The weeks that followed were busy. First came the verdict in the court-martial of McDougall. A mild reprimand administered in General Orders ended the unpleasant case in a manner so satisfactory to McDougall that he declined to prosecute his countercharges against Heath. The first week of August brought word that a French fleet had reached the Chesapeake and was going to Boston with an attack on Penobscot as its principal object. At Rochambeau’s instance, Washington sent the Admiral, the Marquis de Vaudreuil, a strong warning that the prize was not worth the risk.
Washington received a remarkable letter on the evening of August 4 over the signatures of Carleton and Robert Digby. It dealt with British policies of peace and exchange of prisoners and was patently an invitation to negotiate. Washington passed it on to Congress with a request that he receive “directions for my government.” Washington suspected a trick to deceive America and reasoned that so long as there was doubt, the country should be vigilant and prepare more vigorously than ever for any eventuality. When Congress resolved to make public the letter the people were told that no report of any negotiations had been received from American ministers abroad; warning was given of the danger of any relaxation of effort.
Several changes in the position and organization of the Army occurred during the uncertainty that followed the receipt of the Carleton-Digby letter. Congress directed that Greene hold his troops in the Southern Department; but the northward march of Rochambeau’s regiments continued, and Washington moved his Army to Verplanck’s. The arrival of Rochambeau September 14 was celebrated joyfully. Horatio Gates came back to the Hudson early in October and received assignment to direct the right wing. The Army, said the Commander-in-Chief, “was better organized, disciplined and clothed” than ever it had been. Of adverse conditions, the only one that threatened trouble was a widespread discontent among officers who believed Congress was neglecting them.
The sad item in the news was that John Laurens, the brilliant, devoted young patriot, had been killed August 27 in resisting at Chehaw Neck, South Carolina, a British foraging party. Washington seldom attempted to eulogize dead comrades and the most he could say now was: “The death of Colonel Laurens I consider as a very heavy misfortune, not only as it affects the public at large, but particularly so to his family and all his private friends and connections, to whom his amiable and useful character had rendered him peculiarly dear.” At approximately the same time Washington learned that Charles Lee had come to the end in Philadelphia. Washington in his correspondence noted only the fact that Lee was dead.
By the middle of October Rochambeau concluded that Charleston or New York would be evacuated and that he safely could move his troops to Santo Domingo. Lest the enemy be stirred to action, it seemed best to have it appear that Rochambeau was proceeding to New England to establish his forces around Boston or Providence for the winter. The columns moved on October 26 and 28 to the vicinity of Newburgh and Little Britain. Rochambeau, Chastellux and several of their juniors came back to Newburgh December 7 on their way south for embarkation because Vaüdreuil could not transport the whole French force on his ships. The tone of exchanges with these faithful allies was that of affectionate au revoir. “I could not have bid a brother farewell,” said Washington afterwards, “with more regret than I did the Chevalier Chastellux, than whom no man stands higher in my estimation.”
Within ten days after Rochambeau started down the Hudson, Washington heard that the British fleet had left New York. Reports circulated once again that New York was to be evacuated. But evil auguries matched the good. Resentful officers, more outraged than ever by Congress’ disdain of their applications for relief, prepared a wrathful address, which McDougall and others were to carry to Philadelphia. Signers were of a mood to demand, not to petition. Washington’s word to a friendly Delegate was serious: “The temper of the Army is much soured, and has become more irritable than at any period since the commencement of the war . . . What [Congress] can or will do in the matter does not belong to me to determine; but policy, in my opinion, should dictate soothing measures. . . .”
The coming of January 1783 found Washington of opinion that Charleston had been or soon would be evacuated. When confirmation of the reported abandonment of the South Carolina city was received, the good news came at a time of some personal annoyance to Washington. Heavy use of his eyes had led him to “try” the spectacles worn by some of his companions and from these he selected lenses he asked that David Rittenhouse duplicate for him. A distress of different nature concerned a member of his family. “In God’s name,” he wrote, “how did my brother Samuel contrive to get himself so enormously in debt?” Besides this, Washington’s mother was complaining that the overseer of the Falls Quarter was sending her nothing. Officially, there was the usual embarrassment of winter over the absence of senior officers and distress over the death of Lord Stirling.
Washington scarcely knew on what scale to project operations. Sound strategy would prompt a powerful blow against New York, in order to drive the British from their last stronghold in the United States; but he hesitated to attempt this because of Continental finance and the peace negotiations. For such a major effort he believed he could rely on the Army, nor did he question the willingness of officers to meet any challenge by the enemy. It was different with officers’ attitude towards Congress and their own future. Many of Washington’s subordinates displayed restlessness, discontent and ill-temper he had no means of overcoming. Some of the men close to Washington thought that Gates and his supporters were responsible for at least a part of the demoralization of the officers, but the Commander-in-Chief had no proof of this.
He did not take the full leadership in dealing with Congress that Hamilton and other Delegates urged him to display on the Army’s behalf. These members were anxious for Washington to intervene persuasively after they had done the little they could in Philadelphia to remove officers’ suspicion that no promise of money, or land or half pay would be remembered after the Army was discharged. The officers’ address had asked money for discharging part of the accumulated pay of the troops. Congress recognized both the obligations and limitations on its ability. Argument and delay angered the officers on the Hudson, but nothing especially ominous occurred until March 10. Then Washington was handed a written copy of a call being circulated for a meeting of general and field officers the next day. He was given, also, a transcript of a fiery and rhetorical appeal to the holders of commissions to make a vigorous demand to Philadelphia. This appeal, like the call for an assembly of officers, was anonymous and violent. It meant that if the war continued, its author wished the Army to desert Congress, leave the coast defenceless, and set up a new state in the wilderness. The alternative proposed might be the maintenance, if peace came, of an Army that would refuse to lay down its weapons.
This appalled Washington. Here seemed to be defiance of civil authority, threat of mutiny of a new sort, a revolt that might have leadership sufficiently experienced and intelligent to overthrow Congress and the governments of the States. He put in General Orders of March 11 a denunciation of “such an irregular invitation” and “such disorderly proceedings.” A new meeting was set by him for the fifteenth, at which representatives of all regiments would decide what further measures should be adopted “to attain the just and important object in view.” Washington must go before his subordinates in person and exert all the influence he had over them to reduce the chance of a foolish step. A public appearance of this sort was worse than distasteful; but nothing less than this might suffice, and even this might not be enough.
On the fifteenth Washington went to a large wooden structure the soldiers had completed a few weeks previously. He strode to the crude lectern, visibly agitated. He had put his thoughts in writing and with the permission of his brother-officers he would read what he wished to say. The anonymous address, he said, was “calculated to impress the mind with an idea of premeditated injustice in the sovereign power of the United States, and rouse all those resent
ments which must inevitably flow from such a belief.” He proceeded: “. . . let me entreat you, gentlemen, on your part, not to take any measures which, viewed in the calm light of reason, will lessen the dignity and sully the glory you have hitherto maintained; let me request you to rely on the plighted faith of your country, and place a full confidence in the purity of the intentions of Congress. . .” There followed more of explanation in the same spirit that led to a fine climax: “you will, by the dignity of your conduct, afford occasion for posterity to say, when speaking of the glorious example you have exhibited to mankind, ’had this day been wanting, the world had never seen the last stage of perfection to which human nature is capable of attaining.’ ”
This was the finest phrase with which he ever had exhorted disgruntled, sullen or resentful men; but he was not quite sure he had convinced his comrades of the perplexities and the good faith of Congress. He had brought with him a letter he had received not long previously from Joseph Jones, a discerning member of Congress from Virginia. The reading of part of this communication, Washington told himself, perhaps might confirm whatever impression he had made. He stumbled through a few sentences, but as the manuscript was closely written, paused, took out his new spectacles, and put them on. “Gentlemen,” he said, in effect, as he fumbled with the glasses, “you must pardon me. I have grown gray in your service and now find myself growing blind.” That observation completed the rally to Washington. When he left the hall a few minutes later, Gates acted as presiding officer and some of the most trusted lieutenants of the Commander-in-Chief took charge of the proceedings. In the face of mild opposition by Timothy Pickering, Washington received a vote of thanks; a committee presented a report in which the officers expressed confidence in the justice of Congress, asked the General to act in their behalf, repudiated the proposals of their anonymous counsellor, and called on McDougall and his associates, who were representing their case in Philadelphia, to remain there until they accomplished their object.
Washington felt immense relief and told himself and his friends in Congress that the result was what he “had reason to expect”; but it had been an alarming experience, and most inopportune, because it had come just at the time to dampen rejoicing over the greatest news that ever had come to Headquarters, the glorious tidings of a treaty of peace that recognized the independence of the United States.
Several indirect reports of the signing of a treaty of peace between the United States and Great Britain had reached Philadelphia and had fired public rejoicing, but nothing definite came until March 12, when Capt. Joshua Barney arrived aboard a vessel most fittingly named Washington and brought Congress the official text. The pact had been signed in Paris November 30, 1782, and was not final. Terms were “to be inserted in, and to constitute the treaty of peace, proposed to be concluded between the Crown of Great Britain and the said United States; but which treaty is not to be concluded until terms of a peace shall be agreed upon between Great Britain and France, and his Britannick Majesty shall be ready to conclude such treaty accordingly.” Acknowledgment of independence was made in the initial article of the treaty; all hostilities were to cease; prisoners were to be exchanged; the whole settlement was in accordance with American demands and was acceptable—if it actually represented a settlement. Next a messenger reached Headquarters on the night of March 26 with news of the conclusion of peace by France and Spain with Britain. Close behind came a servant whom Lafayette had sent. The papers brought by the Marquis’s man left no doubt that the three belligerents had signed a treaty at Paris January 20. This, too, was preliminary, but it made operative the pact of November 30 between America and Britain.
It was true! The formal close of the war had to wait on the drafting and signing of a definitive treaty, but actual peace had come. “The news,” Washington wrote Luzerne, “has filled my mind with inexpressible satisfaction”; but he turned almost immediately to the complex question of the date on which hostilities were to end, and before he could solve this, he was reminding his friends of what the States must achieve in union now they had won peace. “It remains,” he told Greene, “only for the States to be wise, and to establish their independence on the basis of inviolable, efficacious union and firm confederation, which may prevent their being made the sport of European policy; may Heaven give them wisdom to adopt the measures still necessary for this important purpose.”
In that spirit he completed arrangements with the British for proclaiming the termination of hostilities on an agreed date. On April 15 the treaty was ratified by Congress, and on the nineteenth, eighth anniversary of the battle of Lexington and Concord, cessation of hostilities was announced formally. After that Washington had to supervise a number of continuing tasks, among which were the exchange of prisoners and an almost futile attempt to recover slaves who had fled to the British and now were seeking to leave America. Simultaneously with these troublesome matters Washington had to labor over the preliminaries of the discharge of the Army and had to be sure he left nothing undone in redeeming his pledge to protect the officers’ interests. Washington had insisted that before the men were discharged their accounts should be settled and three months’ of long-overdue pay put in their hands. In painful embarrassment he undertook to get funds of some sort from the Superintendent of Finance for the use of the men on the long tramp home. All that Morris could do, with his strong box empty, was to attempt to get paper to print and deliver requisitions for three months’ pay directed to the States of the individual soldiers and payable after half a year. It was a shameful and humiliating device; to see the soldiers “turned aside so disgracefully” was heartrending.
Hampering everything was uncertainty over the time that would be spent in agreeing on the definitive treaty. Washington was looking forward to the blessed hour when he could begin anew his life as a planter, but he did not think he should effect his retirement, which he hoped to be early and complete, without warning his country against the risks of broken union, lost public credit, neglected defence and uncurbed jealousies. Emergency seemed to demand strong words at that particular time because Morris almost despaired of prevailing on the States to take up the notes that were being issued. To aid imperative fiscal rescue at the same time that he gave warning on the other hazards, Washington and some of his assistants prepared during the first week of June what the General expected to be the last of his “Circulars to the States.”
Washington began the “last Circular” with a reference to his prospective retirement and the hopeful future of the United States. Then he proceeded:
There are four things which I humbly conceive are essential to the well-being, I may even venture to say, to the existence of the United States as an independent power:
1st. An indissoluble Union of the States under one Federal Head.
2dly. A sacred regard to public justice.
3dly. The adoption of a proper peace establishment, and
4thly. The prevalence of that pacific and friendly disposition among the people of the United States which will induce them to forget their local prejudices and policies, to make those mutual concessions which are requisite to the general prosperity, and in some instances, to sacrifice their individual advantages to the interest of the community.
The last of these necessities of national life, he said, he would leave “to the good sense and serious consideration of those immediately concerned,” and it was on the essential to which he gave first place, “an indissoluble union,” that he dwelt most fervently. The circular was styled forthwith “Washington’s Legacy” and was acclaimed as no paper sent out over his signature ever had been. It gave, said Elias Boudinot, the “finishing stroke to his inimitable character.”
Hope was voiced that the States might respond to the call of the man their people revered; but the ironic contrast between reality and ideal, the deformity and affliction that so often had sprawled across the road when he had “come down from the mountain” awaited him now. Pennsylvania soldiers mutinied at Lancaster a
nd marched on Philadelphia, where the men in the barracks joined them. The combined forces surrounded the State House, in which the State Executive Council as well as Congress was sitting, and threatened to storm the building unless they were permitted to name officers of their own who would present their demands. After a time they went back to their quarters, but, President Boudinot wrote, “they have secured the public magazine, and I am of opinion that the worst is not yet come.” Congress desired that Washington send reliable troops towards Philadelphia.
This mutiny, in Washington’s eyes, was “infamous and outrageous.” He issued orders for General Howe to start fifteen hundred men for Philadelphia. Before Washington snuffed his candle that night he had another dispatch from Boudinot enclosing resolutions Congress had adopted for removal to Princeton unless the Executive Council of Pennsylvania took “effectual measures . . . for supporting the public authority.” By June 30 Washington learned officially that the Delegates were establishing themselves at Princeton. The seventh anniversary of the Declaration of Independence brought word the mutiny was ended, that the men from Lancaster were back at their stations, and that Howe had reached the temporary seat of government.
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