What had caused the panic? That was the question every one asked and none could answer to the satisfaction of his comrades. In the fog some of Wayne’s men and some of Stephen’s mistook a dim and distant line for the enemy and exchanged fire several times; the retreat had continued for some distance before the identity of Stephen’s right flank was understood by Wayne’s soldiers. Also, about that time the British cut off the Ninth Virginia and thereby disordered the left wing. The main cause of the retreat probably was that on the right the British advanced fresh troops with much vigor when Sullivan’s men were extended, half exhausted and almost without ammunition. Washington, Sullivan and most of the others believed that the halt at the Chew House, the exchange of fire on the left, and confusion created by the fog had given the beaten British troops time to rally.
Much was made of Greene’s failure to attack at the time General Orders directed. In most respects the reason was misfortune, not misconduct. Greene’s march was longer than had been reckoned; his troops had been formed at too great a distance from the enemy; certain of the troops had marching orders so complicated that even their guide lost his way. In spite of this, some of Greene’s men had pushed gallantly on but had encountered unexpected resistance. Greene’s retreat on the left had about the same justification—whether it be deemed full or partial—that Sullivan’s had on the American right. Apparently the most serious failure on the left was Stephen’s. He was alleged to have given the order to retreat, though he maintained he shouted to his men that they were running away from victory. The principal charge against Stephen was that, if not actually drunk, he had been drinking so heavily for so long that he was not able to discharge his duty with sound judgment.
Had the British been surprised? Did the speedy appearance of the light infantry indicate that they were under arms when the attack began? Washington was of opinion that surprise was achieved “so far as reaching their guards before they had notice of our coming.” General Howe insisted, on the other hand, that the only surprise was that of an attack by Washington so soon after the defeat in the Battle of the Brandywine. Patrols had learned at 3 A.M. of the approach of the American columns and had notified the British commander without letting the Continentals know their advance had been discovered. All the British regiments had then been put under arms promptly, but some of the senior officers had remained skeptical and thought the alarm had been created by a mere “flying party.”
Strangely, the details of the attempted simultaneous convergence of Washington’s columns received little analysis by the Americans. Washington scarcely could have demanded more of his officers than that they conduct their illshod troops in darkness over comparatively unfamiliar roads to distant positions, deploy and form them and have them ready to attack together at dawn. The American commander patiently studied the routes and timed the march of the separate columns by the condition of the various roads as well as by the distance to be covered; but he did not succeed in drafting orders that put every movement in simple, understandable language. The marvel is not that the left elements were late because the guide lost his way, but that they reached their objective at all.
The results—were they in keeping with the effort, or were they, too, a frustration? Perhaps the answer was given unwittingly by a Germantown diarist who wrote October 5: “Great numbers came out of town today to satisfy their curiosity as to the battle yesterday, and everyone spoke as they affected.” That was it: each man’s sympathy shaped his judgment. Washington’s faith in the fundamental rightness of his cause led him once again to assume the enemy’s losses must be larger than his own, though, actually, his gross casualties, including prisoners, were close to eleven hundred and those of the British about half that. The American commander shared, also, belief that the advance halted and panic began when Howe was about to retreat across the Schuylkill and perhaps even to Chester—a belief for which there is not a shadow of justification in Howe’s report to his government.
Heavy as were losses, mistaken as was the Commander-in-Chief regarding nearness of victory at the onset of panic, the undertone of army comment on the battle was even more optimistic than after the contest on the Brandywine. The struggle in the fog around Germantown yielded no ground to the Americans and imposed on the British no damage serious enough to hamper their efforts to open their line of supply up the Delaware River, but in spirit, losers were gainers. Thomas Paine reported to Franklin that the troops appeared “to be sensible of a disappointment, not a defeat.” Washington was distinctly of that mind. The most he conceded to adversity was: “Upon the whole, it may be said the day was rather unfortunate than injurious.”
MAP / 12
THE HUDSON HIGHLANDS, 1776-1783
CHAPTER / 13
American troops were learning their bloody business and tactically were by no means as inferior to the British as they had been a year previously. Many officers were increasing both in understanding and in appreciation of their seniors. Washington rose, rather than waned, in esteem, as a result of the Battle of Germantown. His plan was not criticized; his boldness in attacking so soon after the defeat on the Brandywine was applauded. He and his Army received the thanks of Congress. Hope for the future was buttressed by the spirit of the Army. American soldiers had shown, Washington reminded them, that “the enemy are not proof against a vigorous attack, and may be put to flight when boldly pushed.”
During the night of October 12/13, Washington had news that on the sixth a British force had stormed successfully the two guardian defences of the Hudson, Fort Montgomery and Fort Clinton, on the west bank of the river, approximately four miles northwest of Peekskill and about forty-eight from New York harbor. Washington had said often that the loss of the passes of the highlands would be well nigh fatal to the American cause in New York and the eastern States. It was for this reason, among others, that he had regretted the necessity of calling on Putnam after the Battle of the Brandywine for 2500 troops. Washington had directed that the garrisons of all non-essential outposts under Putnam’s command at Peekskill be recalled. He had hoped that Connecticut militia would replace the withdrawn Continentals and, in the gamble of probability, thought it likely that if Sir Henry Clinton’s British troops made any move from the vicinity of New York, they would attempt an overland march to join Howe. Washington now was proved in error. He took pains to make clear the circumstances in which he had felt compelled to recall troops from Putnam and did not blame that officer for the reverse. Neither did he attempt to minimize the possible consequences for which both Congress and he were held by some to be responsible.
Then came a strange revival of good fortune. By their capture of Forts Montgomery and Clinton the British had unlocked the southern gate to the region in which Clinton and Burgoyne were to meet; the very next day Horatio Gates slammed the northern gate. For a second time on Freeman’s Farm Burgoyne offered battle, October 1, and advanced a column which the Americans repulsed and pursued in a savage action that continued till late evening. Burgoyne could not hope to penetrate farther southward. General Gates hoped that even retreat would not be possible. Incomplete news of this action reached Washington late on the fourteenth and changed instantly the outlook on the Hudson. It was confirmed on the eighteenth when an express laid before him this dispatch from George Clinton:
Albany, October 15, 1777
Last night at 8 o’clock the capitulation, whereby General Burgoyne and the whole army surrendered themselves prisoners of war, was signed, and this morning they are to march out towards the river above Fisher’s Creek with the honors of war (and there ground their arms). They are from thence to be marched to Massachusetts Bay. We congratulate you on this happy event and remain, yours &ca.
Great possibilities seemed to lie ahead—the Hudson no longer a possible boundary line between free and subjugated States; troops to reenforce the thin divisions that confronted Howe, restoration of faith in victory and the rally of militia to the cause. Hopes built up at Germantown were raised higher. Washin
gton was gratified personally as well as officially, because he had done all in his power to assist first Schuyler and St. Clair at Ticonderoga and then Gates, but he and many other persons were now to be much irritated. Gates was guilty of incomprehensible tardiness in forwarding a detailed report. When the triumph was confirmed, it was so “important and glorious,” in Washington’s words, that he stifled the anger he felt because of the failure of Gates to send the dispatch through Headquarters. There was no undertone of jealousy in anything Washington said of the victory. Perhaps the closest approach was in the observation that Gates was said to have had fourteen thousand militia with him. Washington remarked of the New England States that mistakenly were supposed to have sent so many men to the Northern Department:
Had the same spirit pervaded the people of this and the neighboring States, we might before this have had General Howe nearly in the situation of General Burgoyne, with this difference, that the former would never have been out of reach of his ships, whilst the latter increased his danger every step he took having but one retreat in case of a disaster, and that blocked up by a respectable force.
Never for an hour, while operating close to deep water, could Washington forget seapower.
As if in acknowledgment of the change in its prospect the Royal Army vacated Germantown on the night of October 18/19 and drew back to Philadelphia. Washington moved his camp to White Marsh, but he could do no more than “hover” around the Quaker City. Below that city an effort was being made by the British to clear the way for the supply ships, without which Howe could not hope to hold the town. Washington was responsible for manning the forts and selecting the officers to command them, but the defence on the water was in the hands of officers responsible to the Navy Board and working in cooperation with Commodore John Hazelwood, who had full power over the Pennsylvania Navy. In so clumsy an engine of war, loss of motion was unavoidable; friction was all too likely. Two days before the Battle of Brandywine, the British had occupied Billingsport on the Jersey shore of the Delaware but they made no effort to seize Red Bank, five miles above Billingsport. On the Pennsylvania shore, the British were hoping to place batteries on Province Island, a marshy part of the mainland cut off by small creeks. The Americans worked steadily on the defences at Red Bank, styled Fort Mercer. The other principal American fortification consisted of four blockhouses and a battery of ten eighteen-pounders. These works were known as Fort Mifflin and were located on the treacherous ground of Port Island, nineteen hundred yards from Fort Mercer. The defenders had fashioned heavy timber obstructions which had been sunk across the channel. If the enemy tried to remove these chevaux-de-frise they could be swept by artillery in the forts. Above these barriers were light craft, most of which were galleys that could be maneuvered rapidly and with precision.
With patient enterprise, the British succeeded in planting their siege guns on Province Island and began, October 10, a steady bombardment of Fort Mifflin. By the twenty-first, it was manifest that a general assault on the river defences was impending. The destruction of Fort Mifflin was undertaken October 22 by British land batteries and by six men-of-war that came through an opening where two of the chevaux-de-frise had been pulled up. Fort Mercer and American craft gave hearty help to the guns of Fort Mifflin. At length, badly punished, the British vessels started back down the river, but a sixty-four-gun ship, the Augusta, and the frigate Merlin ran aground. The same day a force of about twelve hundred Hessians attempted to storm Fort Mercer. The effort was defeated completely at a cost to the assailants of about four hundred casualties. The final stroke of this successful phase of the defence came on the twenty-third, when an explosion wrecked the Augusta and fire destroyed the Merlin.
This repulse, in Washington’s judgment, was nothing more than a respite, but it afforded time to strengthen Fort Mercer and it gave him a few more hours each day in which to meet, as far as he could, increasing needs of an enlarged Army. The Commissary still was demoralized by loss of men and by the regulations Congress had shaped unwisely. Quartermaster General Mifflin had neglected his duties for months and was now in such ill health that he had to quit his office. Where the issue of shoes was concerned, the men in the ranks doubtless would have insisted that no change could be for the worse. The need of blankets was equally desperate. During November Washington was to write: “There are now in this Army by a late return 4000 men wanting blankets, near 2000 of which have never had one, although some of them have been twelve months in service.”
Washington faced all his familiar difficulties and some he had not experienced previously. Over certain periods, he lost more men by desertion than he gained by enlistment. Now that the forests around the camps were flying the red and yellow warnings of autumn, the Army began to dissolve. Besides losing the militia, Washington soon would have to say farewell to some and perhaps all the troops of the first nine Virginia regiments because their time was expiring. In their place, if for a short period only, Washington must get Pennsylvania militia, but how he did not know. There was one other area from which men might be drawn, trained men at that: the line of the Hudson no longer would need as many troops as were with Gates and Putnam. Many could be sent to Pennsylvania, but in this, as in much besides, the gulf between could and would was wide.
Washington did not have the uniform support of able lieutenants who understood his perplexities and intelligently endeavored to relieve them. Though he had some senior officers like Greene, Lincoln and Knox, who were developing steadily, several lacked essential qualities of leadership. The Army had been for weeks without sufficient generals and now Francis Nash, a promising North Carolina Brigadier, died of wounds. In addition, five general officers of experience faced charges—Prudhomme de Borre for mismanagement or worse at Brandywine, Sullivan for the affair on Staten Island and for the action of September 11, Wayne for the attack on his troops near Paoli, Stephen for misconduct and excessive drinking, and Maxwell for substantially the same charges. De Borre resigned; Sullivan was acquitted unanimously and given by Congress a vote that was an apology in all but explicit words; Wayne was said by the court to deserve “highest honor.” Maxwell was given something of a Scotch verdict, but Adam Stephen was not that fortunate. He was convicted of “unofficerlike behavior” and of “drunkenness” and was recommended for dismissal. Washington approved the sentence. While the Commander-in-Chief did not say so, he undoubtedly was glad to be rid of Stephen, but the need of additional officers remained. Congress named Alexander McDougall of New York a Major General and gave like rank to Robert Howe, a North Carolina Brigadier, whom Washington did not know. Among the effects of this shortage of senior officers was a lack of discipline among ambitious, place-hunting colonels. Other regimental commanders were discouraged by the low purchasing power of their pay and promotion over them of foreigners and staff officers regarded as pets of powerful generals. The main Army was outraged, in particular, by the compliance of Congress with the request of Gates that Lt. Col. James Wilkinson be given brevet as Brigadier for bringing the news of Burgoyne’s surrender. There was, as always, the canker of controversy over seniority.
Applications of foreigners for high rank in the American service continued. The Commissioners in France were embarrassed by what Silas Deane styled the “rage” among Frenchmen for this adventure. The agents in Paris were told firmly that the decision of Congress to refuse commissions to foreigners who did not understand the English language must not be construed to mean that all those who had knowledge of that tongue would be employed. Meantime, Congress begrudgingly advanced money to French officers who either were extravagant or were without funds of their own. In the embarrassing case of du Coudray accident served where diplomacy had failed. On September 15 this ambitious officer had insisted on remaining astride his horse when he was going aboard the Schuylkill ferry. The animal had taken fright and plunged into the river. Du Coudray was drowned—a “dispensation,” said John Adams, “that will save us much altercation.” Thanks to the example set by Lafayette
, Duportail and a few others, Washington was undergoing a change of mind concerning qualified foreign officers, but at this time most of them added to burdens which soon led Greene to say: “I think I never saw the Army so near dissolving since I have belonged to it.” Apparent disintegration had been a continuing process, the worst of which had not been realized yet; but this time it had not brought Washington as low in spirit as he had been in 1776 when he had written his brother: “If every nerve is not strained to recruit the New Army with all possible expedition, I think the game is pretty near up. . .” Now, when he sketched for the same brother’s eye the perplexities he faced, Washington said: “I am doing all I can in my present situation to save them; God only knows which will succeed.”
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