The Trial and Execution of the Traitor George Washington

by Charles Rosenberg

  “There is always a chance, but the odds are heavily against acquittal. He is charged with treason for levying war against the King. And he did. Publicly and continuously. Even though we might deny to them, through technical arguments, the right to put into evidence some of the most obvious examples of his guilt, in the end the Crown should not find it so difficult that they cannot prevail.”

  “Are there no good legal arguments you can make, then? Ones that somehow avoid those bad facts?”

  “The best one is that Washington could not have betrayed the King,” Hobhouse said. “We would argue that His Excellency is no longer His Majesty’s subject, the King having given up his sovereignty over the colonies by his illegal actions and the colonies having declared themselves independent. One cannot betray one to whom one owes no allegiance.”

  “If that were true, what crime would His Excellency have committed?” Abbott asked.

  “None. He would simply be a prisoner of war.”

  Abbott smiled and raised his eyebrows. “You might be thought treasonous yourself just for making that argument.”

  “Perhaps so,” Hobhouse said. “But I will lack an opportunity to do so, at least directly to a jury.”

  “Why?”

  “I do not know how it is in Pennsylvania, Mr. Abbott, but here the prisoner’s lawyers are not always permitted to make either an opening or a closing statement. We may only examine and cross-examine witnesses.”

  “But a skilled lawyer could hint at that argument by the questions you ask.”

  “Yes, if I am clever enough and the judge doesn’t stop me.”

  “Can the Crown prosecutor directly address the jury?”

  “The Lord Chief Justice will be one of the judges in this case,” Hobhouse said. “I doubt he will permit anyone to argue to the jury, but we shall see.”

  “There are no other arguments in your basket, then?”

  “There are a few others, but they are technical attacks involving the statute of limitations and such. Also, the Crown will surely call at least two witnesses to testify to General Washington’s making war against the King, as required by the treason statute. We will contend the two must have witnessed the very same act.”

  “Is that what the law provides?”

  “It is a point in dispute in the law.”

  “Is that a promising argument, then?” Abbott asked.

  “No. None of our legal arguments is promising. I will try with every skill I possess to make at least one of them succeed, but you should prepare to lose.”

  Abbott got up, moved over to the window and looked out into the street. “It is strange, Mr. Hobhouse. The scene out this window is not so much different from what I would see if I looked out my own window at home in Philadelphia. We speak a common language. We read many of the same books. We sit in the same type of chairs while we read them, and we laugh at many of the same jokes. At heart we are all Englishmen. Brothers and sisters, or at least cousins raised in the same household.”

  “That is all true,” Hobhouse said.

  “So I ask myself every day why we have fallen to fighting so.”

  “The fight is about a principle, I think,” Hobhouse said. “Those kinds of disagreements often yield the most bitter of wars and are the hardest to resolve.”

  “You are perhaps correct.” Abbott stared out the window for another little while, then returned to the table and said, “How long will the trial likely take, Mr. Hobhouse?”

  “They are usually short. An hour to choose the jury, half a day for the testimony perhaps, however long it takes the jury to deliberate. It could all be over in a day. Two at the most.”

  “And if His Excellency is convicted, how long before he is sentenced?”

  “If he is convicted of high treason, sentence is usually immediate, or at least within a day or two. The judges have no discretion in what the sentence will be. General Washington will be sentenced to a traitor’s death.”

  “There is no delay for another court to reconsider?”

  “If there is a serious question of law, the trial judges can delay sentencing, especially an immediate execution, and refer the legal question to what we call the Twelve Judges. They are all of the judges of the three common law courts in London. They resolve the legal question. Sentencing could be delayed a few weeks while we await the answer.”

  “How likely is that to happen?”

  “Very unlikely.”

  “How long before the sentence is carried out?”

  “A day or two at most, unless the King pardons him.”

  Abbott wanted to ask Hobhouse if he knew where prisoners were held after sentencing and how they were moved to Tyburn for execution. But then he thought the better of it. The man had a family.

  “Thank you for coming, Mr. Hobhouse. If there is anything I or the rest of our delegation can do to assist you, please let us know. Anything at all. I am trained as a lawyer, you know.”

  “I have thought on that. But I have enquired and learned that the judges will only permit you to be a spectator, not to assist me by sitting at counsel table or even close by. Perhaps if you’d been educated here...”

  “I understand, but I will be in the courtroom in any case.”

  As he prepared to leave, Hobhouse asked, “If His Excellency is convicted and there is no pardon from the King, what will you do?”

  “If His Excellency wishes me to stay and witness the execution, I will do so. Otherwise, I will depart beforehand. It may be cowardly, but I would rather not bear witness to my failure.”

  “I understand,” Hobhouse said.

  “But all of this is theoretical, until there is a trial,” Abbott said. “When is the trial likely to be?”

  “Whenever the government wants it to be. You’ve been negotiating for many weeks now. I think the government is hoping that your negotiations will at some point yield a settlement and avoid the necessity for a trial.”

  “But we’ve made so little progress.”

  “Perhaps they are delaying for other reasons.”

  “Such as?”

  “Looking for witnesses in America, and having time to bring them back. The rumour is that none of the British Army officers in London will testify against him.”

  “Let us hope they fail to find a single one.”

  46

  North had returned to the family quarters at 10 Downing after another short, but nonetheless deeply frustrating, session with Abbott and his delegation in one of the large conference rooms. It was already early April, and after well over two months of on-again off-again negotiations between them, some of them intense and lasting far into the night, they had failed to reach an agreement. The demand of the Americans for acknowledgement of total independence and its refusal by North and the majority of his cabinet—not to mention the King—was a Gordian knot neither side seemed able to cut. Both sides had clearly hoped that news would come from the battlefront in America—some sharp decline in the fortunes of the other side—that would shift the argument in their favour. But so far, no news of something like that had arrived. Of course, the news was always at least four to five or more weeks old, so they really didn’t know the exact state of affairs across the Atlantic.

  Towards the end of the morning, North had decided to put the talks in abeyance and arrange for an immediate trial in the expectation that finally putting Washington on trial would somehow force the Americans to abandon their unyielding position on independence. Or so he hoped. Or so he prayed was perhaps a more accurate way to put it.

  He didn’t know what the Americans were really thinking. Maybe they thought it was truly over and were planning to leave their beloved general to his fate. Indeed, Abbott had even asked about obtaining a laissez-passer for the entire delegation, so they could travel to France and depart for home from there, leaving only Washington and his physician
behind in London.

  * * *

  That very same day, not more than an hour after returning to his office, North found himself standing before the King, who was seated on his throne, feet firmly planted on the purple, velvet-covered footstool in front of him. It was not the casual setting in which his audiences with the sovereign usually took place.

  He had been notified only shortly after the noon hour of the demand to appear and been instructed to bring no one with him. He assumed one of the King’s many friendly ears had told the sovereign of the apparent failure of the negotiations.

  That he had been asked to bring no one with him did not mean they were alone. At least half a dozen members of the royal household stood along the sides of the room. North assumed the King had permitted them to stay, for what would normally be a private audience, to demonstrate that despite recent troubles he still had what it took to dress down the head of government.

  “You are the one who originated the idea of kidnapping Washington, are you not?” the King said.

  “Yes, Your Majesty, I am. Although he was not kidnapped. He was lawfully arrested by an officer of Your Majesty’s Army on a charge of high treason, pursuant to a duly issued warrant.”

  “You may call it what you will, my Lord, but we have now spoken with four senior army officers just returned from New York. They say the people of our colonies call it a kidnapping and are enraged. So enraged that there has been a threefold increase in the number of men signing up to join the rebel army. And four colonial assemblies—so far—have been called into emergency session to vote more funds for the war and more taxes to raise those funds.”

  “I have heard the same reports, Sire. But those reports, even though freshly delivered here within the last few days, are at least four to five weeks old.”

  “Do you imagine the reports would be more favourable if we could by some miracle cross the ocean in only a day and observe for ourselves what is happening in Philadelphia right now?”

  “I do not know, Sire. Sometimes these things yield a sharp passion that dies away as quickly as it arises.” He glanced over at the factotums who lined the walls, who were not normally present when he met with the King. “Sire, I would speak candidly, but would prefer not to be overheard.”

  It was not as if the men along the walls were complete strangers to North. They were all minor functionaries of the royal household, each wearing a colourful coat, and each with some medallion or other dangling from his neck. North well knew why they wished to stay. They lived for gossip and hoped to trade an account of North’s dressing-down by the King for some other tasty morsel from someone else. The one whose function he well knew but to whom he referred in private as “the fat one” glared at him, no doubt unhappy at possibly being deprived of so delicious a treat.

  The King seemed to ponder North’s request for a moment, glanced briefly at the lined-up men and finally waved his hand in dismissal. The men instantly disappeared through wooden doors along the wall. North imagined they had not gone very far, but were instead just the other side, ears pressed to the wood.

  “You may speak freely now, my Lord.”

  “My apologies that this arrest has not gone as planned.”

  “Nor has anything else you and your cabinet have done in this war.”

  Did he dare contradict the sovereign? He did dare, and he would. “With all due respect, Sire, some things have. We took New York, for example. And things go very well in the South with General Cornwallis.”

  “Did the blockade of Boston Harbor, in ’74, to retaliate for what the rebels call the Tea Party, go well? No. It just stoked the embers of the rebellion into open flame.”

  He was tempted to point out that the King had been an enthusiast for that action and more, but he said nothing.

  The King was not done. “Did the plan to have Burgoyne meet up with Howe and seize the Hudson River Valley, thereby winning the war for us, succeed?”

  “No, Sire, it did not. It resulted in our loss at Saratoga.”

  “I could go on.”

  “I will offer my resignation.”

  “We are not inclined to accept it. We are inclined instead to hear a sensible plan from you and your ministers to make use of General Washington’s captivity here in London to advance our goal of winning the war.”

  Dare he correct the King? It would not profit them to have Washington referred to at court by any title other than mister.

  “With due respect, Sire, we labour to avoid conceding him the title of General.”

  “My Lord, all the officers with whom we spoke yesterday called him by that title. And our spies in the Tower say that everyone, from the Governor of the Tower to the maids, refer to him as General.”

  “And yet...”

  The King was not to be interrupted. “And his army, which you and others assured me five years ago was nothing more than a barbarian rabble that would soon collapse, and which has instead fought us to a draw, refer to him as His Excellency, General Washington.”

  The King paused, his face flushed. “I propose to call him General until you tell me you have found some way to bring this war to an end.”

  “Including no independence?”

  The King sat bolt upright. “Never! Not while I remain on this throne. I would rather abdicate.”

  “We will put him on trial, Sire. And try to use that as leverage.”

  “A trial of the traitor will be most welcome. I might even attend.”

  North blanched.

  “You look distressed at the very thought, my Lord. I will of course not attend, but I enjoy seeing your reaction when I say I might. You are dismissed. Please go.”

  North bowed slightly and backed out of the room. As he did so, he watched all of the wooden doors spring open, as the various retainers began to return to their places.

  47

  North left the palace and returned to his carriage, which was waiting for him in the courtyard. He was relieved that the audience was over, and hoped not to see the King again for a long while.

  When he arrived back at 10 Downing, he found Hartleb waiting for him in the street, directly in front of the famous front door, which was most unusual. “I wanted to greet you before anyone else finds you,” Hartleb said.

  “Why? Has something happened to someone in my family? Or one of my ministers?”

  “No, my Lord. Something happened in New York five weeks ago that has just been reported to us by the Admiralty. They themselves learned of it only a few hours ago from a report carried by a fast packet-ship, one that arrived in Portsmouth within the last two days. The newspapers will soon be after us for comment.”

  “Well, tell me!”

  Hartleb glanced at the men guarding the front door. “As soon as we have gone inside.”

  One of the guards opened the door, and North and Hartleb passed through it.

  As they mounted the stairs and walked towards the library, Hartleb said, “A navy ship, HMS Lightning, a bomb ship, exploded in New York harbour. It’s a ship with two mortars at the front for shelling targets on shore.”

  “What happened?”

  “The gunpowder room exploded. It destroyed the Lightning and set two nearby ships of the line ablaze. They both burned down to the waterline and sank.”

  North took a deep breath. “How many dead?”

  “At least a hundred on the bomb ship, many dozens on the ships nearby and dozens more on the docks. Well over two hundred in all. A group we have never heard of before, calling itself the Fathers of Liberty, has claimed responsibility. Within the hour, flyers asserting the group had blown up the Lightning were posted on walls all around the port area. The posters said it was done to retaliate for Washington’s kidnapping.”

  “Do we believe them? Or are they just taking credit for an accident?”

  “The navy doesn’t know yet. A confi
dential source told a pro-Patriot newspaper that still exists in New York that members of the group had somehow gotten hold of uniforms that matched those of the ship’s crew and pretended to be drunk sailors returning from a late-night liberty. They supposedly killed the men guarding the gunpowder room, set a slow fuse to the powder and got out before the explosion. The packet brought a copy of the posters and the newspaper. I have ordered them brought here.”

  “Is there any evidence that story is true?”

  “No, my Lord. The men who guarded the powder room are all dead. But there were survivors, one of whom was on the ship’s watch late that night. The report says he doesn’t recall seeing any drunk sailors returning to the boat.”

  North grimaced. “Or he didn’t wish to admit that he had allowed sailors aboard the ship who had no right to be there.”

  “That may be the case, my Lord.”

  “But let us assume instead, Mr. Hartleb, that this was an accident for which this new group is taking credit, hoping, perhaps, to cause outrage here and interfere with our negotiations.”

  “Perhaps. But the flyers, which were printed, were posted almost immediately.”

  “Printing can be done quickly in this day and age.”

  “That is so.”

  “I will need to meet with my senior cabinet tonight, Mr. Hartleb. Please arrange it. Tell them we will have dinner.”

  “I will see it done.”

  North sighed again. “Those who oppose the negotiations will be much cheered by this, although they will no doubt shed copious false tears for the dead.”

  “What is your own thought about it, my Lord?”

  “I will need to reflect on it because I am torn. Part of me is as outraged as I was by the events in Boston in ’73. Another part of me is uncertain whether we did the right thing in response. I am glad of one thing, though.”

  “What is that, my Lord?”

  “That I did not know of this when I was with the King earlier.”

  “Should I also arrange an immediate audience with His Majesty?”