The unspoken item on the agenda, which Howe thought awkward to address directly, was the recent action on Long Island, which surely cast at least a shadow of doubt over American prospects for success against the vastly superior British army and navy. Howe’s more elliptical way of raising the issue was to express his deep affection for America, then add that “if America should fall, he should feel and lament it like the loss of a brother.” Years later Adams still remembered with relish Franklin’s deft response: “Dr. Franklin, with an easy air and a collected countenance, a bow, a smile and all the Naïveté which sometimes appeared in his conversation … replied ‘My Lord, we will do our utmost to save your Lordship that mortification.’ ”55
Rutledge then proposed that since American independence was a nonnegotiable fact, perhaps Howe could persuade his friends back in London to embrace it and then make an economic alliance with the United States with all its attendant commercial advantages for both parties. Howe expressed his doubts that any of his superiors in London would find that idea acceptable; nor was it what he had in mind.56
There was really nothing more to say. Despite the military setback on Long Island, not to mention the highly precarious status of the Continental Army on Manhattan, nothing had changed in the American political posture. Ambrose Serle, Howe’s snobbish secretary, was furious. His summation of the proceedings, recorded in his journal that night, was terse and vitriolic: “They met, they talked, they parted. And now nothing remains but to fight it out against a Set of the most determined Hypocrites & Demagogues compiled by the refuse of the Colonies that ever were permitted by Providence to be the Scourge of a Country.”57
Adams went back to Philadelphia equally angry. He told Sam Adams that “the whole Affair … appears to me, as it ever did, to be a bubble, an Ambuscade, a mere insidious Maneuver, calculated only to decoy and deceive.” His only explanation, which contained more than a kernel of truth, was that “they must have a wretched opinion of our Generalship to suppose that we can fall into it.”58
7
Hearts and Minds
I give it as my opinion that a General And Speedy Retreat is absolutely Necessary, and that the honor and Interest of America require it.
—NATHANAEL GREENE TO GEORGE WASHINGTON, September 5, 1776
According to the calibrated strategy of the Howe brothers, the humiliation of the Continental Army on Long Island was supposed to generate shock waves that would shake the foundation of the American rebellion. But the conference with Lord Howe on Staten Island seemed to expose the flaw in that strategy, since the American delegation refused to regard the debacle on Long Island as anything more than a temporary setback of minor significance. Adams and Franklin even harbored the conviction that the annihilation or surrender of the entire Continental Army would have made no difference, except perhaps to prolong the inevitable American victory. The Howe brothers were trying to use their superior army and navy as instruments of a not-so-gentle persuasion, but the leaders of the Continental Congress, having committed to American independence, were beyond persuasion, in a zone where any prospect of reconciliation with their British betters was now unimaginable.
The Continental Army, on the other hand, was experiencing precisely the sense of shock that the Howe brothers had intended to deliver. Favorable winds, shifting river currents, then a providential fog, had allowed Washington’s troops to make a near-miraculous escape across the East River, but their spirit had been broken. “Our situation is truly distressing,” Washington reported to Hancock. “The Militia, instead of calling forth their utmost efforts … are dismayed, Intractable, and Impatient to return [home]. Great numbers of them have gone off, in some cases by whole Regiments.” As the troops arrived on Manhattan, one witness described them as “sickly, emaciated, cast down.… In general everything seemed to be in confusion.”1
Exact numbers are impossible to know, since Washington himself could not keep track of the deserters. But the best estimate is that about 10,000 militia walked away during the first two weeks of September. Washington issued an order to stop the deserters at King’s Bridge on the northern end of Manhattan, but quickly rescinded the order on the grounds that the militia had proven worse than worthless, and their very presence fed an epidemic of fear and defeatism. Their departure meant that Washington commanded an army of 18,000, of whom only about 13,000 were “fit for duty,” which meant that he was now outnumbered more than two to one.2
Even those troops who were categorized as “fit for duty” were dazed and demoralized, “constantly rambling about,” as Washington described them, “at such distances from their respective quarters and encampments, as not to be able to oppose the enemy in any sudden approach.” Fortunately for them and the American cause, William Howe did not launch an invasion of Manhattan to follow up his triumph on Long Island. This delay seemed inexplicable to several British officers, since it was clear that the Continental Army was wholly vulnerable, while the British Army was poised to end it all in one final battle. “For many succeeding days did our brave veterans … stand on the banks of the East River,” remembered Captain George Collier, “like Moses on Mount Piszak, looking at their promised land less than half a mile away.”3
Howe’s apparent lack of initiative was, in fact, wholly in keeping with his strategic priorities. He was waiting to hear about the results of his brother’s conference with the rebels on Staten Island. There was no point in launching another military action if a diplomatic resolution of the conflict was imminent. Besides, the rebel army, if indeed it still could be described as an army, had escaped from one trap on Long Island to another on Manhattan. There was no need to hurry, since Washington’s dispirited troops had nowhere else to go.
British spies reported that American soldiers were busy plundering all the homes in the city, apparently justifying their thievery on the grounds that otherwise the booty would fall into the hands of the British Army, which could occupy the city whenever it chose to do so. Just as Howe had hoped, their near-death experience on Long Island forced them to face the fact that the defense of New York was, and always had been, misguided.
Indeed, from the British perspective, the American rebellion had already been quashed, and what remained was merely a mopping‑up operation. Back in London, news of the Long Island victory prompted Lord Germain to initiate the paperwork for William Howe’s elevation to a knighthood as a reward for his services in preserving Great Britain’s empire in North America. “The leaders of the rebellion have acted as I could have wished,” Germain wrote to Admiral Howe, meaning taken a stand at New York. “I trust that the deluded people will soon have recourse to your lordship for mercy and protection, leaving their chiefs to receive the punishment they deserve.” This presumably meant that Washington, Adams, and Franklin, among others, would go to the gallows.4
WASHINGTON REMAINED IN his quarters during the early days of September, recovering from exhaustion. The deeper truth was that he was groping toward the realization that the decision to defend New York had been an elemental mistake, and now, caught in the consequences of that mistake, he did not know what to do.
The clearest recommendation came from Nathanael Greene, just released from the hospital after a near-death experience of his own: “The object under consideration is whether a General and speedy retreat from this Island is Necessary or not. To me it appears the only Eligible plan to oppose the Enemy successfully and secure ourselves from disgrace. I think we have no Object on this side of King Bridge.… I would burn the City and suburbs.” In Greene’s calculus, the survival of the Continental Army counted more than the defense of any piece of ground. “I give it as my opinion,” he reiterated, “that a General And Speedy Retreat is absolutely Necessary and that the honor and Interest of America require it.”5
Greene was asking Washington to embrace two unpalatable and intractable realities: first, that the decision to defend New York had been a mistake, and the time had come to recognize that fact and cut American losses; and secon
d, that Washington needed to subordinate his honor-driven instinct to stand and fight to larger political imperatives, which in this case meant the survival of the Continental Army. It was clear that Greene, unlike Adams and Franklin, believed that the destruction of the Continental Army put the movement for American independence at risk.
Greene’s diagnosis of Washington’s temperament was just as sharp as his assessment of the strategic options facing the Continental Army. He recognized that Washington harbored a deeply ingrained sense of personal honor in which the failure of the Continental Army cast a shadow over his own reputation. He tended to equate retreat with defeat, and defeat with a permanent stain on his own character. Within this code, a strategic retreat was dishonorable behavior, like refusing an invitation to duel. Greene’s point was that Washington’s highest priority must be the principled cause for which they were fighting, and there was nothing principled or honorable about ordering the demise of the Continental Army.
Nevertheless, Washington’s first instinct was to reject Greene’s advice. His correspondence with Hancock at this moment was uncharacteristically unfocused and meandering, perhaps a symptom of residual fatigue, or an aftershock from the trauma of the Long Island disaster. (He regarded Hancock, as president of the Continental Congress, as his civilian superior, not Adams, even though Adams was better informed on military matters as head of the Board of War and Ordnance.) Despite the desperate situation of the Continental Army, he was uncomfortable with the decision to surrender New York without a fight, telling Hancock that “it would have the tendency to dispirit the Troops and enfeeble the Cause.” It might also have serious political consequences throughout the colonies, “where the Common cause may be affected by the discouragement it may throw over the minds of many…, especially after our Loss upon Long Island.” Whether the crucial consideration was his own personal sense of honor, or the need to recover the confidence of the army, or the fear that abandoning New York would generate doubts in the minds of lukewarm patriots everywhere, he felt the need to deliver “a brilliant stroke” against the British on Manhattan, even if that meant running the risk of losing everything, including his own life, in the process.6
One intriguing attempt at “a brilliant stroke” involved the deployment of a one-man submarine. As we have seen, Franklin had approached Washington several weeks earlier about the prospect of an underwater vessel that might sink British warships by cruising beneath them and attaching a delayed-reaction bomb to their hulls. On September 6, Washington gave his approval to a pioneering effort at underwater warfare. Despite difficulty with river currents, the experimental submarine, named the Turtle, managed to get beneath Admiral Howe’s flagship, the Eagle, with a 150-pound bomb but could not manage to attach it to the copper-covered keel. If successful, the Turtle might have significantly reduced the tactical advantage enjoyed by the British navy on the rivers surrounding Manhattan. But soon after its maiden voyage, the Turtle sank in the Hudson while being transported upstream for another trial run. It would take more than a century for submarine warfare to become technologically feasible.7
On September 7, Washington convened a council of war that voted to endorse his preference for a stand—perhaps a last stand—on Manhattan. It was a confusing debate because Washington had received orders from the Continental Congress not to burn New York City, which some officers interpreted as an order to defend it at all costs. Washington seemed to endorse that interpretation by reminding his fellow officers that the principle of civilian control of the military must be respected, even though it was clear that the Continental Congress did not fathom the truly desperate situation confronting its army.
Once the big decision to defend Manhattan had been made, the council of war voted to divide its forces, placing 5,000 troops at the southern end of the island to defend the city; 9,000 men at the northern end, where the British attack was most likely; and 4,000 of the newest recruits in the middle, where an attack was least likely. Because the British retained the initiative, they would enjoy a significant numerical advantage wherever they chose to launch their assault.8
Washington wanted Hancock to understand that Manhattan was all but lost. “It is our Interest & wish,” he explained, “to prolong it as much as possible.” As Joseph Reed explained to his wife, the goal was to inflict heavy losses on the British before surrendering, “and if a sacrifice of us can save the cause of America, there will be time to collect another army before spring, and the country will be preserved.” This fatalistic formulation almost surely reflected Washington’s thinking—or what passed for thinking—at this tense and crowded moment. Washington was preparing to make himself into a martyr.9
It is also possible that he believed he had no other choice but to sacrifice himself and the Continental Army because, outnumbered and isolated as they were, they had no realistic prospect of escaping from Manhattan. General Howe would have to be a blithering idiot not to block the one avenue of escape at King’s Bridge, and the American commander there, William Heath, apprised Washington that he lacked the troops to stop Howe from sealing the trap. An engineering officer, Rufus Putnam, scouted the terrain and confirmed Heath’s assessment that there was no way of preventing Howe from putting the Continental Army in “a Bad Box.”10
Writing from the relative security of Fishkill, the delegates of the provisional government of New York confirmed the strategic diagnosis: “We are so fully satisfied of the Enemies Design to land above New York, and of the Mischiefs that will result thereupon … we have Reason to dread the Consequences.” All concurred that British naval supremacy on the Hudson and East rivers, plus British superiority on the ground at the northern end of Manhattan, meant that Washington was marooned. Since surrender was not an option, the only choice was to fight.11
During the second week of September, three new developments combined to change Washington’s mind. First, the Continental Congress clarified its earlier order not to burn the city of New York, leaving the decision to defend it to Washington’s discretion. His judgment, not theirs, was more fully informed by the facts on the ground and enjoyed their support. Second, still waiting on word from his brother about the peace initiatives, General Howe showed no inclination to mass his army around King’s Bridge. He preferred to prepare for his occupation of the city and port of New York. Third, Greene lobbied his fellow generals for another council of war to reconsider the decision to defend Manhattan, arguing that its defense was untenable and the survival of the Continental Army was synonymous with the survival of American independence. “The present Case is of such Magnitude and big with such Consequences to all America,” Greene insisted, “that a reconsideration of the earlier decision is imperative.”12
The day after the failed peace conference on Staten Island, on September 12, the general officers voted 10–3 to reverse their decision of the preceding week. They would now abandon any defense of the city of New York and consolidate their force at King’s Bridge to resist the anticipated British attack there rather than spread the Continental Army the entire length of Manhattan. For the time being, they would leave 2,000 troops at Fort Washington, near the present-day George Washington Bridge, to contest British naval supremacy on the Hudson. The new goal was to block Howe’s likely invasion at the northern tip of Manhattan, then evacuate the entire Continental Army off the island. The new priority was the preservation of the army at all costs, including the loss of New York.13
Washington embraced the new strategy reluctantly. It violated all his primal instincts, his honor-driven temperament, and the military assumption he had been harboring for the last four months about making New York a more lethal version of Bunker Hill. In explaining the new plan to Hancock, he was almost apologetic. He wanted Hancock to know that he had fully intended to defend New York, because he recognized its strategic importance. “But I am fully convinced that it cannot be done,” he pleaded, “and that an attempt for that purpose if preserved, might and most certainly would be attended with consequences the most
fatal and alarming in their nature.”14
By “fatal” he almost surely meant the destruction of the Continental Army. Whether he agreed with Greene that the end of the army meant the end of American independence is not so clear. He had been regarding the American cause as invincible for so long that it was psychologically difficult for him to give it up. But if the destruction of the Continental Army did put American independence at risk, then it was not a risk worth running. He was fully prepared to surrender his own life on this ground, and he wanted that fact to be known to all his officers. But matters larger than his own honor were at stake, and he needed to subordinate his own instincts to that larger purpose.
REPORTS FROM THE field began to gather on Adams’s desk in Philadelphia after his return from Staten Island. His position as head of the Board of War and Ordnance made him privy to the alarming desertion rates, the dispirited condition of the remaining troops, and what Henry Knox described as “the sense of Panic” that had gripped the entire Continental Army in the wake of the Long Island ordeal. “I despise that Panic and those who have been infected with it,” he apprised Knox and half seriously urged that “the good old Roman fashion of Decimation should be Introduced,” meaning that every tenth man in a demoralized regiment should be executed as a lesson to the others. Meanwhile, his job was to prevent the infection from spreading to the Continental Congress, which, even more than the army, was the center that had to hold.15
William Hooper of North Carolina reported conversations with former moderates on the independence question, who were now whispering “I told you so” in the corridors. But in the full-scale debate over Lord Howe’s peace initiative, it had become clear that any chastened second thoughts generated by Howe’s victory in New York were regarded as inadmissible; American independence remained nonnegotiable. The leadership in the congress effectively enforced a silence on the troubling fact that they were losing the war.16
Revolutionary Summer: The Birth of American Independence Page 16
