Amazingly, the weather changed again. A thick fog blew in, masking the ongoing evacuation. One officer near the Marylanders recalled, “Those of us who remained in the trenches became anxious for our own safety. And when the dawn appeared there were several regiments still on duty. At this time, a very dense fog began to rise and seemed to settle in a particular manner over both encampments. I recollect this particular Providential occurrence perfectly [well]; and so very dense was the atmosphere that I could scarcely discern a man at six yards’ distance.”
What remained of Samuel Smith’s 8th Company was very nearly left behind in the evacuation at Fort Putnam. Unaware of the timing of the planned retreat, Captain Smith’s men stayed near the fortifications. “One of the corporals informed Captain Smith that he had been up and down the lines, and not a man was to be seen.” Concerned, the captain sent out two lieutenants to continue the search. “On their return they reported that all the troops had gone, where they knew not.” Smith ordered the company into the main redoubt, believing that the rest of Washington’s army had abandoned them, leaving them behind “as a forlorn hope.” His fears were allayed, however, when a lieutenant arrived and told him of the ordered retreat and that the rest of “the regiment was, by that time, in New York.” Smith and his men hurried to the river, passing General Washington on the way. The general asked the young Baltimore captain “how it happened he was so late; and he answered he had received no orders until a few minutes past.” Luckily, the Marylanders arrived in the nick of time. They climbed into the very last boat to leave shore, “and had scarcely got off from the wharf, when the British Light horse appeared on the hill and fired their carbines without doing any injury to [us].”
The Battle of Brooklyn was a disastrous defeat for Washington. He later estimated American losses at about one thousand men killed or captured, with the majority of the casualties being taken as prisoners. Many of those losses came from the Marylanders. More than half of Smallwood’s Battalion was either killed or captured. Those that were captured were almost certain to die in the hulls of prison ships in New York harbor. The British and Hessians lost a small fraction of that number.
But as dawn broke on August 30, Washington had avoided a far worse fate. He had pulled off one of the greatest military retreats in history, giving the Americans a precious chance to regroup.
Chapter 11
Manhattan
On September 15, 1776, the American sentries on duty at Kips Bay, near today’s Thirty-Fourth Street on the East Side of Manhattan, looked out into the dark, heavy gloom. As dawn slowly transformed the sky from black to gray, shadows began to take shape on the waters of the East River.
Nearly as one, the British frigates and other warships fired a seventy-gun broadside at the Patriot defenses, blasting them to bits. The Americans had a series of trenches and breastworks anchored on the high hill at Iclenburg, later known as Murray Hill. “All of a sudden there came such a peal of thunder from the British shipping that I thought my head would go off with the sound, recalled Private Thomas Plumb Martin. “I made a frog’s leap for the ditch and lay as still as I possibly could, and began to consider which part of my carcass would go first.”
Gradually as the scene unfolded, Martin and the other Americans saw, to their horror, what approached the Manhattan coast: an armada of flat-bottomed boats carrying British soldiers filled the horizon as far as the eye could see.
After a pause of more than two weeks following their decisive victory in Brooklyn, the British were finally making an amphibious landing at Kips Bay. Panicked by the sudden attack, the Americans began to flee. When word reached Washington, the general rode into the vortex of the battle in a vain attempt to stop the streams of men fleeing for their lives. It was William Smallwood’s first time in the thick of actual combat since the French and Indian War. The portly, taciturn officer groused,
I have often read and heard of instances of cowardice, but hitherto have had but a faint idea of it, ’till now I never could have thought human nature subject to such baseness—I could wish the transactions of this day blotted out of the Annals of America,—nothing appeared but flight, disgrace, and confusion, let it suffice to say that 60 light infantry upon first fire put to flight two brigades of Connecticut troops.
Normally cool and deliberate, George Washington became unhinged. “Wretches, who, however strange it may appear, from the Brigadier General down to the Private Sentinel, were caned and whip’d by the Generals Washington Putnam & Miflin,” recalled Smallwood, “but even this Indignity had no Weight they could not be brought to stand one Shot.” In a related incident, William Beatty noted that “a New England Captain Was Dressed in Woman’s apparel arm’d With a Wooden gun & Sword & [was] Drum’d out of the army for Cowardice.”
Cowardice wasn’t the only crime attributed to the American soldiers. Two Marylanders, William Arnold and Sam Clark, along with a member of the New York regiment, were accused of plundering the Manhattan mansion of Lord Stirling. When Washington found out about the incident days later, he ordered the three “to restore to the Quarter Master General, what they have taken, in failure whereof they will certainly be hanged.” The two Marylanders were released, owing to insufficient evidence, but the New Yorker was sentenced to thirty-nine lashes.
Waves of British soldiers stormed ashore and fought against token resistance as they pushed inland toward their first objective: Murray Hill. In the midst of the unfolding disaster, Washington became catatonic in an open field with dozens of British soldiers only eighty yards away. Nathanael Greene remembered that the general became “so vexed at the infamous conduct of his troops that he sought death rather than life.” Eventually an aide pulled the general from the field of battle.
With the British advancing into Manhattan, thousands of American troops abandoned their defenses in the southern portion of the city. After seizing Murray Hill with virtually no fight, an advance party of British light infantry got as far as what’s now the site of the New York Public Library on Forty-Second Street. But rather than cut off the retreating Patriots or strike north, Howe stopped.
The reason for the temporary halt isn’t completely clear, but according to legend, a local Quaker woman named Mary Lindley Murray may have played a role. Sympathetic to the American cause, Mrs. Murray is said to have invited Howe and the other officers to eat in her home in order to give the Patriots time to escape. She and her daughters reportedly used their charms to keep the officers entertained, while a maid kept watch from an upstairs window and let the women know when Washington’s men had gotten away safely.
While Mrs. Murray’s seduction may have played a role, some historians doubt that the invitation to eat—given by a mother of twelve in her fifties—was the entire reason for Howe’s delay. A more practical consideration may have caused Howe to halt the army. According to General Henry Clinton, Howe issued an order to wait for reinforcements from a second wave of British and Hessian troops coming ashore. As soon as the second debarkation took place, Howe and Cornwallis resumed their pursuit of the Americans fleeing north. Washington called upon the Marylanders to make a desperate stand, this time around Ninety Sixth Street and Fifth Avenue near today’s Central Park. The Marylanders dug in behind rocks and the hilly ground of McGowan’s Pass, where the Post Road, the main artery for escape, ran between two hills before emptying into Harlem. “Washington expressly sent and drew our Regiment from its Brigade, to march down toward New York, to cover the Retreat. . . . [We took] Possession of an Advantageous Eminence near the Enemy upon the Main Road, where we remained under Arms the best part of the Day, till Sergant’s Brigade came in with their Baggage, who were the last Troops coming in,” reported Smallwood, “upon which the Enemy divided their Main Body into two Columns, one filing off on the North River endeavored to Flank and surround us, the other advancing in good order slowly up the Main Road upon us.”
The Marylanders, led by Mordecai Gist and Smallwood, put u
p a stiff defense, allowing the last American regiment to escape into Harlem before retreating themselves in good order around dusk. Their resolute stand stopped the British light infantry’s advance, and once again, the Marylanders were part of a critical rear guard that allowed the rest of Washington’s army to escape. Nevertheless, the landing cost about 350 American casualties; most of those were taken prisoner. As before, the British gained ground but failed to trap Washington’s army.
On Harlem Heights, Washington rallied his broken army. After digging in, the general sought to gain intelligence on the disposition of the British and sent out 150 rangers under Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Knowlton. The fearless thirty-seven-year-old veteran of the French and Indian War was beloved by his men and often led them in battle by enthusiastically bellowing, “Come on, boys!”
Infiltrating British lines on the morning of September 16, 1776, Knowlton’s Rangers hit the pickets outside Howe’s camp. The New Englanders fired several shots and retreated behind a stone wall. The British mobilized their troops and charged Knowlton, whose men unleashed over a thousand rounds into the incoming sea of Redcoats. Expending most of their ammunition, the rangers retreated back to Harlem Heights with the British only about five minutes behind them in hot pursuit.
Led by the light infantry, the three hundred troops chasing Knowlton were the vanguard of a larger main body of British infantry that surged toward the American defenses at Harlem. Washington’s adjutant recalled how the British attempted to humiliate their American opponents: “The enemy appeared in open view and in the most insulting manner sounded their bugle horns as is usual after a fox chase. I never felt more such a sensation before; it seemed to crown our disgrace.” Cocksure, the Light Bobs charged forward, foolishly leaving their flanks exposed. Washington saw the weakness and quickly devised a plan to entrap the advancing Brits: the Marylanders and other units would engage the light infantry’s front and distract them while Knowlton and riflemen from Virginia would circle around their rear and attempt to entrap them. The hunters became the hunted.
Knowlton’s Rangers and the Virginians used a ravine to obscure their movements as they crept up on the British left flank. Unfortunately, several rangers opened fire before the American encircling maneuver could be sprung; they soon found themselves hitting the British flank rather than the British rear. Knowlton and another ranger officer were killed in the unfolding action.
Upon hearing the sound of musket fire from the rangers (the signal to open up the frontal attack), the Marylanders sent concentrated musket fire tearing through the British light infantry, halting their advance. One participant noted, “Never did troops go to the field with more cheerfulness and alacrity; when there began a heavy fire on both sides. It continued about one hour, when our brave Southern troops dislodged them from their posts. The enemy rallied, and our men beat them the second time. They rallied again; our troops drove them the third time, and were rushing on them.”
One Maryland officer noted, “The Marylanders, were ordered to march down the hill and attack the enemy, which they did [they made a bayonet charge]; and a smart contest ensued, in which the enemy gave way.” Lieutenant William Beatty’s Flying Camp was also involved: “The action was very sharp on both sides. . . . [One of the men] was wounded in the breast and the other on the back of his arm above the joint of his wrist and so down to his fingers. The bone is not broke.” Men like Beatty, Jack Steward, Samuel Smith, John Eager Howard, and Gassaway Watkins likely took part in the battle, gaining valuable experience that steeled them for the long years of war that lay ahead. The Marylanders and other units forced the British to make a retreat through a buckwheat field that is today the grounds of Barnard College and Columbia University.
As the afternoon wore on, both sides poured reinforcements into the battle. The American line held, and eventually the British retreated back to their lines. Washington recalled the gory aftermath of the battle: “[From] the appearance of blood in every place where they made their Stand and on the fences they passed, we have reason to believe they had a good many killed and wounded.” With the Marylander and American flanks now exposed, and wishing to avoid the fate of the enemy’s light infantry, Washington wisely called off the attack. By about 3:00 p.m., the Battle of Harlem Heights was over; the victory, while small, gave a much-needed boost to the sagging morale of Washington’s troops.
The lines remained static in front of Harlem Heights after the battle, with each side sending out patrols to probe the other’s defenses and gain intelligence. On September 17, Maryland Lieutenant Jack Steward went behind British lines on a scouting mission accompanied by elements of another regiment. They attacked the British forward positions, and the two forces began to skirmish.
In the aftermath of the fight, Steward was brought before a court-martial on charges of “striking Sergeant [William] Phelps of Colonel [Gold Selleck] Silliman’s regiment, and of threatening the life of Colonel Silliman.” According to sworn testimony, Steward took Phelps to task for his performance in the battle, calling him a “damned coward.” Steward struck Phelps and then argued with Colonel Silliman, who had arrived to break up the dispute. When Silliman ordered the arrest of the Marylander, Steward threw his hat on the ground and exclaimed, “I’ll go to my tent—all you can do is to take my commission, but I am a gentleman, and will put it out of your power, for I will resign it, and in less than two hours will be revenged on you, God damn you.”
Both men got off with a slap on the wrist: the court found Steward guilty of striking Phelps, but not of threatening Silliman. It determined Phelps was not guilty of cowardice. Neither man received punishment.
Despite the courts-martial, desertion was rampant. The army employed executions in an attempt to stem the tide of deserters. One sergeant from New England gave up hope, deserted, and attempted to shoot one of the American officers in the process. He was condemned to death for treason, and Delaware’s Captain Enoch Anderson was ordered to take twenty of his men and shoot the man. “I drew near to the fatal spot,” recalled Anderson; “—the prisoner was kneeling in front of the parapet, with a cap over his eyes. We came within twenty feet of him,—his every nerve was creeping, and in much agony he groaned. I groaned, my soldiers groaned,—we all groaned. I would rather have been in a battle.” At the last second, someone cried out, “A pardon, a pardon!” Amazed that he was to be spared, the condemned man cried, “Oh! Lord God, oh! I am not to be shot—oh! Oh!” The reprieve also had an emotional impact on the would-be executioners. Anderson wrote, “Such are the feelings of sympathy, that the tears of joy run down my cheeks. I was not above my poor boys, each also shed their tear. Gloomy as was the morning, the evening turned out crowned with pleasure.” Not only was the man not executed, but Washington allowed him to continue serving as a soldier. He remained faithful to the Patriots for the remainder of the war.
With most of Manhattan in British hands, Washington and several of his generals wanted to torch the city rather than allow it to be used to garrison the British army. “I would burn the city and the suburbs,” advised Nathanael Greene, who was gravely ill. “If the enemy gets possession of the city we never can recover the possession without superior naval force to theirs.” Washington made the same case to Congress “but was absolutely forbid.” Despite the congressional order, somehow a fire began on September 21 as the Americans retreated. Soon the city was engulfed in an immense column of fire and smoke. Chaos ensued as the residents attempted to flee. One eyewitness wrote, “The sick, the aged, women and children, half naked were seen going they knew not where. . . . The shrieks and cries of the women and children . . . made this one of the most tremendous and affecting scenes I ever beheld.” Before the blaze was extinguished, more than six hundred houses, around 60 percent of the buildings in the city, had been consumed. As New York burned, Washington expected the British to attack Harlem Heights, but once again the Howe brothers’ aversion to casualties led to another plan: an amphibious landing b
ehind Washington’s lines. Smallwood captured the dramatic moment of the British landings while writing a letter to the Maryland Convention: “I must break off abruptly, being ordered to march . . . the enemy landed thousand[s] of men. There is nothing left but to fight them.” New York was surrounded by water, and nothing there was safe from the British navy.
Chapter 12
When Twenty-Five Men
Held Off an Army
On the morning of October 12, 1776, a dense fog shrouded Long Island Sound, dampening noise and reducing visibility to near zero. Despite being in a war zone, local fishermen went about their business without realizing what lay hidden nearby. As the rising sun burned off the cloud cover, the stunned anglers suddenly found themselves among a sea of barges loaded with soldiers, horses, and cannon. Soon a frigate belched fire, providing shore bombardment for the Howe brothers’ newest amphibious assault.
At first light, eighty British boats landed on Manhattan’s Throgs Neck Peninsula in southeastern Bronx, the current location of Throgs Neck Bridge. A creek cut across the narrow peninsula at one point, making it more like an island at high tide. Ten days earlier, the Americans had stationed twenty-five crack riflemen led by Pennsylvania’s Colonel Edward Hand to defend the area. The colonel and his men destroyed the bridge across the creek, creating a natural choke point and kill zone. When he saw the approaching juggernaut, Hand and his men dispatched a messenger to carry news of the landing to the American generals and steeled themselves behind a woodpile to await the enemy’s advance. Against all odds, Hand’s twenty-five men successfully held off four thousand British soldiers long enough for reinforcements to arrive.
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