Greene’s words echoed the response of a council of war called by Washington on May 2 to consider the advisability of a “general attack upon the enemy in Brunswick and at the neighboring posts”: its unanimous opinion was that the available troops were still too few and inexperienced for such an undertaking. There had been some tentative support for a more limited attack on the enemy post at Bergen, although Major General Adam Stephen’s suggestion that Bonhamtown or Piscataway, east of Brunswick, could be targeted at little risk was summarily dismissed as unviable.54 The stubborn Scot went ahead with his pet plan anyway, using Continentals from his own division. On May 10, they were badly mauled by the 42nd Regiment and a battalion of light infantry and were lucky to get clear. Stephen reported the clash to Washington in very different terms as a “considerable advantage gained over the enemy’s best troops.” It was a “bold enterprise,” he continued, and the British must have lost at least 200 killed and wounded. In a dispatch to John Hancock, the president of Congress, Washington duly reported this “smart skirmish” in which the American troops had “behaved well and obliged the enemy to give way twice.” He was therefore incensed to learn, just hours later, that Stephen had been economical with the truth and promptly fired off a withering reprimand. “Your account of the attempt upon the enemy at Piscataway is favorable, but I am sorry to add, widely different from those I have had from others (officers of distinction), who were of the party,” Washington wrote icily. Indeed, he added, “the disadvantage was on our side, not the enemy’s, who had notice of your coming and was prepared for it, as I expected.”55
For all their shared history of hardships and danger, to Washington his old comrade’s unwarranted bragging was unforgivable. Not only did it flout his own code of restrained, gentlemanly honor, but it turned the Continental Army into a laughing stock, a force that had to invent victories. Its reputation clearly mattered to Washington, and on a very personal level: back in February he’d rebuked Major General William Heath after he staged a half-hearted attempt to capture the British post of Fort Independence, which guarded the route to Manhattan via King’s Bridge. Despite his obvious incapacity to carry out an assault, Heath had warned the garrison to surrender or risk the consequences. Washington could only wish the summons had never been sent, “as I am fearful it will expose us to the ridicule of our enemies.”56
In mid-June, Howe took the offensive himself, leading a powerful force from Brunswick up the Raritan, seeking to lure Washington down from his strong defensive position behind the hills of Middlebrook and into the kind of potentially decisive engagement that he had been ready to risk at New York. But Washington had learned from his mistakes in 1776. With fewer than 8,000 Continentals, he refused to be drawn, instead sending detachments to observe and harass the enemy. After several days of skirmishing, Howe retired, his frustrated troops burning and plundering as they went. Nothing daunted, Sir William soon tried again. When Howe’s redcoats and Hessians began embarking aboard transport ships at Perth Amboy, Washington moved forward to hinder him, deploying Lord Stirling’s brigade to Metuchen and leading the bulk of the army to Quibbletown, farther to the northwest. Howe’s embarkation was merely a ruse, calculated to tempt Washington into the open, and his coat-trailing tactics had apparently worked. On the night of June 26, he quickly disembarked his troops, sending columns against Stirling and Washington. While the wary Washington reacted swiftly enough to evade Howe and retired to Middlebrook unscathed, Stirling’s division was more sluggish, losing about eighty men before disengaging. For Howe, this petty victory was small consolation for the priceless weeks lost in a futile attempt to bring his enemy to battle. Stymied by Washington’s careful defensive strategy—the closest he ever conformed to the classic “Fabian” template—Howe once more embarked his army at Perth Amboy, and this time in earnest. He sailed for Staten Island, relinquishing all of New Jersey to the rebels.
On July 9, Howe’s formidable force of more than 14,000 men began boarding transport ships in New York Harbor; another 7,300 under Henry Clinton remained to garrison New York City. When the flotilla finally sailed two weeks later, its destination remained a mystery to friend and foe alike. In fact, Sir William was heading for Philadelphia; with Washington’s army still intact in New Jersey, and now supported by a vigorous and effective militia, he had decided to reach his objective by sea rather than land.
When Howe’s troops were still embarking, Washington had conjectured that they would strike at Philadelphia by way of the Delaware River. In consequence, he called for accurate and detailed maps of the region, “which is or may be the seat of war,” to be compiled as soon as possible, particularly “as regards the shores of the Delaware where the enemy may probably land and march.”57 However, logic dictated that Howe must surely cooperate with the northern army on the Hudson, a view reinforced when Washington learned that Burgoyne had taken Ticonderoga on July 5. That assumption initially led Washington to preempt such a move by shifting his army north from Middlebrook and Morristown, pushing two divisions across the Hudson at Peekskill and securing a pass, known as the Clove, through the strategically vital Hudson Highlands. They stayed there until July 24, when news that Howe’s fleet had sailed out to sea from Sandy Hook, rather than up the Hudson, required a rethink. Although Washington still had his doubts, as all his commanders agreed that Philadelphia was now Howe’s objective, he changed front once more, marching south to reach Coryell’s Ferry on the Delaware, about thirty miles above Philadelphia, on July 27. Warned by Congress that Howe’s force was hovering off the Capes of Delaware, indicating that an attack on the city was imminent, Washington’s footsore soldiers pushed on to defend it. Within a day of reaching Germantown, on the outskirts of Philadelphia, they received fresh reports that Howe’s fleet had disappeared on July 31. Describing these puzzling and worrying developments to his brother Jack some days later, Washington was clearly perplexed: “We remain here in a very irksome state of suspense,” he confessed. While some now believed that the British had continued south, the majority—including Washington—were “satisfied” that they had “gone to the eastward,” back toward the Hudson. The prospect of further punishing marches in the strength-sapping heat of summer left Washington reluctant to move again until firmer intelligence arrived. Wrapping up his letter to Jack with a P.S. on August 9, by which time there’d been no further news of Howe’s whereabouts, Washington now concluded that he had indeed gone east and was slowly shifting his own forces in that direction.58
Washington’s original hunch that Howe aimed to attack Philadelphia via the Delaware was in fact correct. But after receiving intelligence that Washington was waiting for him upriver at Wilmington, Sir William instead kept sailing south and then turned into Chesapeake Bay to make a landing in Maryland. His army finally disembarked at Head of Elk on August 25, after nearly seven weeks aboard ship. Already delayed by his fruitless maneuvering in New Jersey, this protracted voyage put Howe’s Philadelphia campaign even further behind schedule. Incredibly, Howe remained as far from his objective as he had been when still occupying his New Jersey bridgehead. Crammed into transport ships for weeks, his troops landed in poor shape; the dragoons’ horses suffered so badly that Howe now had precious few cavalry. More worryingly, the summer campaign season was swiftly running out: focused on his own objectives, Howe would have precious little time to cooperate with Burgoyne, even if he wanted to.
By August 22, when Howe’s fleet was reported to be well within Chesapeake Bay, the dire implications for Burgoyne were already clear to Washington. He ordered Major General Israel Putnam, who was watching Clinton above New York, to send the latest information on Howe’s whereabouts to Governor Trumbull of Connecticut, who was to forward it farther to the east. As there was now no danger of Howe heading for New England, Washington hoped that “the whole force of that country” would turn out to “entirely crush” Burgoyne, emulating the example of New Hampshire militia under Brigadier General John Stark, who had already overwhelmed a foraging column
of Brunswickers, Loyalists, and Iroquois Indians near Bennington, Vermont, on August 16. As Howe’s objective was now clearly Philadelphia, albeit by “a very strange” route, Washington summoned Major General John Sullivan’s division to bolster his own army for the impending clash.59
With confirmation of Howe’s landing place, Washington pivoted south once more at the head of 11,000 men. Arriving in Philadelphia, he paraded his new army through the city to contest Howe’s advance. Congress was adamant that Washington should defend the Revolution’s capital, and he clearly relished the prospect of a rematch with Sir William. In his General Orders, Washington emphasized that the coming engagement would offer a prime opportunity to both end the war and win renown. By seeking battle, he announced, the enemy put everything at stake: “If they are overthrown, they are utterly undone—the war is at an end.” Just one “bold stroke” would “free the land from rapine, devastations and burnings, and female innocence from brutal lust and violence.” They must take their cue from Stark’s New Hampshire militia, who had fought with the resolution of veterans. Washington’s men should also remember that they constituted their country’s “main army.” In consequence, he added: “The eyes of all America, and of Europe are turned upon us . . . glory waits to crown the brave.”60
Reinforced by local militia to about 14,000 men, Washington decided to confront Howe from behind Brandywine Creek. This offered a strong defensive barrier, snaking amid wooded hills, with the only crossings at readily defensible fords. Washington’s troops were arrayed in detachments over a six-mile front to cover them but were mostly concentrated about Chadds Ford, where the high road to Philadelphia crossed the creek. Despite his recent appeal for decent maps, Washington’s knowledge of the terrain was badly flawed; he was unaware of other fords beyond the far right of his line, and they were left unguarded. Armed with excellent intelligence from local Loyalists, Howe knew about this weakness in Washington’s position and resolved to exploit it with a long flanking march. This recalled the maneuver that had delivered a stunning victory on Long Island; once again, the Americans would be distracted by a “demonstration” to their front, allowing time for the flanking force to get into place. The diversionary attack against Chadds Ford was entrusted to the Hessian Lieutenant General Wilhelm von Knyphausen with 6,000 men. By about 10 a.m. on September 11, he had pushed Washington’s light troops across the creek and opened fire with his artillery. Some six hours earlier, the 8,000-strong column under Cornwallis, accompanied by Howe, had begun its march upstream to turn Washington’s right.
While artillery batteries exchanged fire across Chadds Ford, Washington received warning of Howe’s march. Yet he failed to react swiftly and decisively to this threat or to exploit the opportunity to overwhelm Knyphausen in Howe’s absence, later explaining to John Hancock that his reports were “uncertain and contradictory.” This was true enough: initial intelligence that “a large body of the enemy” with a formidable train of artillery was marching along the Great Valley Road toward the fords on the right was followed by another dispatch, from Major General Sullivan, maintaining that Major Joseph Spear of the Pennsylvania militia had heard nothing of the enemy “in that quarter” and was “confident” that any reports to the contrary “must be wrong.” Washington allowed himself to be swayed by Spear’s wildly inaccurate information, concluding that the reported flanking move was just a feint, and that Knyphausen was less vulnerable than he seemed.61
With some eighteen miles to cover in the summer heat, it was early afternoon before Howe’s men crossed the Brandywine at Jeffries Ford and began advancing against Washington’s right. By now, the danger was all too clear, and Washington hastily redeployed the divisions of Sullivan, Stirling, and Stephen in a belated attempt to counter it. At about 4 p.m., Howe’s troops engaged them.
The fighting was fierce and confused. One British light infantry officer struggled to describe it in a letter for a friend back home. Indeed, the Battle of Brandywine was nothing like the theatrical performances at London’s Covent Garden or Drury Lane, or the celebrated tapestries of Marlborough’s great victories hanging at Blenheim Palace. Instead, there was “a most infernal fire of cannon and musketry” mingled with the incessant bellowing of orders: “‘Incline to the right! Incline to the left! Halt! Charge!’ etc.” All the while, cannonballs were “plowing up the ground” and the branches of trees cracking overhead, their “leaves falling as in autumn by the grapeshot.”62
For two hours, the three American divisions fought to stem the British onslaught; as the same officer acknowledged, “The misters on both sides showed conduct.” But, as Washington conceded, his dispositions were not “adequate to the force with which the enemy attacked us on our right.”63 Before that flank collapsed, the intensity of the firefight had drawn Washington to the scene from Chadds Ford, with Nathanael Greene and a brigade of his division close behind. As Greene recalled, he arrived to find “the whole of the troops routed and retreating precipitately, and in the most broken and confused manner.” He was ordered to cover the retreat and held off Howe’s weary troops for long enough to prevent “hundreds of our people from falling into the enemy’s hands.”64
Likewise alerted by the sustained, distant gunfire, Knyphausen’s command had meanwhile attacked across Chadds Ford, encountering fierce opposition from Anthony Wayne’s division, but after “a severe conflict” gradually pushed it back. In contrast to the rout at Long Island, these units withdrew steadily, in reasonable order. By preoccupying Howe, Greene’s stand bought time for them, too, giving credence to his later claim that he had saved the army from “ruin.”
Washington had been soundly beaten, suffering more than 1,000 killed, wounded, or captured—double the casualties sustained by Howe’s attacking troops. While Sir William had notched up another notable victory and once again shown himself no contemptible commander when he chose to be, the action had begun too late in the day to permit a chivvying pursuit that might have delivered a more decisive result. In any event, Howe’s army lacked enough cavalry to hound the enemy through the night, and his men were exhausted from their long trek and the hard fight that followed. That evening, as Ensign Inman of the 17th Foot recalled, they were finally able to “sit down and refresh ourselves with some cold pork and grog”—watered rum—“on the ground the enemy had first posted themselves, which we enjoyed much as our march before the battle was better than 18 miles.”65
Washington was not discouraged by the outcome of the Battle of Brandywine. Neither were his men. “Notwithstanding the misfortune of the day,” he informed Hancock, “I am happy to find the troops in good spirits; and I hope another time we shall compensate for the losses now sustained.” During the ensuing fortnight, as he shifted his forces to shield Philadelphia, Washington remained keen to fight Howe. Another major action looked imminent at Warren Tavern, west of the city, but a prolonged rainstorm, which soaked through his men’s shoddy cartridge boxes, obliged Washington to withdraw to a strong defensive position until fresh ammunition could be issued;66 wags dubbed this nonevent “the Battle of the Clouds.” No less eager for a fight, the British soon demonstrated their ability to strike whatever the weather. In the early hours of September 21, a force of redcoats under Major General Charles Grey made a surprise attack on Wayne’s sleeping Pennsylvanian Continentals at Paoli. To avoid any accidental firing that might betray the enterprise, the flints were removed from their muskets. In what one British officer described as a “nocturnal bloody scene,” they used their bayonets to kill or wound more than 300 of Wayne’s men, taking another 100 prisoners. This coup was deplored as a “massacre” by the survivors, although it was a legitimate, if unusually ruthless, act of war; its commander won the acclaim of the British Army and the nickname “No Flint Grey.”67
The following night, after “a variety of perplexing maneuvers,” Howe crossed the Schuylkill River at Fatland and Gordon’s Fords, so taking the lead in the race for Philadelphia. Washington had once again been hampered by lack of reliab
le intelligence, the heavily Loyalist population “being to a man disaffected” toward the patriots’ cause. The army’s ability to make forced marches was hindered by a dearth of shoes: at least 1,000 men were now barefoot;68 in that respect the new army fared little better than the old one that had left bloody footprints in the snow at Trenton.
On September 26, Howe claimed his prize, marching his army into an undefended Philadelphia. Congress, which had returned from Baltimore after the Trenton-Princeton campaign, now decamped once again, this time to York, Pennsylvania. So long anticipated, Howe’s conquest proved a hollow triumph. Indeed, the capture of the revolutionaries’ capital, and North America’s largest city, did not have the expected impact. Rather than signal the collapse of American morale, it scarcely dented it. Patriots were already buoyed by reports from the upper Hudson, where Burgoyne’s army, which had begun its southward advance from St. John’s in mid-June, while Howe was still seeking a clash with Washington in New Jersey, now faced serious problems. The expedition had begun promisingly enough, when Arthur St. Clair abandoned the pivotal fortress of Ticonderoga rather than risk the loss of his garrison, but the rugged wilderness terrain slowed Burgoyne’s advance to the Hudson River to a snail’s pace. Worse still was the bloody check administered to his foragers at Bennington by Stark’s militia. Despite these ominous developments, Burgoyne pushed on regardless, determined to reach Albany. Near Saratoga, he found his path blocked by a substantial rebel force manning fieldworks on Bemis Heights. Consisting of more than 7,000 militia and Continental troops, including Daniel Morgan’s riflemen loaned from Washington’s own hard-pressed army, the force was commanded by Major General Horatio Gates, who had replaced the listless Philip Schuyler on August 19. When Burgoyne attempted to turn Gates’s left on September 19, he was countered by troops led by Benedict Arnold. After stubborn fighting across the clearing at Freeman’s Farm, the British held the field, gaining a technical victory but suffering heavy casualties and failing to spring Burgoyne’s army from the jaws of the trap into which it had marched.
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