Prelude to Glory, Vol. 7

by Ron Carter

  For the first time, murmuring broke out from the floor, then quieted.

  “True to his duties as commander in chief, General Washington has convened this meeting for the purpose of clarifying both his position, and that of Congress, regarding their responses to the recent . . . inquiries . . . they received, and have considered.”

  He drew a handkerchief from his sleeve and mopped at his brow. “It is therefore my distinct honor to present to you General George Washington.”

  Gates stepped aside and waited while Washington rose from his chair and walked to the lectern, towering over Gates, his prominent nose and jaw in sharp contrast to the round, fleshy features of the smaller man. Gates nodded, turned, and sat down.

  To Billy and Eli, and those who knew him, the expression on Washington’s face, and the small, unnoticed movements of his fingers and his feet, evidenced the fact he was agitated, struggling within. He removed a paper from his tunic, smoothed it on the lectern, studied it for a moment, then raised his head. His voice reached every corner of the hall.

  “My fellow officers. I have prepared a written presentation. With your permission, I will read that which I wish to say.”

  Billy and Eli were not watching Washington. They were searching the faces of the officers, watching, waiting for the first one who showed signs of rebellion, mutiny.

  Washington began.

  “I have carefully read the unsigned document distributed by an anonymous author on March tenth, instant. I have examined it many times, and have formed my conclusions with much thought and deliberation.

  “It is clear to me that the author of that address was motivated by impulses bordering on mutiny. Perhaps treason!”

  Shocked silence filled the room. Not one man moved.

  “The themes of that writing appeal to base and fleeting feelings and occasions, and were guided by the most insidious of purposes.”

  Armstrong’s mouth was hanging open, his face deathly white.

  “It is beyond my imagination that someone in this army has prompted his fellow officers to not only leave—abandon—their wives and children, but to desert their country in the most extreme hour of her distress!”

  Gasps were heard throughout the hall.

  “I cannot contemplate anything so shocking as suggesting that this body turn their swords against Congress, plotting the ruin and sowing seeds of discord between the military and the civil authorities that guide this country. In the name of heaven, what can this writer have in view? He is neither a friend of the army nor of the country! Rather, he is an insidious foe of both!”

  Murmuring broke out. Washington did not hesitate but raised his voice.

  “The anonymous writer of this perfidy has calculated to impress the minds of the readers with an idea of premeditated injustice in the sovereign power of the United States, and rouse all those resentments which must inevitably flow from such a belief.”

  Open talk broke out. Billy and Eli tensed, peering into the faces of the officers, waiting for the first one who raised a fist or spoke in anger.

  Washington lifted his face from his written speech and stood erect, waiting, watching, giving the officers time to vent themselves. They quieted, and he again began to read. A softness came into his voice.

  “Let me entreat you, gentlemen, on your part, not to take any measures which, viewed in the calm light of reason, will lessen the dignity and sully the glory you have hitherto maintained. Let me request you to rely on the plighted faith of your country, and place a full confidence in the purity of the intentions of Congress.”

  Murmuring arose, then slowed, then stopped, and Washington continued. He read slowly, giving each word its due.

  “You will, by the dignity of your conduct, afford occasion for posterity to say, when speaking of the glorious example you have exhibited to mankind, ‘Had this day been wanting, the world had never seen the last stage of perfection to which human nature is capable of attaining.’”

  Washington stopped. Gates, Armstrong, and Pickering dared not move. Billy and Eli were scanning the officers facing the lectern. Their faces were a mix of inscrutable emotions.

  For more than ten full seconds the silence held before Washington reached inside his tunic to draw out a second paper. He smoothed it on the lectern and once more raised his head.

  “I wish to share with you a letter lately received by myself from my friend Joseph Jones. He is a congressman from the State of Virginia and a patriot in the finest sense of the word.”

  He tipped his head forward to read and began.

  “I take quill . . .”

  He stopped, dropped his face lower, squinted, and started again. “I take quill in hand . . . to . . . share with you . . .”

  He stopped again, to pick up the paper and raise it closer to his face, and start once again.

  “ . . . share with you . . . the sad state of affairs that . . .”

  Every eye in the room was on Washington. There was not a sound, nor a movement. No man among them had ever seen or heard of the general unable to read a letter. Three seconds became five, then ten, and still Washington held the paper near his face, straining to make out the small, closely written words.

  Then he laid the paper down and raised his right hand to a pocket in his vest, where he fumbled for a few moments before drawing out a small pair of spectacles that had been delivered to him in the month of February by Doctor Rittenhouse. No one knew he had them; none had ever seen him put them on. Slowly he unfolded the temples of the fragile, wire-framed spectacles, and set them on his nose. He adjusted the temples behind his ears, and looked out over the faces of the stunned officers before him. Their eyes were wide in shock. George Washington? Spectacles? A mortal? No man among them had ever thought of him as a mortal. Not their General. Other men grew old. Not George Washington. Immortal. Indestructible.

  An electric charge filled the hall as the officers stared in silence, minds reeling as they gaped in disbelief at their commander wearing spectacles.

  For a moment Washington peered at them, suddenly understanding the blank expressions. He raised a hand to wipe at his mouth, then spoke simply and softly from his heart.

  “Gentlemen, you must forgive me. I have grown gray in your service, and now it appears I am growing blind.”

  For three full seconds there was no sound, no movement, and then open talk filled the room. Eyes moistened, and battle-hardened soldiers unashamedly wiped away tears. Both Billy and Eli were staring at their commander as though seeing him for the first time. Every man in the hall knew in that instant that none of them would ever forget the emotion that swept through them, rallied them, brought them together once again as a band of proud patriots. Washington folded his papers, inserted them back inside his tunic, and steadily walked down the center aisle of the room and out the door where his aides were waiting.

  Nearly disoriented, Gates rose and walked to the lectern. Always the politician, he sensed the temper of the gathering and knew he dared not say one word that would disparage General Washington, or his address. Carefully he called the assembly to order.

  “My fellow officers, our commander in chief has spoken. I trust his words have brought a unity among us.”

  A major in the first row rose and strode to the lectern beside Gates.

  “I am certain General Gates agrees that we should come together in a unanimous vote of confidence in General Washington.”

  The hall rang with shouts of “Hear, hear, hear!”

  “I propose that a committee be formed here and now, under the chairmanship of General Henry Knox, and that Major Samuel Snow be directed to draft a vote of confidence in the justice of our Congress and to request that General Washington pursue our interests with them. Further, that we repudiate the sedition found in that document submitted by the anonymous writer and commit ourselves to supporting an orderly presentation of our affairs to our civil leaders.”

  Once again the hall echoed with “Hear, hear, hear.”

  Timo
thy Pickering rose and came to the lectern. “I object to the—”

  He got no further. The hall fell into bedlam. Officers with raised fists shouted him down. Pickering’s face distorted in fear as he backed away from the lectern and dropped into his chair.

  General Henry Knox, the short, rotund, librarian-turned-cannoneer, who had been unswervingly dedicated to Washington from the day the shooting began eight years earlier, and who had seen the army through every major battle they fought, strode quickly to the lectern. “I accept the nomination to chair the committee, and I herewith appoint Major Samuel Snow to draft the vote of confidence in General Washington and Congress, as heretofore moved.”

  “Hear, hear!”

  Major Samuel Snow sprang to his feet. “I accept the appointment!”

  Knox bellowed, “This meeting is adjourned.”

  The back doors were thrown open, and the officers began spilling out into the wind, exclaiming, gesturing, as they began to understand they had been part of something that would be told and retold as long as there was a United States.

  Inside, Billy and Eli waited until the hall was empty before they walked to the back doors, out into the weather, and turned to close them. They were approaching the barge when Billy broke the silence between them.

  “I never saw anything like that.”

  Eli shook his head. “One man. Stepped into the breach. Likely saved the country.”

  There was little talk as the barge bucked the wind and white water on its return to Verplanck. The wind died at sundown. In full darkness Major Samuel Snow sat down at a small desk in the corner of his quarters, adjusted the flame in his lamp, and reached for his quill and bottle of ink. Later he paused to listen to the regimental drum sound tattoo and continued his writing. At eleven o’clock he laid down his quill, rubbed weary eyes with the heels of his hands, stretched his legs, and rose from his chair. He sat back down long enough to read the four-page document he had drafted under the title of “A VOTE OF CONFIDENCE IN OUR CONGRESS AND OUR COMMANDER IN CHIEF.” He would read it again in the morning, make whatever additions or corrections were needed, and submit it to a committee he would have selected by ten o’clock.

  He reached to unbuckle his shoes, paused, straightened, and reached for his daily journal. Once again he took up his quill and carefully wrote on the next clean page of the book.

  “ . . . There was something so natural, so unaffected in the general’s appeal as he sought our understanding of his need for the spectacles as to render his spontaneous words superior to the most studied oratory. It forced its way to the heart, and you might see sensibility moisten every eye.”

  He sprinkled salts on the wet ink, waited for a moment, swept the salts away, and read the words once again. For a moment the feeling that had driven him to his feet in the assembly hall with his fellow officers surged once again in his breast, and he reached to wipe at his eyes. He nodded his satisfaction, closed his journal, and turned down the wick on his lamp.

  Notes

  Colonel Walter Stewart, Inspector General of the Northern Army and a former aide to General Horatio Gates, visited Congress in Philadelphia and returned to the army camp at Verplanck, New York, to report his findings to his circle of close friends, including Major John Armstrong Jr., Timothy Pickering, who was once General Washington’s adjutant general, and likely to General Gates. His report was that Congress, and General Washington, were both incapable of delivering what they had promised to the officers upon their discharge. A notice was quickly sent out to the officers inviting them to a meeting at the Newburgh camp, Monday, March 10, 1783, together with an “address” which it is thought was written by Major John Armstrong Jr., in which statements were made that were tantamount to treason. Alexander Hamilton, Governeur Morris, and Wilson became aware of it and attempted to persuade Washington to use this unrest to persuade the states to grant Congress the power to put down the discontent. Washington refused their plan. A second meeting was advertised by these men for the following day, Tuesday, March 11, 1783, inviting all officers. General Washington quickly learned of the meeting and read the “address,” which included among other things a proposal that lacking obedience from Congress and General Washington to their demands, the American army should abandon the United States, draw off to a distant place, and set up their own state, or, alternatively, refuse to lay down their arms; in essence, take control of the government. A furious Washington quickly ordered the meeting canceled and arranged his own meeting for Saturday, March 15, 1783, in the Newburgh assembly hall, and ordered General Gates to conduct the meeting. In said meeting, General Washington stunned the entire assembly by angrily condemning the efforts of the Gates-Armstrong-Pickering faction to essentially dismantle the United States, and strongly implored the officers to wait but a short time longer to give Congress time to meet their obligations, which he was certain they would do.

  In closing his remarks, General Washington attempted to read a letter received from his personal and trusted friend, Congressman Joseph Jones. Because the writing was small, General Washington could not read it. From a vest pocket, he drew a pair of glasses given to him by a Doctor Rittenhouse two months earlier, and put them on his nose. Not one man in the room had ever seen him use glasses, nor had any of them ever considered that General Washington could ever be subject to such infirmities as failing eyesight. It stunned the entire crowd into silence. Washington, sensing the tremendous power and drama in the moment, quietly made the brief statement that turned the officer corps in his favor. Essentially, he stated that he had grown old in their service, and now it appeared he was growing blind. Many of the officers wept. Washington walked out, and it was then they spontaneously appointed General Henry Knox to head up a committee, and Major Samuel Snow to draft a resolution casting a unanimous vote of confidence in Washington and Congress. It is thought by many of the most respected historians that this event was pivotal in establishing the principle that the United States would remain subject to civil, not military, authority; and it essentially saved the nation. The entry made that evening in the journal of Major Samuel Snow is quoted verbatim herein.

  The speech given by Washington as recited in this chapter is abstracted from the best records available on the question, as are the remarks attributed to Stewart, Armstrong, and General Gates. As far as is possible in this abbreviated summary, many parts are verbatim quotes (Bernstein, Are We to Be a Nation?, pp. 30–33; Freeman, Washington, pp. 368, 498–501; Morris, The Forging of the Union, pp. 47–49; Higginbotham, The War of American Independence, pp. 409–12).

  Verplanck Army Camp

  June 1783

  CHAPTER X

  * * *

  The reveille drum had not yet sounded when the knock came at Billy Weems’s door. For a moment he sat fully dressed at the tiny table in the corner of his officer’s quarters, speculating who could need him in the dead-quiet predawn purple of an early summer morning. He glanced at the paper on which he had begun writing just moments earlier under the light of a lamp, read the salutation, “My Dear Brigitte,” turned it face down, and stepped across the small room to open the door. Captain Armand Rhodes of the Massachusetts Second Regiment faced him in the doorway, face yellow in the lamplight. Billy came to attention as Rhodes spoke.

  “I saw a light.” He took a printed NOTICE from several he carried beneath his arm, and offered it to Billy. “Read this, and follow the instructions.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “Orders for mustering out the army. Today.”

  Billy’s heart leaped. “The orders finally came?”

  Rhodes nodded. “Be sure your men are notified where to be and when.”

  “I will. Anything else?”

  “Not right now. I have to get these notices out to the other companies. Any questions, find me.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Rhodes turned away and Billy left the door open. The first of the morning birds had begun their declaration to the world that another dawn was breaking and they we
re staking out their territorial claims against all comers.

  There was a tremble in Billy’s fingers as he sat back down at the table, laid the document flat, and began to read.

  “ . . . March twelfth instant Captain Joshua Barney arrived in Philadelphia aboard his schooner Washington bearing the official text of the Pact signed by British and American diplomats in Paris on November 30, 1782. Pertinent parts are as follows:

  “Final terms are to be inserted in, and to constitute the treaty of peace, proposed to be concluded between the Crown of Great Britain and the said United States; but which treaty is not to be concluded until terms of a peace shall be agreed upon between Great Britain and France, and his Britannick Majesty shall be ready to conclude such treaty accordingly. PROVIDED HOWEVER, that the independence of the United States is herewith acknowledged and is the initial article of said treaty; all hostilities are to cease forthwith; prisoners are to be exchanged.

  “FURTHER, it is acknowledged that on January twentieth, 1783, the other sovereign nations party to this agreement, namely France and Spain, did enter into the said Pact as signatories, which now binds all parties.

  “FURTHER, on April fifteenth instant, the United States Congress ratified and approved the said treaty, and on the nineteenth of April instant, all hostilities between the parties formally ceased.”

  Billy paused to raise his head, putting his thoughts in order. The British and Americans agreed to stop the shooting last November, and France and Spain agreed to it in January. Our Congress ratified it and all hostilities stopped on April nineteenth.

  Something caught in his memory and he paused for a moment to search for it. April nineteenth. April 19, 1775! The day John Dunson and Tom Sievers and Matthew and I went to Concord! The day the shooting began! The day I was shot and bayoneted, and John was shot and died. The war started on April nineteenth, and now it’s ended on April nineteenth! Nearly unbelievable.