George Washington

by Stephen Brumwell

  Drawing upon his own combat experience during the French and Indian War, Washington urged Woodford to always be on his guard against surprises, marching with “front, rear, and flank guards” and securing all his encampments. When it came to the business of drill—both the basic “manual exercise” by which the individual soldier learned how to handle his musket and the far trickier “evolutions and maneuvers” for shifting a regiment across a battlefield, the most useful guide, in Washington’s opinion, remained Humphrey Bland’s Treatise of Military Discipline. This was the same text that Washington had recommended to his Virginia Regiment officers back in 1756. “Old Humphrey” was a veteran of Marlborough’s legendary campaigns and had served under the Duke of Cumberland in Flanders and Scotland forty years later. By 1775, Bland’s book was showing its age: the Connecticut militia, which had adopted it in 1743, abandoned it in 1769 as “prolix and encumbered with useless motions.”56 Washington’s penchant for Bland underlines the conservatism of his own approach to warfare and a reliance upon the habits learned during his first military career. Yet, while failing to reflect the latest drill, Bland’s work nonetheless emphasized basic tactical truths that remained as relevant in 1775 as they had done when he was learning his trade under “Corporal John.” For example, Bland stressed the importance of receiving the enemy’s fire first, reserving your own volley until close quarters and briskly following it up with a bayonet charge. That particular lesson had been taken to heart by General James Wolfe and put to good use on the Plains of Abraham in 1759.57

  Other books recommended to Colonel Woodford by Washington, which likewise reflected his personal library, included translations of Turpin de Crissé’s Essay on the Art of War—the work used by General Forbes in his 1758 campaign against Fort Duquesne—and Captain Louis Michel de Jeney’s The Partisan, which concerned itself with the business of “Making War in Detachment.” Another of Washington’s suggestions, Major William Young’s Maneuvers, or Practical Observations on the Art of War, incorporated another influential and useful text, General Wolfe’s Instructions to Young Officers: this reprinted the regimental and general orders issued by Wolfe in the decade before his death at Quebec, presenting the thoughts of an unusually diligent and professional officer on everything from tackling drunkenness among the rank and file to rebuffing an attacking column of infantry.

  As his recommended reading shows, Washington was well aware of both “regular” and “irregular” warfare. Interestingly, despite his extensive firsthand experience of backwoods campaigning in the 1750s, the American army Washington envisaged in the autumn of 1775 was geared toward waging a “conventional” conflict, not a guerrilla war and still less an “Indian” one. Given the frustrations he had experienced on the frontier, both in fighting Indians and enlisting their aid as allies, it is unsurprising that Washington should endorse Congress’s policy of encouraging the “Indian Nations” to stay out of the fight, seeking nothing more from them than “a strict neutrality.”58

  Both the organization and the discipline of the Continental Army sought to emulate the old Virginia Regiment, which had itself imitated the British model; many general orders issued from 1775 onward used phrases identical to those employed by Washington between 1755 and 1758. Rather than embodying some free-spirited force of patriotic but amateur citizen militia, as advocated by the political and military radical Major General Charles Lee, Washington’s military vision was fundamentally conventional, anchored upon a regular army of long-service professionals—the “standing army” that was anathema to so many of his fellow Americans, not least to members of Congress.

  In early 1776, whether the Continental Army would survive in any shape at all remained a moot point. The first detailed rolls for the newly reorganized force, compiled on January 9, revealed that instead of the 20,000 considered to be the minimum required for the job, Washington had only 8,200 men: of those, just 5,600 were actually present and fit for duty.59

  The gloom was soon compounded by news of a shattering defeat before Quebec. During the last hours of 1775, the combined forces of Montgomery and Arnold launched a desperate assault upon the fortified city under cover of a snowstorm. It was a gallant, but futile, effort. Cut down by a blast of canister, Montgomery provided the revolutionary cause with a high-ranking military martyr, one who would be commemorated in a spirited canvas by the painter John Trumbull. Recklessly brave as ever, Arnold was shot through the left leg; oozing blood and defiance, he limped back with the survivors to maintain a wary siege.

  Washington’s spirits received a badly needed boost when Henry Knox returned from Ticonderoga on January 18, followed soon after by his spectacular haul of some sixty guns. Through determination, ingenuity, and sheer backbreaking toil, these priceless field-pieces and mortars had been ferried down Lake George, then dragged on ox-drawn sledges across the frozen New England countryside. Knox’s ordnance constituted the most formidable “train” of artillery that Washington had ever seen, stronger than those assembled by Braddock and Forbes and capable of raining shot and shell on Boston.

  Gunpowder was still too scarce for such an intensive bombardment, but Washington resurrected his hopes for a direct offensive, seeking to exploit the solid ice that now stretched between his lines and Howe’s defenses to launch “a bold and resolute assault.” Not surprisingly, on February 16, the customary council of war vetoed the scheme, its members virtually unanimous in their opposition. Reporting this outcome to Hancock, Washington couldn’t conceal his disappointment. Sensitive for his reputation and burning to be seen to be “attempting something against the ministerial troops,” this time he had only bowed to the council’s verdict with the greatest reluctance. Washington assured Hancock: “I was not only ready, but willing and desirous of making the assault; under a firm hope, if the men would have stood by me, of a favorable issue, notwithstanding the enemy’s advantage of ground, artillery, etc.” His frustrations were clear, reflecting an abiding obsession with honor and public reputation: with the “eyes of the whole continent fixed” upon him, with “anxious expectations of hearing of some great event,” it was irksome “to be restrained in every military operation for want of the necessary means of carrying it on.”60

  Washington was once again wise to heed his generals’ advice: sending ill-trained troops skittering across the ice against regulars itching to settle the score for Bunker Hill must have ended in a massacre. Even Providence would have been hard pressed to preserve her favored son under such circumstances: eager to prove his personal courage by leading from the front, Washington would likely have shared the fate of Montgomery at Quebec, depriving the Continental Army of its commander and dealing a potentially lethal blow to the Revolution.

  There were soon less risky alternatives to an all-out assault. By March, Washington had finally stockpiled enough gunpowder to begin bombarding Boston with Knox’s artillery. As early as February 11, Lieutenant Colonel Rufus Putnam—cousin to Israel “Old Put”—had proposed a plan for securing Dorchester Heights, which dominated Boston from the south and still remained unfortified by either side. Three weeks later, Putnam’s plan was activated, with Knox’s gunners providing a diversionary barrage. They had much to learn: as Washington reported to Joseph Reed, in a matter of days no fewer than five mortars burst, presumably through the “ignorance” of the bombardiers. Those wrecked so regrettably included the formidable mortar taken from the prize Nancy and nicknamed “Congress”: it was one thing to read about artillery in technical treatises, quite another to operate it in action.61

  Despite such teething troubles, the bombardment proved effective enough to thoroughly alarm and distract the British. Under its cover, more than 2,000 Americans worked feverishly to fortify Dorchester Heights through the moonlit night of March 4–5. The frozen ground defied pick and shovel, so it was impossible to construct the usual entrenchments, but viable gun batteries were made instead from timber frames known as “chandeliers” stuffed with fascines (long bundles of sticks); Elisha Bostwick
of the 7th Connecticut Regiment remembered that they “labored incessantly all the night,” raising breastworks and filling hundreds of barrels with gravel. These were placed at the edge of the defenses, “ready to be set rolling down the steep hill on the approach of the enemy.”62

  Waking to the sight of extensive and substantial siegeworks, the redcoats were no less astounded than they had been by the swift fortification of Breed’s Hill the previous June. Howe now contemplated a similarly blunt response. Orders were issued for an attack on the heavily manned Dorchester Heights on March 5: this was the sixth anniversary of the “Boston Massacre”—an emotive date in every American patriot’s calendar—and Washington reported his officers and men to be impatient for the onset, ready to face their enemies with “the most animated sentiments and determined resolution.” According to intelligence provided by escaped prisoners from Boston, that afternoon some 3,000 redcoats were embarked aboard transport ships, glumly anticipating “another Bunker Hill affair”; if their anticipated attack on Dorchester Heights went ahead, Washington intended to launch a counterstrike of his own, sending 4,000 “chosen men” under Generals Putnam, Sullivan, and Greene to attack Boston itself.63

  The redcoats were first ferried over to Castle William Island, close to their objective, ready for the final approach by landing craft. Howe’s men were instructed to attack in a more “open order” than the elbow-to-elbow formation they had employed at Bunker Hill, and with unloaded muskets, trusting to cold steel alone: the attack on June 17, 1775 had become bogged down when the redcoats paused to return the rebel fire, losing impetus at a crucial moment.64 This reliance upon looser lines and the bayonet would characterize British tactics throughout the American war but was not tested that day. Mercifully, a falling tide, followed by a “violent storm,” provided Howe with an excuse for canceling the assault.

  Secure on Dorchester Heights, Washington’s men swiftly fortified Nooks Hill, even closer to Boston and its harbor. They were checked by British gunfire, but Howe’s position was now clearly untenable and evacuation only a matter of time. In return for being allowed to leave without interference, Howe agreed to spare the town from burning. On March 19, Washington reported the outcome of the long and troublesome siege to Congress. Two days earlier, “the ministerial army” had evacuated Boston, which was now in the possession of the “forces of the United Colonies.” Happily, President Hancock’s own handsome townhouse had survived British occupation and American bombardment virtually unscathed, with his furniture in “tolerable order” and the cherished “family pictures” all “entire and untouched.” Elsewhere, everything indicated that the redcoats had retired “with the greatest precipitation.” They had left their barracks and fortifications standing, along with several cannon—“spiked” with nails in their touch holes, but capable of being drilled out and reused—and a large iron mortar, along with quantities of stores.65

  The British flotilla hovered in Boston’s outer harbor until March 27, raising fears that Howe would counter attack after all. Then the fleet made sail, where to, nobody knew for sure. Rumor suggested the British naval base at Halifax, Nova Scotia, but New York was the obvious destination, and Washington had already sent a brigade marching there. On April 4, once the British ships had hove out of sight, Washington, too, headed south with the bulk of his army. Command of the Boston sector returned to its original guardian, Major General Ward.

  For all his misgivings and the myriad difficulties he’d faced, Washington had won the first round of the contest, and in fine style. The recapture of Boston, so long the hub of resistance against British tyranny, was both a symbolic and a concrete triumph, and a cause for widespread patriot jubilation. Washington, whose own education had been so perfunctory, now received an honorary degree from Harvard College, while Congress voted him a gold commemorative medal. Here was a taste of the public recognition that fueled him. It was Washington’s first major victory and a moment to savor. Yet he was under no illusion that one success, however remarkable, would end the war. The redcoats were gone from Boston, never to return. But they had not left America. William Howe would be back, his likeliest target New York.

  In the nine months since he had assumed command of the Continental Army, Washington had tried repeatedly to bring on a decisive engagement with the British, only to be disappointed. He left Boston still spoiling for a stand-up fight. At New York he’d get one.

  * While a significant minority of North America’s population opposed the revolutionary cause, for simplicity’s sake the term “American” is henceforth used here to denote its supporters. Pro-British Americans are referred to as “Loyalist.”

  7

  The Times That Try Men’s Souls

  When Washington arrived at New York City on April 13, 1776, he expected to find a British fleet already riding at anchor in the harbor. But Howe had instead gone north to Britain’s naval base at Halifax, Nova Scotia, to replace stores lost during the hurried evacuation of Boston, to await promised reinforcements from Britain, and to reorganize his forces for the coming campaign. In the previous summer it had already been agreed that Howe’s army should make New York its base for an offensive aimed at crushing the American revolt. That port’s fine, spacious harbor and Loyalist sympathies were strong arguments in its favor. In strategic terms, an advance up the Hudson River from New York, in conjunction with a drive south by strengthened British forces in Canada, would split the rebellion like a wedge hammered into a log, dividing New England from the Middle and Southern Colonies.

  Knowing New York’s value to their enemy, the American revolutionaries were no less determined to keep it. In February and March, before being ordered away to counter British designs upon the south, Major General Charles Lee had begun fortifying the city and its surroundings. This, as he confessed to Washington, was a futile task. New York was “so encircled with deep navigable water, that whoever commands the sea must command the town,” Lee warned.1 While overwhelming British sea power meant that the city was ultimately indefensible, Lee started works intended to ensure that any attack would at least incur heavy casualties. The East River, between Manhattan and Long Island, was protected by sunken vessels and the crossfire of batteries on Lower Manhattan and on Long Island’s Brooklyn Heights. To the west side of Manhattan, the Hudson—or North River—was too wide to block or dominate by flanking batteries. Luckily, that shore, unlike the eastern, was mostly rocky enough to discourage landings. In the city itself, which still filled just the southernmost portion of Manhattan Island, waterside streets were barricaded, while the landward outskirts were screened by earthworks. A crucial component of Lee’s defensive scheme was a powerful fortification on Brooklyn Heights. As its guns were capable of bombarding New York City, the British would have no choice but to subdue it, he reasoned. Washington was “much pleased” with Lee’s efforts;2 yet all this activity only disguised the unpalatable truth that New York lay open to amphibious attack: divided by the East River, defenders on Manhattan and Long Island alike were in danger of being outflanked, isolated, and eliminated. On strategic grounds, Washington would have been well advised to abandon New York City to the British. But both the wishes of Congress and his own inclinations persuaded him to make a stand there.

  As Washington prepared to counter Howe at New York, it was becoming increasingly clear that continuing talk of a negotiated settlement was unrealistic, and that Great Britain aimed to bring her rebellious colonies to heel by force. This was no easy task, particularly given her shortage of military manpower and resources. Indeed, while it is common to read in modern works that Britain was the “superpower” of the age, such language is misleading. Faced with a full-scale rebellion rather than a localized insurgency, the British Army struggled to expand from its pared-down peacetime establishment of 29,000 men. Of these redcoats, some 10,000 were already in, or en route to, North America; a further 7,700 were based in other overseas garrisons. In England and Scotland together, there were only about 9,500 soldiers available—both
for home defense and to reinforce the American army. Ireland had its own force, but that was already down to about half its theoretical strength, with just 7,000 men. Given the chronic scarcity of soldiers, efforts were made to plug the gaps with mercenaries: a first bid to hire 20,000 Russians from Empress Catherine the Great foundered, but the petty princelings of the miniature German states of Hesse-Cassel, Brunswick, and Hanau were keen to rent their well-trained troops for American service. Treaties signed in January 1776 secured the services of no fewer than 18,000 German professionals.3

  Britain’s resort to “Hessian” hirelings, the very antithesis of the amateur citizen-soldiers who had faced the redcoats at Boston, only hardened colonial opinion toward the Mother Country. Washington’s own views of the conflict were already fixed. Writing on May 31 from Philadelphia, where he had been summoned by Congress to settle details of the coming campaign, he was overjoyed to learn that the Virginia Convention had voted to instruct its own delegates to propose that Congress declare the colonies to be free and independent states. Praising “so noble a vote” to his brother Jack, he observed that “things have come to that pass now, as to convince us, that we have nothing more to expect from the justice of Great Britain.” Those who still believed in reconciliation and that the “dispute” would be “speedily, and equitably adjusted by commissioners” were dangerously deluded compared with men who realized that the only choice was to “conquer, or submit to unconditional terms . . . such as confiscation, hanging, etc.”4