American Crisis

by William M. Fowler Jr.

  A few miles up the road at Hasbrouck House Washington understood that disaffection was rife in the ranks. Repeatedly he had pleaded with the members of Congress to address the needs of the army and warned them numerous times of the dire consequences of inaction. In December he had written to his friend Joseph Jones, a Virginia delegate, warning of “dangerous mutinies” and the “soured” temper of the army, hoping that Jones might influence Congress.19

  Jones did not respond for ten weeks. He blamed illness for the delay. That may have been only partly true. In a long detailed letter Jones described a sympathetic Congress that few in the body, or outside, would have recognized. Congress would provide “ample justice,” he said. It had nothing but the “purest intentions.” The impost would “be finally adopted.” The policies under discussion would prove “efficacious.”

  However, Jones put the onus on the army and its commander. “Reports are freely circulated here that there are dangerous combinations in the Army, and within a few days past it has been said, they are about to declare they will not disband until their demands are complied with.” Jones went on to write, “I trust these reports are not well founded” and admonished Washington to remember “that when once all confidence between the civil and military authority is lost, by intemperate conduct or an assumption of improper power, especially by the military body, the Rubicon is passed and to retreat will be very difficult, from the fears and jealousies that will unavoidably subsist between the two Bodies.” Jones repeated Hamilton’s hurtful message: “I have lately heard there are those who are abandoned enough to use their arts to lessen your popularity in the Army.” The last hope to stem these “dangerous combinations” would be “the exertions of every worthy officer.” None, of course, were more “worthy” than the commander in chief himself. “Whether to temporize, or oppose with steady unremitting firmness, what is supposed to be in agitation of dangerous tendency, or that may be agitated, must be left to your own sense of propriety, and better judgment.”20

  The length, detail, importance, and the long time taken to write suggest that Jones was expressing sentiments shared by others. This was not simply a message from a single delegate but from several. It has a hint of input from moderate nationalists such as Hamilton and Madison. Hamilton in particular was inclined to warn Washington of the schemers around him, particularly Gates, for whom he had a deep personal and professional dislike.21 Jones’s letter was intended to forewarn Washington of the evil consequences of inaction. “Propriety” and “better judgment” called for action. Jones’s message and Colonel Stewart arrived in camp within a few days of each other.22

  Thanks to his friends in Congress, particularly Hamilton and Jones, as well as faithful officers such as Knox and Brooks, Washington knew that he stood on “the brink of a precipice.”23 It was Gates he suspected—that “old leven is again, beginning to work, under a mask of the most perfect dissimulation, and apparent cordiality.”24 To what degree “old leven” was “working” remains unclear.25 What is indisputable is that Gates’s headquarters was a center of “activity,” and that Stewart’s arrival heightened tension.

  On Sunday March 9 Major Armstrong, most likely with the assistance of others at Ellison House, drafted an “Address” to the officers.26 Although there is no direct evidence, it stretches credulity to believe that General Gates was not aware of what was going on. Ellison House was small, and there was little privacy. His bedroom/office was on the second floor. The room in which Armstrong was busily writing was only a few feet away at the bottom of the stairs.27 Armstrong finished his work in time for Barber and others to make sufficient copies for distribution to officers of the regiments. They may well have worked through the night. In the morning the assistant adjutant general, Captain John Carlisle, arrived at Ellison House to pick up the routine daily orders and carry them up to the public building for distribution. He also took with him a call for “a meeting of the general and field officers … on Tuesday next at 11 o’clock. A commissioned officer from each company is expected, and a delegate from the medical staff.”28 Accompanying the “Call” was the “Address,” which when read shattered the ordinarily calm atmosphere of the adjutant’s office. Standing by to receive the usual assortment of standard orders, the regimental adjutants were ill prepared for the drama unfolding. Taking the “Call” and the “Address,” they rushed back to their camps.

  Identifying himself only as “a fellow soldier, whose interest and affections bind him strongly to you,” Armstrong addressed “the Officers of the Army.” His tone was personal and emotional. “Like many of you,” “[I have] seen the insolence of wealth” and “felt the cold hand of poverty.” We suffered willingly because we “believed in the justice of [our] country” and expected that “the sunshine of peace” would bring “better fortune,” and that “gratitude would blaze forth upon” us.

  At this point in the Address Armstrong shifted his pitch from pious righteousness to deep anger. Congress and the country had “trample[d] upon your rights” and “distain[ed] your cries and insult[ed] your distresses.” The “meek language of entreating memorials” had proven worthless. The hyperbolic Armstrong ratcheted up the rhetoric. “Change the milk-and-water style of your last memorial; assume a bolder tone—… and suspect the man who would advise to more moderation and longer forbearance.” He warned against laying down “those very swords, the instruments and companions of your glory,” for without them you will be “forgotten” and be left to “grow old in poverty, wretchedness and contempt.” It was time “to draw up your last remonstrance” to Congress and warn the men in Philadelphia that should the soldiers once again be ignored, “the army has its alternative.” The flamboyant Armstrong declared that the soldiers might elect to abandon the cause, gather up their families, and follow their “illustrious leader” west “to some unsettled country,” leaving behind an ungrateful nation to defend itself. Armstrong’s reference to the “leader” was vague; he never provided a name.

  While adjutants raced down the hill toward camp with copies of the Address, a post rider spurred his horse to Hasbrouck House. For nearly eight years, despite momentary and isolated collapses of authority, Washington had managed to keep the army whole and obedient both to him and ultimately to civilian authority. Armstrong’s Address threatened disorder and destruction. It would lead the army into “the abyss of misery.” Washington declared his “disapprobation” and canceled the meeting.29 He knew, however, that canceling the meeting would not stem the anger in camp; indeed, it might even play into the hands of those who accused the general, in Hamilton’s haunting words, of lacking “sufficient warmth” for his men. Having parried the thrust, the general counterattacked. With the assistance of his secretary, Jonathan Trumbull, he prepared a General Order responding to the Address.30

  Not certain of the extent of support for the “fellow soldier,” Washington was careful to avoid any precipitous action that might unleash forces he could not control. He aimed to offer an alternative and to buy time so that his officers might “more calmly and seriously … adopt more rational measures.”31 He needed first to be certain that the officers in line command were loyal. Staff officers, such as those at Ellison House, might plot and scheme, but they could do nothing without support of the troops and the officers who commanded them directly.32 With advice from Trumbull and others at headquarters, including perhaps Knox and Brooks, the general prepared a General Order and laid his plan.33

  In contrast to the dramatic language of Armstrong’s Address, Washington’s General Order was brief, focused, and subdued.34 Had he wished, the commander in chief might well have condemned the Address as sedition and mutiny and used his powers to seize and punish the villainous authors. It would not have been a stretch to find in section 2, articles 1 and 3 of the Articles of War sufficient cause to arrest the author(s).35 Nor would he have had difficulty finding the culprits.36 Such action, however, might have led to violent resistance.

  Early on Tuesday morning, March 11,
the day called for the meeting, adjutants scurried from the public building back to their regiments with a General Order from the commander in chief. The commander in chief began by noting that by calling a meeting without his consent, “fellow soldier” had challenged his authority; so to eliminate any doubt about command, he canceled the meeting, declaring it to be “irregular” and “disorderly.”37 He assured his soldiers that he was not alarmed by the proceedings for he was confident that under any circumstances the “good sense of the officers would induce them to pay very little attention” to the Address.

  Sinking the meeting was the first part of the plan. The men at Hasbrouck House were acutely aware that by scuttling the “irregular” meeting they had done nothing to alleviate anxiety in camp. The next step was to call another general meeting, but this one by the authority of the commander in chief and under his control. Washington ordered “that the staff of the army will assemble at 12 o’clock on Saturday next, at the new building, to hear the report of the committee of the army to Congress.”38 The purpose of the meeting was to “devise what further measures ought to be adopted as most rational and best calculated to attain the just and important object in view.” Washington had kept aloof from any such public meetings and announced that the “senior officer in rank, present, will be pleased to preside and report the result of the deliberation to the Commander in Chief.”39 The “senior officer in rank, present” would be Gates.

  The next day, March 12, Washington sent three letters to Philadelphia: a relatively short one to the president of Congress giving sparse detail of the affairs of the eleventh and two longer letters, one to Joseph Jones and the other to Hamilton, giving much information and frank opinion. In their previous correspondence both Jones and Hamilton had sought to lay a fair portion of fault for the army’s discontent on the officers themselves and their commander in particular. Although annoyed at their critical intimations, Washington had not bothered previously to respond in his own defense. The crisis now brewing, however, made it imperative for the sake of his own reputation that he answer them and throw the blame back where he thought it belonged—with Congress.

  In a tone verging on anger Washington dismissed Jones’s suggestion that “dangerous combinations [had been] forming in the army.” Before this moment, he told Jones, there was not a “syllable of … agitation in Camp.” The pernicious rumors now infecting camp were “planned, digested and matured in Philadelphia” by people “playing a double game.” These “vile Artifices” were carried north by Colonel Stewart, who with the aid of others “managed with great Art” to see to it that they were “industriously circulated” through the ranks.40 “Let me entreat you therefore my good Sir, to push this matter [that is, pay] to an issue.” Should Congress fail in its duty, it must be “answerable for all the ineffable horrors which may be occasioned thereby.”41

  Washington’s quick move to grab the initiative set the officers at Ellison House aback, but only temporarily. Armstrong went to work on a counterstroke, and through the afternoon of the eleventh and into the evening he composed a second “Address.” It was ready by morning and dispatched for distribution.42

  Armstrong thundered forth in a rhetorical style so florid and convoluted that it must have left readers bewildered. He tried to turn Washington on his head. “The weak may mistake” the “general order of yesterday” as an indication that the commander in chief disapproves of the meeting. That, Armstrong wrote, would be a wrong. “Till now the Commander in Chief has regarded the steps you have taken for redress, with good wishes alone.” Washington, according to Armstrong, had now broken his silence. His call to meet had “passed the seal of office, and taken all the solemnity of an order.” Washington’s blessing “[would] give system to your proceedings, and stability to your resolves.”43

  Armstrong had set a clever trap. Washington had called and sanctified a meeting over which he declined to preside. With Gates in the chair, and the room packed with angry officers, an absent commander in chief would have no control over the outcome, and the “rational” and “best-calculated” measures Washington hoped for would likely fall victim to a madding crowd while being presented in a manner that bore his approval.

  Over the next three days Washington and his staff maintained a business-as-usual demeanor, at the same time altering plans.44 Permitting Gates, Armstrong, and company to control the meeting would lead to disaster, perhaps even a mutiny of the army itself. Only Washington in person could keep this raging river within its banks. Bucking precedent, he decided to attend the meeting but with no advance notice. The drama of an unannounced arrival would gain attention and force those who had been murmuring against the general behind his back to publicly acknowledge his authority.

  On Saturday morning March 15 toward noon officers trudged up the hill to the public building. When General Gates appeared from an anteroom at the side, all eyes turned to him. He took his place and called the meeting to order. Officers took seats on the benches.45 The sound of several horses approaching broke the silence. The rattling noise of armed men dismounting was unmistakable. Within moments a tall figure dressed in blue stood in the doorway. The officers were astonished. Never before in this war had the commander in chief come in person to address his officers. Even in the darkest and most perilous moments of the Revolution Washington had preferred back channels, third parties, or written communications. That he would come in person testified to the serious crisis at hand.46

  As he moved through the room men stood, ranks parted to permit him to pass. A surprised Gates acknowledged his superior and moved to the side, offering the commander in chief the place of honor.

  According to Major Samuel Shaw, who stood nearby, “Every eye was fixed upon the illustrious man, and attention to their beloved general held the assembly mute.”47 Washington began by apologizing for being there, which was, he said, “by no means his intention when he published the order which directed them to assemble.”48 So important was this moment, he told his audience, that he “had committed his thoughts to writing.” Wrapping himself in humility and deference, he asked “the indulgence of his brother officers” to grant him “liberty” to read from his text. With that he took out a sheaf of papers and began.49

  His speech was delivered in the grand tradition of battle orations and bore a striking resemblance to Henry V’s St. Crispin’s Day speech. Like the king, Washington stood before an army that had been in the field for a long time. The soldiers were demoralized, tired, and wanted to go home. His task was to remind them of their duty, their time together, and the history that would record their service. Twice before during the war, both times in writing, Washington had reminded his officers of their duty and destiny by calling forth the image of King Henry’s “band of brothers.” Perhaps fearing that it might sound trite on this occasion, he avoided using that phrase while delivering the same emotional message.50

  Ordinarily the general’s style was cool, deliberate, and restrained. This speech was personal. The anonymous writer had questioned his support of the army. To those who would challenge his loyalty, he declared, “I have been a faithful friend to the army.” “I was among the first who embarked in the cause of our common country.” “I have been the constant companion and witness of your distresses.” “I have ever considered my own military reputation as inseparably connected with that of the army; as my heart has ever expanded with joy, when I have heard its praises.” Washington entreated his men to permit him to make their case to Congress; “I have not a doubt,” he assured them, that “justice” would be granted there.

  Washington ended with a clarion call. By standing firm in defense of the country’s liberties, he told his officers, “you will, by the dignity of your conduct, afford occasion for posterity to say, when speaking of this 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.’ ”

  Finished, Washington put his text as
ide. The room was silent. The officers seemed unmoved. Washington feared that his message had failed. He looked out at his audience, paused, and took from his coat the letter he had recently received from Joseph Jones. He began to read portions of it to reassure the officers that Congress had their cause in mind. He struggled through the first sentences, hesitating over words. Standing nearby, Major Shaw watched as the commander in chief paused, “took out his spectacles,” the ones David Rittenhouse had sent only a few weeks before, and to which he was still becoming accustomed. “He begged the indulgence of his audience while he put them on, observing that he had grown gray in their service, and now found himself growing blind.” It was an emotional moment, Shaw wrote, that “forced its way to the heart, and you might see sensibility moisten every eye.”51 Washington “stood single and alone. There was no saying where the passions of an army, which were not a little inflamed, might lead; he appeared, not at the head of his troops, but as it were in opposition to them; and for a dreadful moment the interests of the army and its General seemed to be in competition.” But then “he spoke,—every doubt was dispelled and the tide of patriotism rolled again in its wonted course.” Hamilton’s “torrent” was stemmed. “The whole assembly,” according to Philip Schuyler, “were [sic] in tears.”52

  Washington left as abruptly as he had appeared. As he galloped away his supporters moved quickly. From the floor Brigadier General Rufus Putnam, commander of the Massachusetts Brigade, moved that a committee be elected immediately to draft resolutions that the commander in chief might forward to Congress.53 Brigadier General Edward Hand rose to second the motion. Having lost control of the meeting, Gates and his aides must have gasped when in the next moment the assembly elected Knox, Brooks, and Captain Howard to prepare a draft.54 A thirty-minute meeting in a side room chaired by Knox produced six resolutions, all adopted unanimously.55 The officers declared that the army would never “sully the reputation and glory which they have acquired, at the price of their blood and eight years of faithful service.” They went on to pledge their “unshaken confidence in the justice of Congress and their country” and asked Washington to present their case. With language unmistakable in its intent and target, the officers “reject[ed] with distain, the infamous propositions contained in a late anonymous address to the officers of the army; and resent[ed], with indignation, the secret attempt of some unknown persons to collect the officers together, in a manner totally subversive of all discipline and good order.” They concluded by offering thanks to the committee (McDougall, Brooks, and Ogden) who had presented their case to Congress and asked that McDougall continue his efforts on their behalf. At the last moment of this drama all eyes focused on Gates as he “took the chair.” He knew his place and his role. With “order, moderation and decency” he adjourned the meeting.56