Blood of Tyrants: George Washington & the Forging of the Presidency

by Logan Beirne

  The inoculation campaign did little, however, to alleviate the near-term suffering in New York during the summer of 1776. It was too late to help the soldiers who had already contracted smallpox. They languished in the streets of Manhattan along with their comrades who suffered from other diseases such as dysentery. In all, nearly 3,800 men reported being too sick to fight.47 And to make matters worse, even those who did not succumb to illness were ready to desert.

  Thousands of American deserters filled the roads to Connecticut and New Jersey as soldiers fled to the comfort of their homes. Some were ill; others were just sick of being unpaid, inadequately supplied, and poorly led by civil authorities. One proud soldier, a devout patriot who had served the cause dutifully, wrote to his wife, “You are afraid that I shall stay in the cause of liberty till I shall make myself a slave to it. I have too much reason to fear that will be the case. I hope to come home soon and see you. Wishing you goodnight, your most kind and affectionate husband till death.”48 Suffering terribly and longing for home, he soon quit and returned to his family in Massachusetts, where he worked as a shoemaker for the rest of the war. Similar sentiments were rife in the American ranks, threatening to tear Washington’s army apart.

  As impotent as he was angry, Washington complained to Congress that his soldiers, “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 . . . .”49 Worse yet, many of the Americans did not merely go home, but actually defected to the British side. This was unsurprising, since the British redcoats were faring much better just across the river in Brooklyn.

  14

  Between a Hawk and a Buzzard

  The British were far happier and healthier than their wilting foes. Rather than a weak commander and an interfering, cash-strapped civil authority, the British enjoyed a powerful, streamlined military leadership. They received regular pay from Britain’s deep coffers and even gorged themselves on the plentiful food provided by Britain’s all-powerful navy.

  Contrary to the popular American conception of the redcoats as battle-scarred “sweepings of the London and Liverpool slums, debtors, drunks, common criminals and the like, who had been bullied and beaten into mindless obedience,”1 they were actually demographically similar to their American counterparts. The redcoat foot soldiers were mostly young farmers and unskilled laborers who were not forced into service but instead lured by the promise of food, pay, and adventure.2 And while the Americans thought the redcoats were street trash, the British soldiers did not think too highly of the patriots either. One Brit wrote of them:While every clown that tills the plain,

  Though bankrupt in estate and brains,

  By this new light transformed to traitor,

  Forsakes his plough to turn dictator.3

  The young men on both sides of the war had a tremendous amount in common. The patriots and redcoats shared the same religion, customs, and heritage. Despite popular misconceptions, they even shared a similar accent. While one might imagine the British complaining about preparations for the coming “hahd wintuh,” denizens of the British Isles actually spoke like the Americans in lamenting the “hard winter.”4 This is because the “British accent” is actually a manufactured one that did not fully take hold until after the war.

  Both the British and the Americans originally shared a rhotic accent in which they pronounced the “R’s” in their words. However, around this time, something peculiar started to occur in Britain: the people began a concerted effort to change their pronunciation to non-rhotic. 5 As the Industrial Revolution catapulted individuals of low birth rank into titans of British industry, these nouveau riche Londoners sought to distinguish themselves from fellow commoners.6 And so, they actively cultivated a non-rhotic accent to signify their new elite status. “London pronunciation became the prerogative of a new breed of specialists—orthoepists and teachers of elocution,” and it was these men who “decided on correct pronunciations, compiled pronouncing dictionaries and, in private and expensive tutoring sessions, drilled enterprising citizens in fashionable articulation.”7

  Thus, while the British manufactured their posh new accent during the late eighteenth century, the Americans continued to pronounce their “R’s”—only Boston and New York City followed the trend, developing their own non-rhotic accents since they remained “under the strongest influence by the British elite.”8 During this summer of 1776, however, the new accents had not yet taken hold and the British and American soldiers still largely spoke in the same rhotic manner. They were still brothers—albeit bitterly estranged ones who were prepared to kill one another.

  Unlike their republican brethren, the British soldiers were proud to fight for their king. They faced harsh penalties for breaking the British military code, but those strict regulations kept them safer and healthier. For example, they were required to put on a clean shirt two or three times a week, and to ensure that their linens were washed.9 Needless to say, Brooklyn smelled far better than Manhattan on those hot summer nights. Reasonable hygiene, adequate rations, and a natural resistance to smallpox helped keep disease in check and the redcoats prepared for their next attack.

  The British discipline was far from perfect, however, and the redcoats also found time to abuse the locals. One British officer described the New York women as “fair nymphs” who were “in wonderful tribulation, as the fresh meat our men have got here has made them as riotous as satyrs.” Rape had become so commonplace, he wrote, that “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.”10 A fiendish British officer made light of the situation, joking that as a result they had “most entertaining courts-martial every day” to try the attackers.11

  One girl complained of being deflowered by a band of British grenadiers. 12 Picked from among the strongest and tallest soldiers, grenadiers had the power to hurl baseball-sized iron spheres far away from their comrades before the burning fuses ignited the gunpowder within. Apparently, some of these elite fighters also used their strength against American women. Rather than condemn the attack on the girl, the British laughed at her testimony that even in the dark she knew that her attackers were grenadiers by their size. In another case, the British troops mocked a woman who was attacked by seven men. They claimed laughingly that her real complaint was “not of their usage” but rather “of their having taken an old prayer book for which she had a particular affection.”13 Washington and his troops were powerless to stop these atrocities.

  In September 1776, one British officer wrote to the chief strategist in London that the war was “pretty near over,” and King George III believed his forces were close to victory.14 His army sickly and disintegrating, Washington was close to agreeing. At this point, General Howe could pretty much destroy the Continental Army whenever he wished. But he still hoped for a peaceful end to the rebellion and for the colonies’ return to the British Empire. Viewing himself as a sort of peace negotiator, he rejected the “rash” course of “crushing at once a frightened, trembling enemy,” and instead “he generously gave them time to recover from their panic . . . .”15

  Washington used this time to formulate a plan. He knew that he had little hope of defending Manhattan Island against the combined power of Britain’s healthy, well-trained, and well-armed army and navy. And so he decided to run—again.

  The American commander made the rather obvious military observation that he should retreat. But he was not confident that he had the authority to order a full withdrawal, since his commission from Congress directed him to confer with his “council of war.” 16 Washington felt bound by this language to obtain their sign-off before any major action. 17 The members of this war council were all appointed by the meddling Congress, and most were relative novices in military matters. In fact, only one,
the slovenly military genius Charles Lee, was a professional soldier. Seeking to be deferential to the politicians’ and officers’ wishes, however, Washington dutifully brought the question of withdrawal before this group.

  Washington and the war council “all agreed that the Town was not tenable if the Enemy was resolved to bombard and Cannonade it.”18 Yet a majority on the council foolishly decided against a full withdrawal. Instead, “a Course was taken between abandoning it totally and concentrating our whole strength for its defence.”19

  Why would Washington take this militarily inexcusable risk? Because he believed that the micromanaging politicians expected him to do just that. Washington and the council were “influenced in their Opinion, to whom the determination of Congress was known, against an Evacuation totally; suspecting that Congress wished it to be maintained at every hazard . . . .”20 Further, many of the novices on the war council—and even Washington, to a degree—had the naive view that they could still defeat the British, and they did not want to hurt morale further by another retreat. Therefore, the council made a decision that was contrary to Washington’s best judgment, but the commander respectfully acquiesced.21

  Washington quickly informed Congress that he would retain forces on Manhattan Island even though it was “extremely obvious, from all Intelligence,” that the British intended to encircle the Americans and “endeavour to cut this Army in pieces.”22

  Washington and his officers had bowed to civil authority, but their discontent was surfacing. With Congress and its war council peering over his shoulder at every turn, the commander in chief still lacked full command over his army.23 His officers, feeling that Congress was forcing them to fight the war with one arm tied behind their back, began to question their political masters more openly. “The councils of the Congress seem to be dark and intricate, and very badly calculated,” wrote one of Washington’s officers. While the soldiers were trapped on the island, fearing for their lives and “anticipating the apprehended evil,” Congress was at a safe distance in Philadelphia.24 And when Congress did send observers to survey the army’s condition, these “Philadelphia gentlemen who came over on visits, upon the first cannon shot went off in a most violent hurry.”25 Washington and his army remained on the field, almost literally staring down the barrel of a gun. Washington’s assistant wrote to his wife, “We are still here in a posture somewhat awkward; we think (at least I do) that we cannot stay and yet we do not know how to go—so that we may be properly said to be between a hawk and a buzzard.”26

  Meanwhile, a comfortable eighty-two miles away in Philadelphia, Congress spent precious time debating the predicament. With the army’s fate hanging in the balance, the politicians back at cozy Independence Hall finally decided to send a small delegation to meet with Howe. This group consisted of Ben Franklin, John Adams, and Edward Rutledge, a twenty-six-year-old North Carolinian who was the youngest man to sign the Declaration of Independence. The distinguished trio set off immediately by horse across New Jersey and then rowed out to Howe’s base on the southernmost tip of the island.

  Greeted by an intimidating row of enemy fighters, Franklin and his two young co-diplomats were escorted into Bentley Manor, a stately stone house that was being used as a barracks. It was in a filthy state, but the redcoats had cleaned up one room overlooking the bay for the meeting. 27 Once inside, the Americans drank claret and ate ham, tongue, and mutton while they awaited their British adversary. 28 The veil of civility failed to mask the dangerous situation in which they sat.

  The so-called “Staten Island Peace Conference” convened on September 11, 1776. This attempt to end the war was doomed from the start, however, and both sides knew it. Howe entered the meeting room in his sharp uniform, fully aware that he had the upper hand. He informed the delegation that it was in the Americans’ best interest to rescind their Declaration of Independence. While Howe attempted to be conciliatory, he could not help but act the role of a conqueror stating his terms: should they rejoin the empire, he would spare them. Howe indeed had authorization from London to pardon many of the patriots, and he was surprisingly eager to use it.

  After three hours of discussion (in which Howe did most of the talking), the British general emotionally revealed that he viewed the schism between Britain and her former colonies with regret and still regarded the congressmen as his British kinsmen. He continued, “if America shall fall, I should feel for and lament it like the loss of a brother.” The wily Franklin said dryly, “we will use our utmost endeavors to save your lordship that mortification.” Howe, not one for dry humor, responded with a long monologue outlining his attempts at peace to the stone-faced congressmen. He explained his desire to reunite the empire by bringing the colonies—whom he viewed as his American brothers—back under the Crown. To that, Adams retorted with his typical biting eloquence: “Your lordship may consider me in what light you please . . . except that of a British subject. ”29 Little did Adams know that his name was on a secret list of patriots to whom Howe was forbidden to grant pardon should America agree to end the rebellion. 30

  Luckily for Adams, there would be no peace or pardoning that day. As Howe’s secretary summarized the conference, “They met, they talked, they parted. And now nothing remains but to fight it out.”31 Although their meeting was fruitless, at least the congressmen had bought Washington a few more days of respite.

  Washington met again with his war council. This time, they had intelligence that the British forces were preparing for an imminent attack, and the council agreed to a full withdrawal from Manhattan. Congress also changed tunes, deciding to allow the commander in chief to determine the timing of an evacuation.32 Finally relinquishing the power to make such a tactical decision, Congress notified Washington that no part of the army “should remain in that city a moment longer” than he judged appropriate.33 Washington could now do what he needed in order to save his army. He quickly pressed every available horse and wagon in the vicinity into service and commenced another mass retreat.34 But Congress still prohibited him from acting on his more controversial wish: to set Manhattan ablaze.

  Washington knew that the British forces were salivating at the thought of taking the island. With its large Loyalist population, great ports, ample housing, and plentiful sources of supplies, New York was the perfect place for them to live during the coming winter. The British troops could be healthy, well supplied, and ready to trounce the feeble American forces come spring. Further, Washington knew he had little chance of recovering the island, since such an amphibious invasion would require a navy to match mighty Britain’s, and he had virtually none. So the only logical tactic was to deprive the British of the city.35

  But Congress forbade him. They ordered Washington to do “no damage” to New York. Clueless of the military realities, they declared that they had “no doubt of being able to recover” the city if the British took it.36 Washington grudgingly obeyed, although in private he grumbled that if he had his say, he would have “laid the city in ashes.”37 And his wish would come true.

  With the British invasion looming, Washington hurriedly withdrew his army up Manhattan with the goal of escaping into the Bronx. But he was too late. Howe was not about to allow him to slip away yet again. This time, the British pounced before the Americans had the chance to run.

  15

  Onslaught

  One Sunday morning during the dog days of summer 1776, a groggy baby-faced Connecticut private named Joseph Plumb Martin lay quietly in a defensive trench.1 Only fifteen years old, he was too young to fight without his guardians’ consent, so he had threatened to run away unless his grandparents allowed him to enlist. They gave in.

  And now this headstrong youth from a wealthy family, excited to be a part of the American cause, had been enjoying a seemingly peaceful morning. “The Hills, the Woods, the River, the Town, the [British] Ships . . . all Heightened by a most clear & delightful morning, furnished the finest Landscape that either art and nature combined could draw, or the Imaginat
ion conceive.”2 With the sun little over an hour high, the day was already warm. As the menacing British warships silently passed by, Martin began amusing himself by reading some papers he found among the debris on the ground. It was the calm before the storm.

  “I was demurely perusing these papers,” the teenager recalled, “when all of a sudden there came such a peal of thunder from the British shipping that I thought my head would go with the sound. I made a frog’s leap for the ditch, and lay as still as I could, and began to consider which part of my carcass was to go first.”3 The ground trembled along with the American soldiers as the British warships launched a fearsome barrage from seventy cannons. Just four days after the collapse of peace talks, the violent bombardment of Manhattan was underway.

  One British soldier observed, “The scene was awful and grand, I might say beautiful, but for the melancholy seriousness that which must attend every circumstance where the lives of men, even the basest malefactors, are at stake.”4 The patriots did not think the scene was quite as beautiful. They were cowering in their trenches when 12,000 well-aligned British troops began to wade onto the shore in droves like a red war machine. Spotting their approach, the panicked Americans ran or surrendered. Barely any American rounds were fired, and the British forces invaded with “nothing to hinder them.”5

  Once ashore, the redcoats were welcomed by New York’s Loyalists as a liberation party. To the patriots’ chagrin, the Tories cheered and hoisted the British troops onto their shoulders as they celebrated like “overjoyed bedlamites.” The British soldiers were equally elated: they had landed without losing a single man.6