Aside from social events, little else enlivened the tedium of waiting for news from Paris. Months had passed since the American ministers had sent word. Their last communication from Franklin in mid-April had simply tried to assure Congress that while “the Definitive Treatys [sic] have met with great Delays,” it was not for cause “but principally by the Distractions in the Court of England, where for six or seven Weeks there was properly no Ministry nor any Business effected.”62 In the meantime Congress idled in “fruitless debates.”63
Nathanael Greene’s triumphal arrival broke the boredom. He had left Charleston August 14 and made his way via Richmond, Fredericksburg, Alexandria, Annapolis, and Baltimore. On October 4 he entered Philadelphia to the sound of church bells ringing in his honor. Next to Washington he was America’s most celebrated war hero—the conqueror of the South. With Washington’s approval Congress voted that in recognition of Greene’s “wisdom, fortitude and military skill,” the commander in chief would present him with “two pieces of field ordnance taken from the British army at Cowpens, Augusta or Eutaw.”64 For six weeks Greene lingered in Philadelphia with visits to Princeton and Rocky Hill, spending most of his time trying to settle long overdue accounts.
On the same day that Greene arrived, Martha Washington left Rockingham for Philadelphia. Her health was not good. She and her husband thought it best that she return to Virginia before the onset of winter. After spending several days in Philadelphia with the Morrisses, she made her way to Mount Vernon, leaving her husband to endure, in his words, a “Bachelor’s fare.”65
Chapter Fourteen
A year earlier Guy Carleton had boasted that he would not come to America “to be employ’d as a mere inspector of embarkations.”1 That, however, was exactly what he had become. Having had little to do with shaping the war, like a court-appointed receiver he had the unhappy duty of dismantling a bankrupt enterprise. “Had they called upon him earlier,” remarked one disaffected loyalist, “he would have made Tories of all the Whigs.”2 Carleton was particularly resentful that while he struggled to sort out the perplexing details of evacuation, and was being congratulated by the king for his efforts, his bête noir Germain, the minister responsible in his eyes for losing the war, was enjoying life on his Sussex estate bathing in his newly conferred title: Viscount Sackville! Thinking he was entitled to equal recognition, Carleton asked that the king elevate him to the peerage. The king, he was told, at present “resists every application for British peerage.”3
Carleton’s chief problem was the rapidly rising flood of refugees. “Violence in some states, particularly New York,” he reported to North, “has driven so many Loyalists to flight that transports are insufficient. But they cannot be left to the rage of these people.”4 A few days later Carleton warned again about the “violent associations” whose mission was to rein terror down upon many unfortunate Americans who were “not conscious of any other Crimes than that of residing within the British lines.”5 Whig propagandists heightened anxiety with fiery broadsides warning Tories about what was in store for them should they remain in America. “Flee while it is in your power,” warned the anonymous writer Brutus, “for the day is at hand when to your confusion and dismay such of you as received this admonition will have nothing to deliver them from the just vengeance of the collected citizens.”6 Carleton appealed to both the president of Congress, Elias Boudinot, and Governor Clinton to place checks upon the vigilantes. They did nothing.7
By the end of July Governor John Parr of Nova Scotia reported that thirteen thousand refugees had landed in the province. In response Carleton told the governor to prepare for eight to ten thousand more. Among these were several thousand “Negroes.” Much to the annoyance of the Americans, Carleton had remained faithful to his word.8 Whatever their color, those who had been loyal to the king and now sought his protection would receive his care. By mid-July Lieutenant Colonel Smith reported to Washington from New York that at least one thousand blacks had left for Nova Scotia and more were gathering for embarkation. Lest Washington once again insist on a protest, Smith wrote, “representations to Sir Guy Carleton upon these subjects I consider superfluous.”9 On the other hand, Smith noted, perhaps with quiet satisfaction, that a “great number of soldiers” whom Carleton was discharging in New York and planned to send to Nova Scotia had approached him to “be permitted to remain here. I have taken the Liberty,” Smith told Washington,” to give them encouragement.”10
In August Alexander Hamilton, a retired army officer turned New York politician and lawyer, keen to enhance his law practice and certain that litigation would follow evacuation, visited the city seeking clients.11 He took the occasion to visit with General Carleton, likely expressing to him his sympathies for the loyalist plight. When Hamilton tried to engage in conversation with him about the end of the war, the general, deeply suspicious of the American’s intent, made no response. He simply, according to Hamilton, “shrug[ged] up his shoulders.”12
As loyalists rushed to flee New York, and troops boarded transports for redeployment, the authorities who were left behind worked to keep order. With so many homes and buildings being abandoned, they feared arson and looting.13 Street fights broke out, and ruffians made “it unsafe to walk the streets by night or be in a crowd by the day.”14 Carleton held firm. He maintained order and proceeded with the evacuation. To reassure his superiors in London that all was well, he dispatched his secretary, Morgann, home to report.15
As August ended, in Paris the final peace treaty was at hand. After innumerable delays, mostly the result of last-minute backroom diplomatic and political maneuverings, the definitive treaty was ready for signing.16 On August 29, 1783, Vergennes informed Franklin that all matters had been resolved and “that nothing ought to prevent [the American commissioners’] signing at Paris on Wednesday next.” France, Spain, and England had reached agreement.17 At nine o clock in the morning on September 3, Benjamin Franklin, John Adams, and John Jay took a carriage to the lodgings of the British commissioner David Hartley at the Hotel d ’York.18 After a long traditional preamble—“It having pleased the Divine Providence to dispose the hearts of the most serene and most potent Prince George the Third, by the grace of God, king of Great Britain,… and of the United States of America, to forget all past misunderstandings …”—article 1 declared, “His Britannic Majesty acknowledges the said United States … to be free sovereign and independent states.”19 The remaining nine articles set geographic boundaries, granted fishing rights to American fishermen, made allowance for the collection of prewar debts, and provided for the release of all prisoners. Article 5 dealt with the loyalists. All that could be agreed was that “Congress shall earnestly recommend it to the legislatures of the respective states to provide for the restitution of all estates, rights and properties, which have been confiscated belonging to real British subjects.” Practically speaking, the article was meaningless.
Within hours of the signing, couriers were rushing printed copies of the treaty to ships waiting at port. Captains set sail, racing their vessels to different destinations across the Atlantic in order to be the first to announce the glorious news. To deliver the official treaty, the one to be ratified by Congress, the American commissioners placed their trust in John Thaxter, John Adams’s private secretary. Thaxter took passage on a fast British packet bound for New York.20 Others arrived before Thaxter, and on November 1 newspapers in Boston, Newport, Providence, and Philadelphia published the announcement of the final peace.21 When Thaxter finally arrived in Philadelphia, via New York, on November 22 it was anticlimatic. Congress had already given an “absolute discharge” to all furloughed troops and discharged the few men left on active duty, save a small body at Fort Pitt and the garrison guarding West Point. With virtually no department left, Secretary at War Benjamin Lincoln had resigned, and Washington had issued his “Farewell Orders to the Armies of the United States.”22
Washington’s “Farewell Orders” was not inspiring. Unfortunately for the comm
ander in chief, his most able aide, David Humphreys, was on leave.23 His absence showed. The animated rhetoric that had mesmerized the officers at Newburgh was gone, and in its place flowed heavy words of caution and even foreboding. He spoke of the “hardships particularly incident to our service” that came not from the enemy but from “extremes of nakedness and hunger,” which by implication could only have come from Congress. Although he repeated his support for a stronger central government to fulfill its obligations to those who had served, he clearly was not certain that this would happen. He counseled patience and forbearance to soldiers bound for home, and warned them that they would likely meet “envious individuals who are unwilling to pay the debt the public has contracted, or to yield the tribute due to merit.” He urged his men not to respond with “invective or … intemperate conduct.”24
His “Farewell Orders” was one of the last documents Washington placed into the hands of his secretary, Lieutenant Colonel Richard Varick. Always concerned about his reputation, Washington was careful to keep good records to be sure that his side of the story was safely preserved for posterity. In part Washington had always been driven by the “spur of fame.” He had a profound sense of history and his role in it. However, keeping a documentary record in the midst of war was no small task. In the eight years when he was in the field Washington moved his headquarters, often under adverse conditions, nearly 170 times.25 Each move risked a loss of documents. Nonetheless, Washington was determined to keep his papers with him. Aside from a brief period following his hasty retreat from New York City—when his parlous situation forced him to stuff the documents in “a large Box nailed up” and ship them off to Congress “until [American] Affairs shall be so circumstanced as to admit of their return”—Washington kept close personal control of his papers.26 As the war progressed, the volume of paperwork increased, as did the number of boxes to be carted about. Washington assigned responsibility for the security and transport of these “papers and other matters of great public Import” to his personal bodyguard. By his order men of the guard had to be known for their “sobriety, honesty, and good behavior.” Soldiery appearance was equally important. Washington wished “them to be from five feet, eight Inches high, to five feet, ten Inches; handsomely and well made, and as there is nothing in his eyes more desirable, than Cleanliness in a Soldier,” he insisted that they be “neat and spruce.”27
Security for the papers was one thing; access was another. As Washington watched the mound of paper grow, he realized that for his documents to have historic importance it was necessary to organize and, in some cases, copy them. To manage the task, in the spring of 1781 he turned to Richard Varick. Two years earlier Varick had had the misfortune of serving as an aide to Benedict Arnold when the plot to sell out West Point was discovered. Although an investigation cleared him of any complicity in Arnold’s treachery, his reputation was tarnished. Convinced of Varick’s loyalty, and needing someone to oversee the organization of his papers and supervise a “set of Writers,” Washington appointed him “Recording Secretary of headquarters.”28
Beginning in the spring of 1781, at the end of each week Washington’s aides gathered up documents, bound them carefully, and delivered them over to Varick, who had set up shop at Dr. Peter Tappan’s home in Poughkeepsie.29 For more than two years Varick and his staff cared for this national treasure. In the fall of 1783 as he prepared to move his headquarters, for the last time, to West Point to await final word of British evacuation, Washington gathered all his papers, and on November 9 he ordered Lieutenant Bezaleel Howe, commander of his guard, to “take charge of the Waggons [sic] which contain my Baggage; and with the Escort, proceed with them to Virginia, and deliver them at my House ten miles below Alexandria.” Among the baggage were the “six strong hair Trunks well clasped and with good locks” that Daniel Parker had purchased in New York.30 “As you know,” Washington admonished Howe, the trunks “contain all my Papers, which are of immense value to me, I am sure it is unnecessary to request your particular attention to them.”31 Leaving nothing to chance, Washington provided Howe a detailed itinerary, including a stop in Philadelphia to pick up anything “Mrs Washington left” and to deliver “The Bundle which contains my Accts … to Mr. Morris.” In his travels Howe was to be especially careful about crossing on ferries “if the Wind should be high.” And under no circumstances could the “Waggons” ever “be without a Sentinel over them; always locked and the Keys in [Howe’s] possession.”32
While his baggage was going south, Washington headed north to West Point to await news from New York City, arriving at West Point on the evening of November 12. There to greet him were Knox, McDougall, and Pickering. The mood was somber. Before his arrival the three generals had been designated by their peers to present a reply to the “Farewell Orders.” Without ceremony they presented it to Washington on the fifteenth. More lamentation than celebration, it did “not abound with panegyric.”33 “If [Washington’s] attempt to secure to the Armies the just, the promised rewards of their long severe and dangerous services have failed of success we believe it has arisen from causes not in your Excellency’s power to control” but is the product of the “ultimate ingratitude of the people.” Yet they assured their commander not even the “ingratitude” of the people they fought to make free could “shake the patriotism of those who had” suffered in the cause of the Revolution. “Posterity will do justice” was their hope as they called down the “blessings of liberty.”34
Never pleased with being at Princeton, but adamantly opposed to returning to Philadelphia because of the ill treatment given them by state authorities, the members of Congress had been debating relocation for weeks. After a lengthy and rancorous discussion (mostly along sectional lines), on October 21 the members resolved that until a permanent capital were located “at or near the lower falls of Potomac or Georgetown,” they would “alternately at equal periods, of not more than one year, and not less than six months” establish their residence at “Trenton and Annapolis.” The first move would be to Annapolis.35 On November 4, two days before Washington headed for West Point, Congress adjourned, setting three weeks hence, November 26, as the date for reconvening in Annapolis.36
Through informal communication with his agents in New York City, Washington knew that Carleton was hoping to complete his evacuation by the end of November. On November 13 Carleton’s emissary, Major Beckwith, arrived at West Point to deliver the final plan. Carleton proposed to “relinquish the Posts he [held] on York Island from Kings Bridge to McGowens Pass inclusive, on the 21st Instant, Herricks and Hempstead with all to the Eastward on Long Island, on the same day, and if possible to give up the City with Brooklyn on the day following; and Paulus Hook, Denyers, and Staten Island as soon after as practicable.”37 Washington and Clinton met the next day to plan their triumphal entry into New York City.
Under the circumstances Washington as commander in chief of the victorious army might well have insisted on an entry worthy of a conquering hero with himself at the head of the parade. However, in deference to civilian authority, Washington suggested that he and Clinton ride side by side into the city. As commander in chief entering a city thought to be in disorder, Washington could also have insisted that New York be put under his direct command until civilian authority was established.38 Once again, however, he deferred to civilian authority and acknowledged the authority of New York State and city authorities to take immediate charge.39
By the twenty-first fewer than two thousand British troops were left in the city.40 Carleton had promised to have all his men out by Saturday November 22, but a last-minute complication regarding moving sick and wounded soldiers caused delay, and with the consent of Washington and Clinton, Tuesday the twenty-fifth was set for the final departure. While British soldiers boarded waiting transports, the king’s lieutenant governor, Andrew Elliott, was sifting through the province’s public records removing incriminating documents that he feared might embarrass people who had elected to remain behind.
He was also careful to cart away the province’s great seal lest this symbolic vestige of royal authority fall into rebel hands.41
Timothy Pickering, who was with Washington, reported on November 16 that “the light infantry, and the fifth and fourth Massachusetts regiments,” nearly one thousand troops, marched from West Point “for the environs of Kingsbridge, to be prepared to take possession as the British relinquish the posts.”42 To honor Knox, Washington ordered two companies of artillery commanded by Major Sebastian Bauman to accompany the occupying force. In a gesture of triumph, and to embarrass the vanquished British, the artillery companies were to trail “four six pounders, all trophies engraved with the times and places of their capture from the enemy.”43 Washington, accompanied by his staff and Life Guard, left West Point on the eighteenth. The next day they crossed the Hudson River to meet Governor Clinton at Tarrytown. At dawn on the twenty-first as the Americans drew within sight, British sentries marched away crisply from their posts at Kingsbridge. Within minutes Knox’s advance guard was across the Harlem River. For the first time since 1776 American forces were on Manhattan. As soon as Knox secured the area, Washington and Clinton crossed and rode to Day’s Tavern in Harlem, where they waited for the final word from Carleton.44
As the British abandoned the city, order broke down. A Hessian lieutenant, Philip De Krafft, recorded in his journal that drunken sailors went on a violent spree setting fires and assaulting people in the streets, making it “quite a restless night.”45 Some impatient “avowed friends to the American cause” “hoist[ed] the American flag on their houses.” The gesture was premature. According to newspaper reports, roving “British Hannibals” pronouncing “double-headed Dams” tore down “the obnoxious colors” while screaming epithets at the “rebel bitches.”46 Later that evening a “fracas” erupted in a local coffeehouse when a “British officer” insulted an American and the patrons turned on him. As bodies and furniture flew about the room, “the British Son of Bellona received the discipline of the horsewhip.”47
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