The Howe Dynasty

by Julie Flavell

  To their astonishment, the British force met with no opposition. General Washington had posted no defenders, and the Americans were taken completely by surprise. Despite putting up some resistance, the rebels had been badly outmaneuvered and were obliged to run from the battle, as Clinton put it, “reduced to a sauve qui peut; over bays, marshes, creeks &c.” By midday, they had retreated to their main defenses at Brooklyn.39

  Then, in what would become the most controversial decision of his career, William ordered his men to halt, declining a frontal assault on the American entrenchments and instead beginning the safer, much slower process of opening regular siege works. The rebel position was also vulnerable to being cut off by water, as British warships could enter the East River and block an evacuation to New York City. Nobody knew it at the time, but this would be the best chance William would ever have of destroying the American army. The opportunity was soon lost. On the night of August 29, Washington and his troops managed to slip away, under cover of heavy rain, to the island of Manhattan.

  Following Washington’s withdrawal, the reigning mood in the British ranks was one of triumph. British officers were jubilant, predicting that the rebellion would collapse. “[T]his business is pretty near over,” wrote General Hugh Lord Percy to Lord George Germain. Morale within the British army soared. George III conferred the Order of the Bath on William for his victory at Long Island, making him Sir William Howe.40

  Nonetheless, William would live to regret the report he sent to Germain days after the Battle of Brooklyn. Describing the moment when his troops halted their pursuit, William wrote that the grenadiers and the 33rd regiment pushed ahead toward the enemy’s lines, “with such eagerness to attack it by storm that it required repeated orders to prevail upon them to desist from the attempt.” The next words were used against him many times in the years to come:

  Had they been permitted to go on, it is my opinion they would have carried the redoubt, but as it was apparent the lines must have been ours at a very cheap rate by regular approaches I would not risk the loss that might have been sustained in the assault. . . .

  William then ordered his men back out of the reach of the American gunshot.41 His assertion that they most probably would have succeeded, if permitted to carry on, has since been singled out for criticism in numerous assessments of the battle. “[V]ictorious soldiers were stopped in full cry,” as one historian put it.42

  This command decision has been debated for more than two hundred years. Did General Howe overestimate the strength of the enemy lines? Did he have poor intelligence? Alternatively, did he have good intelligence, and were his detractors the ones who underestimated the rebels’ ability to repel a British charge?43 Some historians think Howe’s caution was reasonable or understandable and requires no special explanation.44 The issue has never been entirely laid to rest. And it was the Battle of Brooklyn that inspired Light-Horse Harry Lee to suggest that Bunker Hill had permanently shaken William’s nerve.

  Yet William Howe was celebrated throughout his military career for conspicuous bravery that was careless of his personal safety. He was not a man to falter at Brooklyn. Years later, referring to the controversial lines in his report to Lord George Germain, he explained, “To this I am free to own, the Paragraph was written in the fullness of my Heart, exulting on the approved Bravery of the Troops on that Day.” These words were part of a draft of a speech he prepared in 1779 to be delivered before the House of Commons. He omitted them in the final version, and they are not included in published accounts of the speech.45

  Certainly Germain himself saw nothing to criticize at the time, writing to William that it was “the first Military Operation with which no fault could be found.” And the British public was overjoyed. The carnage that everyone had predicted at Brooklyn had not occurred. The newspapers extolled “the extreme judgment, the cool bravery, the recollection, and the humanity of those gallant brothers.”46 In Britain, there was no criticism of a commander who had taken his objective without severe loss of life; there was only national relief.

  It is more likely that William’s caution that day was on behalf of his troops. Bunker Hill was still a pervasive worry in his mind—would they balk in the face of enemy fire? Historian David Smith argues that William stopped the assault on the entrenchments at Brooklyn because he saw his troops pushing forward without orders, carried by a wave of enthusiasm—to his mind, a near-lapse of battlefield discipline. Smith has observed that throughout the New York campaign, General Howe was worried that British troops would “misbehave” again as they had at Boston, boosting enemy morale in the process and resulting in losses that couldn’t be afforded. He makes a convincing case that William Howe saw instances of risky and impetuous behavior in three separate actions: Bunker Hill, Brooklyn, and a minor scuffle a few weeks later on September 16, the day after the British landed on Manhattan Island. Known as the Battle of Harlem Heights, British light infantry troops pursued and taunted retreating Americans with shouts of “View halloo!” as if on a foxhunt. The redcoats were then met with such determined resistance from the infuriated rebels that they were obliged to beat a hasty retreat.47

  Unfortunately for William, after the Battle of Brooklyn General Washington would never again risk a pitched battle with the British. Washington had been obliged to learn fast from the near-disaster. On August 28, the day after the surprise attack by the British, and while still besieged by the redcoats, he had come close to making his own “potentially huge mistake.”48 He called for further reinforcements from across the river in Manhattan, still hoping to maneuver the British into making a bloody frontal assault. He did not intend it, but by thus concentrating his forces, he would be acting exactly as General Howe could wish. It was only the next morning, when the British siege works could be seen to have advanced to within only 600 yards from the American lines, that the American commander changed his mind. There would be no rerun of Bunker Hill. It was time to get out of there. Indeed, there was no time to lose; one more day would bring the Americans within range of British fire.

  Washington’s about-face in the space of just twenty-four hours revealed his inexperience. However, luck was with him, as unfavorable winds stopped Lord Howe’s ships from cutting him off in the East River, and a summer storm provided cover as the desperate Americans made the crossing from Brooklyn to Manhattan in the dark. The evacuation on the night of August 29 was a dangerous exploit that has been called “the American Dunkirk.” At the time, though, it was seen not as an iconic event but rather a show of weakness that badly affected American morale.49 A few weeks later, the American commander famously wrote, “We should on all occasions avoid a general action, or put anything to the risk, unless compelled by a necessity into which we ought never to be drawn.”50

  Brooklyn, viewed retrospectively, offers the tantalizing “what if” of a single action by which Britain might have ended the rebellion. It was also destined to become a cornerstone of an argument that William was “soft” on the rebel army throughout the New York campaign, always hoping that hostilities would melt away and be replaced by the peace talks sought by Richard Howe. Not only did William fail to push forward when the enemy appeared to be in the palm of his hand—or so the argument goes—but he repeated the same pattern for the rest of his campaigns in America.51 In battle after battle, William’s army emerged victorious, yet the rebellion remained unsuppressed. Was General Howe actually avoiding the destruction of the American army?

  At the time, however, the New York campaign opened with a clear victory for the British, and this success continued. Two weeks later, on September 15, the British landed at Kips Bay, on the east side of Manhattan. William had chosen it as the best point for invading the island. His second-in-command, Clinton, had strongly demurred; by now, Clinton’s criticisms of his chief were becoming noticeable to his brother officers, and word was getting back to William.52 Clinton had urged William to land British forces farther up Manhattan, at King’s Bridge, which connected the famous i
sland to the mainland, thereby trapping the Continental Army. Looking at a map, it seems an obvious idea. Clinton thought that Howe ignored his advice because the commander in chief was more interested in securing the city of New York as a base for the winter than in confronting the Continental Army. Other historians have followed Clinton’s reasoning, seeing it as evidence that General Howe preferred “safe plans for recovering territory to more hazardous schemes that promised to destroy the Continental army.”53

  But, as with so much of the campaign, the evidence is also open to an entirely different interpretation. The action at Kips Bay has been described by some military scholars as a brilliant success that demoralized the Americans.54 The British correctly believed that, after the Battle of Brooklyn, the Americans had begun evacuating Manhattan, so the opportunity to trap the rebel army was melting away. Clinton’s plan would have involved an extensive amphibious landing in the turbulent waters around Hell Gate. In those waters, the navy would probably move more slowly than Washington’s men could retreat.55 The lightly equipped rebel soldiers might well have had time to evacuate Manhattan before the British fleet and army could reach King’s Bridge.

  And there is evidence that William hoped that, at Kips Bay, the rebels would stand and fight at last. There were two conditions in place that he believed were necessary to coax them into a confrontation: fortifications, and open country at their backs.56 This was what had given inexperienced rebel troops such confidence at Bunker Hill. If this was William’s careful calculation, it came to naught; the American soldiers fled under the bombardment of the Royal Navy, and Washington visibly raged at the sight.57

  The day after the Kips Bay landing, the British army entered New York City. In advance of the fighting, a third of the population had departed, but a joyful loyalist crowd welcomed the redcoats as they marched down Broadway. The army then settled down to an occupation that would last until the war’s end: Officers took up residence in the best of the homes vacated by fleeing rebels, other buildings were converted into barracks, and loyalist militia patrolled the streets, where, as one loyal clergyman recorded, “Joy and gladness” appeared on all faces. In this complex civil war, however, no success remained secure for long.

  By capturing Manhattan, General Howe had now established a base for his army, but this was no time to relax. Just six days later, a fire swept through the city, destroying hundreds of homes. Washington had threatened to burn the city as he departed, seeing it as a nest of Tory traitors, but the fire probably was an accident. Nevertheless, the harassed General Howe was not the only one who believed it was arson, and two people were hanged.58 The rebel army still lurked in the vicinity of New York, and the campaign would go on until December.

  It has been said that, throughout the New York campaign, William was a “victim of his own success,” driving his enemy to make desperate bids to avoid an engagement on the British general’s terms, and thereby increasing William’s frustration as the campaign wore on.59 This is probably true; two engagements toward the close of the campaign—at White Plains and Fort Washington—show that William, far from avoiding frontal assaults, was in fact exasperated at being unable to draw out his enemy, and he was willing to mount an offensive in order to incite a decisive battle.

  On October 12, the British army was on the move again, landing first at Throg’s Neck, a narrow peninsula where the East River meets Long Island Sound, then four days later arriving at the superior landing place of Pell’s Point. The Americans were maneuvered off of the island of Manhattan, and by October 21 they had taken up a position on a line of hills to the rear of the village of White Plains. There, on the night of October 27–28, British and American forces clashed. The outcome was indecisive, and the British lost at least two hundred men during an uphill charge that met with heavy fire from rebel defenders. In the ensuing several days, William prepared for a second frontal assault on the enemy, ordering reinforcements from New York. By the time they arrived, however, extreme weather had set in, the terrain had turned to mud, and the Americans had shifted their position to a much stronger second line. Nevertheless, it required strenuous arguments from General Clinton, supported by the Hessian General von Heister, to persuade William to call off the attack on October 31.60

  Two weeks later, on November 16, the British stormed and captured Fort Washington, on Manhattan Island. The Americans had believed it was “impregnable,” but William’s redcoats took the fort in a neatly executed action that went against his determination to use slower siege tactics against well-prepared defensive positions. It has been suggested by one astute historian that William, frustrated in his intention to mount a frontal attack on the enemy at White Plains, reacted by overturning his own rule at Fort Washington, in what has been described as a “dashing and ruthless action.”61 This is characteristic of the William who emerges from his military record and the pages of his sister’s letters: a careful, skillful commander, but also a man with a tendency toward reckless courage and temper.

  Fort Lee, just across the Hudson River from Fort Washington, capitulated four days later; the rebel garrison fled, in their haste abandoning vital military supplies that were quickly captured by the British. By early December, Washington and his dwindling army had been chased southward across the Raritan River into New Jersey; Newport, Rhode Island, had surrendered without resistance, providing a safe winter haven for Lord Howe’s shipping. The rebellion looked as if it was in its last gasp. Even the Continental Congress, unnerved by the thought of British troops just sixty miles from Philadelphia, decamped to Baltimore. And yet—the rebel army, small as it was, kept going. Britain seemed to have sent its great army and warships to America to play a cat-and-mouse game that thus far had resulted in no definite outcome.

  It is no wonder that debate continues to this day over the motives, skill, and luck of William Howe in his first-ever campaign as a commander in chief. The competing assessments of his generalship during 1776 persist: that for unacknowledged reasons he was actually avoiding the destruction of Washington’s army; or that he was a conventional and overcautious general who let the enemy slip through his fingers; or that he was an able commander who had bad luck. Like all military operations, the New York campaign can never be replayed. In addition to the complex of facts mustered by historians, it involved a multitude of circumstances that by now are irretrievable—for example, details relating to terrain, tide and weather, and morale. The surviving testimonies of combatants are colored by personal tensions, partial intelligence, and the self-justifications of those who bore responsibility for the outcome. Even the opinions of the ever-voluble General Clinton tend to distort as much as they enlighten, particularly when they are juxtaposed against the taciturnity of the Howes. William Howe, in fact, did not always explain his plans to his officers—they often did not have the benefit of his thinking as they pondered his decisions.

  But one thing is certain: William understood that to forgo knowingly an opportunity to destroy Washington’s army would be to place at risk the lives of British soldiers and the security of the British nation. That such behavior would amount to a “flirtation with treason” is a point made by surprisingly few historians, but it is one General Howe would have been well aware of.62 With each passing month, the conflict in America threatened to provoke the intervention of the French. The notion that William and Richard Howe attempted some form of “soft” warfare using those bluntest of instruments—eighteenth-century amphibious tactics and weaponry—is simply not believable.

  The Howes were loyal Britons; they shared bonds of blood and friendship with English aristocratic dynasties and leading military figures; they had close ties to the royal family—ties that did not diminish after the War of Independence. Waiting for them at home were wives, sisters, and a mother who moved in the highest circles, where personal reputation and family honor were palpable qualities that mattered.

  William and Richard Howe knew well that the command decisions they made in America would be narrowly scrutiniz
ed by their fellow officers and a critical audience in the metropolis. There had been plenty of courtsmartial in the last war, most notoriously the case of Admiral Byng, executed on his own quarterdeck for failing to pursue his enemy to the fullest degree. Their own kinsman Sir John Mordaunt had been court-martialed and acquitted after the failed expedition to Rochefort in 1757.

  It has been suggested that the illegitimate bond between the Howe family and the king protected them from the hostile scrutiny endured by other British commanders. This cannot be so; in the Seven Years’ War, even full royal status had not been enough to save the Duke of Cumberland, the favorite son of George II, who was removed from his military post in disgrace by his father when he surrendered to the French at Hastenbeck in 1757. George told his son “that he had ruined his country and his army.”63

  Finally, one does not need to be a military expert to realize that every military commander fights to win. No general would allow the escape of an enemy who lay in the palm of his hand. The Howes knew they needed to strike hard to end the rebellion. Before the battle, Henry Strachey had written that the Howes believed that “even the completest Victory” might not be sufficient to bring the Americans to the table.

  Against the backdrop of General Howe’s offensive against New York, Admiral Lord Howe finally had his conference with delegates from the Continental Congress. What ended up being the “last official meeting between England and her American colonies” took place on September 11, 1776.64 Congress sent delegates to meet with Lord Howe to explore what his peace commission had to offer.

  The meeting had been broached by American Major General John Sullivan, who had been taken prisoner at the Battle of Brooklyn. Subsequently, he was wined and dined by Admiral Howe, and then released. New Englander John Adams—short, stocky, irascible, and the foremost champion of independence in the Congress—was his usual blunt self on the subject of this latest invitation from the Howes. He would have preferred to see Sullivan shot through the head on the battlefield, he said, rather than carrying another insidious proposal of talks to Philadelphia. Yet Congress did not wish to appear to be unwilling to explore an avenue for reconciliation.65