by Ray Raphael
This was not truly a citizens’ army, as originally intended; it was far closer to the European model than Americans (both then and now) have chosen to admit. Many civilians at the time preferred to look the other way, ignoring rather than supporting the men who had become professional soldiers. Quaker farmers residing near Valley Forge had their own reasons to resent the fighting Presbyterians and Congregationalists, lads whose business it was to kill, while soldiers, on their part, grumbled about the “cursed Quakers†who were “no Friends to the Cause we are engaged in.â€5 Soldiers grew to resent the lack of support they received not only from the Quakers but from “Ye who Eat Pumpkin Pie and Roast Turkeys.â€6 Increasingly, the hired guns of the Continental Army saw themselves as a class apart.
At Valley Forge, it is often said, Baron von Steuben infused military discipline into the ragtag Continental Army. He turned farmers into soldiers. Although there is some truth in this, farmers became soldiers not only by marching to the commands of their officers, but also by developing a unique sense of identity, separate and distinct from all other Americans. They did indeed become a professional army, with all that that entails.
Ill prepared to support a permanent army, Congress allowed the Commissary Department to fall into a shambles. Food and clothing, much needed, never arrived. Congress, not the raw forces of nature, was accountable for the lack of provisions that caused the soldiers much grief.
Forced to fend for themselves, troops ventured forth from Valley Forge to pillage local civilians. John Lesher, who lived twenty-five miles away, complained that he was “no master of any individual thing I possess.†American troops, he said, “under the shadows of the Bayonet and the appellation Tory act as they please.â€7 Farmers were so discouraged that they threatened not to plant new crops. Years later, Private Joseph Plumb Martin admitted that “ ‘Rub and Go’ was always the Revolutionary soldier’s motto.â€8
At other times during the war, George Washington issued prohibitions against pillaging, but at Valley Forge he was forced to sanction the practice. Although he used the polite term “forage†rather than “pillage†or “plunder,†the commander in chief ordered soldiers to strip the countryside clean.9 Farmers were stopped on their way to market, households were raided, and magazines were depleted of all provisions. Reluctant local inhabitants, accustomed to being paid real money for their produce, grain, milk, and meat, were given only notes of questionable worth. Private Martin recalled that he received orders direct from the quartermaster-general “to go into the country on a foraging expedition, which was nothing more nor less than to procure provisions from the inhabitants for the men in the army . . . at the point of the bayonet.â€10
Soldiers tended to their needs in other ways as well. Some simply ran away. According to the traditional tale, all men remained true; in fact, eight to ten men deserted daily from Valley Forge.11 On February 12, 1778, during a period of extreme shortages, Washington wrote: “We find the Continental troops (especially those who are not Natives) are very apt to desert from the piquets.â€12
The standard story ignores mutinies as well as desertions. On December 23, 1777, Washington reported that “a dangerous mutiny†two nights before had been suppressed “with difficulty.â€13 In February, Washington reported that “strong symptoms of discontent†had appeared, and he feared that “a general mutiny and dispersion†might be forthcoming if complaints were not actively addressed.14 In April, Washington complained that ninety officers from the Virginia line had just resigned, others were following suit, and he feared for “the very existence of the Army.â€15 Although Washington might have been exaggerating for effect, it remains clear that suffering soldiers were not simply enduring their lot, silently and heroically—they were standing up for themselves. If the United States wanted an army, it would have to treat the soldiers better. Privates stated this emphatically by threats of mutiny or by simply running away. Officers threatened to resign, and many did. Actions such as these succeeded in arousing the attention first of Washington, and then, through him, of Congress and state officials. Eventually the complaints of soldiers achieved some results, even if minimal. Had soldiers not voiced their discontent and acted accordingly, the army probably would have dissipated.
As the war dragged on, mutinies became a real cause of concern. The famous ones—uprisings within the Connecticut, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey lines; the march on Congress on June 21, 1783; the aborted “Newburg Conspiracyâ€â€”represent only the tip of the iceberg. Firsthand accounts by both privates and officers reveal that resistance was the rule rather than the exception. Soldiers in the Continental Army repeatedly threatened to take matters into their own hands unless their basic needs were met.
The reporting of acts of resistance within the army undermines the illusion of patient suffering. Since soldiers in the Continental Army did desert in great numbers, and since mutinies were far more common than in any war this nation has ever fought against a foreign enemy, the traditional telling of the Valley Forge story requires turning a blind eye to official statistics. Liberty!—the book that accompanies the PBS six-hour documentary on the Revolution—announces point-blank that “desertions were relatively few†at Valley Forge.16 Popular authors often dismiss the subject of mutiny by telling a story of George Washington and the “Newburg Conspiracy.†On the ides of March 1783, at his headquarters in Newburg, New York, the beloved commander in chief allegedly defused a movement among his officers to march against Congress with a simple offhand remark: “Gentlemen,†he is supposed to have said, “you will permit me to put on my spectacles, for I have not only grown gray but almost blind in the service of my country.†This, allegedly, was all it took to counter all mutinous or treasonous activities: “It moved the officers deeply, and tears welled in their eyes,†the story goes. “Again they felt a tremendous surge of affection for the commander who had led them all so far and long.â€17 So much for mutinies in the Continental Army.
To romanticize soldiers in an attempt to honor them dishonors them instead. Rather than denying or ignoring mutinies and desertions, we should examine soldiers’ grievances and how they responded to them. To this end, we have no better informant than Private Joseph Plumb Martin. Although Martin reported that he and others had made it through the Valley Forge winter by pillaging, their hardships did not end the following spring. Martin reported that two years later, in May 1780, “the monster Hunger, still attended us; he was not to be shaken off by any efforts we could use, for here was the old story of starving, as rife as ever.†Continental soldiers were forced to confront the most profound dilemma any American patriot has ever had to face:
The men were now exasperated beyond endurance; they could not stand it any longer. They saw no alternative but to starve to death, or break up the army, give all up and go home. This was a hard matter for the soldiers to think upon. They were truly patriotic, they loved their country, and they had already suffered everything short of death in its cause; and now, after such extreme hardships to give up all was too much, but to starve to death was too much also. What was to be done? Here was the army starved and naked, and there their country sitting still and expecting the army to do notable things while fainting from sheer starvation.18
This is the real Valley Forge story, and it lasted for eight long years. It features poor men and boys who fought in place of those who were better off. When these soldiers failed to receive adequate food, minimal clothing, or the pay they had been promised, they were forced to weigh their options: Should they endure their hardships silently, grumble among themselves, or create a fuss? If all else failed should they mutiny or simply walk away? All alternatives were possible, none favorable. In addition to staving off hunger and fighting the enemy, soldiers had to deal with this unsolvable problem day by d
ay.
In this particular instance, Joseph Martin and his compatriots chose to act forcibly. “We had borne as long as human nature could endure, and to bear longer we considered folly,†Martin continued. One day, while on parade, the privates began “growling like soreheaded dogs . . . snapping at the officers, and acting contrary to their orders.†This led to a series of events sometimes labeled the “mutiny in the Connecticut line.†Technically, the soldiers’ behavior was mutinous, for privates did challenge the authority of officers; at one point, they even held bayonets to the chests of those in command. But the soldiers were not trying to seize power; they only wanted to gain some respect and a corresponding increase in rations. They did what they had to do, no more—and they achieved results: “Our stir did us some good in the end,†Martin reported, “for we had provisions directly after.â€19
A TALE OF TWO WINTERS
The winter of 1777–1778 was not “one of the cruelest winters in our country’s history.†We have no record of daily temperatures at Valley Forge, but in nearby Philadelphia, only seventeen miles away, temperatures ran slightly above the historic average (see table). On more than half the winter mornings, there was no frost. Soldiers had to endure only one extended, hard freeze—from December 29 to December 31—and the thermometer dropped below double digits, briefly, only twice. Some snow did fall, but there were no memorable blizzards. Snowfall was “moderate, not heavy,†according to weather historian David Ludlum. “On the basis of cold statistics,†writes Ludlum, “the winter of 1777–1778 was not a severe one.â€20
Days with Low Temperature Below Freezing—Philadelphia21
Ironically, soldiers in the Continental Army did have to endure a particularly cruel winter—but it wasn’t during their camp at Valley Forge. While camped at Morristown, New Jersey, in 1779–1780, they encountered what Ludlum concludes was “the severest season in all American history.â€22 In Philadelphia, the high temperature for the day rose above freezing only once during the month of January.23 On January 20 Timothy Matlack wrote to Joseph Reed from Philadelphia: “The ink now freezes in my pen within five feet of the fire in my parlour, at 4 o’clock in the afternoon.â€24 In New York, a thermometer at British headquarters dropped to -16 degrees Fahrenheit; the lowest official reading since that time has been –15.25 In Hartford, a daily thermometer reading revealed that January 1780 was the coldest calendar month in recorded history. On twenty-one days, the temperature dropped below 10 degrees Fahrenheit; between January 19 and January 31, subzero temperatures were recorded on nine different days, bottoming out at –22.26
With temperatures this low, and the cold lasting for such an extended period of time, rivers and bays froze hard. In New York, the Hudson and East Rivers turned to ice. So did New York Harbor, much of Long Island Sound, and some of the ocean itself. To the south, the Delaware River froze, as did large portions of the Chesapeake Bay. In Virginia, the York and James Rivers became solid. As far south as North Carolina, Albemarle Sound froze over. According to David Ludlum, nothing like this had ever happened since the arrival of Europeans, and it has yet to happen again:
During one winter only in recorded American meteorological history have all the saltwater inlets, harbors, and sounds of the Atlantic coastal plain, from North Carolina northeastward, frozen over and remained closed to navigation for a period of a full month and more. This occurred during what has ever been called “The Hard Winter of 1780,†a crucial period during the war when General Washington’s poorly housed, ill-clad, and under-nourished American troops at Morristown in the north Jersey hills were keeping a watchful eye on the British army much more comfortably quartered in New York City some 20 miles distant.27
For one winter only, frozen bays and rivers became new roadways. Rebel deserters walked across the Hudson, from New Jersey to British-controlled New York. Hessian deserters from the British army crossed Long Island Sound on foot to rebel-controlled Connecticut. The British carried firewood on sleighs across the Hudson River from New Jersey to Manhattan. They also sent sleighs laden with provisions from Manhattan to Staten Island, and they even rolled cannons across the ice; meanwhile, a detachment of British cavalry rode their horses across New York Harbor in the other direction. Sleighs traversed the Chesapeake from Baltimore to Annapolis. Had Washington decided to make his famous crossing of the Delaware during “The Hard Winter†instead of three years earlier, he could have dispensed with his boats—the troops would simply have marched across the frozen waters.28
Along with cold and ice came the snow. The first major fall in Morristown arrived on December 18, 1779, and the ground remained covered for three months afterward. In late December and early January, a series of violent storms swept through the entire Northeast. On December 28–29, the wind toppled several houses in New York City. In Morristown, several feet of snow fell during the first week of January. Joseph Plumb Martin recalled the effects of the storm on the soldiers:
The winter of 1779 and ’80 was very severe; it has been denominated “the hard winter,†and hard it was to the army in particular, in more respects than one. The period of the revolution has repeatedly been styled “the times that tried men’s souls.†I often found that those times not only tried men’s souls, but their bodies too; I know they did mine, and that effectually. . . .
At one time it snowed the greater part of four days successively, and there fell nearly as many feet deep of snow, and here was the keystone of the arch of starvation. We were absolutely, literally starved. I do solemnly declare that I did not put a single morsel of victuals into my mouth for four days and as many nights, except a little black birch bark which I gnawed off a stick of wood, if that can be called victuals. I saw several of the men roast their old shoes and eat them, and I was afterwards informed by one of the officers’ waiters, that some of the officers killed and ate a favorite little dog that belonged to one of them.—If this was not “suffering†I request to be informed what can pass under that name; if “suffering†like this did not “try men’s souls,†I confess that I do not know what could.29
As privates struggled to stay alive, officers worried about the impact on their army. On January 5, 1780, General Nathanael Greene wrote from Morristown: “Here we are surrounded with Snow banks, and it is well we are, for if it was good traveling, I believe the Soldiers would take up their packs and march, they having been without provision two or three days.â€30 The following day, Greene’s worst fears were almost realized: “The Army is upon the eve of disbanding for want of Provisions,†he reported. On January 8 Ebenezer Huntington reported, “the Snow is very deep & the Coldest Weather I ever experienced for three weeks altogether. Men almost naked & what is still worst almost Starved.â€31 Huntington, at that point, was unaware that the coldest weather was yet to come.
That same day—January 8, 1780—Washington himself offered a very bleak assessment: “The present situation of the Army with respect to provisions is the most distressing of any we have experienced since the beginning of the Warâ€â€”and that included the winter spent at Valley Forge.32 Johann de Kalb, who served as an officer under Washington, stated definitively: “Those who have only been in Valley Forge and Middlebrook during the last two winters, but have not tasted the cruelties of this one, know not what it is to suffer.â€33 For all those who experienced both winters, there could be no doubt: Morristown was by far the worst.
Hardships continued. Since the snowpack hindered the shipment of supplies, soldiers had to face much of the winter cold and hungry. How long could they endure? On February 10 General Greene once again reported: “Our Army has been upon the point of disbanding for want of provisions.â€34 Finally, in mid-March, the weather warmed and the snow melted. Supplie
s arrived, and the worst was over. On March 18 Washington summed up the experience in a letter to General Lafayette: “The oldest people now living in this Country do not remember so hard a Winter as the one we are now emerging from. In a word, the severity of the frost exceeded anything of the kind that had ever been experienced in this climate before.â€35
For the soldiers, it had never been worse than at Morristown. Yet the Continental Army made it through intact. According to those on the ground at the time, not those who would tell the story generations later, Morristown was truly the low point of the war—the real-life “Valley Forge.â€
Why, then, do we make such a big deal of “The Winter at Valley Forge,†while the “Hard Winter†at Morristown is nearly forgotten? Revolutionary soldiers, scantily clad and poorly fed, had to brave the harshest weather in at least four hundred years; why is this not a part of our standard histories?
The answer, in a nutshell, is that Valley Forge better fits the story we wish to tell, while Morristown is something of an embarrassment. At Valley Forge, the story goes, soldiers suffered quietly and patiently. They remained true to their leader. At Morristown, on the other hand, they mutinied—and this is not in line with the “suffering soldiers†motif.
As a story, Morristown doesn’t work for several other reasons as well. First of all, soldiers in the Continental Army camped there during four different winters, and this is much too confusing.36 The “Hard Winter†was the second of these. The following winter, on January 1, 1781, the Pennsylvania line staged the largest and most successful mutiny of the Revolutionary War. Although this did not take place during the winter of 1779–1780, any mention of Morristown would necessitate at least a nod to this mutiny, which many narrative accounts conveniently leave out. The New Jersey Brigade also camped at Morristown during that third winter, and they too had just mutinied; this uprising was unsuccessful, culminating with the execution of several mutineers. To include all this would undermine a central feature of the “suffering soldier†lesson: clearly, these patriots had not endured their plight in silence.
