George Washington

by Stephen Brumwell

  To that end, in early September Washington had sent a circular to his generals, priming them for a council of war to discuss his proposal for a surprise assault upon Boston. This would involve coordinated strikes: across the harbor using whaleboats and by land against the British fortifications at Roxbury, which defended the port’s narrow “neck.” Washington argued that dwindling powder supplies and rumors of British reinforcements both justified such a bold attempt. But, above all, with winter approaching, men already homesick would be still quicker to decamp; and even if an army could be kept together, it would be difficult and costly to maintain. These factors, among many others, inclined Washington to “wish a speedy finish of the dispute”: with one knockout blow the war could be decided, and they could all go home. Despite his strong personal preference for decisive and aggressive action Washington was not blind to the hazards involved or “the probable consequences of a failure.” After weighing the pros and cons, the council of war considered Washington’s plan too risky, unanimously agreeing “that it was not expedient to make the attempt at present at least.” The commander in chief abided by their judgment.37

  Washington’s hopes for an all-out offensive against Boston were soon revived, however, and this time with the blessing of the politicians in Philadelphia. On October 18, he summoned another council of war, “in consequence of an intimation from the Congress, that an attack upon Boston if practicable was much desired.” Provided Washington considered the attempt “likely to defeat the enemy and gain possession of the town,” he was to strike “upon the first favorable occasion”—and before the arrival of expected British reinforcements. If manpower was lacking, Washington was authorized to make up his numbers by mobilizing local minutemen. This was not the last occasion upon which Congress would encourage Washington to seek a swift, decisive victory—despite the risks. Given his temperament, such prompting was scarcely necessary. Once again, his generals reined him in: maintaining their previous position, they swiftly rejected the latest plan as unrealistic under the circumstances.38

  In both instances, Washington had followed his original congressional instructions and sought the guidance of his senior officers. Faced with the uncompromising rejection of his own initiatives, he had accepted their overwhelming verdicts without caviling or seeking to overrule them. Despite his own hunger for action, Washington was undoubtedly right to do so: sending raw troops against regulars ensconced behind entrenchments would have played directly into his enemy’s hands, likely destroying the young Continental Army.

  But there remained another outlet for Washington’s urge to do more than simply sit watching the British in Boston. In early summer, Congress had resolved to invade Canada, assembling a distinct “northern” army at Albany under General Schuyler and ordering it up the Champlain Valley. To support that advance and distract Britain’s commander in Canada, Sir Guy Carleton, Washington authorized a bold strike against Quebec, using men from his own army. The city was believed to be virtually undefended and therefore “an easy prey.” A detachment of more than 1,000 was to penetrate to the St. Lawrence Valley via the rugged course of Maine’s Kennebec River. The force consisted of some 800 volunteers from the Continental regiments at Cambridge; given the wilderness terrain to be surmounted, all were to be “active woodsmen, and well acquainted with bateaus”—sturdy, flat-bottomed boats capable of carrying about twenty men and their provisions. There were also three companies of the feisty riflemen, one of them commanded by Captain Daniel Morgan. As a teamster during the French and Indian War, Morgan had received a severe flogging after striking a British officer and had never forgotten the pain and humiliation. Command of the expedition was entrusted to a zealous Connecticut colonel, the thirty-four-year-old Benedict Arnold.39

  To Lord North’s ministry back in London, which had received the shocking news of Bunker Hill on July 25, it was clear that Britain’s commander in chief in North America lacked the stomach for suppressing an escalating rebellion. Orders were dispatched for Gage’s recall, and on October 10 he was superseded by General Howe. Confronted with the reality of full-scale rebellion, the ministry agreed to give Howe a reinforced army of at least 20,000 men and to make New York, not Boston, its operational base for a campaign of reconquest.

  Initially, there had been widespread political and military support for curbing the rebellion through a naval blockade, targeting American trade. But compared with what was expected to be a short, sharp land war, a blockade might prove a protracted business. With the Royal Navy run down in the years of peace since 1763, there was also the question of safeguarding home waters, particularly as it was notorious that the French were itching for a chance to exact vengeance for their crushing defeat in the previous war. On the other hand, mobilizing the fleet to a war footing could provoke the French to intervene from fear for their vulnerable Caribbean possessions. In addition, a purely naval response to the revolt would ignore those Americans—perhaps one-fifth of the white population—who were loyal to the Crown, failing either to protect them or to exploit their potential as auxiliaries for the British Army.* In August 1775, the ousted royal governors of North and South Carolina were both adamant that with minimal support from British regulars, large concentrations of Loyalists in the interior “Back Country” would willingly take arms and rise up to throw off the rebels. Such reports chimed with a common view that the American rebellion was a “conspiracy” involving a minority of agitators, rather than a more widespread movement. The notion that the majority of colonists were fundamentally loyal held particular appeal for Lord George Germain, who became American Secretary in late 1775, and would oversee Britain’s strategy in coming years.40

  Although Congress’s “Olive Branch Petition” was ignored in London, to the delight of American radicals who favored outright independence rather than reconciliation, Lord North and his cabinet hadn’t abandoned all hopes of a negotiated settlement. While gearing up for war, they gradually warmed to the notion of a Peace Commission; its basis for negotiation would be the so-called Conciliatory Proposition that North had announced back in February 1775. Regarded by even some of his own supporters as conceding far too much, this dangled a deal that the prime minister hoped would solve the crisis: where any colony agreed to pay for its civil government and its share of defense costs, Parliament would not attempt to impose revenue-yielding taxes. Since then, however, attitudes had hardened. By seeking to open negotiations with individual colonies, the proposed Peace Commission would ignore the very existence of Congress. Colonies that refused to talk would be obliged to do so—by force, if necessary.

  A shortage of shipping prevented Howe from shifting his troops to New York by sea that autumn. And despite his well-earned reputation as an aggressive officer, he proved no keener than Gage to break the deadlock by storming the rebel siege lines. Although Washington chafed at the continuing inactivity, the lull provided a vital breathing space in which to reorganize the Continental Army—as Captain James Wilkinson of Maryland explained, “to make a selection of officers, to levy a new army, to organize his corps, to assimilate, partially, their modes of duty and exercise, to cherish the confidence of his troops, and to infuse among them some sense of the esprit de corps.”41

  On October 8, in forwarding their recommendations to Congress, Washington’s generals had agreed unanimously that the new army, “sufficient for both offensive and defensive measures” over the coming winter, should consist of not fewer than 20,372 men. There would be twenty-six regiments of “battalion men,” each mustering 728 of all ranks organized into eight companies, plus 1,444 riflemen and artillerymen. The proposed regiments were almost twice the strength of British battalions, which were lucky to field 400 men, officers included. On paper these were powerful formations, but there remained the question of filling them with flesh-and-blood recruits. It was initially agreed to seek enlistments to December 1, 1776, but in the following month, when the officers of the new regiments actually set about finding their men, that period was exten
ded by thirty days. Recruiting officers were urged to observe ideological, physical, and racial criteria, being “careful not to enlist any person, suspected of being unfriendly to the liberties of America, or any abandoned vagabond to whom all causes and countries are equal and alike indifferent.” Neither should they enlist “negroes, boys unable to bear arms, nor old men unfit to endure the fatigues of the campaign.”42 Before long, recruiters would learn to be less discriminating.

  While there were no clashes between the rival armies at Boston, British warships based at the port began prowling the neighboring New England coastline, prompting cries for help from vulnerable communities. On October 18, two warships bombarded Falmouth, in what would become Maine, starting fires that consumed most of the town.43 While deploring the “desolation, and misery” resulting from this calculated act of “ministerial vengeance,” Washington was powerless to send either men or munitions to assist the townsfolk. However, he had fitted out several armed vessels as privateers, and they were soon preying upon British merchantmen bound for Boston. On November 28, Captain John Manley of the schooner Lee pounced upon the British ordnance ship Nancy. As Washington enthused to his secretary and friend Joseph Reed, this valuable haul of munitions was an “instance of divine favor; for nothing, surely, ever came more apropos.” The Nancy’s cargo included a fine brass thirteen-inch mortar, assorted shot, and 2,000 muskets and bayonets; disappointingly, there was no gunpowder, a commodity that remained in desperately short supply.44 In early December, Washington pleaded for Congress to do all in its power to remedy “the great want of powder.” Stocks were so low that, far from mounting an offensive, Washington’s army would scarcely have enough to defend its own lines against a sortie.45

  On November 16, 1775, Washington had issued orders that would soon make the British occupation of Boston untenable. Keen to augment his artillery, he entrusted an important mission to twenty-five-year-old Henry Knox, a former Boston bookseller who had spent much time perusing his own stock, especially volumes devoted to gunnery and fortifications. Knox’s knowledge and drive would soon gain him the job of Washington’s chief of artillery, but in the meantime he was ordered to gather up the guns and ammunition currently in the province of New York. These included such cannon and mortars as could be fetched from the once-formidable but now run-down Champlain Valley fortresses of Ticonderoga and Crown Point, which had been captured in May by New Englanders under Arnold and Ethan Allen. Washington wrote: “The want of them is so great, that no trouble or expense must be spared to obtain them.”46 Knox, whose substantial girth belied his energy, took him at his word.

  Knox’s determination and zeal stood in marked contrast to the stance of many others who’d formed the first patriot army outside Boston. Their enthusiasm for the cause had proved short lived. By late November, Washington was fighting a losing battle to persuade the Connecticut men to extend their enlistments. Writing to Joseph Reed, who had now replaced Gates as adjutant general, he warned that “such a dirty, mercenary spirit pervades the whole that I should not be at all surprised at any disaster that may happen.” To plug the yawning gap in the ranks it would be necessary to summon 5,000 minutemen and militia from Massachusetts and New Hampshire—undisciplined men who Washington feared would contaminate his army, destroying the “little subordination” that he had worked so hard to instill. Just five months after accepting Congress’s offer to command the Continental Army, Washington was already ruing his decision: “Could I have foreseen what I have, and am like to experience, no consideration upon earth should have induced me to accept this command,” he wrote.47

  Ironically, what Washington condemned as the New Englanders’ despicable desertion of the cause could also be interpreted as an expression of the very freedom they had been fighting for; such liberty was personal, and not just some high-flown ideological concept. While deploring the early return of men from his state and promising to punish the ringleaders, Connecticut’s governor, Jonathan Trumbull, highlighted the difficulty of maintaining such a revolutionary struggle without simultaneously unleashing “licentious and leveling principles, which many very easily imbibe.” He added: “The pulse of a New England man beats high for liberty.” It followed that his enlistment was “purely voluntary”: when his time was up, he considered himself free to go—unless a fresh engagement was made. As Trumbull correctly noted, this contract principle had prevailed with the New England provincial troops during the French and Indian War. For the present, he greatly feared “its operation among the soldiers of the other colonies, as I am sensible this is the genius and spirit of our people.”48 This was a paradox that Washington, the Virginian gentleman planter for whom strict hierarchy was the natural way of things, would never fully accept.

  Since he had arrived at Cambridge, long, rambling letters from his Washington cousin Lund, describing the sometimes comical rhythms of rural life at Mount Vernon, had provided Washington with news of his home and family, offering welcome, if momentary, distractions from the strains of command. For example, Lund was happy to report that “after doing and undoing twenty times” Mount Vernon’s chimney had finally been cured of its inveterate smoking. Regrettably, an attempt to saw short the horns of Washington’s notoriously vicious bull, undertaken in Lund’s absence, had proved less successful. That tricky operation had been supervised by the hapless Thomas Bishop, a soldier servant whom Washington had inherited from General Braddock in 1755; although “every man, woman and child” on the plantation had turned out to lend a hand, as Lund reported, “the bull proved too many for them.”49

  On December 11, Washington was cheered by far more tangible links with his old domestic life with the arrival in camp of Martha, her son, Jack, and his young wife, Nelly. The militiamen had also marched in on schedule and were far better troops than Washington had expected. As he informed John Hancock, they were not only “very fine looking men” but “go through their duty with great alacrity”—praise indeed from a soldier of Washington’s antimilitia prejudices and further testimony to the intensive training of the Yankee minutemen in the months before Lexington and Concord.50

  And as 1775 drew to an end, there was encouraging news from Canada. There the revolutionaries’ offensive seemed a spectacular success. General Schuyler’s force, spearheaded by his dashing second in command, Brigadier General Montgomery, had forged north up the Champlain Valley, taking the British posts at St. John and Chambly and then pushing on to capture Montreal. The indefatigable Colonel Arnold, meanwhile, had been advancing with incredible hardship through the frozen Maine wilderness to reach Point Lévis, opposite Quebec. Here was a man after Washington’s own heart: brave, tough, dauntless. Offering his heartfelt thanks for Arnold’s “enterprising and persevering spirit,” Washington bestowed the ultimate accolade upon him. Paraphrasing a passage from his favorite play, Addison’s Cato, he added: “It is not in the power of any man to command success, but you have done more—you have deserved it.”51 To General Schuyler, Washington wrote of his satisfaction in learning that Arnold had overcome “almost insuperable difficulties,” despite the fact that nearly a third of his force had forsaken him and turned back. In words that must have returned to haunt him, Washington added: “The merit of this gentleman is certainly great and I heartily wish that Fortune may distinguish him as one of her favorites.”52

  At Boston, Washington remained understandably fixated upon the problem of rebuilding and remodeling his army, all the while within cannon-shot of the enemy. Regrettably, as their enlistments terminated, the “same desire of retiring into a chimney-corner seized the troops of New Hampshire, Rhode Island, and Massachusetts . . . as had worked upon those of Connecticut.” While Washington’s old army trickled away, as inexorably as sand in an hourglass, frantic efforts were made to recruit a new one. Already, harsh reality was leading to change: General Orders on December 30 now permitted the recruitment of “free negroes” who had already served in the army before Boston and were keen to reenlist.53

  On New Year�
�s Day 1776, Washington issued orders announcing the “commencement” of the new army. To mark this fresh start, he pardoned all offenses committed in the old one and freed all prisoners. In truth, the army needed every man it could get in what remained a crisis situation. Offsetting his continuing anxiety with a touch of pride, Washington reported to his confidant Joseph Reed: “Search the vast volumes of history through, and I much question whether a case similar to ours is to be found,” he wrote, and not without justification. They had held their position against the “flower of the British troops for six months together,” disbanding one army and raising another in the teeth of “a reinforced enemy.”54

  As Washington’s General Orders of January 1 underlined, the new army’s bedrock must be “subordination and discipline.” These were “the life and soul of an army”; without them, they would be “no better than a commissioned mob”; with them, the Continental Army would become “formidable to our enemies, honorable in ourselves and respected in the world.” The men were “brave and good” and “addicted to fewer vices than are commonly found in armies,” but forging them into an effective fighting machine would depend, above all, upon the exertions of the officers, from brigadiers down to ensigns.

  Washington’s own conception of the officer’s role had not changed since the 1750s. It was outlined in a letter to William Woodford, the newly appointed colonel of the 2nd Virginia Regiment, who had sought guidance on how to proceed.55 “The best general advice I can give,” Washington replied, “is to be strict in your discipline; that is, to require nothing unreasonable of your officers and men, but see that whatever is required be punctually complied with.” Woodford must reward and punish all by merit, “without partiality or prejudice.” Vice must be discouraged “in every shape,” while every man in the regiment, from the highest to lowest, should be impressed with “the importance of the cause, and what it is they are contending for.” When dealing with his officers he should be “easy and condescending . . . but not too familiar, lest you subject yourself to a want of that respect, which is necessary to support a proper command.”