Martha Washington

by Patricia Brady

  Henry Knox was one of those success stories of the right man appearing at the right time. Only twenty-five when the Revolution began, he was a self-educated bookseller from Boston. A committed patriot since the Boston Massacre, he was tall, fat, and a man of unbeatable humor and charm. Martha was so fond of him that she later made him two hairnets, also known as “queue bags”—woven bags to bind up his long ponytail, or queue.

  Of all the military branches, artillery was the least glamorous and prestigious, but Henry chose it, learning about big guns and the strategy for fighting them from books. After Washington named him colonel and chief of the army’s artillery, his first task was to assemble enough cannons and other artillery for his men to fire.

  Martha also spent time with Lucy Flucker Knox, Henry’s hefty and fun-loving wife, but she came to know her well only later. The daughter of a fiercely loyalist family (her father was royal secretary of Massachusetts), she married Henry against their wishes. While her parents remained under siege in Boston, she was with the American forces, expecting her first child.

  The ladies of Cambridge came calling at the Vassall house now that there was a hostess at headquarters to receive them with oranges and a glass of wine. Martha also met the formidable Mercy Otis Warren of Plymouth, an accomplished playwright, poet, and leading American patriot. Her husband, James, was paymaster general of the army, charged with finding the wherewithal to keep the troops at their posts.

  A slim, sharp-featured woman, Mercy liked Martha, three years her junior, but perhaps underestimated her intelligence because of her soft southern manner. She wrote to her friend Abigail Adams that Martha had greeted her on their first meeting “with that politeness and respect shown in a first interview among the well-bred, and with the ease and cordiality of older friendship. The complacency of her manners speaks at once the benevolence of her heart, and her affability, candor, and gentleness qualify her to soften the hours of private life, or to sweeten the cares of the hero, and smooth the rugged pains of war.”

  The new army officially came into existence January 1, 1776. According to Washington, it was “in every point of View . . . entirely Continental.” The sign and countersign for the day were “The Congress” and “America.” A crowd of soldiers and civilians gathered to celebrate at the parade ground on Prospect Hill. Unfortunately, thousands of militiamen refused to reenlist, streaming steadily out of town. For a few days, until new troops arrived, the Americans were drastically undermanned, but the British didn’t attack.

  In the meantime, Henry Knox had been sent to Fort Ticonderoga in upstate New York to bring back a large supply of cannons and mortars, lead and flints. With a small group of picked men, he chose fifty-odd pieces of artillery (sources disagree on the exact number) and transported the weapons through three hundred miles of snowy mountains and icy roads. Eighty yokes of oxen dragged the forty-two sledges built for the trek; the large siege mortars, one of them known as “Old Sow,” weighed a ton each. Had he done nothing else—and he did a lot more—bringing artillery to Boston would have made Knox an American hero.

  After months of stalemate, the American army was now armed and ready. All the talk at headquarters was how and when to attack. As the commander’s wife, Martha attended closely to military news, strategies, and the shortages that so bedeviled George. A committed partisan, she boasted to her sister in a quite martial letter of the success of “our navey,” which had recently taken two British supply ships loaded with coal, potatoes, wines, and other supplies—all put to good use by the Americans.

  The large port of New York would undoubtedly be the site of British attack soon, because of both its strategic location and its large population of loyalists. Washington had sent General Charles Lee there “in case any disturbance should happen.” If the British arrived, she hoped Lee would give them “a very warm reception.” Having absorbed Washington’s concerns about civilian informers and spies, Martha fully realized the danger in New York posed by the “many Tories in that part of the world or at least many are suspected thare to be unfriendly to our cause at this time.”

  In early March, Washington sent the American army into action. Under cover of a general bombardment, the Americans fortified Dorchester Heights, overlooking Boston, and moved in men and field pieces overnight. It was a brilliant maneuver. On March 5, the British awoke to face an entrenched enemy who could blow away the city and the fleet in the harbor. After a counterattack was delayed and then prevented by a tremendous storm, the British prepared to evacuate. Among the Tory civilians who sailed away with the fleet for loyalist Halifax, Nova Scotia, on March 27 were the Fluckers; Lucy Knox would never again see her family. The siege of Boston was over.

  The city was left almost in ruins—trenches in the common, spiked cannons, piles of spoiled supplies, dilapidated and destroyed buildings, wharves and fences gone, wildly overgrown gardens. Toward the end of the siege, there had been an epidemic of smallpox, and only American soldiers with immunity, identified by their pockmarked faces, could enter safely. Because she had never had smallpox, Martha could not join Kitty Greene and other officers’ wives at celebratory dinners in the city. She did enjoy a bit of sight-seeing, taking Mercy Warren on an early morning carriage drive “to see the Deserted Lines of the Enemy.” Besides, she was busy at headquarters with Washington’s aides, making arrangements for their move.

  On April 4, George Washington began moving his troops to New York City, marching through Rhode Island and Connecticut. He sent Martha, Jack, and Nelly by a different route, their coach escorted by two of his aides-de-camp. By going through Connecticut via Hartford, they avoided the racket and clouds of dust raised by an army on the march. On April 13, 1776, Washington was in New York.

  Martha’s party didn’t arrive until four days later, delayed by Jack’s illness on the road. The Custises stayed a couple of weeks before returning to Maryland. Nelly wanted to settle in safely with her mother and sisters at Mount Airy well in advance of the new baby’s arrival.

  Though thronged with business, including trying to convince New Yorkers that the British and Americans were truly at war, George devoted his usual care to his wife’s comfort. He chose the Mortier house in lower Manhattan for their residence, probably using a separate building as his headquarters. Expecting that they would live there a while, he bought a featherbed, a bolster, some pillows, bed curtains, crockery, and pottery. Also, assuming that he would spend many future days in the field, he purchased a dining marquee (a large tent whose sides could be drawn up), a living tent with an arched chamber, walnut camp stools and tables, and other necessities for comfortable campaigning.

  Martha remained a little over a month in New York. With the arrival of the army, smallpox began running wild through the city. Smallpox was very infectious and frequently fatal and left many of its surviving victims horribly scarred, their faces as cratered as the moon. The combination of a port city and an army of thousands of young men from the countryside created the ideal conditions for an epidemic. George himself was immune because of a light case he had suffered in his youth, but Martha wasn’t. Without being inoculated, she couldn’t stay safely in New York.

  George was a strong advocate of inoculation, despite the risk of death, working tirelessly to create an army safe from smallpox. But he doubted Martha’s courage to go through the frightening procedure. As he wrote to his brother Jack on April 29, “Mrs. Washington is still here, and talks of taking the Small Pox, but I doubt her resolution.” How could he have been so blind? Martha would brave anything to be with him.

  Summoned by Congress for consultation, George took the opportunity to escort Martha to Philadelphia, out of harm’s way and with access to the nation’s best doctors if she was inoculated. They arrived on May 23, staying at Randolph’s lodging house rather than accepting John Hancock’s offer of his home. That very afternoon, Martha plunged ahead, allowing a doctor to infect her before retiring to her room for the next three weeks.

  After nearly a year in comma
nd, Washington had several changes and reforms in mind to improve the army, and he was able to convince Congress to put some of them into effect. Congressmen were considering the whole question of declaring independence; Washington considered fielding an army evidence enough of rebellion. Although he complained about being held overlong in Philadelphia by politicians, he was also keeping up his wife’s spirits throughout her quarantine. The inoculation was successful. Not a pockmark marred her fair skin.

  By June 6, Washington was again in New York, leaving Martha behind to recover completely; she rejoined him by midmonth. Then, on June 29, fifty British ships appeared on the horizon, carrying General William Howe and his troops. They settled into camp on Staten Island, awaiting reinforcements and a larger fleet from England.

  The next day, Martha Washington and Lucy Knox were hustled out of town by their husbands, who were preparing to defend the city against vastly superior enemies. Kitty Greene stayed longer, stubbornly refusing to leave, but she too finally went home, pregnant with her second child. Martha waited in Philadelphia: if nothing more came of the British presence in New York than in Boston, she might be able to return. No need to hurry home, so far away, if there was a chance of rejoining George.

  Thus it happened that Martha knew about the Declaration of Independence before her husband did. She was in Philadelphia when Congress voted for independence on July 2, when the Declaration was adopted on July 4, and when the Declaration was read and independence publicly proclaimed on July 8. Wherever she may have been staying, her closest sight of the parade, gunfire, and public reading at the State House was probably through a window. The crowds were rowdy, and few of the gentry were in evidence. George received a copy of the document on July 9. To the troops assembled on the large Broadway common, the commander read aloud the words that would change all their lives. But it would surely be no easy task.

  Sir William Howe’s brother, Admiral Lord Richard Howe, arrived soon after the Declaration with a large fleet and British reinforcements outnumbering the Americans by about two and a half to one. For six weeks, there were skirmishes and halfhearted suggestions of peace from the Howes, about which George wrote to his wife. Martha’s hopes were buoyed by the opinion of some Philadelphians who “begen to think thare will be noe Battle after all.”

  Also heartened by the soldiers making their way to New York and a letter from her husband, on August 28 Martha rejoiced to Nancy: “I thank god we shant want men.” Ironically, that was the date of the Battle of Long Island, an American defeat. Shortly afterward, terrible news reached Philadelphia. The American forces under Washington’s command had pulled back from New York City, seriously mauled. They were retreating up Manhattan Island, and supporters of the Revolution had to face the possibility that their cause could be lost. Martha went home as soon as possible. She wouldn’t be joining her husband in New York City any time soon.

  Harlem Heights, Valcour Bay, White Plains, Fort Washington, Newport—one American loss followed another until Washington was driven into Pennsylvania. Congress was terrified that the successful British army, now in control of New Jersey, would march straight to Philadelphia and punish the supporters of the Revolution. They fled the endangered city and reconvened in greater safety at Baltimore in early December.

  Martha and George continued writing their weekly letters, his filled with the blackest news, though they were often delayed or went astray. In October, a packet of letters from American headquarters was stolen from an express rider as he refreshed himself at a tavern and taken to the British commander, including one for Martha that General Howe politely returned. Even in the middle of loss and vexations, George maintained his steady concern for Mount Vernon and his wife—ordering holly trees planted and sending down two likely bays for the team that drew Martha’s coach. Back home, she fretted and worried about her husband. As general of the rebellious army, he would surely face death if the war was lost.

  But there was also new life at Mount Vernon. Martha was delighted with her first grandchild, Elizabeth Parke Custis, described by her proud papa as “the strapping Huzze [hussy],” born August 21. Jack declared seriously that she was “as fine a Healthy, fat Baby as ever was born.” Her black hair and eyes were like Nelly’s. “It is as pretty & Fine a Baba as ever I saw. This not my opinion alone, but the Opinion of all who have seen Her.” Her grandmama had to agree when she finally saw baby Betsy.

  Winter fell unusually hard that year, the roads froze, snowdrifts piled high, and still the American army hadn’t gone into winter camp by late December. From the defeats suffered and the almost miraculous escapes pulled off, Washington was learning effective tactics to use against a large professional army. He was learning to mitigate the weaknesses and maximize the strengths of American soldiers. He was on the way to creating a new sort of army, one that would survive to fight again and again until it wore down its opponents.

  The string of unbroken losses at the end of 1776 had created a mood of gloom throughout a nation that hadn’t yet celebrated its first birthday. It seemed possible that the Revolution would be crushed long before the next fourth of July. Washington turned that gloomy foreboding around. His surprise crossing of the icy Delaware River into enemy-held New Jersey on Christmas evening and the victorious attacks on Trenton and Princeton gave the nation new hope—particularly when British forces pulled back to their stronghold in New York City. New Jersey was in American hands again. Washington’s army then settled into winter camp at Morristown, New Jersey, in January 1777.

  The winter at Morristown was a preview for Valley Forge—severe cold, short supplies, muttering soldiers going home when their enlistments ran out. George was lonely and missed Martha. The erratic arrival of his letters from home was “mortifying, as it deprives me of the consolation of hearing from home on domestic matters.” No one, he believed, “suffers more by an absence from home than myself.”

  Before the roads were quite clear, Martha set out for Morristown in late February, arriving at the camp in mid-March 1777. One way or another, her husband had mismanaged all her housekeeping arrangements, and she was forced to arrange everything anew for their convenience. Her arrival also acted as a signal for the arrival of the other women—officers’ wives, sisters, and daughters, as well as visitors from the neighborhood. They gathered around Martha, sewing in hand, chatting and gossiping, commenting on or contriving romances.

  Everybody enjoyed being with the Washingtons at headquarters because of their obvious fondness for each other and the good cheer they radiated. Martha doted on her “Old Man,” as she called him. Bystanders were often amused when the formidable general, so often the object of dumbstruck respect, failed to notice that his “dear Patsy” was talking to him. That short, determined lady would yank on his coattails to get his attention, until he smiled down lovingly from his great height. She humanized the national hero—or rather demonstrated his humanity to those who hadn’t seen it. Himself very happily married, Nathanael Greene could recognize love when he saw it: “They are very happy in each other.”

  Martha Daingerfield Bland, the wife of Colonel Theodorick Bland of Virginia, was in camp that spring. Like many women, she was charmed by Washington’s “politeness and attention” as well as his ability to “be downright impudent sometimes.” She and her husband went to headquarters nearly every day “from Inclination.” Washington devoted the morning and early afternoon to military and political matters, but from dinner on he enjoyed the society of Martha and their visitors. “His Worthy Lady seems to be in perfect felicity while she is by the side of her Old Man as she calls him.” In the afternoons, a large group often rode out on horseback through the beautifully rolling countryside.

  A newcomer at headquarters was Alexander Hamilton, recently appointed aide-de-camp. Brilliant, polemical, and wildly ambitious, the twenty-year-old Hamilton seemed to be the perfect aide, secretary, and right-hand man to Washington. Born in the West Indies, he had been sent to King’s College in New York, where he threw himself i
nto the patriots’ cause. Although he dreamed of further combat, he made the most of his close association with the commander in chief.

  Another young man joined Washington’s inner circle after Martha went home in June. In July, a nineteen-year-old French nobleman arrived at camp. Fired with the desire for glory and fed up with a miserable life ruled by his overbearing father-in-law, the Marquis de Lafayette had broken free and sailed to America. Overwhelmed by his position and wealth, Congress appointed him a major general of the Continental Army—even though he had no military experience. Washington suffered constant aggravation from congressional infatuation with foreign officers—many of them bogus, others totally unsuited to serve in a republic—all of them demanding high ranks and commands. But Lafayette was different. He had come to learn from Washington, not to peacock about. He became the son Washington had longed for and that Jack Custis could never be.

  Howe brought his army from New York by ship to the head of the Chesapeake and then marched on Philadelphia—not so much because he wanted the city as that he wanted to force Washington into battle so he could destroy the American army. Congress hurriedly departed westward for Lancaster and then farther west to York, which became the interim American capital. They demanded that their general prevent the capture of Philadelphia.