The criticism was not confined to the newspapers. Hans Stanley, an MP who, as a relative of the D’Oylys and a friend of Lord and Lady Spencer, moved in the same social circles as the Howe women, wrote an unusually candid letter to a naval officer in America, repeating exactly what people in the metropolis were saying about the commanders in chief in January 1778. There was general agreement, he wrote, that the campaign was poorly planned in London and poorly executed in the field. Burgoyne’s backwoods expedition only made sense if the objective was to invade New England; that not being the case, the Canadian army should have simply gone to New York by sea. Instead, Burgoyne undertook a hazardous trek through wilderness and refused to turn back while he still had the chance, foolishly crossing the Hudson to the ruin of his army. The Howes also came in for criticism. It was agreed that Sir William Howe wasted time at the start of the summer trying to tempt General Washington into battle, and that he began his Philadelphia campaign much too late. He lost more time by proceeding with his army to the Chesapeake, instead of landing at the Delaware River.
But what was most damning in Stanley’s letter was the widely held belief that William Howe had left New York in July 1777 with the full knowledge that Burgoyne was in trouble and needed help. Stanley regretfully accepted this serious indictment of William’s command. “I am sorry to find People are but ill satisfied with the general Superintending of Sir Wm Howe,” concluded this friend of the Howes.147 Falling for the false narrative that William headed south knowing Burgoyne needed assistance, it is no wonder that even some of the Howes’ friends felt unable to support the brothers under the weight of the public attacks.
The Howe women had a duty to try to maintain a confident front, but Fanny was visibly affected. When the war began in 1775, she took up the role of the wife of the commander in chief as best she could. After William left for America, she hosted breakfasts for loyalists in London. She sent gifts to William’s staff officers.148 Now, however, she was called upon to play a part that life had not prepared her for. The London mob was notorious for acting out its resentment on military figures who did not deliver victory. Fanny’s coach, which sported the Howe coat of arms, was easily recognized. By early January 1778, she only dared to venture out in the mornings, and Lady Mary Coke reported that she “does not go into publick places poor Woman.”149 She was not like Caroline, who had been known to open her window and harangue a crowd that gathered in Grafton Street to abuse Admiral Howe; “[S]he stilled the waves, and they dispersed quietly.”150 It was an unhappy time for Sir William Howe’s wife. “Fanny plays [cards] now & then but in a very quiet way,” wrote Caroline to Lady Spencer.151
As the clouds gathered in January 1778, Caroline strove to keep up appearances. She was busy as usual, attending a party hosted by the Princess Amelia, occupied with the Ladies’ Charitable Society, sending news when she could to anxious women with husbands or sons in the service. She was, however, having an ominous run of bad luck at cards. She was off her game. “My bad run seems not inclined to stop yet,” she told Lady Spencer. “If I win a little one night I lose double the sum the next.” On a visit to Lady Mary Howe in Grafton Street, her poise slipped as three nieces frolicked about her. “I am writing at Lady Howe’s, the Brats are turning my Brains, dancing, singing & romping,” wrote the normally affectionate aunt.152
Perhaps it had been unwise during that month, when feelings in the Howe family were running high, for Caroline to take her mother to the Germain household. But the hospitable Lady Germain had contracted a bad case of the measles, and both the Howe women wished to pay her a bedside visit. When, however, the two of them arrived at the elegant Germain residence in Pall Mall, the sight of Lord George Germain in his own home was too much for the Dowager Lady Howe. She openly accused him of being behind the torrent of media abuse of her sons. The story was relayed with glee in the newspapers, where Lady Howe was reported to have rounded upon Germain, saying that “the abuse originated from his Office; that he must take the consequences when her sons came home; and that upon this occasion, her Ladyship added, that she wished she was a man”—a clear allusion to a duel from this German matriarch.153 Charlotte von Kielmansegg, raised among royalty, had the self-assurance to dispense with etiquette when it suited her. For the last time, she was roused to defend her cubs. There were probably other guests present, and they were the most likely means by which the whole episode entered the rumor mill, and then the newspapers. It is highly unlikely that Caroline would have courted any publicity; her mother was troubled by a heart condition and needed to be sheltered. Tragically, Lady Germain took a turn for the worse and died soon afterward. The Howe women would not be darkening Lord George’s door again.
In the last war, the Howe dynasty had been celebrated in the press. Now, however, the newspapers were the destroyers of all peace of mind for the entire family—not only the women at home but also the brothers in America. The media-driven attacks were a major motive behind William’s request to return home. On October 22, 1777, he wrote to Lord George Germain from Philadelphia, asking for permission to be relieved of his command. The letter might have referred to the many ways in which the southern campaign had not accomplished what William had hoped; Washington still eluded defeat, the population around Philadelphia was not as active in support of the Crown as he had been led to expect, and opening up the Delaware for British shipping was proving a far more difficult, tedious, and messy task than had been anticipated.154 It did not mention any of this. Instead, it was a direct response to a letter from Germain dated August 4 and marked “Private.” Germain’s original letter has not survived among the official correspondence deposited in the Public Record Office in London, and that is perhaps why it is so often assumed that William’s request was prompted by rumors of Burgoyne’s surrender.155 Rumors of that disaster were indeed arriving in Philadelphia, but William did not believe them. He thought Burgoyne might have retreated to one of the forts to his rear.156 That is what he or General Clinton would have done.
A copy of Germain’s August 4 letter to William is in the George Sackville Germain Papers at the University of Michigan. It is not very long, just a little over three pages. It opened with platitudes assuring General Howe of his fullest support. The next paragraphs evinced just the opposite, taking a swipe at both brothers for failing to bottle up American privateers. Germain then descended into his notable sarcasm, writing that while General Howe undoubtedly knew best how to wage war, “as the People in this Country cannot all judge of well concerted Military Operations, they are looking for bold & enterprising Measures, & I should be happy in seeing you meet with the Applause & Admiration of the Ignorant, as well as the abler judges of Military Merit.”157 The reference to “the ignorant” who withheld their applause was a snide allusion to the copious gibes against the brothers in the popular press. William could send all the refined excuses he wanted for his inconclusive campaigning, Germain insinuated, but Britain as a whole was looking for clear-cut boldness and enterprise. The American secretary closed with the expectation of imminent good news from the favored Burgoyne.
William was certainly angry when he replied to this letter, reminding Germain that since April he had sent clear warnings that he would be unable materially to assist Burgoyne, and in addition telling him the unwelcome truth that the war would require yet another year’s campaigning. But when he went on to request that he be relieved “from this very painful service,” he gave as his reasons the fact that, from the start of his command, his advice had been ignored, and his “superiors”—Germain himself—had shown no confidence in his judgment.
For William, in Philadelphia in October 1777, nothing was going as planned. He had not been given the troops he had needed, Pennsylvania had turned from an opportunity to trap Washington into a trap for him and his men, and the news from the upper Hudson was extremely worrying. William knew that if Burgoyne had failed as badly as rumor had it, every commander in America would come under public scrutiny. But the immediate provocat
ion for William’s request to be replaced was Germain’s sarcastic letter, because by now the brothers were deeply angry about their negative public image, which was spread all over the London news sheets and probably fed by Germain.158 This was hard to bear, and impossible to combat from a distance, so it was time to go home.
William Howe’s first and only service as a British commander in chief ended with a loud demonstration of love and loyalty from his army. This was the famous Mischianza, which was organized by a score of army officers on May 18, 1778, a week before he embarked for Britain. The word Mischianza comes from the Italian for “medley,” and so it was—a celebration that involved a kaleidoscope of entertainments. The original inspiration for this gala was a fête at Lord Derby’s estate of “The Oaks” in Surrey, England, in 1774. The daylong event for Howe involved a regatta along the Delaware River, a medieval joust, musical bands, a ball, and fireworks. Costumes were designed, sets were created, and young ladies from Philadelphia’s first families attended, wearing gauze turbans and Turkish outfits. Richard was also present, obliged to pass through a triumphal Doric arch that one might suspect was not much to his taste. The Mischianza was a gesture of loyalty to General Howe that was inspired in reaction to the virulent public attacks on his character and his command. Major John André, the chief organizer, took care that a full account of the event was published in the press at home.159
In histories of the American Revolution, the Mischianza has assumed an importance far out of proportion to what it had at the time, because it became a favorite subject in nineteenth-century American fiction and antiquarian histories of the war. Fifty years after independence, the “romantic grandeur” of the British empire could be safely enjoyed in escapist literature written by Americans who had no contemporary memory of the conflict itself. Just as nineteenth-century American tourists in England often looked past the state-of-the-art factories and railroads to see the quaint castles and thatched cottages, so American readers of the same period ignored the fact that both nations were rising powers, each well-established on their own trajectories to full modernization and engaged in a complex competition over the implications of industrialization and economic expansion for manners, lifestyles, and social values.160 The story of Sir William Howe’s Mischianza, an extravaganza that supposedly epitomized the bygone traits of the old mother country, was popular.
In fact, it was customary for departing generals to be treated to a round of farewell parties. The Mischianza was just one example of these, although it was assuredly the grandest.161 William himself may have had a few qualms about its excesses, for he suppressed the reading of two lengthy tributes to him as general.162 Although a few in Britain were persuaded that the elaborate send-off reflected well on a general who returned with no overall victory to show, for most it only served to confirm the impression that the army was not doing enough to win the war and was given over to pleasure and amusement.163 Overall, the British nation was far more preoccupied with the realities of the ongoing conflict.
When the parties were over, William spent several days aboard his brother’s flagship, the Eagle, taking his leave—for Richard would stay to serve in American waters—and no doubt speculating on the sort of reception he could expect at home.164 William embarked for England on May 24, 1778. It was said that some of his officers wept as they said their farewells at dockside. A week later, in London—where by now his return was widely anticipated—Lady Mary Coke was a witness to Princess Amelia’s fury that the war was going so badly. Such dissatisfaction in royal circles boded ill for Sir William’s reception; “Tis a terrible thing to be employ’d in these times,” Lady Mary wrote of William Howe with sympathetic understatement.165
And at roughly the same time that William was crossing the Atlantic, another whose name is forever linked with his own in the story of his failed command also boarded ship for the mother country. Mrs. Elizabeth Loring must have felt a trepidation that was almost equal to that of General Howe himself at the prospect of what awaited her in England.
Twelve
About Mrs. Loring
William Howe’s rakish exploits during his American command are short on detail, with one exception: his relationship with Elizabeth Lloyd Loring. As it is usually told, the story of his affair with Mrs. Loring, a Bostonian whom he met in 1775, showcases the character deficiencies that led, inexorably, to General Howe’s failure to end the rebellion. She kept him too busy with her irresistible company to pursue his military duties; she gambled and drank to excess, and she and her husband—for she, like William, was married—were conspicuous for profiting from the gravy train that was supposedly the Howe command in America.
So persistent is the story of General Howe’s dalliance with Mrs. Loring that it is mentioned in most accounts of his command, although military historians dismiss the accusation that she had any effect on his conduct of the war. Those who are more inclined to romanticize the American Revolution do not; in Kenneth Roberts’s novel Oliver Wiswell, published in 1940, she is the reason he underestimated the enemy on Bunker Hill and charged his troops into the murderous rebel fire. Roberts renders her as a mincing flirt who purred at General Howe, “[S]o masterful! There’s no resisting you, I vow!” Other, more fantastic works of fiction have carried her influence to unintentionally humorous extremes, suggesting that she was a clandestine agent working for General Washington, a Mata Hari figure who deliberately distracted Howe from his duties, to the destruction of the British war effort.1 Mrs. Loring’s ultra-vamp persona has survived into the twenty-first century, where she emerges vividly in Lora Innes’s historical fantasy graphic novel series, The Dreamer, as a self-serving adulteress intent on profit and pleasure while her native country bleeds.
Elizabeth is, in fact, the central figure in the transformation of William Howe’s identity by his critics and enemies during the War of Independence. Yet everything she is accused of comes from the pens of men who hated William Howe. She has no genuine voice of her own; not a single letter written by her as an adult has survived. There is an unmistakable element of misogyny in the portrayals of her as a “squeak-voiced, turnip-headed female,” a passive object to be handled by men, or a “handsome wife” handed over to William Howe by a husband seeking office. “He fingered the cash, the General enjoyed madam,” in the words of one contemporary.2 Elizabeth Loring surely deserves a closer look in a personal biography of the man reputed to have been Antony to her Cleopatra.
MRS. LORING WAS BORN Elizabeth Lloyd, in October 1752, to a gentrified family that owned a manor house on Long Island. Known today as the Joseph Lloyd Manor, the house still stands in the town of Huntington, and it includes slave quarters behind its main bedrooms on the second floor. Being so close to New York City—one of the largest slave markets in the thirteen colonies—Long Island had a number of affluent slave-owning families like the Lloyds, who are now largely forgotten. When Betsey, as she was known, was eight years old, one of her family’s slaves, Jupiter Hammon, achieved the distinction of being the first published black poet in America.
Young Betsey no doubt received the polite education of a girl from a wealthy home. Her sole surviving letter, written at the age of nine to her grandfather Lloyd, asks him to write often to encourage her in her “learning.”3 By then, she was living in the home of her stepfather, Nathaniel Hatch, in Dorchester, Massachusetts. Her own father, Nathaniel Lloyd, drowned when she was an infant.
Almost nothing is known of Betsey Lloyd as a young girl. She was barely seventeen when she married Joshua Loring in 1769. She has been passed down to posterity as a flashing blonde with blue eyes, but somewhere along the way the storytellers ignored her sole portrait, which shows a pleasant-looking woman with brown hair and eyes of uncertain color. Joshua, eight years her senior, had joined the British army as an ensign in 1761, while he was still a teenager, and had served in the Seven Years’ War. By the time of his marriage, he had left the army and was a businessman who held several public positions, including as a British cu
stoms officer and as surveyor of the King’s Woods in New Hampshire. In marrying Elizabeth, he acquired her inheritance, since she was her father’s sole child. In 1771, when he served as Comptroller to the Port of Philadelphia, Joshua took his wife with him; other business later took him to New York, New Hampshire, and Canada.4 Mr. and Mrs. Loring were not provincial yokels who would be overawed by a British official with an aristocratic air.
Elizabeth’s father-in-law, Commodore Joshua Loring, had commanded a flotilla on the North American lakes during the Seven Years’ War.5 The Lorings were prosperous, owning a townhouse in Boston and a country seat in nearby Roxbury. And they had standing in the community; in early 1775, Elizabeth’s husband was appointed sheriff of Suffolk County, Massachusetts. There were both patriots and loyalists in the extended Loring family, but Elizabeth’s father-in-law and her husband sided with the Crown when the fighting started in April 1775.6
Elizabeth was in her early twenties when she and her husband took refuge in besieged Boston after the Battle of Lexington and Concord. William Howe arrived in Massachusetts a month later. In both history books and fiction, their affair is presumed to have begun in Boston, but it could not have started before the Battle of Bunker Hill on June 17, as the stories have claimed. When General Howe first entered the city on May 25, Mrs. Loring was four months pregnant with her third child, and hardly in a position to lure him from his duties. And there must have been still more delays before the consummation of their lust, for William was posted on Bunker Hill until September, and Elizabeth did not deliver baby John Wentworth Loring until October 13.7 How soon after childbirth the mother would be tempted to commit adultery must be left to the reader’s imagination. If their affair were to have begun in Boston, as has always been claimed, they had a window of just five months between the arrival of the baby and the British evacuation of the city.
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