George Washington Page 26

  As the tense wait in New York continued, the situation in Canada went from bad to worse. Washington had diverted more regiments from his own army to reinforce that buckling front, but the tidings were dismal. Bolstered by fresh troops in the spring, the British made a vigorous counterattack. The ambitious Major General Burgoyne routed the invaders at Trois-Rivières, forcing the ardent Arnold to abandon Montreal. Weakened by combat and desertion, and scourged by smallpox, the beaten and despondent Americans withdrew in disorder to upstate New York.

  Some 250 miles to the south, in New York City the presence of Washington and his expanding army buoyed patriot spirits. On June 18, the New York Provincial Congress gave Washington and his generals and regimental commanders an “elegant entertainment.” There were thirty-one patriotic toasts, including one to “the late noble Lord Howe”—the British officer killed at Ticonderoga in 1758, whose two surviving brothers, Admiral Richard and General William Howe, were at that very moment sailing for New York at the head of the forces intended to restore royal authority. While George Augustus Lord Howe is today virtually forgotten, his memory in 1776 remained strong. In the previous December, in a letter to William Howe deploring the disrespectful treatment of the captured Ethan Allen, Washington had observed “that the Americans in general esteem it not as the least of their misfortunes, that the name of Howe—a name so dear to them—should appear at the head of the catalogue of the instruments, employed by a wicked ministry for their destruction.”5

  On June 29, the leading ships of William Howe’s task force anchored off New York. There were soon 110 vessels, carrying about 9,000 troops. An attack looked imminent, but Howe’s first move was to put his men ashore on Staten Island, where they could recover from their cramped voyage from Halifax. Howe was waiting for two more fleets: one of them, commanded by his elder brother, Vice Admiral Lord Howe, carried long-awaited reinforcements from Europe, including a detachment from the famed Brigade of Guards and the first contingent of “Hessians”; the other, under Major General Henry Clinton, consisted of troops recently sent against Charleston, South Carolina.

  The Charleston expedition had evolved from a far more ambitious British plan aimed at harnessing Loyalist sentiment in the south. Based upon wildly optimistic predictions of Crown support, and crippled by delays in assembling the troops and shipping, the southern strategy was a fiasco. By the time that British forces from Boston under Clinton and a larger contingent from Ireland commanded by Major General Charles Cornwallis, arrived at the appointed Cape Fear rendezvous, premature Loyalist attempts to throw off the rebels in Virginia and North Carolina had been crushed. Seeking to salvage something from the botched campaign, the move against Charleston only compounded the loss of British prestige when it was decisively rebuffed on June 28.

  The port’s stalwart defense had been galvanized by Charles Lee. Writing to his friend the physician and congressman Benjamin Rush on the day after the battle, Lee reported how “the tyrant’s mercenaries” had sent eight warships to subdue Charleston’s key bastion, “a very imperfect and ill planned Fort on Sullivan’s Island.” The British men-of-war unleashed a furious cannonade, but the defenders, ensconced behind ramparts constructed of logs cut from spongy and resilient palmetto trees, were resolute. The vaunted wooden walls of the Royal Navy were beaten off with heavy losses, while Clinton and his redcoats, who had landed on the wrong side of an impassable inlet, remained mere bystanders. Drawing upon the classical era that inspired so many of his contemporaries, Lee enthused: “Our people, though quite raw recruits behaved like the Decima Legio”—Julius Caesar’s famed Tenth Legion. Their sterling performance seemingly vindicated Lee’s much-publicized belief that well-motivated citizen-soldiers would always beat paid professionals.6

  Not surprisingly, this timely success gave a massive boost to Lee’s military reputation. Rush wrote to him from Philadelphia: “It would take a volume to tell you how many clever things were said of you and the brave troops under your command after hearing of your late victory. It has given a wonderful turn to our affairs.” He added that Lee’s performance had done much to dispel the people’s gloom at the failure of the Canadian expedition, reviving hopes that “we shall yet triumph over our enemies.”7 The total defeat of Britain’s attempt against Charleston was no less significant for her unfolding strategy in North America. Disappointed in his hopes of pacifying the south, the American Secretary, Lord George Germain, now shelved that idea for the next two and a half years, when operations would focus on the Northern and Middle Colonies. The respite for the Southern Department also meant that Continental Army regiments raised there could be diverted for service in the northern theater.*

  Meanwhile, the patriots’ will to win was strengthened by Congress’s formal declaration of American independence on July 4. Washington received official confirmation five days later, as the steady buildup of British forces off New York continued. General Orders for July 9, required each brigade to parade to hear the declaration read “with an audible voice.” To Thomas Jefferson’s ringing promise of “Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness,” Washington added his own hopes that “this important event will serve as a fresh incentive to every officer, and soldier, to act with fidelity and courage, as knowing that now the peace and safety of his country depends (under God) solely on the success of our arms.”8

  That evening, Washington’s soldiers joined the jubilant crowds of civilians who toppled and dismembered the impressive equestrian statue of George III on New York’s Bowling Green. While conceding the zealous motives behind this action, Washington deplored the riotous manner in which his men had participated: such things were better “left to be executed by proper authority,” he admonished. Washington’s reaction to the disorder exemplified the stance of those wealthy property holders who had no wish to see events run out of their control: this was to be an orderly revolution.9

  The real question was how long that movement would last in the face of the forces now assembling to crush it. At New York, Washington’s defensive plans hinged upon an assumption that Howe would obligingly assault his entrenchments, taking losses he couldn’t afford. “If our troops will behave well,” he told Hancock on July 10, the redcoats would “have to wade through much blood and slaughter before they can carry any part of our works, if they carry ’em at all, and at best be in possession of a melancholy and mournful victory.”10

  Washington was anticipating another Bunker Hill. But New York City was not Boston, and the British were no longer the besieged; and with his brother’s fleet at his disposal, Howe had other options than an unsubtle frontal attack. The flexibility gifted by unchallenged sea power was demonstrated on July 12, when two British frigates and three other vessels probed the Hudson. Washington’s Manhattan batteries proved incapable of stopping them, with many of his awestruck gunners gawping at the spectacle rather than opening fire. One gun crew that did attempt to hit the ships was commanded by young Captain Alexander Hamilton, whose “zeal and diligence” had made his New York artillery company “conspicuous for their appearance and the regularity of their movements.” Now, they fired so briskly that Hamilton’s cannon burst, killing two of his men; they were buried on the Bowling Green, where King George had lately ridden.11 The flotilla penetrated as far as the broad Tappan Zee, some twenty-five miles upriver, so severing Washington’s water-borne communications with Albany.

  That same day, July 12, Lord Howe’s flagship, HMS Eagle, anchored off New York. Besides his military task as commander of the Royal Navy in American waters, Richard Howe had a contrasting and contradictory role to perform: Prime Minister Lord North had decided that the Howe brothers should simultaneously act as his peace commissioners, seeking a negotiated settlement between the Mother Country and its rebellious American offspring. Both Howes held well-known sympathies toward America, largely because of the “family connection” resulting from the colonists’ reverence for the memory of their slain elder brother. As already seen, when the monument to George Augustus
Howe funded by Massachusetts was unveiled in 1762, the gesture had a marked and enduring impact upon his surviving siblings. In 1766, while treasurer of the navy, Richard Howe was among just a handful of key office holders willing to receive the petition of the Stamp Act Congress; at Christmas 1774, when war looked ever more likely, he met Benjamin Franklin in London, spending weeks in a futile effort to persuade the Pennsylvanian polymath to work for an accommodation.12

  But, like Washington, the Howes were born fighters who prized personal honor and martial distinction above all else; as faithful servants of the Crown, their pro-American sympathies didn’t prevent them from accepting high command across the Atlantic. Indeed, such authority at least allowed them to act upon their inclination to temper force with negotiation. By early July 1776, Congress’s declaration of independence made such a peaceful settlement increasingly unlikely, yet the admiral was determined to at least try.

  Besides promoting reconciliation through circulars and a published declaration of his own, Lord Howe sought to open negotiations directly with Washington, sending a letter to New York on July 14 under a flag of truce. Howe’s initiative stalled immediately on an issue of protocol: his letter failed to give Washington’s military rank—which would have recognized and legitimized his position—and was instead addressed to “George Washington Esqr.” Washington conferred with the general officers on hand, who agreed that he shouldn’t receive any letter directed to him as a mere “private gentleman.” Washington’s trusted friend Colonel Reed was sent to “manage the affair,” pointing out to Howe’s messenger, Lieutenant Philip Brown, that “there was no such person [as ‘Mr. Washington’] in the army, and that a letter intended for the General could not be received under such a direction.” Brown was greatly concerned at this impasse, particularly as the letter was “rather of a civil than military nature” and because Lord Howe came with “great powers” to talk. But, as Reed made clear, unless Washington was addressed according to his correct “station,” which was well known to the British, no letter could be accepted. As Washington explained to John Hancock, this was not simply a question of “punctilio,” as “the opinion of others concurring with my own, I deemed it a duty to my country and my appointment to insist upon that respect which in any other than a public view I would willingly have waived.”13

  Nothing if not persistent, Howe made another attempt to open talks with Washington on July 16. This, as the admiral’s personal secretary, Ambrose Serle, tartly noted, “was refused for the same idle and insolent reasons as were given before.” While Howe was striving “to avert all bloodshed and to promote an accommodation,” Serle continued sarcastically, it seemed “to be beneath a little paltry colonel of militia at the head of a banditti or rebels to treat with the representative of his lawful sovereign, because ’tis impossible to give him all the titles which the poor creature requires.”14

  While unwilling to concede Washington’s rank in writing, the Howe brothers continued their efforts to open a dialogue with him. On July 19, an officer was sent to ask whether “General Washington” would consent to meet Lieutenant Colonel James Patterson, the British adjutant general. After an opening discussion about forms of address, which resolved nothing other than Washington’s refusal to accept any letter that didn’t officially acknowledge his rank, talk turned to the treatment of American prisoners of war in Canada. Patterson read a letter from General Howe promising to address that issue; then, as he was about to leave, he suddenly raised the all-important matter of reconciliation. Washington refused to be drawn. While agreeing that King George had chosen men of high reputation to act for him, he had no authority to negotiate with them. In addition, he understood that the Howe brothers were only empowered to issue pardons, and those who had committed no crime could surely have no need of them. At that, the interview ended.15

  The following day, Washington wrote a revealing letter to his old comrade Adam Stephen, lieutenant colonel of the original Virginia Regiment, and now colonel of the Continental Army’s 4th Virginia Regiment. After outlining his current tribulations at New York, Washington harked back more than two decades to recall the dangers that they had shared as young men during the French and Indian War. These remained etched indelibly on his memory. Indeed, for all that now crowded his thoughts, he would not let July 3 and 9 pass by “without a grateful remembrance of the escape we had at the Meadows and on the Banks of Monongahela.” For Washington, the knowledge that they had survived those bloody days offered comfort for the future. Indeed, he hoped that the “same Providence” that protected them both at Fort Necessity in 1754 and at Braddock’s defeat in 1755 would “continue his mercies, and make us happy instruments in restoring peace and liberty to this once favored, but now distressed country.”16

  By early August, most of the expected British reinforcements had converged on Staten Island, swelling General Howe’s strength to some 25,000 professional soldiers fit for duty. Washington’s army also grew as new units marched in from the southern and middle states; he had about 20,000 men, although many of them were militia rather than regulars, and the sick list was longer than ever. Washington’s command was at last becoming truly continental, but this diversity brought problems of its own: frustratingly, it seemed that the rivalries that had traditionally divided the American colonists would now hamstring their struggle for independence from Britain. Washington, who had shown himself such a vigorous champion of selfish Virginian interests in 1758, now urged a united front against the common enemy. Not everyone shared his breadth of vision. Orders from headquarters on August 1 announced Washington’s “great concern” at the jealousies that had “arisen among the troops from the different provinces.” The “reflections” being bandied about by officers and men alike could only “injure the noble cause,” creating opportunities for the enemy to exploit. It was time, Washington appealed, for “all distinctions” to be “sunk in the name of an American.”17

  Now that Howe’s entire force had concentrated, his attack was only a matter of time. During the tense wait, Washington sought to steel his men to face the battle ahead, using his customary combination of patriotic appeals and sage advice, backed by a blunt warning to those who shirked or ran. General Orders on August 13 urged the troops to remember “that liberty, property, life and honor, are all at stake.” While the enemy would try to intimidate them by martial display, Washington’s soldiers should remember how such redcoats had already been repulsed “on various occasions, by a few brave Americans.” They were to be attentive to their orders, with each “good soldier” holding his fire “’till he is sure of doing execution.” On a rather different note, the orders added that “it may not be amiss for the troops to know, that if any infamous rascal, in time of action, shall attempt to skulk, hide himself or retreat from the enemy without orders . . . he will instantly be shot down as an example of cowardice.”18

  Bickering, sickly, and outnumbered, Washington’s army was obliged to defend a fifteen-mile front, stretching from the western end of Long Island to Upper Manhattan. This was a daunting task, made more so by the threat of amphibious attack: with the priceless asset of naval mobility, the Howe brothers could strike when and where they liked. On August 22—a calm, sunny morning that had succeeded a terrible night of awesome thunder and lightning—they did precisely that, landing 15,000 men and their supporting equipment on Long Island in a matter of hours and without the loss of a single soldier. Spreading over the island’s meadows, fields, and orchards like a bloodstain, Howe’s men were unopposed. Another 5,000 soon followed.

  While it was obvious that Howe had now placed “a pretty considerable part” of his manpower on Long Island, Washington’s intelligence reports badly underestimated the strength of the landing force, reckoning it at just “eight or nine thousand” men. In consequence, he remained unsure whether it would begin operations there or was intended as a feint to distract attention from an assault on New York City itself.19 Washington responded to Howe’s move by doubling his own forces o
n Long Island to about 9,000 men. The majority manned the strong fortifications at Brooklyn Heights, bordering the East River, but more than 3,000 of the best troops were ordered to hold an outlying position extending for several miles along the low, but steep and densely wooded line of the Heights of Guana. At first sight, these hills posed a formidable barrier, but their length obliged the defenders to spread themselves dangerously thin. In addition, the Heights were pierced by four “passes”; defensive forces covered three of them, but the most easterly, Jamaica Pass, was left unguarded.

  In truth, the American dispositions on Long Island were badly flawed, with the advanced troops too far forward to enjoy support from their comrades at Brooklyn and vulnerable to annihilation piecemeal. Washington, as overall commander, must take the blame. Despite his four months at New York, he had failed to familiarize himself with its geography. The problem had only been compounded by a rapid succession of local commanders. When Charles Lee departed for the south in March, the responsibility for New York’s defenses was turned over to Brigadier General William Alexander, a hard-drinking New Jersey man who called himself “Lord Stirling” because of his claim to an extinct Scottish earldom. The taxing assignment was soon after inherited by Nathanael Greene, who tackled it with his customary thoroughness. But on August 15, a week before the British landed on Long Island, Greene fell sick with a raging fever and was recalled to recuperate in Manhattan. His post was passed to Major General John Sullivan, who held it only briefly before an indignant Israel Putnam demanded that the command was rightfully his by seniority. “Old Put” got his way, which was unfortunate, as he knew even less about Long Island’s topography than his predecessors.