First of Men

by Ferling, John;

  In dispatching the riflemen, Washington must have hoped that they would finally serve some good purpose. Congress quickly had voted funds for the recruitment of eight companies of these riflemen, hardy frontier types with a penchant for deadly marksmanship. These men wielded firearms with grooved or rifled barrels, weapons of far greater accuracy and range than the sturdy Brown Bess muskets carried by most American soldiers. The story made the rounds that only those who could hit the image of a human nose affixed to a board 150 yards down-range were eligible to enlist. And, in fact, there was something phenomenal about these men. En route, wherever an audience could be gathered, they provided impressive exhibitions of their skills, sometimes from a distance of sixty yards blasting the bullseye of a target that some foolhardy comrade held between his legs. And they walked—they hardly marched—from Maryland to Massachusetts in extraordinarily rapid time, one of the Virginia companies averaging an incredible thirty miles per day. Wearing Indian, or hunting, shirts, and sometimes donning war paint, they looked ferocious, and by and large they comported themselves with a callous, sinewy combativeness, as if they feared nothing. The only problem with these men was that they had little use for discipline. Some Pennsylvania riflemen paused along the way in Litchfield, Connecticut, to liberate a girl they discovered in the local jail, and a day or two later near Hartford they tarred and feathered some outspoken dimwit whom they took for a Tory. Once they were in Washington’s camp, they displayed a chronic inability to obey orders, they fought endlessly with the Yankee soldiers, and they wasted Washington’s precious ammunition with continual—and largely ineffectual—potshots at distant British sentries. Washington, in despair, finally admitted to General Ward that he wished they had never come, a sentiment shared by Gates and Lee, the latter calling them “dam’d riff raff—dirty, mutinous, and disaffected.” But if the commander could not send them home, he could—and now he did—send them to Canada.39

  With the Canadian expedition at last readied, and with his army beginning to take shape, Washington toyed with an offensive of his own. During the first week of September he wrote his general officers and asked them to consider the wisdom of an American attack on Boston. Three days later he called a council of war to discuss the notion. According to Joseph Reed, who sat in on the session, Washington was “very serious” about such an assault. Given the shortage of tents and lodgings, Washington began, the winter was certain to provoke enough anguish to try the mettle of veterans, much less these raw recruits. Moreover, he went on, his powder and armament shortages were not likely to be remedied by the spring, whereas Gage would then be better supplied. Finally, he said, his troops’ enlistments expired in December; there was no guarantee that he would have such a large army after this year ended, and even if he had a larger army, the new force would have to be trained from scratch. A successful assault, particularly if complemented by victories in the Canadian theater, almost certainly would be a “decisive stroke,” perhaps ending the war by Christmas. Contrarily, the commander acknowledged, to fail in such an attack would “be very fatal.”40 As the war later would demonstrate, there was a gambler’s audacity to Washington’s makeup, a willingness to run great risks by attempting bold strokes rather than waiting for his adversary to seize the initiative. Yet Washington was neither suicidal, impulsive, nor reckless. And he was not about to make such a decision unilaterally.

  Only Charles Lee among the general officers supported Washington. He believed the Americans were a match for the British regulars, especially when they enjoyed a better than two-to-one numerical superiority. But the others opted for the safety of inaction, fearing, probably correctly, that an assault might result in a Bunker Hill in reverse—catastrophic colonial losses. Besides, some said, an attack might be unnecessary; North’s government might have collapsed already. Washington accepted their recommendation, although two weeks later he told Reed that if the British were not defeated before reinforcements arrived from London, the consequences to America could be “dreadful.” And he informed Congress that in the future he might revive the assault plan. Whether he liked it or not, the strategy he now would pursue presaged the design he largely would follow throughout the war. It was a strategy that Alexander Hamilton later succinctly summarized: “our hopes are not placed in any particular city, or spot of ground, but in preserving a good army . . . to take advantage of favorable opportunities, and waste and defeat the enemy by piecemeal.”41

  If all notions of an offensive were scrapped, Washington took satisfaction in the knowledge that his army was safe—for the time being. The British, as Reed put it, would have to be “more than madmen to think of breaking through the lines we have thrown up.” Not expecting an attack, Washington told Reed that he believed the British simply hoped to fortify Boston so that it could be held by a small force. Then, he said, the redcoats “will land in different parts of the country, and lay waste as far as they dare.”42

  In September, when the Congress resumed its monotonous sessions following a brief, late summer holiday, the delegates found the docket laden with plaintive letters from General Washington, each outlining the problems with which he had wrestled since July. The congressmen hardly had begun to grapple with these matters before still another communiqué arrived from headquarters. Now the commander ominously suggested that his army faced extinction. Given the army’s chronic supply shortages, few men were likely to reenlist. If the legion’s troubles were not soon rectified, he added, “the Army must absolutely break up.”43

  Congress had heard these complaints since July, although to this point it had only coped with the problem of the powder shortage. Approximately fifteen tons of powder had been procured from New York and Pennsylvania and shipped to the army, and at Congress’s urging Rhode Island provided Washington with an additional three tons of the precious commodity. These reinforcements eased the problem, yet by late August there was only enough powder on hand to provide each soldier with thirty rounds and to supply the artillery for a single day’s action. So desperately short was Washington that he used his powers to dispatch an expedition to Bermuda, supposedly the site of a large powder magazine. “Enterprises which appear Chimerical, often prove successful,” he forlornly told a correspondent.44

  Thoroughly alarmed by Washington’s dire missive, Congress acted quickly to find a temporary solution to the army’s woes. Money was sent, to be used for pay for the soldiers and to procure supplies. Clothing, pork, and flour also were sent along, and Congress appointed a committee to seek out additional amounts of powder. But the long-term solution to these myriad problems required consultation with the commander, for which Congress created a committee of three. Washington’s old friend from Virginia, Benjamin Harrison, was one of the members, together with Thomas Lynch of South Carolina and Benjamin Franklin. Congress could hardly have been more proud of itself. “I doubt not,” a New England congressman told Washington, “but. . . that by the opening of the next Campaign you will have the finest Army under your Command, which ever was formed in America.”45

  By the time the congressional delegation reached Cambridge, the air had an autumn nip to it, and all about the army’s encampment the forests had donned their red and yellow attire as if to welcome the visitors in splendor. Washington had never met the venerated Franklin. They apparently got on well enough, but the old sage, not unlike Washington, was surprisingly reserved, and the two men must have found their attempts at light conversation to be awkward. The commander had only a passing acquaintance with Lynch, having met him when they both served in Congress. But he must have been delighted at the sight of Harrison, not only a friend, but a Virginian who had just returned from a vacation in that province. Finally, the amenities out of the way, the congressmen got down to business. They opened with a bombshell. They made it clear that Congress expected Washington to assault Boston by the end of the year; if he required additional troops for the attack, they went on, he was authorized to summon as many militiamen as he needed. Congress felt strongly about t
his. It was not angry at Washington’s inaction, but as one legislator remarked, it was “very solicitous that our Army . . . should make a resolute Attack upon the Rebels [sic] before a Reinforcement to them shall arrive.” Then, before Washington could catch his breath, the committee unleashed another blockbuster: the pay of all officers must be reduced.46

  General Washington must have blanched at the first directive. Whatever his feelings about the wisdom of an attack, the notion of civilians four hundred miles removed from Boston dictating strategy to the army had to be galling. But Washington had enough political acumen to know how to respond. He convened another council of war to ponder the issue, and this time, their hackles rising, the general officers unanimously rejected the notion of attacking an entrenched British army. Moreover, to cut pay, they continued, would foreclose any chance of raising another army for 1776. Their bluff called, the congressmen backed off, and during the final five days of the conference they obsequiously accepted almost every urgent request made by General Washington.47

  Early in November Congress received the committee’s report and quickly granted the commander’s propositions. It was agreed that Congress would support an army of 20,372 during 1776, a force that was “intended to lie before Boston,” in the curious phraseology of the legislators. Strangely, Congress had never specified the size of the army it would support in 1775, although it was presumed that Washington would inherit a force that ranged somewhere between 20,000 and 27,000 men. In fact, as Congress now realized, the army it agreed to maintain for the next year would be substantially larger than Washington’s present army, containing perhaps 25 percent more troops. Salaries in the new army were to be the same as in the existing force, except for captains, lieutenants, and ensigns, who averaged raises ranging from about 25 to 30 percent. Congress also assumed responsibility for clothing the troops, and it took steps to standardize the manufacture of the army’s muskets. Washington was given extraordinary powers to impress essential commodities (carriages, vessels, horses, for instance), and the Articles of War were altered, giving the commander leeway to impose even more harsh punishments upon erring soldiers.48

  Through the initial year of war, Washington was careful to practice what he had preached to the New York Provincial Congress. He gave no hint of any inclination to undermine the authority of the civilian magistrates. That is not to say, however, that he failed to exert his delegated powers, or that he did not at times endeavor to redirect the thoughts of Congress or influential local officials. By autumn Washington had launched an unauthorized invasion into Canada, and almost alone he had succeeded in convincing Congress that the army required refabrication. The reconstruction of the army, moreover, was fraught with portentious implications for the emerging polity. In time the egalitarian army that Washington had inherited in July would give way to a force much more similar to the one with which it struggled, a military organization in which an elite, imperious officer corps commanded a soldiery increasingly composed of propertyless, long-term hirelings. But in 1775 no one could have comprehended the magnitude of the changes that had been set in motion since that rainy day in July when Washington first had arrived at headquarters.

  Nor were these the only momentous changes initiated that fall. Just before he departed Philadelphia for Cambridge and the meeting with Washington, Franklin had written a friend in London that the Anglo-American crisis could be resolved if both sides would just step back and allow passions to cool. But, he predicted, that would not happen, and he added, “I see clearly we are on the high road to mutual family hatred and detestation. A separation of course will be inevitable.” He was correct. That autumn some congressmen began to speak openly of American independence, and one or two provinces virtually extirpated their royal charters, substituting for them new governments which no longer expressed any allegiance to British authority. In addition, Congress renewed its year-old nonimportation agreement, and it launched a boycott of shipments from America to the parent state, a step the southern congressmen had been unwilling to take a year earlier.49

  Moreover, to assist the war effort Congress created an American navy. Early in September Washington, desperate for supplies, had channeled funds into a small privateering venture, authorizing the use of soldiers recruited from port towns like Marblehead and Salem. Soon six craft were employed in the undertaking, a fleet that quickly was dubbed “Washington’s Navy.” Shortly thereafter Congress—which had no knowledge of Washington’s actions—directed him to outfit two vessels to intercept a shipment of supplies from Nova Scotia to the redcoat army in Boston. From this act came the Cabot and the Andrew Doria, and the birth of the American navy. Two additional ships were authorized before the end of October, and by Christmas not only had the fleet swelled to seven vessels (with thirteen more already scheduled to be constructed), but Congress had appropriated funds for two battalions of marines and had prepared rules and regulations for the new navy. At year’s end it was reported that the fleet had garnered prizes totaling £20,000, including the capture of a British ordnance brig laden with 2000 muskets, 100,000 flints, 20,000 round of shot, and 30 tons of musket balls.50

  That fall Washington’s army remained immobile; General Washington, however, was quite busy. A thousand details, some trifling, some of great moment, daily absorbed his attention. For some time he had presumed that a British attack was unlikely before the spring, if it ever came. “Our Lines are so strong, we have nothing to fear but a Surprise,” as Reed put it, echoing his commander. Early in October General Washington learned that Gage had been recalled, replaced by Sir William Howe. Many in Washington’s entourage believed the change in command presaged a British attack, for Howe’s reputation was that of a resolute fighter. Washington took the necessary precautions, but he was inclined to believe that Howe’s elevation would not alter British strategy.51

  Sometime that autumn Washington realized that he would not be home by Christmas, that this would be a protracted war, perhaps a very long war. What changed his mind? Captured British correspondence indicated that the ministry planned to send massive reinforcements for a campaign in 1776, and, in addition, intelligence suggested that the government intended to widen the war by diverting its forces to New York, where it hoped to seize control of the Hudson River. Moreover, Washington, like others, was aware of the shift in congressional attitudes. The early aim of fighting for reconciliation was waning; a new mood of sympathy for independence was growing, a goal likely to be achieved only through a long, wearying war. Then, too, by late in the fall Washington knew that the North government had survived the news of Bunker Hill; it would remain in power, and it displayed no signs of attempting to appease the colonials.52

  Washington spent much of his time that autumn pondering the reorganization of the army, a subject he had broached in July and which Congress had sanctioned in October. Time and again he summoned his generals to discuss the issue, but each time he discovered “so many doubts and difficulties to reconcile” that little headway was made. The troops, he was told, would serve only under a man from their own province, and until these commanders were designated the troops would refuse to reenlist. It was a double-edged sword. Without soldiers the most capable officer was helpless, but a large army commanded by incompetent officers was worthless. Caught in a bind, Washington agonized for nearly a month, then he decided to act, to “new model” the officer corps. He could not touch the general officers, for they were congressional appointees. But with their assistance he painstakingly moved to find the best men to fill the lower grades. Then he waited breathlessly to see if there would be an army left for the new officers to command.53

  By late November the signs were ominous. Fewer than one thousand men had reenlisted in an army that was projected to exceed twenty thousand troops. The reality of this war had begun to sink in, brought home by the mounting casualty lists. First there was Bunker Hill, a costly engagement for the Americans too. Then camp diseases assaulted the army, taking a toll that the redcoats could never hav
e exacted. Moreover, like a dark stain spreading out on a white cloth, these ailments inexorably seeped into the civilian sector, often claiming three or four victims each day in New England’s once tranquil little villages. Soon the festive and patriotic spirit with which the region had greeted the onset of the war was spent, replaced, at best, by an aura of grim, sullen determination.54

  For a time that November Washington suspected that a British assault was imminent. Surely, he reasoned, Howe would assail his rapidly thinning ranks. But Howe did not attack. Indeed, he recently had received orders from London directing him to abandon Boston. That he was still in the city was due to a lack of transports necessary to facilitate his withdrawal.55

  Washington knew nothing of this, but he did know that if he had faced a deteriorating enemy he would have seized the initiative. He characterized the British situation as a “disgraceful confinement,” hardly the words Howe would have chosen. But, then, Washington presumed his adversary had not attacked because he was “afraid of us.” By mid-December Washington no longer expected an attack. In fact, he reported to Congress that the British were demolishing the paved streets of Boston in order to use the cobblestones for breastworks in expectation of an American assault.56 Even though his judgment was based on faulty premises, Washington had fathomed much about the mettle of his foe.

  Howe’s inactivity may have lessened Washington’s anxiety, but it did not eradicate the morose spirits that had gripped the general throughout the fall. Washington’s black mood stemmed from the recruitment crisis, and, in addition, from the specter increasingly posed by signs of venality among his countrymen. The enlistments of the Connecticut troops were the first to expire, and no ploy by headquarters could induce a substantial number to reenlist. The 27th Connecticut Regiment agreed to stay until the new army was raised and in place, but the remainder marched home on December 12, quitting the encampment to a chorus of hisses and deprecatory chants by those who had to remain behind. Neither cajolery nor pleadings had availed, nor had the promise of an immediate furlough for those who agreed to stay on. Most of these men were farmers who had been away from their livelihood since April. Too poor to buy the labor of slaves or indentured servants, their farms were imperiled each day they were absent from the fields. Washington sought to plug the gaping hole caused by their departure by calling up five thousand militiamen from Massachusetts and New Hampshire, as well as various units of “Long Faces”—as the veterans promptly dubbed these less than ecstatic new warriors—marched in as Connecticut’s veterans departed.57 Later the militia would be severely criticized for its performance in this war, but without its remarkable activities at Lexington and Concord, then again at Bunker Hill, and now in perhaps saving Washington in this year-end crisis, the colonists would have commenced this long war on a very different footing.