American Crisis

by William M. Fowler Jr.

  Washington took time to attend to personal matters. For most of his adult life he had suffered from severe dental problems. Constantly seeking the best advice, in 1772 he consulted with the English dentist John Baker, who instructed him on the use of a toothbrush. It was good advice but came too late for preventive care. The only effective treatment was extraction, and Washington suffered many. Eight years of army food had aggravated his condition. While at Tappan he mentioned his problem to Fraunces, who told him about a French dentist he knew in New York, Jean Pierre le Mayeur. He had come to New York three years earlier to attend to Sir Henry Clinton and other high-ranking British officers.84 While appreciating his dental skills, his British patients suspected Mayeur’s politics. One evening while dining with officers, Mayeur defended his homeland “with a degree of warmth displeasing” to his companions, who turned on him with a “cold Civility [and] permitted him to remain ever after unattended to except for the Eye of Suspicion.”85 Fearing for his personal safety, two months before the Tappan meeting he had written to Washington asking for permission to come across the lines.86 At that moment Mayeur was just one of dozens of people seeking refuge. Deluged with such requests, and since Mayeur was French, Washington referred him to the “Minister of France at Phila.” Fraunces’s recommendation put a different light on matters. Washington wrote immediately to Lieutenant Colonel William Smith in New York City to give him a special mission to find Mayeur. It was to be done discreetly, “not to be made a parade of.”87 Thanks to Fraunces’s connections, Smith found the dentist and within a few days a pass was issued and Mayeur was in Newburgh attending to Washington. Alas, Mayeur was not able to provide a permanent fix for Washington’s dental difficulties, but he did, nonetheless, afford the general some respite from pain.88

  The New York commissioners undertook other personal business for the general. Shortly after the announcement of peace Carleton opened the port of New York to trade. Goods flooding in dropped prices dramatically. James Madison reported that in both New York and Philadelphia “all foreign commodities have fallen.” These were “the sweets of peace … to be amply enjoyed.”89 Washington wasted no time taking advantage. Looking ahead to their return home, he and Martha went on a veritable shopping spree. He sent Smith to scour the shops in New York for “Tin Plates” and “Dishes” as well as books for his library at Mount Vernon, including biographies of “Charles the 12th of Sweden, Louis XV of France and a History of the Reign of Czar Peter, the Great.” Although lacking much formal education, the commander in chief was an avid reader and told Smith, “If there is a good Booksellers Shop in the City I would thank you for sending me a Catalogue,” so “that I may choose such as I want.”90 He also purchased four pipes (nearly five hundred gallons) of the “very choicest (old) Madeira Wine, a box of Citron and two baskets of figs,” all to be sent to Virginia. For his table he ordered a “dozn large Table Cloths” and “3 dozn Napkins.” For Martha he ordered “three yards of black silk.” Nor did he forget his slaves. For them he ordered “1000 Ells [approximately 3,000 feet] of German Oznabgs” and “200 blankets.” Some of these blankets, he hoped, might be bought from the “King’s stores” as Carleton might be anxious to have cash rather than the trouble of packing and transporting them. The surest sign that Washington was planning retirement were his instructions for Daniel Parker to buy “six strong hair Trunks well clasped and with good Locks” into which he could pack his papers for their journey to Mount Vernon. The trunks were to be purchased on the “Public acct.”91

  On the afternoon of May 13, whether from ill health, the press of making preparations to go home, his usual reluctance to stand before a group of officers, or simple modesty, Washington decided not to attend a meeting being held across the river from Hasbrouck House at Mount Gulian, the headquarters of General von Steuben. For some time a proposal had been floating among the officers of the army to form a fraternal order. One concept, proposed by a group of officers, envisioned an “ ‘Order of Freedom’ to be instituted on 4 July 1783.” According to this proposal, the French Crusader king St. Louis would be the patron of the Order of Freedom, with the president of Congress as chief, Washington as grand master, Benjamin Franklin as chancellor, and John Witherspoon as prelate.92 Too fanciful and European for American tastes, the order never materialized. In its place, at the urgings of von Steuben and particularly Knox, an Americanized republican version took shape based upon the legendary Lucius Quinctius Cincinnatus, a Roman general called to defend the republic in the fifth century B.C., who upon the end of the war put down his sword and returned to his farm. Continental officers, most notably Washington, saw themselves in the model of Cincinnatus. With Knox presiding, the Mount Gulian meeting approved a constitution for the Society of the Cincinnati centered on three “Immutable Principles.”

  An incessant attention to preserve inviolate those exalted rights and liberties of human nature, for which they have fought and bled, and without which the high rank of a rational being is a curse instead of a blessing.

  An unalterable determination to promote and cherish, between the respective States, that union and national honor so essentially necessary to their happiness, and the future dignity of the American empire.

  To render permanent the cordial affection subsisting among the officers, this spirit will dictate brotherly kindness in all things, and particularly extend to the most substantial acts of beneficence, according to the ability of the Society, towards those officers and their families, who unfortunately may be under the necessity of receiving it.93

  Whatever the motivation of the officers present—patriotism, adventure, or self-advancement—the men gathered at Mount Gulian had begun their service as Virginians, New Yorkers, southerners, and northerners. The hard experience of war had changed them. They had marched about the continent and served with, commanded, and been commanded by men from all states.94 They emerged from this common experience with a vision of America less parochial and more national. The society, fraternal and voluntary, was a means to bond and remember shared wartime experiences.

  The society was also controversial, for while the ostensible purposes were charitable and patriotic, there was a shadowy political agenda as well. Having “fought and bled” and then been ignored, these officers were banding together to continue pressuring Congress, and particularly the states, to honor their promises. Some at the meeting still resented Washington’s actions in undermining their efforts with his “Newburgh Address.” The Society of the Cincinnati was their next best hope.95 Although the members modeled the society on other charitable organizations that helped support members and their families, it employed in its constitution a provision sure to raise concern in a nation deeply suspicious of the military.96 Membership in the society was hereditary, the eldest son inheriting the right of membership. That plus the elaborate medal worn by members, smacking of European heraldry, struck a sour chord among many members of Congress. Samuel Osgood of Massachusetts assured John Adams, who shared his distrust of the society, that he was confident that “this Country will not consent to a Race of Hereditary Patricians.”97 In a fiery twenty-two-page pamphlet, Considerations on the Society of the Cincinnati, Aedanus Burke, a South Carolina delegate, railed against it, claiming its members were Caesars and Cromwells in the making. Taking a swipe at von Steuben, Burke charged that such a feudal society might be fit for the “petty princes of Germany,” but it had no place in America and ought to be “extirpated.” Opposition softened somewhat when, to no one’s surprise, the members elected Washington to be their first president. Nonetheless, the society continued to stand as a blatant affront to those who cherished “republican principles.”98

  Chapter Thirteen

  On June 2 Washington ordered “colonels and commanders of corps [to] immediately make return of the number of men who will be entitled to furloughs.” Paymasters were to attend to the “settlement of accounts.” The “Quartermaster will supply a sufficient number of printed furloughs,” and generals were to mak
e “arrangements for marching the troops of their respective States to their homes.” And should anyone doubt that the war was over, the commander in chief was “pleased to grant a full and free pardon to all non-commissioned officers and privates now in confinement, and they are to be liberated accordingly.”1

  Within a few days of Washington’s order, according to Lieutenant Benjamin Gilbert, “the Maryland, Jersy [sic], and New York Lines [quit] the field, and those of Massachusetts and the other States” were packing their kits.2 Washington ordered units left in camp to consolidate into six regiments, five infantry and one artillery. Less than eighteen hundred soldiers were “fit for duty.” Since the April 19 announcement of the cessation of hostilities, four fifths of Washington’s army, some eight thousand men, had left.3 When “the definitive treaty arrives,” Gilbert predicted, “there will be a final desolution [sic] of our Army.” Quartermaster Pickering noted to his wife, “The army are beginning to separate” under “circumstances truly distressing,” while to his friend Samuel Hodgdon he wrote, “The Army is disgusted.”4

  The sight of so many unhappy, despairing soldiers marching from camp moved Washington to do something he had rarely done since becoming commander in chief: he meddled in politics. He knew that he would soon lay down his sword, but he also knew that Citizen Washington would have far less influence than “His Excellency.” While he still had power, he decided to write a “Circular Letter to the States.”5 More than seven thousand words, it was his longest public message of the war, and although he addressed it to the state governors, he intended it for all Americans.

  “I am now preparing to resign,” he began, and “return to that domestic retirement … which I left with the greatest reluctance.” At this moment in his life he saw a great future for America. “The citizens of America,” he noted with pride, are in a “most enviable condition, as the sole lords and proprietors of a vast tract of continent, comprehending all the various soils and climates of the world, and abounding with all the necessaries and conveniences of life, are now by the late satisfactory pacification, acknowledged to be possessed of absolute freedom and independency.” It was, however, a dangerous time. “The eyes of the whole World are turned upon [us]” for “it is yet to be decided, whether the revolution must ultimately be considered as a blessing or a curse; not to the present age alone, for with our fate will the destiny of unborn millions be involved.”

  At this “ill fated moment” the confederation was on the edge of “ruin.” In such a fragile and divided condition the new nation was at risk of becoming “the sport of European politics.” “In these grave circumstances,” Washington wrote, “silence in me would be a crime.” He confessed that some would accuse him of “stepping out of the proper line of [his] duty” and “ascribe [his actions] to arrogance or ostentation.” But he was motivated not by such base motives as his enemies might suggest but by “the rectitude of [his] own heart.”

  First and foremost, he urged “an indissoluble Union of the States under one Federal Head.” Only by a strong central government to which the states must yield authority could the nation preserve itself against domestic discord and foreign threats. Without a “supreme power to regulate and govern,” he warned, “every thing [sic] must very rapidly tend to anarchy and confusion.” He repeated his plea for “compleat [sic] and ample Justice” for the army. The promise of half pay and commutation was a “solemn” act that was “absolutely binding upon the United States.” Although he did not endorse it directly, readers could not mistake the fact that Washington was urging approval of the unpopular impost. He finished “I now bid adieu … at the same time I bid a last farewell to the cares of office, and all the employments of public life.”

  Although widely reprinted and read, Washington’s address had little impact.6 It had all been said before and ignored before. In Virginia his address actually provoked ire. According to Edmund Randolph, some of his fellow Virginians thought Washington had stepped across the “proper line of duty” with this “unsolicited obtrusion.”7 David Howell of Rhode Island, who sympathized with Washington’s plight, nonetheless lamented that in his judgment the general had been duped by “coxcombs” who “induced” him to use “his personal authority” to support “destructive” measures.8

  It was a low moment for Washington. His public reputation was at stake. A rumor swept the capital, likely spread by Walter Stewart, that the commander in chief had “become so unpopular in his Army that no Officer will dine with him.” The officers, according to Stewart, had rejected an invitation to “meet and have a general Dinner together … declaring they thought the present period more adapted to Sorrow than to mirth.”9

  “Our finances [are] low, Our resources small, Our affairs deranged,” wrote Massachusetts delegate Stephen Higginson to Samuel Adams. But few seemed to care. Congress could not muster a quorum “above one day in a Week.”10 Recognizing the dire circumstances, the president of Congress, Elias Boudinot, dispatched an urgent message to the governors of Connecticut, New York, Maryland, and Georgia. Their states had failed to send delegates to Philadelphia. Boudinot admonished the governors that their irresponsible behavior made it impossible for Congress to act on any measures since the “business” of Congress requires the “assent of Nine States.” Absence of their delegates was “extremely humiliating to us, as well as disadvantageous to the union.” Unless they showed up, “the public business” would be “retarded” and “the most dangerous and destructive delays must unavoidably take place.”11 If the states neglected and ignored the body, the public at large disdained it. John Armstrong referred to Congress as full of “fools and rascals,” while Ralph Izard of South Carolina noted that the states had so “totally annihilated” Congress’s “strength and credit that no Enemy need be afraid of insulting us.”12

  Among those who had no fear of Congress were the men of the Pennsylvania Line bivouacked in Lancaster, eighty miles west of Philadelphia. The regiment’s duties, to guard British prisoners, had ended with the release of the men in their charge. Not willing to bear the unnecessary expense of keeping the men in service, the Pennsylvania authorities, following the policy set down by both Congress and the commander in chief, ordered the men furloughed. Like every other furloughed soldier, the Pennsylvanians expected pay and got none. On the morning of June 16 a delegation of noncommissioned officers informed their commander, Colonel Richard Butler, that they were marching to Philadelphia to demand justice. Within minutes the sergeants at the head of eighty or more unhappy soldiers set off for the city.

  Alarmed by the news that mutinous soldiers were heading their way, the members of Congress asked state authorities to call out the militia to protect them. John Dickinson, president of Pennsylvania’s ruling body, the State Executive Council, refused the request, warning the members that the state militia “could not be relied on” and so he could not guarantee Congress’s safety.13 On that note the congressmen fled to Princeton, New Jersey, putting the Delaware River between them and the soldiers.14 Armstrong sarcastically wrote to Gates, “The grand Sanhedrin of the Nation with all their solemnity and emptiness have removed to Princeton.”15 Even as they humiliated themselves with such a hasty and unceremonial departure, they ordered Washington, “[Send] some of your best troops, on whom you can depend;… towards the city” to preserve “the dignity of the Federal Government.” Washington acted quickly and dispatched General Robert Howe with fifteen hundred “men of tried fidelity” (more than half of his remaining army) to face down the mutineers.16

  Marching hard, Howe and his men arrived at Princeton on the evening of June 30. News that Continentals would soon be in Philadelphia sent the leaders of the mutiny into flight. As it collapsed, arrests were made, trials were held, sentences meted out, including orders for execution, but no one had the stomach for retribution. The soldiers had risen in a just cause. The convicted were pardoned. The real victim was Congress, which had been “insulted by the Soldiery, and unsupported by the citizens”; its image was tar
nished yet again.17 Even after the city was safe, and despite the fact that they all agreed with Charles Thomson that Princeton—a tiny village with barely “50 houses most of them low wooden buildings, several of them tumbling to pieces”—was “too small” for their accommodation, the members of Congress preferred to fuss and fume in a place they disliked than return to Philadelphia.18

  With nearly half his army gone to Pennsylvania and with his wife just returned from a “jaunt” south, Washington decided to journey in the opposite direction.19 “I have a great desire,” he wrote to his friend Philip Schuyler, “to see the northern part of this State.”20 It would be “a Tour … as far as Tyconderoga and Crown Point, and perhaps as far up the Mohawk River as fort Schuyler.”21 Unlike his previous visit, this was not an inspection of posts, but pleasant travel with friends.

  On the morning of July 18 the commander in chief ’s boat pulled away from the wharf at Hasbrouck House and made its way upstream. Joining Washington was Governor George Clinton and an Italian nobleman, Count Francesco dal Verme. The count, who had arrived recently in New York armed with a letter of introduction from Benjamin Franklin, was embarking on a grand tour of America.22 After traveling to Philadelphia and making brief side trip to visit Congress at Princeton, the count headed up the Hudson, stopping at West Point to dine with von Steuben and Knox. The next day von Steuben rode with him to Newburgh to introduce him to Washington. The general took a liking to the count and invited him to join his party on their journey north.23