau, intended to inspect the fortress. He looked forward to spending a day and a night with the valiant officer and his very pretty wife. After a considerable ride, he arrived at their headquarters, some miles upriver from West Point, on September 24 for a late breakfast. He was dashed to be received only by an aide. Mrs. Arnold, he was told, had not yet arisen, and General Arnold had embarked in his barge on the river. The General had left word that he had gone to the fortress to prepare a reception for “His Excellency.”

  Washington ate his breakfast with no emotions deeper than disappointment, and then himself set out on the river. Concern first appeared in his mind when, as the fortress that rose high on the right bank of the river loomed ever closer, he could see on the landing place only somnolently pacing sentries. There was no sign of the reception which Arnold had said he was going to prepare.

  As soon as Washington landed, he asked for Arnold. None of the officers had seen him that day. As Washington proceeded with his inspection of the various redoubts, he kept hoping that Arnold would appear. “My mind misgave me,” he later remembered, but “I had not the least idea of the real cause.”

  Washington was back at Arnold’s headquarters in time to spruce up for a four o’clock dinner. Hamilton, who had been left behind to receive any dispatches that might come in, reported that nothing had been heard of Arnold. Peggy had sent word down that she was indisposed.

  The party dispersed to their rooms. As Lafayette was dressing, Hamilton dashed in with the request that he attend at once on the commander. He found Washington trembling with emotion, a packet of papers in his hands. “Arnold,” Washington cried out, “has betrayed us! Whom can we trust now?”

  The papers revealed that “John Anderson” had been stopped on his way from the American to the enemy lines, dressed as a civilian and hiding in his shoes papers in Arnold’s handwriting giving information which would assist the British in capturing West Point. There was also a meticulously written letter from “Anderson” which revealed that he was no common spy but a high officer. It stated, “What I have as yet said concerning myself was in the justifiable attempt to be extricated. I am too little accustomed to duplicity to have succeeded.… The person in your possession is Major John André, adjutant general to the British army.”

  It was not clear how wide was the plot or how great the immediate danger to West Point. Although André had been apprehended, other messages might have got through. And the wind, blowing upriver, was perfectly angled to hurry British warships from New York Bay to the fortress, which might be secretly prepared for surrender. The obvious necessity was to take the precaution of changing commanders at key posts while at the same time putting West Point on the alert for attack. These things Washington failed to do. So great was the shock of discovering the perfidy of a man he had so deeply trusted that only one thing seemed important to him: capturing the traitor.

  Two of Washington’s aides, who had arrived at Arnold’s headquarters in the early morning, remembered that he had received a message obviously disturbing to him. He had taken to the river. Enough time had passed since then for Arnold to have reached the anchored British warship from which André had previously disembarked. Yet Washington held on to the hope that Arnold had not been notified of the discovery of his treason and was somewhere in American territory where he could be captured. To keep the villain in ignorance, Washington resolved to make no move that would indicate that the plot had been revealed. He did nothing more than send Hamilton and a companion thundering on horseback down to King’s Ferry, the last outpost that could stop Arnold’s barge.

  One of Arnold’s aides came up to Washington and reported that Mrs. Arnold seemed to have gone mad. She had been running through the upstairs halls almost naked, shouting that “there was a hot iron on her head, and no one but General Washington could take it off.”

  Washington mounted the stairs. The beautiful young woman was now in bed, dandling her baby, raving, weeping, revealing, as her bedclothes parted, charms usually hidden. She paid no attention to the tall figure standing in the door. Arnold’s aide spoke to her: “There is General Washington.”

  “No!” she cried, and denied that he was Washington.

  Leaning over her with the greatest concern, he gently assured her that he was. “No!” she shrieked, gesturing to shield her infant. “No! That is not General Washington! That is the man who was agoing to assist Colonel Varick in killing my child.”

  When Washington finally persuaded her of his identity, she accused him of “being in a plot to murder her child.” Her husband, she moaned, could not protect her. “General Arnold will never return. He is gone. He is gone forever, there, there, there: the spirits have carried him up there!” She pointed at the ceiling. “They have put hot irons on his head.”

  Finally Washington went downstairs. He felt all the more bitter against a traitor who had caused so lovely a lady such anguish.

  Washington wandered around like a man in a nightmare. It was after six in the evening when a message came in from Hamilton reporting that Arnold had escaped to a British warship, from which he had sent two letters that were enclosed. The one to Peggy, Washington sent upstairs unopened with the
message that, although it had been his duty to try to capture Arnold, he was happy to relieve her anxiety by telling her that her husband was safe. The other letter was addressed to Washington. He read it with rage, since Arnold contended that it was true patriotism which had carried him to the British.

  Now, at long last, Washington took the steps which he should have taken hours before. In dispatches headed sometimes “seven o’clock,” sometimes “seven and a half o’clock,” and sometimes merely “o’clock,” he prepared the army for a British assault. During the night, the wind changed, and the immediate danger was over.

  The next day, Washington had to face the painful problems of what to do about Peggy and what to do with André. The young wife (who had been in the plot from the start) need not have used such heavy artillery on Washington; he always labored to shield women from the rigors of war. The next morning, she admitted to no memory of her hysteria and stated quietly that she was utterly innocent. Washington accepted the statement without question. He sent her back to her father in Philadelphia.