The Philadelphia Campaign

by Thomas J McGuire

  The friction between Continental officers from different states and the internal power politics was only one facet of the problem. Another involved those who were of British or Irish origin, not due to their place of birth but to their previous experience in European service. The Continental Army had an abundance of British- and Irish-born men in all levels of command, as well as in the ranks. Striking a balance between promoting English speakers with professional experience in regular armies and native-born Americans who had served as volunteers for a year or more was no easy matter, especially on a political level.

  Then there were the Europeans—“shoals” of Frenchmen, as Washington described the onslaught, but Germans too, and a few Poles, many with recommendations from Silas Deane, one of the American diplomats in Paris. A number of these officers were offering assistance in specialized areas such as artillery, engineering, or cavalry. Their credentials and expertise, both real and alleged, together with the political pull of their assignments caused no end of tension in Congress and among the native-born American officers. “The congress and I do not agree in politics,” Nathanael Greene told his brother Jacob in early June, “they are introducing a great many foreigners. I think it dangerous to trust so large a part of the American army to the command of strangers.” He feared that “British gold is of a poisonous quality, and the human heart treacherous to the last degree. There are no less than four general officers of the [French] nation now in the American service.” Alarmed and annoyed, Greene wrote apprehensively, “Wisdom and prudence sometimes forsake the wisest bodies. I am exceedingly distressed at the state of things in the great national council.”61

  When rumors reached camp that Congress was considering placing the Chevalier de Coudray in charge of the Continental Artillery, frustration among some of the generals boiled over. Gen. Henry Knox, the chief of artillery, supported by Greene and Sullivan, all New Englanders, wrote directly to Congress in early July and threatened to resign. John Adams was outraged; in a long, painful letter, he told Greene that the letters had placed the Congress in an impossible position. Already upset by Deane's free hand in promising high positions to the foreign officers, Congress now appeared to be threatened by its own generals. “I must be careful my Friend in Saying, that if you or the other Generals Sullivan and Knox, had seriously considered…the Necessity of preserving the Authority of the Civil Powers above the military, you would never have written such Letters.” Furious, especially with Greene, Adams recommended that the only honorable course of action for the generals would be to write a public letter of apology to Congress; “if not I think you ought to leave the service.”62 Though stung, the generals apologized.

  Sectionalism and provincialism were rife in Colonial America. The country—and the army—was divided into three general geographic sections: New England, the Middle States, and the South, representing a cultural, ethnic, and religious diversity reflected in the pattern of Colonial settlement. New England, composed of New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, and a disputed, renegade area of contention called Vermont, was referred to as “eastern”; New Englanders referred to anyone from south of Connecticut as “southern.” Its inhabitants were mostly of English Calvinist stock and were called Yankees, a term of pride among New Englanders but often one of contempt and derision by others.

  The Middle States—New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Delaware—were originally the Dutch colony of New Netherland and represented a great diversity in ethnicity, language, religion, and culture. New York City, founded as New Amsterdam, reflected old Amsterdam not so much in its Dutch Colonial architecture as in its international makeup and all-consuming dedication to commerce. Despite more than a century of English rule, the cultural influence of the New Netherland colony remained prevalent, and thousands of New Yorkers and New Jerseyans still spoke “Jersey Dutch” as their local language. Pennsylvania was only about half English speaking, and several plattedeutsche or Low German dialects mixed with English to create Pennsylvania Dutch, a Germanic Colonial language described by Dr. Johann Schoepf, a surgeon with the Anspach troops, as “a miserable, broken, fustian salmagundy of English and German.”63 There were also large areas of Welsh and Swiss, a few Swedes and Finns, and numerous Scots-Irish found in Philadelphia and along the frontier. Africans, both slave and free, were scattered throughout New England and the Middle States in small numbers.

  The South, on the other hand—Maryland, Virginia, the Carolinas, and Georgia—was dominated by large plantations with tens of thousands of African slaves. The culture was mainly English, but large numbers of Scottish Highlanders and Scots-Irish from Northern Ireland settled in the backcountry and mountains as dirt farmers and frontiersmen, adding a distinct cultural component of ornery self-reliance and fierce, rugged independence. In the Chesapeake ports such as Norfolk and Alexandria, many of the wealthy tobacco merchants were Scottish Lowlanders from Edinburgh and Glasgow. The plantation owners—the Tidewater aristocracy—dominated the political, economic, and social scene with a genteel, ruthless firmness.

  On his return voyage to England, Nicholas Cresswell made some interesting observations about the American language. Having spent three years in northern Virginia, with trips through Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and New York and an extended stay in the Ohio Valley frontier, he had had the opportunity to meet more Americans from more areas than most Americans ever had. “Though the inhabitants of this Country are composed of different Nations and different languages,” he astutely noted, “yet it is very remarkable that they in general speak better English than the English do. No County or Colonial dialect is to be distinguished here, except it be the New Englanders, who have a sort of whining cadence that I cannot describe.”64

  The sectional differences between them came through time and again, even regarding Howe's destination. Gen. Jedediah Huntington of Connecticut, stationed on the Hudson River near West Point, told his father in late July, “Genl. Washington has gone back to Pompton with Persuasion that the Enemy intend southward (you will note the General Officers about him are chiefly southern Men); at this Post (perhaps from like Partiality), We think they intend Eastward.”65 John Adams took a more cynical view a few weeks later when he wrote that among the generals, “Sullivan Thinks the Fleet is gone to Portsmouth [New Hampshire]—Greene to Newport [Rhode Island]—Parsons, up the North River [New York]—Mifflin to Philadelphia. Thus each one secures his Reputation among his Townsmen for Penetration and Foresight, in Case the Enemy should go against his Town.”66

  News from Burgoyne finally came to Howe in New York Harbor on July 15: Fort Ticonderoga was in British hands. The post's commander, Gen. Arthur St. Clair of Pennsylvania, had evacuated the fort on the night of July 5 without firing a shot, after Burgoyne placed artillery on Mount Independence. Although it was later seen as a wise move, the news shocked many in the Continental Army, and Congress recalled both St. Clair and Gen. Philip Schuyler of New York, commander of the Northern Army, pending an investigation. “The British richly harvested what they had not sowed,” Lutheran minister Henry Muhlenberg commented. “Luther had already said, in his time, that no fortress is invincible if asses can reach it with golden bullets.”67

  The easy recapture of Fort Ticonderoga further bolstered British confidence, and Howe later explained that he felt that Burgoyne had sufficient force to continue on toward Albany independently. Others would accuse Howe of abandoning Burgoyne, thus unhinging the overall British strategy.

  American opinion, too, was divided. The New Englanders were furious with the “southern” generals for abandoning the fort, and recriminations were loud and long. Referring to the infamous fate of Adm. John Byng, who was shot by a firing squad during the Seven Years’ War for failure in command, a Connecticut man wrote, “Col. [Samuel] Webb Writes from Camp…that the Army in general very much Resent the Conduct of the Northern Army, and that the Officers all say that America must have a Byng. Plain English I think!”68 John Adams seconded the idea when he wro
te in disgust, “I think we shall never defend a post until we shoot a General.”69

  As chairman of the Board of War in Congress, Adams was beside himself with fury at the loss of tons of equipment that he had spent months working to acquire. “The Papers inclosed will inform you, of the Loss of Ticonderoga, with all its Circumstances of Incapacity and Pusillanimity,” he told Abigail in mid-July, adding sardonically, “Dont you pity me to be wasting away my Life, in laborious Exertions, to procure Cannon, Ammunition, Stores, Baggage, Cloathing &c. &c. &c. &c., for Armies, who give them all away to the Enemy, without firing a Gun.”70

  On the other hand, “Some of our Leaders think it a happy event that that place has been left, as the Enemy may be tempted to penetrate into New England or York State,” Col. Percy Frazer of the 5th Pennsylvania observed, “and as there is a very good body of men ready to oppose them,” he hastened to add, “there is a good probability Burgoyne will not get so easily back, or join Genl. Howe as he may have imagined; and indeed I think he will repent this maneuver should he attempt to march into the Country.”71

  “We continue in Amazement & Chagrin at the Loss of Ticonderoga,” Gen. Jed Huntington lamented to his father. “At present, the commanding Officer stands in a very dishonorable Point of Light; however, an Opportunity of Vindication may clear him of the Disgrace that is so liberally cast upon him.”72 Even John Adams was eventually able to find a silver lining: “These vile Panicks that seize People and Soldiers too, are very difficult to get over. But at last they turn to Vigour, Fury and Desperation, as they did in the Jerseys.”73

  Concerning Howe's apparent dithering, “I agree with you in Opinion that Genl. Howe is in some Degree of Perplexity,” Huntington told another family member on July 20. Writing from Peekskill on the Hudson, he commented, “As to this Post & the Situation of our Troops in the several Camps we think ourselves so well prepared to receive him that we are less fearfull of his Advances this Way than of his Incursions into the defenceless Parts of the Country. Should he go to New England I doubt not the Militia will meet him with the Zeal & Spirit which appeared in ye Militia of New Jersey when Genl. Howe moved from Brunswick.”74

  Finally, the deadlock broke. After twelve hot and tiresome days of waiting in New York Harbor, the British fleet began to move on Sunday, July 20. “Sailed this morning from Staten Island, with all the Transports, to Sandy Hook, where we came to Anchor,” wrote a relieved Ambrose Serle, Lord Howe's secretary. “So many Ships at one Time under Sail, with the Wind for the most part ahead, which obliged them to transverse, rendered the Scene very grand & picturesque.”75

  From the Highlands near Sandy Hook that morning, Gen. David Forman witnessed the awesome spectacle of the main British fleet coming out of New York Harbor in full force, tacking back and forth through the Narrows. He told Congress that by sundown, “there was under the point of the hook and coming down 160 sail as near as we can count; it is beyond doubt that some of them have Troops on board, but to what amount cannot pretend to say.”76 The following day, Forman observed “fifteen transports & men of war joined them, & about 10 o'clock 80 small brigs, schooners & sloops came out of the Narrows & joined the grand fleet.”77

  Foul, rainy weather caused yet more delay, and with some disgust, Serle wrote on the twenty-second, “Rowed about the Fleet, & landed upon Sandy Hook, which is a dismal barren Spot, guarding the Entrance of the Harbor.” Serle was not impressed by the lighthouse, nor by the Loyalists guarding it, for he commented, “Viewed the Light-House, a stinking Edifice, by means of the oil and the Provincials stationed in it.”78

  The same storm caught the fleet that sailed with Nicholas Cresswell and Gen. Philip von Heister at the eastern end of Long Island near Montauk Point as they headed for open sea from Long Island Sound. After his last glimpse of America, a “confoundedly sick” Cresswell wrote a memorable description of the chaos on board caused by the storm: “The sea a roaring, the ship a rolling, the rigging breaking, the masts a bending, the sails a rattling, the Captain swearing, the Sailors grumbling, the boys crying, the hogs grunting, the dogs barking, the pots and glasses breaking, the Colonel ill of the Clap in bed,” he scribbled. “All from the Top Gallant truck to the keel, from the jibb boom to the taffrail in the utmost confusion.”79 It was better for Howe's fleet to wait until the storm passed.

  At long last, a fortnight after boarding the ships and more than three weeks after leaving New Jersey, Howe's army put to sea. At 6:30 A.M. on Wednesday, July 23, General Forman reported to Congress, “The signal gun for sailing was fired. The wind north-west, at seven they began to get under way, & stood for sea; after they got clear of the hook, they steered a south-east course, under a very easy sail, in three divisions.”80 On board the transport Whitby, Lt. Gilbert Purdy of the British Corps of Guides and Pioneers wrote in his own inimitable way, “The 23th the Wind Being fair We Began to wey our onkers [weigh our anchors] Abought foor o'clock In the Morning and By Nine oclock was all under way Standing Out of the hook in five Devisions Consisting Of Abought three hundred Sale with our Men of Wares & frigets to Every Devision Which was A Delightfull Site to See.”81

  The fleet proceeded slowly down the New Jersey coast, and much of it went out of sight over the horizon. Almost immediately, it became clear that the voyage was going to be long and tedious because of the summer weather cycle, the winds being generally from the south and southwest. There were also days of calm, such as July 24: “We have but little wind, the Weather is fair & very agreeable. The Whole fleet in View which exhibits a very agreeable prospect along the Jersey Shore.”82 Other days saw scorching heat and stifling humidity, often followed by terrific thunderstorms, which intensified as the summer lengthened. Each time a storm approached, the ships had to scatter to avoid collisions.

  Fog also hampered the fleet for a few days. The weather was so uncooperative that it took seven days to sail from Sandy Hook to Cape May, a distance of less than 150 miles. “Happy it is for me that I do not sail in the Navy, where I remember to have heard of a custom of throwing those passengers overboard whose sins and transgressions occasion contrary winds,” quipped Lt. William Hale of the 45th. “I am certainly one of those unlucky beings…. [This] voyage would sufficiently point me out as a proper sacrifice.”83

  News of the fleet's sailing and unknown destination caused great consternation in Philadelphia and in the American camp. Guessing that Howe was heading for the Delaware, Washington ordered Gen. Anthony Wayne to leave his brigade in camp on July 24 and head for Chester, Pennsylvania, fifteen miles south of Philadelphia, to arrange the militia gathering there in his home county. Gen. Thomas Mifflin, a wealthy Quaker merchant in Philadelphia before the war, also left the camp at Ramapo in the Clove and headed south to take charge of the city's defense.

  That same day, the Pennsylvania Supreme Executive Council entrusted John Hunn, a thirty-one-year-old Philadelphia sea captain, with a difficult secret mission: “Make the best of your way to the Sea shore and observe what course the Enemys ships stear, & their numbers, and if they have Troops on Board.” The Council placed a great responsibility on Hunn, saying, “As soon as you are convinced beyond a doubt where they mean to attack, send off a person in whom all confidence can be put, to Gen. Washington…. Repeat to the General your intelligence by another Express or two, and as much oftener as you may think proper, lest by any accident the first should miscarry.” They also requested that express riders be sent to the Council with the news and concluded with a warning to “keep the business you are going upon as much a secret as possible as you pass thro’ New Jersey.”84

  Under clear skies and a waning full moon, Captain Hunn and several companions crossed the Delaware River to Cooper's Ferry in Gloucester County to begin the long ride overland to the Jersey coast. They proceeded to Haddonfield, a large village where the New Jersey legislature had been meeting and where several important roads came together. There they picked up the Egg Harbor Road and continued east through a hamlet called Long-a-Coming, beyond which la
y a sparsely inhabited flat landscape, dark and foreboding. This sixty-mile ride to the shore passed through the Pine Barrens of West Jersey (now South Jersey), a strange, primeval wilderness of gloomy forests, tangled cedar swamps, and mossy bogs interspersed with sandy plains of oddly dwarfed pines. “The Pines,” as they were known to the locals, were a naturalist's delight and a traveler's nightmare. Wolves, bears, and panthers still prowled the dense stands of towering white Atlantic cedars and pitch pines that loomed over stunted scrub oaks and thickets of laurel and holly, where rattlesnakes lay hidden among ferns in the thorny underbrush. The cedars were so tall and thick in places that to enter them was to enter a midnight darkness, even at noon.

  On the road in broad daylight, the view was limited and monotonous, a gray-green infinity with a disorienting sameness, occasionally broken by swaths of blackened tree trunks where fires had raged until checked by “cripples” and “spongs,” sloughy creeks of tea-colored cedar water oozing through impenetrable foliage, edged by marshy clearings that swarmed with mosquitoes.85 A contemporary traveler on the Egg Harbor Road described “Shoals of Musquetoes all the way who attacked us on every quarter with great Venom” and “musquetoes in Clouds, Enough to eat up a Horse.”86