Anxiously the morning passed without a British movement. Afternoon brought a measure of temporary security at the price of hours of wretched discomfort. A cold rain fell on ground already watersoaked. The temperature dropped; chill and moisture pervaded everything; it was impossible for many of the soldiers to keep even their firearms dry.
On the morning of the twenty-ninth Washington saw through the downpour the carefully drawn outline of a British redoubt, for which the enemy had broken ground during the night. The earthwork was arrogantly close—not more than six hundred yards from the American left—and on a site well chosen. Washington immediately accepted the rising mudbank as confirmation that the British were to undertake the capture of the American lines by regular approaches over a stretch of land favorable to that type of operation.
If Brooklyn was to be besieged, it was imperative that the wounded be sent to New York and that fresh troops take the place of those who were weary, wet and disheartened. Washington thought it probable that the British might attack New York while part of Howe’s army held him in Brooklyn and did not strip New York of its last guards. Instead, he called additional reenforcements from the Flying Camp of Gen. Hugh Mercer at Amboy. The number who could be supplied from that quarter was small and the troops themselves were newly mustered militia, but any help would be an encouragement.
The day wore on wearily, in unrelenting rain and deepened gloom. Arms could not be put in order; much ammunition was spoiled by dampness; honest-minded commanders had to ask themselves whether their wet and weary men could stay in the flooded trenches if the British delivered a strong attack. An alarming report came of the presence of British ships at Flushing Bay. There was fear that the British might be moving part of their troops to Flushing, perhaps to cross to the mainland and assail King’s Bridge. Added to these circumstances was the regretful assurance informed Brooklyn citizens gave that even if the obstructions in the main channel stopped the British men-of-war, armed ships of light draft could pass between Long Island and Governor’s Island. No obstruction had been placed on that stretch because the water had been regarded as so shallow that no vessel could nagivate there. This and almost every other strategical aspect of the operation were a reminder Washington scarcely needed—that he continued to keep his small Army dangerously divided in the face of an adversary who controlled the waterways and therefore could concentrate in force wherever desired, whenever wind and tide permitted.
These adversities combined so manifestly to threaten the destruction of the dispersed American Army that Washington felt he should consult his council of war. That afternoon, at Philip Livingston’s country house, he asked the seven Generals then in the Brooklyn defences whether, in the words of the minutes, “under all circumstances, it would not be eligible to leave Long Island and its dependencies, and remove the Army to New York.” The decision of the council was unanimous for evacuation and was affirmed in a brief paper to which all subscribed. Washington himself reduced the decision to its simplest terms when he said the decisive facts were the regular approaches of Howe over favorable ground and the prospect of being cut off by the fleet.
Preparation had to be started at once for the transfer of ten or twelve thousand men across East River in the darkness. In a short time the activity of officers, whispered exchanges, the arrival and dispatch of messengers made it plain to the troops that something was afoot. As the men speculated, many concluded they were to be called on to attack the British, but as quickly as possible after nightfall, men and moveables were sent to the ferry landing whence they were rowed to New York. The hours seemed agonizingly long for those who had to wait, and not long enough for officers charged with getting all the troops and equipment to New York. Effort tipped the scale. Before dawn all the men except a few sentinels had been put aboard. The heavy guns only had to be left behind, because they sank hub-deep in mud from which they could not be pulled by all the men who could put hand to rope.
The battle had been lost; the campaign must not be!
On August 30 and 31 the small garrison of Governor’s Island was transported to New York under the very eyes of British naval officers still balked by that persistent northeast wind, a strong if temporary American ally. Washington ruefully was reckoning the number of good leaders he had lost on Long Island. Stirling, cut off, had surrendered in person to Gen. Leopold von Heister; Sullivan had been caught on the twenty-seventh about a hundred yards from the post of one of the Hessian commanders. Now, on the thirtieth, Sullivan came over to New York on parole, sent by Lord Howe to give notice that the British Admiral wanted to see some members of Congress in order that he might explain to them the nature of the peace mission with which he and his brother, the General, were entrusted. Washington was of opinion that in a matter important in form, even if deceptive and fragile in substance, he should not deny Sullivan the privilege that officer sought of going to Philadelphia and repeating to the Delegates what Howe had told him. Off Sullivan rode—to put the match to a controversy hot and furious.
The success of the British operation, as Washington saw it, was due to lack of vigilance on the part of Sullivan’s men, who guarded the Flatbush and Bedford Roads but failed to prevent surprise along the Jamaica Road. Washington was justified in this judgment, to the extent at least that the field officers on the left had neither the force nor the experienced direction required to thwart a flank march soundly conceived and executed with brilliant precision. In plain words, the Redcoats had outclassed the Continentals. The American Commander-in-Chief had appeared to be a tyro, a bungler as well as a beginner, in comparison with the English General. Washington himself did not attempt to review the details and set down in full the reason for the defeat. The decision to evacuate Long Island was sound and militarily economical. A very different story might have been written had Washington attempted to escape the night after the battle or even August 28/29. He had been the more willing to take the risk of remaining until he could leave without heavy loss because he was inclined to think that Howe was going to undertake regular approaches. In this, Washington was correct. Despite urging by some of his subordinates, the British commander had refused to press his attack on the evening of the day he turned the American left.
The defeat led immediately to a crisis that absorbed Washington’s thought so completely he had no time for retrospect or for self-reproach: Before he could complete the reorganization of the Army necessitated by the death or capture of officers, he found, as he said, that “the check our detachment sustained . . . dispirited too great a proportion of our troops and filled their minds with apprehension and despair.” Militia began to melt away. Almost by regiments they left their camps and started home—discouraged and unpaid, disillusioned and embittered. Other temporary soldiers were coming from Massachusetts and Connecticut to take the place of those going home; but these unwilling recruits had no small arms, tents or even camp-kettles, and, in most instances, no stomach for a fight. Washington knew there would be some conscientious individuals among the Long Faces, but he did not believe these new militia, en masse, would be any better than the old.
The situation threatened the dissolution of the Army—in the face of a powerful, confident adversary free to maneuver almost at will because of British sea power. It was Washington’s good fortune and perhaps the salvation of America that the British, with the élan of victory, were under the command of a man whose innate caution was deepened by the desire of his brother, the Admiral, and by his own ambition to pursue negotiations for peace before employing to the utmost bayonets and cannons. General Howe’s slowness was a boon; it could not be an escape. Sooner or later the British would strike somewhere on the front of sixteen to eighteen miles defended by half-demoralized men whom Washington reckoned at less than twenty thousand effectives. The militia continued to slip away in such numbers that General Mercer did not believe Washington could muster among them more than five thousand dependable soldiers.
Certain defensive arrangements could be made. Th
e enemy could be confronted with the most vigilant of the officers; reenforcements from Virginia and Maryland, as well as the incoming militia, could be hurried forward; the sick could be removed from exposed New York; surplus supplies could be hauled beyond the snatch of the British lion; seasoned troops could be taken from the forts and could be replaced by men of the Flying Camp; all the roads that flanked American positions could be blocked; North River could be obstructed more stoutly and could be subjected to a heavier cross fire from batteries; the garrisons of the highland defences of the Hudson might be strengthened; available troops might be posted where they could be moved quickly to meet any force landed from British transports. Other expedients might suggest themselves after the form of the attack on New York was disclosed; but would they, could they suffice? Nathanael Greene, well enough by September 5, was of opinion that no effort should be made to save the town. It should be burned and evacuated, he said; two-thirds of the property there belonged to Tories anyway. Heath argued that the city should be held, if possible. Rufus Putnam, acting Chief Engineer, considered fortification a waste of energy where so many landing places existed. Washington said, “Till of late I had no doubt in my mind of defending this place, nor should I have yet, if the men would do their duty, but this I despair of.” It was for Congress, he thought, to say whether the town should be destroyed or left alone. As he phrased it in its least painful form, the question was, “If we should be obliged to abandon the town, ought it to stand as winter quarters for the enemy?” The answer he gave himself was plain: he would apply the torch to the entire city if permitted to do so.
Congress had a different view, of which he was informed by September 6: “Resolved, That General Washington be acquainted, that the Congress would have especial care taken, in case he should find it necessary to quit New York, that no damage be done to the said city by his troops, on their leaving it: The Congress having no doubt of being able to recover the same, though the enemy should, for a time, obtain possession of it.” Washington read this in the belief that it might represent one of the capital errors of Congress, but he determined to make the best defence he could. Manhattan Island was thirteen miles in length. The town of New York occupied slightly less than the lower three miles. North of the town was the district called Bloomingdale. Beyond that, the land rose gradually in a rocky formation, known as Harlem Heights that ran southeast-northwest to a declivity about eight miles from the lower end of the island. Beyond this stretch the ground rose higher on the western side of the island and formed a cliff with an elevation of two hundred feet and a little more. King’s Bridge, which spanned Harlem River, was one of the important military positions. Whoever held firmly that crossing and its approaches could open or shut the gate upstate and into New England.
To cover King’s Bridge the Americans had constructed Fort Independence at the southern end of the Fordham Heights. On the cliff south of King’s Bridge the Continentals were erecting a large earthwork which they called Fort Washington. The whole of the adjoining high ground had recently been dubbed Mount Washington. Almost directly opposite these works was Fort Constitution, soon to be renamed Fort Lee, on the Jersey side of North River. Its fire and that of Fort Washington crossed where obstructions had been placed in the river to keep the British from using the Hudson. Below Mount Washington on Manhattan no large work had been erected except in New York City itself, but a high ridge could be used for defence against an adversary who commanded the plains of Harlem. In the city a redoubt had been erected on Bayard’s Hill, and trenches had been dug wherever a landing seemed likely or a field of fire was offered. Most of these works appeared later to a British observer to have been “calculated more to amuse than for use.” The key positions were King’s Bridge and Fort Washington. During the difficult days of early September Washington suspected that the enemy intended to land near King’s Bridge, hem him into the area south of Harlem and sever his communications. Proper disposition to meet such a move called for a council, which Washington brought together September 7. Over the vigorous opposition of Greene, a majority of the council recommended that an effort be made, as Congress desired, to hold New York.
The British by September 7 were feeling their way up East River with a contentious frigate and were completing a battery on Long Island opposite Horne’s Hook. On the eighth this battery opened but quickly drew the fire of American gunners who were confident of their skill after having had the better of exchanges with the British frigate. Then, on the tenth, the British occupied Montresor’s Island. From that post they could land either on the plains of Harlem, south of King’s Bridge, or on the Morrisania estate, whence they could flank the position at King’s Bridge by a march of six or seven miles. A bad situation was getting worse. Signs multiplied that the enemy’s attack was to be both north and south of King’s Bridge.
The apparent imminence of this two-pronged thrust at the vitals of the Army led Greene to circulate on September 11 a petition to Washington for review of the decision to defend New York. Washington himself believed it futile and perhaps fatal to attempt to hold the town, and he responded immediately with a call for a new council September 12. This time all except three of the participants were for the evacuation of the area south of Harlem River, with the exception of Fort Washington, as soon as supplies could be withdrawn. Washington reported this decision to Congress. He warned the President of Congress that the council regarded the situation as “extremely perilous.”
September 13 brought more evidence that the onslaught might be close at hand. A forty-gun ship started up East River and opened on the batteries, which responded angrily. British guns on Governor’s Island went into action. Washington rode over to one of the forts to see whether the movement of the enemy had begun, but he found no indication of an immediate landing. On the fourteenth came assurance from Congress that its resolution against the burning of New York was not to be construed to mean that Washington “should remain in that city a moment longer than he shall think it proper for the public service that the troops be continued there.” About sunset word reached Washington that six ships or more were proceeding to a station in East River, that British troops were being assembled on the islands in Hell Gate, and that widespread movement was observed by scouts and lookouts. Anxiously, Washington hurried to Harlem in the belief that the blow would fall there or across the mouth of Harlem River at Morrisania. On arrival he saw what others had reported but no additional preparation. Fire had not been opened; no landing had been attempted. Washington rode back to new Headquarters opened at the home of Roger Morris, near King’s Bridge and on Harlem Heights, whence he thought he could proceed more quickly to a threatened position than from his old office.
The next morning was quiet until about eleven o’clock, when a sound of heavy firing rolled up to King’s Bridge. It did not come from the plains of Harlem or from Morrisania but from a point farther down East River than Washington had expected. The apprehensive General started for the scene of the bombardment. While six transports had remained off Bushwick Point, five warships had left that temporary station at earliest dawn and had anchored broadside the New York shore from Kip’s Bay southward at a distance of about eleven hundred yards. Up North River at that very hour a trio of ships were making their way to Bloomingdale. If those men-of-war in North River were intended to cover a landing there simultaneous with one on East River, then the hour of decision had come.
About ten o’clock Americans who had a clear view of Newtown Cove on Long Island, saw British flatboats move out of the mouth of the creek and take shelter astern the transports. Men from other boats climbed up the sides of the ships, which manifestly were to convey the troops to some landing place—but what place? Eighty British guns began to roar shortly before 11 A.M. American supports did not venture within less than half a mile of the shore; the men who were expected to meet the first landing were pinned to their lines. Paralyzing fire continued for more than an hour. About 1 P.M. the bombardment ceased and different sounds bec
ame audible, shouted commands, the grinding of bows on the river bank, the dull percussion of heavy feet on boat bottoms, and then—British and Hessians splashing ashore and forming on both sides of Kip’s Bay, at one point within forty yards of the Continentals’ breastworks.
It was not long after this landing that Washington rode up at furious pace with his aides—only to find that the militiamen had abandoned their trenches without firing a shot and were retreating in mad confusion. Generals Parsons and Fellows were doing everything they could to rally the men but their commands were unheeded. Washington and the young officers with him rode among the scattered troops and tried to form them. It was in vain—Washington’s wrath rose. “Take the wall,” he shouted, “take the cornfield,” and he pointed to the positions. Some men filed out from the road to do as he said; Parsons tried to get them into a line, but the panic-stricken outnumbered those who kept their heads. Fellows’ Brigade broke and scattered. In Watts’s orchard, on the right of the assailed front, a few men disputed the advance of Hessians—only to see the Germans shoot down and bayonet Americans who came forward with uplifted hands to surrender. Nearer the landing place at Kip’s Bay Washington continued his efforts to rally the half-frenzied men, but just when it looked as if he might get some hundreds of them to stand, a body of sixty or seventy British soldiers started towards them. The Americans broke, ran away, and left Washington and his aides to face the attacking party without a single musket. Washington had to give ground himself and, intensely humiliated, had to send orders for Harlem Heights to be secured. Over on the Bloomingdale Road, about that time, the cry was raised that British light horse were attacking the rear. That completed the panic of some and speeded the retreat of the others. The British pursued as far as Murray’s Hill, while the advance was pushed towards Harlem Heights and was extended by the left flank across to North River.
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