Washington's Immortals

by Patrick K. O'Donnell

  Suddenly, dozens of British soldiers burst out of the brush on the side of a road. Believing themselves under attack, the Marylanders opened fire. The Redcoats were stunned to come upon their enemy so abruptly. They had been on a foraging mission and were carrying large sacks filled with sweet potatoes and other vegetables they had claimed from nearby fields. Unprepared for battle, the Brits struggled to load their muskets, but the Patriots quickly overpowered them. Delaware’s Sergeant Seymour wrote, “Most of [them] we either killed, wounded, or captured.”

  The foraging party had set out at dawn that morning on Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Stewart’s orders. While they carried their muskets, their primary goal for the day was to collect food. Shortly after their early morning departure, a pair of American deserters informed Stewart that Greene was nearby and on the move. Stewart immediately sent out some scouts—fifty cavalry and 140 light infantry, led by Major John Coffin. Just a few miles down the road, the cavalry ran into what they believed to be a party of militia and charged. In fact, they had run headlong into Greene’s column, led by Lee’s Legion. Greene’s force responded with heavy fire, killing or capturing a number of Redcoats. When Coffin realized his mistake, he broke off and hurried back to inform Stewart that Greene’s army was on the way.

  Meanwhile, the sound of the gunfire alerted the rest of the foragers that something was wrong. They split into smaller groups to make their way back to camp. Unfortunately for the British, many of those groups stumbled into the column of marching Patriots on the way. All in all, about half of the foragers were killed or captured, and the other half remained cut off from Stewart’s army until after the battle, reducing the number of troops he had at his disposal to just fourteen hundred.

  The Redcoat colonel “determined to fight them, as from their numerous cavalry a retreat seemed to me to be attended with dangerous consequences.” With the Americans only four miles away, British drummers beat a call to arms. Stewart hurriedly arranged his defensive lines. His troops had pitched their tents in an eight-acre clearing surrounded by a palisade and some sparse woods. A large brick mansion owned by the Patrick Roche family and several smaller outbuildings also lay on the property, providing excellent cover for the British troops. As on many Revolutionary War battlegrounds, a road—in this case, the main thoroughfare to Charleston—bisected the property.

  Greene marched his men about three miles before calling a halt so that they could take one last action to prepare themselves for battle—drinking from the casks of rum carried by the army’s wagons. Otho Holland Williams recalled, “We halted and took a little of that liquid which is not unnecessary to exhilarate the animal spirits upon such occasions.”

  Greene then formed his men up for the battle. He planned to attack in three lines. Going back to Daniel Morgan’s plan at Cowpens, militia, troops from North and South Carolina, Marion’s men, and Lee’s Legion made up the front line, while the Marylanders, Virginian Continentals, and North Carolina troops made up the second. Meanwhile, the forces led by William Washington and Robert Kirkwood remained in reserve. The assault began around nine in the morning, with the militia engaging the enemy. “The militia advancing with alacrity, the battle became warm,” Greene recalled. “The fire ran from flank to flank; our line still advancing, and the enemy adhering to his position.”

  The North Carolinians pushed the British back, but began sustaining heavy casualties. The militia carried muskets, but none of them had bayonets. Withering under the heavy British fire, the militia line began to bow. Sensing victory, the British charged. At this moment, Greene ordered the two Maryland regiments into action along with the Virginia Continentals. The Marylanders consisted of two battalions of roughly 250 men each, commanded by Williams. John Eager Howard led one battalion, while Major Henry Hardman led the other. Hardman had been one of Williams’s officers since before Fort Washington, and he was also captured and later released in a prisoner exchange around the same time as Williams. The Continentals surged forward “through a heavy cannonade and a shower of musquet balls. Nothing could exceed the gallantry and firmness of both officers and soldiers upon this ­occasion—they preserved their order and pushed on with such unshaken resolution, that they bore down all before them.” At this critical moment in the battle, Greene issued the order: “Let Williams advance and sweep the fields with his bayonet.” As the British fell back in response, Williams ordered his men to charge. A number of soldiers from both sides “fell transfixed by each other’s bayonets.”

  Unable to halt the disciplined advance, the British began a hasty retreat, leaving behind two of their six-pound guns.

  Amid the fighting Doctor Richard Pindell was dressing the wounds of injured soldiers. “I pushed on to join the troops just as the Grand Charge was ordered,” he recalled. “Discovering some of our troops formed on the left of the road under the command of the brave and intrepid Ewing six [men] had the disposition to hang back and were getting in disorder unobserved by this Hero who was dauntlessly advancing in their front, I rode to him under Heavy fire of both cannon and musketry and aided him in forming his men at the risk of my life and a few minutes after they took two pieces of British artillery, killing and dispersing all the troops designated to guard them.”

  Victory was within Greene’s grasp when disaster struck. As the men surged forward, they passed the British bivouac area, scores of tents on either side of the road that bisected the plantation. The tent poles and rigging became an obstruction and a hindrance to troops moving toward the brick Roche plantation house, which itself was a natural fortress. Riflemen from inside began picking off the Americans, who attempted to hide in the tents, their only source of cover. Ewing was wounded seven times, and “nearly all his men were killed or wounded,” recalled Pindell.

  One version of events states that because they felt confident that the enemy was on the run, the Marylanders, Virginians, and militiamen ceased fighting and instead began looting the British camp. As always, the troops were hungry. They fell on the stores they found, eating their fill and getting drunk on the stockpiled liquor. The officers attempted to get them to focus on the battle—which was not yet truly won—but to no avail. This version seems to conflict with the reports that Stewart had sent out foraging parties, indicating the British camp was lacking in food. No matter the reason, the Patriots’ advance stalled, giving their enemy crucial time to regroup.

  Stewart had given orders to his men to retreat into the plantation mansion in case of an American breakthrough. A footrace ensued between the forces, both of which realized the importance of the house’s stout walls. Much like the Chew House in this battle of Germantown, the Roche house played a decisive role in this battle. Major Henry Sheridan and his force of Loyalists from New York got to the house first. The Patriot group closest to the house was that led by Lieutenant Edward Manning of Lee’s Legion. Manning charged halfway through the door before Sheridan’s men forced him out and barred the door just in time. To avoid the withering fire from inside the house, Manning and his men used British soldiers as human shields while they made their way back to the American lines.

  Around the same time, another British group, led by Major John Majoribanks, moved closer to the house to support Sheridan. They occupied a thicket and creek bank, which provided some cover. Their position proved crucial as the battle played out.

  The Patriots continued to approach the brick mansion, drawing close to several British six-pound cannon, which were located nearby. As the Maryland Line captured two of them, Lieutenant Edward Duvall, who fearlessly led the forlorn hope at Ninety Six, jumped on one of these cannons. He “took off his hat and gave three cheers. A bullet from a retreating British soldier knocked him off the artillery piece, mortally wounding him.” Also assaulting the cannon was a young South Carolinian, Dick Johnson, who jumped from his horse as he approached one of the six-pounders, and “taking a nail from his pocket, stuck it in the touch hole and drove it home with his basket hilt
e-broadsword.” Spiking the cannon in this way prevented it from firing—at least until the nail could be removed. Johnson’s macabre appearance mirrored the gory nature of the clash. Facing the house, his white trousers and waistcoat in which he had ridden into the battle now “bloody as a butcher from head to foot” he bellowed, “You have plagued us all day, you shall plague us no more.”

  In an attempt to dislodge the enemy from the house, Greene called the artillery forward, both his own six-pounders and those captured from the British, intending to blast Sheridan out of his stronghold. But the artillerists made a crucial error, costing them many lives. They moved too close to the building, putting themselves within musket range of those inside. While the crews manned their guns as long as possible, they “drew all the fire from the windows” on themselves. Sheridan’s musketeers “soon killed or disabled nearly the whole” of the American artillerists.

  Sword in hand, Howard led his Marylanders in a charge on the residence. Like the artillerymen, the Marylanders ran into a “galling and destructive fire” from the brick building. Two of Howard’s lieutenants were killed, and he himself was shot in the shoulder. Still, he continued directing the assault and “could not be prevailed on to leave the field . . . for many hours,” recalled Doctor Pindell, who treated him during the melee.

  Greene’s army had not learned from the Americans’ failure to bypass the British-held residence in the battle of Germantown; it would have been wise to abandon their plans to occupy the Roche house and instead continue to pursue the fleeing British troops. The attack on the residence was costly, depriving the Americans of momentum and thwarting their opportunity to win the battle decisively.

  Greene made one last attempt to secure victory, ordering Lee, William Washington, and Kirkwood to charge both flanks of the battlefield. Rushing into the woods where Majoribanks was holed up, Washington’s horse was shot out from under him, and he went down, tangled with the animal and open to a bayonet attack. A British soldier came upon him and pinned Washington with his bayonet, but he was miraculously spared from certain death when a British officer intervened. The Redcoats captured the wounded commander, but shot and killed his second in command and two of his officers. In all, half of Washington’s men were killed or wounded. Kirkwood and his “gallant band” of Delaware troops “rushed furiously” to the aid of Washington, making a bayonet charge that pushed the enemy back through a ravine and up the other side before their advance stalled. They also recaptured one of the British cannon and rolled it back to American lines. On the other side of the field, the British cavalry turned back the drive made by Lee’s cavalry.

  Majoribanks again counterattacked, turning the tide of the battle against the Patriots. Greene withdrew his troops, leaving Stewart to claim a pyrrhic victory. Mortally wounded in the fighting, Majoribanks was buried on the side of the road, where his marked grave remains to this day. The encounter with Stewart’s army took a heavy toll on Greene: he lost 42 percent of his men in the bloody three-hour battle, one of the highest percentage losses of the entire war in a fixed battle in which neither side was completely victorious. His officers had been hit particularly hard. Three, including Washington and Howard, were wounded, and several were killed; only Williams and Lee were left unscathed by the melee. Williams summed up the feeling in the Patriot camp. “Victory is ours,” he wrote, despite the fact that the Americans had been temporarily driven from the field. “A great many [Maryland officers] now sleep in the bed of honor while [the enemy are] leaving many wounded [on the battlefield].” Fearing a renewed assault, Stewart retreated to Moncks Corner without taking the time to bury the British dead. He left seventy wounded soldiers behind under a flag of truce.

  Stewart did, however, pause long enough to set fire to the muskets and ammunition the Americans had left behind, setting off a round of explosions and firing. The eruption of fire caused a general panic in the British camp, and many, including those in charge of watching William Washington, fled. Bound by his deeply embedded code of honor, Washington remained where he was until they returned and took him into custody again.

  Despite Stewart’s attempt to eliminate the stores they were leaving behind, Greene’s army collected “not less than a 1000 stand of arms that were picked up on the field, and found broke and concealed in the Eutaw springs. They stove between 20 and 30 puncheons of rum, and destroyed a great variety of other stores which they had not carriages to carry off.” The general also sent Lee and Marion to chase down Stewart and his men. In a panic because they believed Greene’s army was engaging the rear guard, Stewart’s wagoneers cut loose the horses and fled, allowing the Patriots to capture a trove of valuable wagons, baggage, and other supplies.

  Though the battle, the bloodiest by far of the southern campaign, may have seemed a defeat for Greene as his army was the first to retire from the battlefield, it was a strategic victory. Except for intermittent, minor raids, the British retreated back to Charleston and never ventured into the interior of South Carolina again. Within the span of about ninety days, Greene’s army, led by the Marylanders, had systematically eliminated nearly all the British outposts outside Charleston. The Marylanders and Kirkwood’s Delaware Blues had kept the army together once again and had achieved Greene’s strategic objectives. Bottled up in Charleston, the British in South Carolina would not be joining Cornwallis in Yorktown.

  Chapter 41

  “Conquer or Die”—

  Yorktown

  A flag bearing the words “Conquer or Die” gently fluttered in the wind as General George Washington and his Life Guard, the unit responsible for his personal safety, rode toward Baltimore. It was September 8, 1781, and Baltimore’s most distinguished residents and a company of Light Dragoons had ridden to the edge of town on horseback. They waited with anticipation for the arrival of the general, much as they had years before when he first visited the city. In the intervening years, the Marylanders had been fighting for Washington, saving his army on several occasions. Now they had come full circle, and once again they escorted him to the Fountain Inn.

  As the general and his official escort approached Baltimore, the group included four officers, seven NCOs, 136 privates, one fifer, two drummers, and one surgeon. All were chosen for their “sobriety, honesty and good behavior,” but they also had to be “five feet eight inches to five feet ten inches, handsomely and well made, . . . clean and spruce.” Extremely accomplished at drill exercises, the group often served as an example when Baron Friedrich von Steuben was training other units. The élan of the Life Guard was manifested in its clothing: plumed hats and blue-and-buff coats as well as red waistcoats that set it apart from any other unit. On this occasion, the Guards’ presence added extra pomp to the festivities.

  Baltimoreans came out to greet Washington and his entourage as enthusiastically as if they had already won the war. As the visitors rode into town, an artillery company fired its cannon in salute. Lanterns blazed through the night, and the town fathers held a banquet in Washington’s honor at a local coffeehouse. Samuel Smith, Mordecai Gist, William Smallwood, and Jack Steward attended, and several prominent citizens gave speeches. With the presence and countenance befitting a man who would become America’s first president, Washington responded to the exaltations with his own uplifting words: “I thank you most cordially for your prayers and good wishes for my prosperity. May the author of all blessings aid our united exertions in the cause of liberty and universal peace; and may the particular blessing of heaven rest on you and the worthy citizens of this flourishing town of Baltimore.”

  While he was greeted with less ceremony, another noteworthy individual arrived in Baltimore on the same day General Jean-Baptiste Donatien de Vimeur, comte de Rochambeau. After the celebration in Baltimore, he and Washington both traveled to Mount Vernon, where they plotted strategy for the upcoming offensive against Cornwallis.

  For the past several months, a siege mentality had persisted in Baltimore. The town had
been gripped by fear because of Cornwallis’s presence in Yorktown, Virginia: Baltimoreans were worried that he would strike deeper in the Chesapeake. The Chesapeake Bay was a pathway vulnerable to British invasion that the Crown had never fully exploited, but it would attempt to do so later during the War of 1812.

  Since the battle of Camden, Gist, Smith, and Smallwood had been actively recruiting men to join Nathanael Greene’s army as well as organizing a defense force within Baltimore. Gist came up with a complicated plan to divide the population into socioeconomic classes, which would each supply men for the Maryland Line. A bill to realize the plan passed the Maryland legislature, but General Washington doubted that it would work. In fact, the recruiting plan was not very successful, and Greene soon complained about the need for more Marylanders to fill the army’s ranks.

  A month earlier, on August 14, Washington had received startling news: twenty-nine French ships of the line carrying thirty-two hundred troops had sailed from the Caribbean to the Chesapeake and would arrive there in the first week of September.

  During the Revolution up to this point, the Royal Navy had maintained naval superiority on the entire East Coast. Any city along the coast was vulnerable to an amphibious landing. Conversely, British troops that got into trouble could be easily extracted by ship. Admiral François-Joseph-Paul de Grasse’s arrival altered the naval balance of power. At the time, neither Cornwallis nor General Henry Clinton completely understood the danger both were in. The Admiralty assured them that they had at least parity with the French. With the arrival of de Grasse’s fleet the calculus of the war had changed. True to their name, ships of the line would form a line of battle at sea and unleash a devastating broadside against an adversary. Each ship bristled with guns; de Grasse’s flagship, the multilevel Ville de Paris, alone sported 104, ranging in size from thirty-six-pound to eight-pound long guns.