Washington gave Varnum’s letter short shrift and less emotion than he had directed at Nicola. He waited nearly three weeks to respond and then did so in a short three-paragraph letter that dealt for the most part with unrelated matters of mundane administration. He simply told Varnum, “I cannot consent to view our situation in that distrest [sic] light in which you seem to.” Washington’s soft answer was the response of a weary commander in chief.73
In this dreary atmosphere Washington had the spark of an idea. While officers in the Continental army had much to complain about, they could at least look forward to honors and recognition. Though not on the scale of European armies, on whom medals and titles rained down in torrents, American officers could receive recognition through official letters of commendation from the commander in chief, congressional resolutions of thanks, promotions, and on very special occasions fine swords, gold medals, and perhaps a horse. Enlisted soldiers, however, aside from an occasional promotion, could expect no special rewards for service or bravery. In an effort to help raise sinking morale, Washington sought to recognize the backbone of his army: the men in the ranks. In a General Order, August 7, 1782, he set a precedent. All “non commissioned officers and soldiers of the army who have served more than three years with bravery, fidelity and good conduct” were entitled to wear a chevron of “white cloth” on their left sleeve. Those in uniform six years might wear two chevrons. The commander in chief went one step farther, and for the first time in the history of the American army, he authorized a device to be worn on the “facings over the left breast” in recognition of “any singularly meritorious action” that demonstrated “unusual gallantry” and “extraordinary fidelity.” This “Badge of Merit” was “the figure of a heart in purple cloth, or silk, edged with narrow lace or binding.” Names of soldiers awarded the badge were to be enrolled in the “book of merit,” and when on duty this badge permitted the wearer to pass guards and sentinels without challenge, a privilege previously accorded only to officers. With this badge, Washington announced, “the road to glory in a patriot army and a free country is thus open to all.”74
As a morale booster, the badge of merit failed. It was left to regimental and brigade commanders to nominate candidates. They were at liberty to go back to the very beginning of the war. Virtually no commander took the initiative to recognize gallantry in the ranks. In the course of the entire Revolution only three badges were awarded and then only at the end of the war. All three went to volunteers from the Eighth and Fifth Connecticut regiments. One of those soldiers, Daniel Bissell of East Windsor, was recognized for his service as Washington’s spy in New York City.75 The badge of merit disappeared after the Revolution and was not fully revived until 1932, when President Herbert Hoover ordered “the Purple Heart established by General Washington at Newburgh August 7, 1782,” reinstituted “out of respect to his memory and military achievements.” This same order set eligibility to those wounded or killed in the line of service.76
As the summer ebbed away, Washington made preparations to receive his French allies. Following Yorktown, Rochambeau and his army had remained in Virginia to spend a pleasant winter encampment near Williamsburg. It was a season of parties and balls. By spring 1782, Virginia hospitality notwithstanding, there was no reason for the French to remain, and on June 28 Rochambeau gave orders, “which took everybody by surprise,” to break camp and prepare to march. On his own, without any specific orders from Paris, he had decided to march north and join Washington.77 By combining with Washington, Rochambeau could, he believed, threaten Carleton to the point where he dare not dispatch any part of the New York garrison to reinforce the West Indies.
The 439-mile march north took the French nearly three months, three times longer than they had needed to move in the opposite direction the year before.78 The pace was leisurely as the officers and men of the regiments bathed in the celebrations given in their honor by nearly every town through which they passed. As the French made their way slowly north, Washington consolidated his troops at Verplanck’s Point to await their arrival. Keen to impress his ally, Washington saw to it that the camp “presented the most beautyful and picturesque appearance; it extended along the plain, on the neck of land formed by the winding of the Hudson, and had a view of this river to the south.”79
On the morning of September 17, the French army crossed the Hudson to Verplanck’s Point and marched “4 miles” to their camp at “Peekskill … on top of an arid mountain surrounded by wilderness.”80 On the twentieth, the American commander reviewed the army of his ally. Two days later, Rochambeau inspected the American regiments. Impressed by the disciplined appearance of the Continentals, Rochambeau, according to Dr. Thacher, offered the ultimate eighteenth-century military compliment to Washington: “You have formed an alliance with the King of Prussia. These troops are Prussians!”81
Combined, the two armies numbered about twelve thousand men. To Carleton, their presence was only slightly threatening. He made some adjustments to his defensive lines, but he was certain that the enemy would not attack without sufficient naval support. In mid-August the arrival of a French squadron under the Marquis de Vaudreuil on the coast provided a moment of encouragement to the French and American forces, but it was brief. Vaudreuil’s squadron of twelve ships of the line was too few to undertake an attack on New York.82 They passed by the harbor entrance and sailed for Boston.
Through the early fall of 1782 the Franco-American forces held their position above the city. Aside from an occasional skirmish along the lines or raids by foraging parties the valley was quiet. The chief reminder of war was the twice daily echo of the morning and evening cannon fired by the British guard at Kingsbridge on the other side of the Harlem River. Quartermaster General Timothy Pickering summed up the feelings of most when he complained to a friend at home, “I am weary of this dreadful war but shall never live long enough to see the end of it.”83
In spite of Washington’s untiring attachment to attacking New York, Rochambeau had little interest in such a venture. He was more concerned with the disposition of his troops for the coming winter. Tying down an army in a winter encampment in New York would be an inexcusable waste of manpower, to say nothing of putting his ill-equipped army at risk to cold, snow, and ice. The warm climes of the Caribbean beckoned him as they did Vaudreuil, who after spending several weeks riding at anchor in Boston Harbor was preparing his squadron for a return south. Rochambeau ordered his army to sail with the marquis while he took passage directly for France.84 On October 22 the French army broke camp and began the march east through Connecticut to Boston. Surrounded by the brilliant colors of a New England fall, the regiments moved at a leisurely pace, stopping frequently to the delight of gaping townspeople. It took six weeks to make Boston. Two more weeks were spent in port preparing the transports, but finally, on Christmas Eve 1782, the last French vessel cleared Boston Harbor.85
Washington’s army too was on the move, albeit over a much shorter distance. The land about Verplanck’s Point had too little forage, water, and timber to supply a winter encampment. A few weeks earlier Washington had sent Pickering north to scout a better location. Crossing over at Fishkill, the quartermaster found a suitable site at New Windsor, only a few miles from his headquarters at Hasbrouck House, where he reported that there was adequate water and sufficient timber for building huts.86 Washington approved the location, but the glum prospect of another long cold season troubled him. He missed his wife and looked forward to her “annual visit,” but he despaired “of seeing [his] home this Winter.”87 He worried too about the mood of the army. He warned Lincoln, “The patience and long sufferance of this Army are almost exhausted.” In his years of service with the army he had never seen “so great a spirit of Discontent.” He went on to say, “While in the field, I think it may be kept from breaking out into Acts of Outrage, but when we retire into Winter Quarters (unless the Storm is previously dissipated) I cannot be at ease, respecting the consequences.”88 What troubled him
most was that “the spirit of discontent” infected the officers’ mess as well as the enlisted men’s tents. He had seen this firsthand in the letters of Nicola and Varnum, but he had heard it as well from others close to him, including Heath, Knox, and Pickering.89 Nor was he comforted by the arrival of an officer forced upon him by Congress who now by right of seniority ranked second only to the commander in chief himself: General Horatio Gates.
Since relieving him after the fiasco at Camden, where he had suffered a humiliating defeat at the hands of Cornwallis, Congress had let Gates dangle in limbo for nearly two years. From his Virginia plantation, Traveler’s Rest, the general railed at the injustices visited upon him and wrote rambling letters with vague references to “imperial thrones” and “old Rome” and the threats to “freedom.” He decried those who were “illiberal enough” to “persecute with savage Barbarity the most faithful servants of the republic.”90 Some of his fellow officers, including Greene, supported him, as did his friend Robert Morris, who thought Congress had treated the general unfairly. Gates gave some consideration to coming up to Philadelphia while Washington was there to plead in person for justice. His friends advised against that and suggested instead that it would be more proper to await an invitation from Congress or Washington. He remained at home.91 In early August 1782, assured that Congress would welcome him, and after Washington had left the city, Gates went to Philadelphia.92 Shortly after arriving, he wrote the president of Congress asking for “Justice.”93 With the help of political friends, particularly New Englanders who harbored a coolness toward Washington, Gates succeeded.94 By a near unanimous vote, and without consulting Washington, Congress ordered that Gates “return to his duty as the Commander in Chief shall direct.”95 Pleased at his triumph and blaming his two-year exile on “enemies of every kind,” Gates wasted no time writing to Washington. He assured the commander in chief, “I shall hold myself constantly ready to Obey your Orders [and] earnestly request your Excellency will be assured of my inviolable attachment and that no Time or Circumstance shall ever shake that Resolution.”96
Gates’s letter annoyed Washington. He had heard rumors that the general was in Philadelphia. He was certain that Gates was seeking a new command, but neither the president of Congress nor the secretary at war had bothered to inform him or seek his advice. Furthermore, he had written Gates the previous March asking him his intentions. Gates had never responded. To be informed by Gates himself without any official notification from either the Congress or the secretary violated protocol, to say nothing of the fact that Washington still harbored memories of Gates’s role in the “Conway Cabal,” an alleged plot in the winter of 1777–78 aimed at removing him from command. Washington’s response to Gates was cold and to the point: “I have assigned to you a Command in the Army under my immediate Direction … you will be pleased to proceed to join the Army on the North River.”97 After spending a few days at home with his wife, Elizabeth, who for some time had been seriously ill, Gates reported for duty on October 5. Washington gave him a “gracious reception,” posted him to command the right wing of the army and to be, as his seniority dictated, second in command.98 Despite his rank, Gates complained that he was “indifferently accommodated” in a damp and chilly tent.99 Like Washington, he looked forward to moving into better quarters, where his wife might join him to keep him “from freezing.”100
By the end of the month the bulk of the American army had crossed the river and marched to New Windsor.101 Once the army had assembled, Washington issued a General Order for the construction of huts to be built with “regularity, convenience, and even some degree of elegance.”102 Pickering drew up specific plans; huts were to be twenty-seven feet by eighteen feet with a partition down the middle. Each company was to build two huts accommodating approximately sixty soldiers. Within days ax-wielding soldiers stripped the countryside of timber, gathered up stones, and, to the annoyance of local farmers, dismantled their rail fences. Seven hundred huts dotted the countryside, arranged by units and spaced in neat rows. General Friedrich Wilhelm Augustus (“Baron”) von Steuben, a former Prussian officer, thought the army “more comfortable and better lodged” than at any time before in the war. Heath described the encampment as “regular and beautiful.”103 Notwithstanding the neat appearance of the camp, inside those drafty huts men were muttering. Discontent, according to Henry Knox, was reaching “alarming heights.”104
Chapter Seven
Within weeks of his arrival in New York City in the spring of 1782, General Carleton knew that he had lost and was bitter. The ministers in London, Shelburne in particular, had deceived him. Instead of supporting him in negotiations, they had abandoned him and left America to the rebels. Always uncommonly reserved, the general confided in few people.1 His closest associate, Maurice Morgann, wondered “what thoughts the commander in chief entertains. He is as determined as he is persistent, but his purposes are all his own.”2 Morgann also struggled to grasp what conditions had driven the men in London to their unfortunate decision to abandon America. “It is nobody’s power here to judge of that totality of things by which great affairs ought to be governed. Our view here could be at most but speculative and the condition of the Empire may be too critically situated to allow the course of any speculations whatever.”3 Morgann was resigned to conclude that he and Carleton were simply cogs in the imperial machinery.
Although his superiors had knocked his diplomatic and political sticks out from under him, Carleton’s military situation was quite secure.4 His New York City garrison was twice the size of Washington’s army, and he continued to hold naval superiority. Even though he had been ordered to withdraw from his posts, the Americans were not strong enough to drive him out by force. To the north he held Penobscot and controlled the area across the Gulf of Maine to Nova Scotia. Haldimand was under no threat in Canada.5 At the same time, the Americans were growing weaker. Their French allies were marching east to Boston to board ships taking them away. Carleton’s sources told him that the rebel army was dispirited, demoralized, and on the edge of mutiny.6 Among the general population, Americans, sick of the war, were directing their ire at an impecunious and feeble Congress. All this was leading, according to some of the more optimistic intelligence reports, toward an increased desire on the part of disillusioned rebels to reconcile with the Crown.7
Much of Carleton’s information came from his master spy Major George Beckwith, a cool and temperate man.8 Beckwith had spent years in America, and a good deal of the king’s purse, weaving a web of spies.9 Using the alias G. B. Ring, earlier in the war Beckwith had initiated correspondence with Benedict Arnold to entice him to treason. The major had numerous informants in Philadelphia who kept him abreast of the business in Congress, particularly any news relating to the French. Carleton and his chief of intelligence poured over every scrap of information, looking for cracks in the Franco-American alliance that he might exploit.10
Beckwith’s agents in the countryside reported signs of growing unrest. A New Hampshire source sent accounts of an uproar in the town of Walpole on the Connecticut River. When local authorities seized a farmer’s herd of cattle for unpaid taxes and put them up for auction, five hundred angry townspeople packed the sale and forced the sheriff to sell at rock-bottom prices to bidders, who then returned the herd to the original owner. Afterward, according to Beckwith’s informant, “the People … proceeded in a body to the Liberty Pole, cut it down, gave three Cheers [and] drank punch to King George the third.”11
Fear of republicanism and the likelihood of a government falling into the hands of a mob made many fence-sitting patriots anxious about their future. In Massachusetts, Connecticut, and Rhode Island, according to Beckwith’s sources, contrite rebels were voting with their feet and fleeing to Vermont, where they hoped to come under the protection of Haldimand, who they were convinced was preparing to invade and be welcomed by Vermonters.
Beckwith’s reports, along with the self-serving gossip rife among the loyalist community in Ne
w York, suggested that a stronger ministry in London could have given Carleton and Digby time to negotiate and to use their leverage to the Crown’s advantage. As it was, however, the ministers were weak and eager to end the unpleasantness in America so that they could focus on their true enemy: the French. Whether Carleton and Digby might have been able to strike a deal with the Americans is unlikely; however, the loyalists were correct in regard to the French. France had become the prime focus. On the same day that Carleton dispatched his angry resignation to London, August 14, 1782, the ministry was sending him new orders. As soon as his replacement, Lieutenant General Charles Grey, arrived he was to leave New York and take command in the West Indies.12
Although the ministry had tied Carleton’s hands in regard to dealing with rebels, it granted him great latitude in managing relations with the loyalists, particularly the several thousand who had taken refuge in New York City.
Estimates as to the total number of Americans who remained loyal to the Crown vary, but in terms of percentages, at least 20 percent of the population fell into that category.13 The vast majority of them lived beyond the protection of the Crown, and so were left to suffer at the hands of their rebel neighbors unless they changed their allegiance or remained silent. Those with Carleton were an uneasy and powerless lot, entirely dependent upon him. In August Morgann reported to Shelburne that when the loyalists in New York learned of “Independency,” “some passion followed,” but according to him it “subsided upon views … of prudent respect to their future welfare.” Still, the pot simmered, and as the summer closed, the secretary became increasingly concerned that the “stillness” in New York might simply be the “forerunner of a storm.”14 Benjamin Thompson, a prominent refugee from New England, agreed and warned his old friend Germain that the loyalists were in a mood “little short of rebellion.”15
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