American Crisis

by William M. Fowler Jr.

  Mount Vernon was not Washington’s only personal challenge. His younger brother Samuel, married five times, had died in 1781, leaving a widow and seven children. Through Samuel’s “sheer indolence and inattention to business,” his estate was mired in confusion and debt. “In God’s name,” wrote Washington to his younger brother John Augustine, “how did my Brother Sam’l contrive to get himself so enormously in debt?” Washington sought quickly to distance himself from Samuel’s misery. “Curiosity only prompts the inquiry.” Although he had often helped his brother, he had, he told John Augustine, “never received a farthing” back from Samuel.13 However, Washington could not so easily separate himself from his mother’s problems.

  To say that George Washington had a difficult relationship with his mother is an understatement. When he had last stopped to visit at her Fredericksburg home, shortly after Yorktown, she was away. Although he had not seen her in several years, he did hear from her on occasion. Most often she wrote to complain about money. Such was the case when a letter from her arrived at Hasbrouck House early in the winter of 1782–83.14

  According to Mary Ball, the “Knavery of the Overseer” whom Washington had appointed to keep charge of the Fredericksburg property had left her penniless. The overseer had taken “the whole profit” and left her nothing. She expected her son to find a new overseer and in the meantime send her money. Deep into his own financial problems, Washington was pained at the personal and financial cost of having to bail out his mother again. He had bought her the comfortable home in which she now lived in Fredericksburg, she had slaves to attend to her, and her daughter Betty Fielding Lewis lived within walking distance. Nonetheless, he felt a son’s responsibility and perhaps a bit of guilt since he had hired this apparent scoundrel. To John Augustine, who lived near Fredericksburg, he lamented his woeful situation: “[While] I am suffering in every other way (and hardly able to keep my own Estate from Sale),” it is unreasonable “to be saddled with the expense of hers.”15 Would his brother handle the matter?

  Washington and his brother had a tartar on their hands.16 Reports had reached Washington that “upon all occasions, and in all Companies,” his mother was “complaining of the hardness of the times, of her wants and distresses.” All this “by strong innuendo” she laid at the feet of her children. In fact, Washington told his brother, “she can have no real wants that may not be supplied. [Her] imaginary wants are indefinite and oftentimes insatiable, because they are boundless and always changing.” As keen as she was to inflict personal pain on her illustrious son, her actions also threatened political harm. She shared her complaints with every visitor who came by. On one occasion when she was working in her garden, Lafayette stopped to visit. She unloaded all her woes on him. So pitiful did she appear that Washington learned the Virginia Assembly was preparing to grant her a pension. Washington exploded at the thought of the public humiliation that would bring upon him as both the negligent son and the commander in chief. At a moment when Congress was refusing to grant pensions to his officers, his mother might end up with a public annuity! This needed to stop, and so he instructed John Augustine: “Represent to her in delicate terms the impropriety of her complaints and acceptance of favors even where they are voluntarily offered, from any but relations. It will not do to touch upon this subject in a letter to her, and therefore I have avoided it.”17

  For the sake of his wife and family, his estate, and his health, Washington did indeed “pant for retirement.”18 In the midst of his personal travails came the sad news that Major General William Alexander, “Lord Stirling,” had died suddenly at his headquarters in Albany. Stirling had been with Washington since the New York campaign and was in command of the northern army.19 Washington’s mood sunk even deeper when a few weeks after Stirling’s death he learned that an attack he had approved against the British post at Oswego on Lake Ontario had failed miserably.20

  Physical stress was beginning to show in the commander in chief. A man who in his younger years had been eager to trek the wilderness in harsh conditions, spend evenings around a fire, and sleep in the open under the stars had grown weary of long marches and endless encampments. Poor teeth and sore gums plagued him, causing Pickering to confide to his wife that the “General is unwell with a badly swollen face.21 His eyes, under the constant strain of reading and writing endless reports, had weakened. His vision improved somewhat with new glasses, prepared by the Philadelphia instrument maker David Rittenhouse. “The spectacles suit my Eyes extremely well,” he told Rittenhouse, but he was having a problem adjusting to their use for reading. He found it difficult to find “the proper focus.” He was certain, however, that with time he would “get more accustomed to the use of them” and be able to see “objects very distinctly.”22

  Discipline was essential, but the ennui of camp life had made it brittle. Washington described the wanton behavior of his soldiers as “scandalous beyond description and a disgrace to any army.” He had in November rebuked his officers for allowing their men “to ramble about the country” stealing from neighboring farmers and causing other mischief wherever they roamed. This “must and shall be corrected.”23 A flurry of courts-martial followed Washington’s stern order. Men were flogged, confined, and otherwise publicly humiliated, but punishment treated only the symptoms and did little to root out the causes: anger and idleness.

  Initially, “hutting” had kept the troops busy, but by mid-December that job had been finished. Washington looked for other tasks to occupy his men. Always available were the daily routines of any army: policing the camp, digging latrines, chopping firewood, tending equipment, standing guard. When weather permitted, regiments drilled. Washington ordered frequent inspections and reviews. He stood and watched as his soldiers marched by and performed a variety of intricate battlefield maneuvers. When pleased, he would give glowing praise in a General Order. When necessary, he was also keen to lambast the troops for being out of step or improperly attired.24 Officers bore the brunt of his sharp criticism.

  Anxious to relieve the boredom and engage the men in a new project, Washington embraced an idea brought to him by Chaplain Israel Evans. A Princeton graduate, the thirty-six-year-old Evans was one of the longest-serving chaplains in the Continental army. He enlisted in 1775 as chaplain to the First New York Regiment, which marched on General Richard Montgomery’s ill-fated invasion of Canada. After surviving that debacle, in the summer of 1779 Evans served with General John Sullivan in his expedition against the Iroquois. Soon after he returned to the main army Congress consolidated the New York regiments, leaving the chaplain without a permanent billet. He was with Washington at Yorktown and followed the commander in chief to Newburgh, where he took the post as chaplain to the New Hampshire brigade. Washington knew and respected Evans and was eager to hear his suggestion.25

  Evans proposed a public works project to engage the army. He pointed out to the commander in chief that the Newburgh encampment lacked a visible center. While neatly arranged, the huts of the encampment were spread out over a wide area. General Gates and his staff were at Ellison House, about a mile from the encampment. The commander himself was a more distant five miles up the road at Hasbrouck House, while the various administrative departments, including Quartermaster, Adjutant, and Paymaster, were scattered about New Windsor and Newburgh. Each headquarters and office produced daily stacks of paper, which had to be bundled up and shifted from location to location. Evans proposed to eliminate the burden by constructing a large public building that could serve as a central headquarters. It could also, the chaplain remarked, be used as a place of worship and for social gatherings.

  Washington embraced the idea and on Christmas Day 1782 ordered that the “General and Field officers … who are desirous of promoting so useful a scheme will be pleased to meet at Major-General Gates’ quarters tomorrow at ten o’clock.”26 Present at the meeting was Major Stephen Rochefontaine, formerly an engineer in the French army, who had served in the Continental army since the spring of
1778. He was with Washington at Morristown and had drawn notice from the commander in chief for his splendid work at the siege of Yorktown. Promoted to major, he was the ranking engineering officer at Newburgh.27 Gates appointed him, along with Colonel Benjamin Tupper, to prepare plans and estimates for the construction of a public building.28 It took them less than a week to draw plans and prepare estimates for an ambitious and expensive project.29

  Rochefontaine rode about the area searching for a site fit for the most important building in the cantonment. He found the best spot on a high ridge near the center of the cantonment overlooking the huts. Like an ancient temple to the gods, the building would stand high above the populace and so was quickly dubbed “the Temple of Virtue,” a likely reference to the ancient Roman Temple of Honor and Virtue.30

  It took six weeks, working on the windy summit of a naked hill in the bitter cold, to complete the project. Every regiment in the cantonment had an assignment. Axmen scoured the snowy woods, felling timber to bring back on sleds drawn by snorting oxen. Other work parties pried loose stones from frozen ground to lay as a foundation for the building. From the blacksmiths’ shops hammers could be heard pounding on anvils shaping thousands of nails. On one part of the site men with ax, adze, and saw shaped rough timber for framing, while others nearby split thousands of shingles for the roof and exterior walls. Carpenters recruited from the regiments fashioned dozens of benches, chairs, and tables to furnish the interior. Every day Tupper, Rochefontaine, and Chaplain Evans walked about to supervise and encourage the men. Their words, accompanied by extra rations of whiskey, lifted spirits. So too did exhortations from General Gates, who made it clear to his officers that he did not expect to “meet a single dissenting voice or an unwilling hand.”31 When some regiments were “dilatory” in delivering up men and material, Gates reprimanded them and warned his officers that he would “not require another hint on the subject.”32 More “hints” were required. Two days later Gates faced a work stoppage when the Second Massachusetts failed to deliver its quota of men. Gates described the behavior as “ungracious,” drawing a quick apology and promise that the men were on the march.33

  Not all went as planned. With so many officers absent on furlough, supervision was lax. Some soldiers saw a chance to make some extra cash. Thanks to the nearly insatiable demand for timber for both building the “Temple” and heating the huts, the local forests had been clear-cut of trees. Wood was scarce and pricey. The quartermaster officers in charge of tallying incoming timber for the public building noticed that a number of foraging parties were returning to camp with short loads. On investigating, they discovered a dramatic difference between the volume of timber cut and the size of the loads showing up in camp. Men were selling the army wood to the locals. When Quartermaster General Pickering discovered the scam he reported it to Washington, who immediately ordered that a stop be put to the theft.34

  On January 29 Washington stepped up the pressure on Rochefontaine and Tupper to complete the building by announcing that “the 6th of February, being the anniversary of the alliance with France, a feu de joie, will be fired on that day in celebration of this auspicious event.”35 In advance of the firing, Washington ordered the troops to form on the parade ground for his inspection. Following the review and the salute, “the General will be happy to see, not only all the officers of the cantonment, but all the gentlemen of the army and other gentlemen and ladies who can attend with convenience at the new Public Building where a cold collation will be provided.”36

  Washington’s announcement left Tupper and Rochefontaine less than a week to finish the job. Upon hearing the deadline, all Tupper could manage was a halfhearted “poor me.”37 Luckily, a thaw arrived toward the end of January, providing a few favorable days for some soldiers to finish shingling the roof while others bustled inside framing windows and putting the final touches on the floor, walls, and ceiling.38 With little time to spare, Tupper breathed easier as he supervised soldiers tidying up the construction site.

  Considering the barely six weeks provided for construction, the crude materials available, and the often unhelpful weather, Tupper and his soldier crews had accomplished a great deal.39 It was an impressive building measuring 110 feet by 30 feet. The main entrance stood on the west side facing the cantonment. Standing above the entrance was a modest flagstaff, while crowning the roof was a long gable. Large sash windows cut into the walls, twelve panes each, admitted light into the interior. The walls and ceiling were plastered, giving an additional touch of elegance to the chamber. At each end of the room were two offices to be used, reported General Heath, “for the sitting of Boards of Officers, Courts Martial, etc, and separate offices and storerooms for the Quarter-Master and Commissary departments.”40 In the center of the Temple the carpenters installed a small raised platform or pulpit from which chaplains might preach.

  By the late afternoon of February 6 all was in readiness. Guards opened the doors, and hundreds of people crowded into the Temple. The commander in chief and his wife were there to greet the guests. The hubbub in the hall quieted as Chaplain Evans moved to the platform. Having conceived the idea of the place, Evans had the honor of delivering the inaugural sermon.

  Not everyone was pleased. Quartermaster General Timothy Pickering thought the whole enterprise unrepublican and unnecessary. He found it particularly ironic that the building had been nicknamed “Temple of Virtue” when so “little” of that quality was present in camp. Nor was he impressed by Evans’s address, which “fell vastly short” of his expectations.”41 Notwithstanding Pickering’s comments, most thought the celebration was a great success. The exhausted Tupper asked for a furlough the next day. Despite the shortage of officers in camp, Washington could hardly refuse the request. Tupper left for his home in Chesterfield, Massachusetts, to enjoy a few weeks of much deserved rest.42

  Unsettling rumors continued to waft about that peace was imminent and Congress planned to disband the army without pay. Officers waited expectantly for the report of their delegation to Congress. One week after the opening of the Temple, on February 13, Brooks arrived at West Point from Philadelphia with the long-anticipated report. He also brought his “particulars.”

  Brooks confirmed to Knox all that he had feared: Congress had essentially abandoned the army. The next morning he rode the last few miles to Hasbrouck House, leaving Knox to read in private Gouverneur Morris’s letter. He was shaken by its contents.43

  On the same day that Brooks arrived at West Point, in Philadelphia another piece of the nationalist plan was falling into place. Just as Gouverneur Morris had been chosen to write to Knox because of their close relationship, Alexander Hamilton won the task of lobbying Washington. The general and Hamilton had a long, albeit sometimes rocky, relationship. Born in modest circumstances on the island of Nevis in the West Indies, in 1772 at the age of fifteen Hamilton arrived in New York City and enrolled in King’s College. Revolution soon trumped education. In 1776 Hamilton took a commission as a captain in the Provincial Company of New York Artillery. He distinguished himself in the ill-fated New York campaign, gaining the attention of General Nathanael Greene, who recommended him to Washington. Washington was taken with this “quick, proud, bony-faced young man, with cold blue eyes and a smiling mouth.”44 The commander in chief was also impressed with Hamilton’s writing craft—a skill he needed. On March 1, 1777, while encamped at Morristown, he appointed the young man (barely twenty) his aide-de-camp and promoted him to lieutenant colonel.

  For nearly four years, through some of the most trying moments of the Revolution, Hamilton was at Washington’s side. In December 1780 Hamilton improved his fortunes by marrying Elizabeth Schuyler, daughter of Washington’s friend Philip Schuyler, the richest man in New York. Hamilton was increasingly unhappy living the dreary life of a staff officer. He yearned for a field command. He got his wish as the result of an unfortunate encounter with his commanding officer in February 1781. At headquarters Hamilton was scurrying down a stairway anxious
to deliver a message to his fellow aide-de-camp Tench Tilghman. As Washington passed him going up the stairs, he told Hamilton to come immediately with him. Instead of doing an about-face, the proper response, Hamilton excused himself and told his commander that he would join him as soon as he had delivered his message to Tilghman. Not one to be treated so cavalierly by a junior officer, Washington was annoyed into an angry exchange.

  Colonel Hamilton, you have kept me waiting at the head of the stairs these ten minutes. I must tell you, sir, you treat me with disrespect.

  I am not conscious of it, sir; but since you have thought it necessary to tell me so, we part.

  Very well, sir if it is your choice.45

  They parted unhappily, but on July 31, 1781, Hamilton got his wish for a field command and took charge of a battalion in Moses Hazen’s brigade of Lafayette’s Light Infantry Division, then preparing to march to Yorktown. Hamilton played a key role in the siege. On the night of October 14 he led his battalion on a bayonet charge to seize Redoubt Number 10, a vital British position. The captures of Number 10 and nearby Redoubt Number 9 on the same night by the French were the last battles of the siege. Their fall made the British position completely untenable. Hamilton’s courageous behavior impressed Washington and helped to rekindle their friendship. Hamilton left the service in the days following Yorktown, returning to New York to be elected to Congress, where he took a leading role in the nationalist cause. To Hamilton fell the task of sounding out Washington as to his sentiments about using the army to pressure Congress.