First of Men

by Ferling, John;

  The same could not be said of Gates or Lee, however. Before leaving Philadelphia in 1775 Washington had supported both men’s appointments, confident that each was experienced and capable, and almost certainly trusting in their loyalty to him. It took only a year or so for his relations with each man to cool. Later Washington expressed his belief that Gates first had exhibited “symptoms of coldness and constraint” toward him. In a sense he probably was correct. While a visitor at Mount Vernon, Gates undoubtedly had been friendly and relaxed with his host, a man he more or less must have regarded as an equal; but when Gates once again donned his uniform, years of military service would have caused him instinctively to adopt a formal demeanor toward his commander. His coldness “increased as he rose into greater consequence,” the commander added, until he allegedly became openly malevolent. The problem with Washington’s account is that it lacks substantiation. No hint of ill will toward Washington is present in Gates’s voluminous correspondence, nor did any of his aides or officers, men who must have heard him air his views in private, ever come forward with such a claim. What is clear is that Washington’s communiqués to Gates grew cold, especially as it became evident that the northern army might score a great victory over Burgoyne in 1777. When the victory was won, Washington’s congratulatory note seemed forced, and he even took that occasion to admonish Gates for his failure to keep him adequately informed of events. Moreover, instead of rejoicing at the victory of Saratoga, Washington’s aides hurriedly spread the tale that Gates had feared to step on the battlefield, that he “hug himself at a distance [to] leave an Arnold to win laurels for him.” Shortly thereafter, upon learning that Conway had spoken critically about the army to Gates, Washington seized the opening to attenuate the power of the conqueror of Burgoyne. Contrast Washington’s behavior in this instance with his reaction to learning that Reed had written—not received—a letter which, however murkily, seemed to question Washington’s ability to command. The young, powerless Pennsylvanian ultimately was restored to Washington’s good graces, but the victor at Saratoga was vilified as an inveterate fomenter of “little underhand intrigues.”5

  Of the original leaders who had enjoyed considerable political backing, Lee alone remained relatively unscathed by the summer of 1778. He had fought well at Charleston in repulsing Clinton’s invasion in 1776, and his performance at White Plains had been commendable. Neither the doubtful conduct that had resulted in his capture, nor his behavior as a prisoner had caused him any harm. (No one was aware that while a prisoner Lee had drafted a remarkable document that purported to coach Howe on the best means of suppressing the revolt. His motives in counseling the British remain mysterious; treason has been alleged by some, although his best biographer, John Alden, doubts that charge and hints that Lee merely had endeavored to mislead the British commander by telling him all the wrong things to do.) It is impossible to know Washington’s real attitude toward Lee upon his release, but within the commander’s entourage great concern was expressed about this eccentric soldier’s loyalty to his chief. Greene, whose views so replicated those of Washington that some even thought him responsible for planting ideas in his leader’s brain, marked Lee’s return by expressing his “hope [that] he may of use,” continuing, “but I apprehend no great good, as the junto will endeavor to debauch and poison his mind with prejudice. . . . [H]e is not a little unhappy in his temper.” Greene also quipped that he believed things had gone better during Lee’s fifteen-month absence than when he had been present.6

  Washington’s attitude toward Lee remained obscure until he ordered his arrest. The evidence suggests, however, that Lee’s letter was more responsible for subsequent events than were his actions on the battlefield. It is apparent that Washington regarded Lee’s questionable language and the charges he brought against the staff at headquarters as a threat to Washington’s very position. The commander seldom required any help to get into this frame of mind, but in this instance his emotions probably had been played on by some of those close to him. Anthony Wayne and Brigadier General Charles Scott already had filed written criticisms of Lee’s conduct by the time his heated letter reached Washington, and at least one of the commander’s aides is known to have pressed the silly idea that Lee’s actions may have been treasonous—that is, that he had tried to lose the battle.7

  Moreover, when Washington moved against Lee, he acted in a wholly characteristic manner. Two patterns of behavior were habitual to Washington’s conduct as a leader. For one thing, he seemed unable to take responsibility for failure. Nearly a quarter-century earlier his second in command at Fort Necessity had been made to take the blame for that disaster, while his translator had been held responsible for having accepted odious surrender terms. In this war it was Sullivan who became the culprit for the debacle at Brooklyn; the militia was faulted for the loss at Kip’s Bay; Greene quietly took the heat for Fort Washington; Sullivan again responded mutely to the notion that he was responsible for the losses at Brandywine; and Adam Stephen was made something of a scapegoat for Germantown. Now it was Monmouth, and it was Lee’s turn. In fact, after this battle Washington’s supporters had it both ways. Lee was blamed for every shortcoming that occurred in the course of the battle, while Washington was credited with having reversed the tide and secured a great American victory.8 No mean trick considering that Monmouth at best had been a draw.

  In addition, Washington always seemed driven to eliminate any man who might pose a threat to his power. Lee saw that aspect of Washington’s character, and, however dimly, so too did Lafayette, who ultimately came close to acknowledging in public that Washington’s actions after Monmouth had been prompted by a desire to obliterate a rival for power. That was the ultimate end of the affair, for soon Lee was gone, first convicted by the court martial and suspended from the army for one year, then banished forever from the Continental army by Congress.9 Washington now was safe, and so were those who had hitched their chariots to his star.

  With the exception of Gates, who now exercised command in the Highlands above New York, Washington could turn to a new generation of general officers. Young men mostly, all seemed to owe their advancement to him. A few months before Washington arrived in Cambridge in 1775 Henry Knox had been a twenty-four-year-old bookseller with no military experience; the new commander made him the head of the army artillery corps. His performance at Boston and Trenton, as well as on the Assunpink, makes it difficult to quarrel with Washington’s judgment. Benedict Arnold had been restored to the service by Washington, and his brilliant, valorous conduct once again demonstrated the commander’s skill in judging men. Washington had less to do with the early stages of Anthony Wayne’s career. The Pennsylvanian cut his martial teeth in the northern theater, not joining Washington until after the winter at Morristown. He fought well when Howe poked his head out of New York that summer, and he gave a good performance at Brandywine. His defeat at Paoli was more humiliating, and unnecessary, than anything that had flowed from Lee’s alleged errors at Monmouth, but Washington stuck with Wayne and was rewarded by the Pennsylvanian’s zealous action at Germantown and in the clash with Clinton at Monmouth.

  Together with Lafayette, these were the general officers whom Washington had grown to trust above all others. Three of the five resembled young Washington in that they were headstrong, eager and daring in battle, thirsting for glory, if they erred, likely to do so on the side of impetuosity. Knox and Greene were different. Calmer, more pragmatic, more students of military science, these two nevertheless were bold and sturdy. All five had two important things in common. By 1778 each had demonstrated his mettle on the battlefield. And none had displayed any sign of disloyalty to his commander in chief.10

  Just as the composition of Washington’s principal officers had changed after three years of warfare, so had his official “family,” the young men who served as his aides. Reed and Mifflin, the first in a long line of Washington’s military secretaries (more than thirty young men served in this capacity during the eig
ht-year conflict), long since had gone on to other pursuits. By 1777 the number of his aides had risen to seven, and even then they were taxed to keep pace with the commander’s extraordinary work load; one aide complained of continual working dinners, of rising very early, laboring all day, and finally, in the still early hours of evening, of collapsing from exhaustion. Mostly the job consisted of taking dictation from Washington, then penning the final draft of his correspondence, although with sufficient experience came the priviledge of actually composing some of the general’s letters. These men also acted as file clerks, and sometimes Washington used them as emissaries, dispatching them on long journeys to communicate with another commander, or to elicit information from political leaders. They even interrogated deserters and prisoners of war, and some served as intelligence gatherers. In short, Washington saw them as jacks-of-all-trades, but chiefly as “persons that can think for me, as well as execute orders.”11

  Naturally, Washington surrounded himself with talented young men with whom he felt comfortable. After all, these men spent several hours each day in his company, customarily even sleeping in the same house with him. At Morristown four of his seven aides were young Virginians, and a fifth hailed from Maryland, not far from Mount Vernon. Almost all of his aides were from socially and economically prominent families. John Laurens was the son of the president of the Continental Congress, for instance, while others were sons of important state officials, prosperous lawyers, and well-heeled merchants. In an age when less than 1 percent of all males attended college, an extraordinary number of these men were college graduates, and at least two had studied outside the mainland colonies. Of all the men who served him in this capacity, Washington was closest to Robert Hanson Harrison of Alexandria, Virginia, an old friend who literally had accompanied the commander to war. Thirteen years younger than Washington, Harrison—a lawyer by training—was a frequent guest at Mount Vernon during the half dozen years before the war commenced. Aside from him, none ever got closer to Washington than Joseph Reed and Alexander Hamilton, young men with strikingly similar characters.12

  If a man’s friends are a measure of his character, Washington’s choice of intimate associates is revealing. Lafayette immediately noticed that the commander had surrounded himself with flatterers, and he fell right into step as he inched closer to Washington. Nor can there be much doubt that both Reed and Hamilton played the courtier. Like Reed—and Washington, for that matter—Hamilton was not favored by birth into society’s most elite stratum. In fact, in his case the obstacles to his rise were truly mountainous. He began life as an illegitimate child, born in Nevis in the West Indies. Left a penniless orphan at age thirteen when his mother died, a bleak future of penury, or, at best, of obscure struggle within the commonality, seemed his fate. To rise above that lot required not only considerable skill and intelligence but a personality that was possessed by an all-consuming will to succeed. He also needed luck. “I wish there was a War,” he wrote while still an adolescent, recognizing such an event as a potentially fast route to bigger and better things. He got his wish, and in this respect he was even more fortunate than Washington had been. Washington had been compelled to wait until he was twenty-two before his war commenced; Hamilton’s war began when he was twenty.

  By 1775 Hamilton had come a long way. Beginning as a clerk on St. Croix, he had caught the attention of his employers, rising steadily in the ranks of the employees, and eventually having his education at King’s College in New York paid for through the largess of one of the company’s owners. Only a few weeks after he matriculated he published two well-received pamphlets that defended the actions of the First Continental Congress. His polemics brought him into contact with Whig leaders such as John Jay and Alexander McDougall, men who pulled strings to secure his appointment in 1776 as a captain in a New York artillery company. In all likelihood he saw no action until he joined Washington’s retreating army in those last grim weeks before Trenton. No one knows how he came to Washington’s attention, but with Reed and Mifflin both gone on missions to procure more troops, Washington may have passed the word among his officers to be on the lookout for a person with clerking skills; someone probably knew of Hamilton’s background and recommended him to headquarters. At any rate Hamilton joined Washington’s “family” at Morristown on March 1, 1777.13

  An incident that occurred four years later between the general and his aide revealed much about the two men. One morning Hamilton was slow to respond to Washington’s request for a meeting. When Hamilton finally arrived he received a dressing down: “Colonel Hamilton, you have kept me waiting . . . these ten minutes,” Washington angrily charged, adding that “I must tell you Sir you treat me with disrespect.” Hamilton neither blanched nor hesitated: “I am not conscious of it Sir but since you have thought it necessary to tell me so we part.” Taken aback, Washington merely replied, “Very well. . . .” But later that morning when he had collected himself, the commander apologized, an act of contrition that Washington would have performed for few men. That did not end the matter, however. Hamilton refused to accept the general’s apology. Privately he remarked that he never had felt any friendship for Washington; how could he feel affinity for a man who was extraordinarily vain and “neither remarkable for delicacy nor good temper.” Hamilton finally patched up his relationship with the commander, largely because his father-in-law, former General Schuyler (like Washington and Lafayette, Reed and Arnold, Hamilton had courted and married a lady with rich and powerful ties) impressed upon him the wisdom of keeping the general happy. However much he disliked Washington, Hamilton took Schuyler’s advice, but it was clear, as he privately admitted, that the commander was nothing more than “an aegis very essential” to his success. The incident laid open the young man’s penchant for deceit and cunning, the Janus-faced persona that had germinated out of his life of lonely struggle.14

  In that moment of candor Hamilton had alluded to a dark side of Washington, and he pledged at war’s end to “say many things” about the general’s character. For the time being, however, prudence required an “inviolable silence.” Whatever Hamilton’s intentions, he never publicly unburdened himself about Washington. Nor did very many men who had served with Washington publicly criticize his character. Forbearance must have seemed the wisest course considering Washington’s extraordinary stature, yet the almost total dearth even of private expressions of adverse opinion might also be taken to indicate that few contemporaries discovered iniquitous traits in the man’s makeup. Of course, there were a few who perceived unsavory qualities in his temperament. Some discerned a hard, violent side to him, and one observer thought his features betrayed toughness and insensitivity; on the other hand a French officer described his countenance as expressing no distinguishing traits. Others thought him vain, and still others believed him to be vindictive and petty, at least in his dealings with Charles Lee. The brother of one of his aides described him as somber and coarse, “better endowed by nature in habit for an Eastern monarch, than a republican general.”15

  Washington’s most discussed trait was his reserved, formal, and aloof manner. He was not depicted as inhospitable or belligerent, but as someone with whom it was difficult to feel at ease, to get close to, or to understand. Some simply pointed out that he was cautious and wary in the presence of others. Some were put off by his behavior, as was the English visitor who was struck by his “repulsive coldness . . . under a courteous demeanour.” To someone like Aaron Burr, Washington merely was a boring, colorless person.16

  General Washington’s brighter side was more often alluded to by those who knew him better. His “virtue” was his most striking trait, said witness after witness. To that age “virtue” meant many things, but chiefly it involved traits such as selflessness, courage, honesty, and dedication. In addition, Washington frequently was labeled as “noble,” and his “integrity” often was noted. Others were impressed by his calmness and firmness, as well as by his penchant for hard work. Virtually every observe
r was struck by his “stately bearing” and his “mild gravity.” Some who knew of his temper commented on his extraordinary self-discipline. Two foreign volunteers were amazed at his uncanny ability to win the love of most with whom he dealt, while another lauded the commander for the Spartan manner in which he chose to live. More than one witness was impressed by his ability to function under extraordinary pressure, as well as by his talent for rebounding from terrible disappointments. None who knew him regarded Washington as a genius, but some ascribed to him a quality that perhaps was even more desirable. He realized his limitations, they said; he had learned to elicit advice, sifting and sorting and weighing the counsel until, with great deliberateness, he made up his mind. His painstaking manner of making decisions caused some mistakenly to think him lazy. Two who also had to make many crucial decisions, and who were more gifted intellectually than Washington, were more charitable. John Adams thought him “slow, but sure.” Thomas Jefferson took a little longer to say the same thing. Washington’s mind, he observed, was “slow in operation, being aided little by invention or imagination, but sure in conclusion.”17

  A man must be judged both by the traits he possesses and by those he does not. Thus it is revealing that no one thought to characterize Washington as convivial or carefree, for example; no one thought him loquacious or irresponsible. No one ever described him as moved or shaken by the carnage of the battlefield, nor did anyone claim to know that he was troubled by the brutal punishments, including the occasional death sentences, meted out to his soldiery. No one ever kidded himself into believing that he had become a close friend of the commander.

  Washington’s manner aroused very different responses. Foreign observers were more likely than American acquaintances to think him “amiable,” and women saw in him quite different qualities from those perceived by men. Quite sophisticated women such as Abigail Adams and Mercy Otis Warren, the latter a playwright and historian as well as the wife of the president of the Massachusetts Provincial Congress, considered him friendly, gracious, and charming, while he impressed the wife of Colonel Theodore Bland as being bold, even a bit pert. Mrs. Bland also seemed to think him unlike most other men in that he listened attentively and seriously when women spoke.18