Washington never complained, however, about his public duties. He exuded enthusiasm for the American cause, though he wrote no essays proclaiming the iron determination he brought to most tasks. A simple declarative sentence to his brother Jack captured his commitment: “It is my full intention,” he wrote in early spring 1775, “to devote my life and fortune in the cause we are engaged in.”10
* * *
Across America, martial spirits soared after the congress adjourned in late October 1774. A North Carolina delegate found that “patriotic fervor still kindles in the breasts of the inhabitants.” A Marylander insisted on the need for “a military force and arms and ammunition,” while Richard Henry Lee declared, “All North America is now most firmly united and as firmly resolved to defend their liberties . . . against any power on earth.” From Pennsylvania, John Dickinson wrote presciently that “the first act of violence” by the British “will put the whole continent in arms.”11
Nowhere was conflict more likely to erupt than in Massachusetts. John Adams reported “a total stagnation of law and commerce” there, noting, “We have no council, no house, no legislature, no executive. Not a court of justice has sat since the month of September.” No debts could be recovered, nor criminals punished.
Adams breathed defiance, insisting that New England would easily produce 200,000 soldiers to oppose Britain. “Our people,” he wrote, “are everywhere learning the military art—exercising perpetually.” With a week’s notice, he estimated, Massachusetts could put 15,000 armed men into the field. Richard Henry Lee pronounced that six frontier counties of Virginia would produce 6,000 riflemen, who would be “the most formidable light infantry in the world,” due to their “amazing hardihood, . . . the exceeding quickness with which they can march,” and their stellar marksmanship.12
From across the Atlantic, British leaders poured fuel on the flames. In his speech opening Parliament in late 1774, King George bemoaned the “most daring spirit of resistance and disobedience” in Massachusetts, while other colonies made “unwarrantable attempts . . to obstruct [British] commerce.” He vowed “firm and steadfast resolution to withstand every attempt to weaken or impair” Parliament’s supreme authority. The king’s remarks, Washington observed, “prognosticate nothing favorable to us,” and “the minds of men are exceedingly disturbed.”13
As the king signaled, Britain clamped down harder. In February and March, Parliament declared Massachusetts in a state of rebellion, banned American fishermen from the rich Grand Banks off Newfoundland, and excluded New Englanders from trading with Britain and the British Caribbean. In April, the trade ban extended to all colonists except Georgians.14 The British ministry’s most drastic step came in secret orders General Gage received in mid-April, directing him to arrest patriot leaders in Massachusetts because “blows must decide” the crisis. Strike early, the clandestine instructions directed, before the Americans can organize themselves.15
In Virginia, Lord Dunmore responded oddly to the escalating tensions: he led a militia expedition against the Ohio Indians, placing him in the western forests as the crisis sharpened. Perhaps he hoped to win support from the colonists by battling a common foe. If that was his plan, it failed. When Dunmore’s militia defeated the Indians, Virginians applauded but continued to oppose British taxes and sanctions against Boston. In a report to London, the governor admitted that the county committees effectively enforced non-importation with “the greatest rigor.” Each committee, he wrote:
assumes an authority to inspect the books, invoices, and all other secrets of the trade and correspondence of merchants; to watch the conduct of every inhabitant, without distinction, and to send for all . . . ; to interrogate them respecting all matters which, at their pleasure, they think fit objects of their inquiry; and to stigmatize, as they term it, such as they find transgressing what they . . . call the Laws of Congress, which stigmatizing is no other than their inviting the vengeance of an outrageous and lawless mob to be exercised upon the happy victims.
Even worse, he added, Virginians embraced the actions of the Continental Congress “with marks of reverence which they never bestowed upon their legal [royal] government.”16
In January 1775, Speaker Randolph called for Virginia’s counties to choose delegates to a convention in March. He picked Richmond for the meeting because it was centrally located and also lay fifty miles from the governor in Williamsburg.17 Randolph had no power to order the election or the convention, but his word carried greater force than Dunmore’s. Royal governors had few tools for imposing their will. Marching against the Ohio Indians, Dunmore had led militia, not British soldiers; only a handful of the latter served in frontier forts. In Massachusetts, General Gage’s force was too small to control one colony, much less the other twelve. To bring more soldiers across the ocean would take months and cost money that Britain was reluctant to spend. The light imperial presence allowed militia companies to drill openly and swear allegiance to the people, to their county committees, or to the Continental Congress. Dunmore could not compel them to serve the king.
At the Richmond convention, Patrick Henry moved that Virginia “be immediately put into a posture of defense” since “a well regulated militia . . . is the natural strength and only security of a free government.” Washington, Lee, and Jefferson agreed. Henry’s words were powerful: “Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace, but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! . . . Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle?” His concluding statement echoed through the continent: “I know not what course others may take, but as for me . . . give me liberty or give me death!”18
The vote was close, but Henry’s resolution carried. To translate that resolution into a plan for defending Virginia, the convention created a committee that included Washington. The committee’s plan followed Fairfax County’s model, including the collection of funds by county committees. Washington also served on a committee tasked with encouraging “arts and manufactures”—code for weapons and ammunition.19
When the convention chose the colony’s representatives to the next meeting of the Continental Congress, scheduled for Philadelphia in May, Peyton Randolph again led the balloting. This time Washington stood second, a single vote behind. All but two of 108 delegates voted for him.20
* * *
Preparing to return to Philadelphia, Washington took pride that Virginia’s military preparations had produced “a great number of very good companies.” Though preferring a peaceful resolution of the crisis, he stressed that the militia “are now in excellent training, the people being resolved.”21
Toward late April, Lord Dunmore proved the truth of Patrick Henry’s insistence that the war had begun. The governor deployed marines from a Royal Navy ship to seize gunpowder from Williamsburg’s public storage. Furious, a crowd threatened to march on Dunmore’s palace, but Peyton Randolph and others diverted them. Militia in other counties proposed to march on Williamsburg. Two counties requested that Washington lead them. Dunmore defused the confrontation by paying for the powder.22
Then news from Boston again heightened tensions. Acting under his secret orders, General Gage sent troops to seize American arms and powder. Fighting broke out when the redcoats reached Lexington and Concord. As the British marched home, local militias exacted a bloody toll. War had begun.23
Events were moving in Washington’s direction. If the congress should establish an army, a Virginian wrote to him, “there is not the least doubt but you’ll have the command of the whole forces in this colony.” Washington surely expected that. He likely wondered if he might be trusted with command of all the colonists’ forces.24
During his last week at home—his last time at Mount Vernon for six years—Washington reviewed the Fairfax militia company, then greeted several guests. Charles Lee and Horatio Gates planned to travel to Philadelphia with Washington and Richard Henry Lee, both congressional delegates. Also present were Bryan Fair
fax and two other prominent Virginians.
On warm days, the men could gather on Mount Vernon’s rear gallery, with its lush view of the river and Maryland beyond, to review the threats facing Americans. Their military conversation was as knowledgeable as any in America that week. Washington had served with Gage in the Braddock expedition, while both Charles Lee and Gates had spent years in the British Army. Only Washington, though, had commanded Americans. He knew the challenges posed by their lack of military traditions and their ambivalence toward discipline.
For all Americans, the times were thrilling and awful. The fight was upon them. John Dickinson captured the conflicting feelings when he lamented the “butchery” at Lexington, then celebrated that the British “have been defeated with considerable slaughter.” He declared that “the impious war of tyranny against innocence has commenced”; for him, the choice was between freedom or an honorable death.25
The four men who were bound for Philadelphia left Mount Vernon on May 4. Washington’s baggage contained the blue-and-buff uniforms he had designed for the Fairfax militia. Just in case. Some accounts say he wore the uniform as he traveled.26
Joined on the road by other Virginia delegates, their progress through Maryland was almost triumphal. A scarlet-clad militia company, marching with fife and drum, escorted them from the Potomac crossing until other units took over. In Baltimore, three companies provided an escort. Washington reviewed a drill there, then townspeople staged a dinner in their honor. Similar scenes occurred in Chester, Pennsylvania, and in Philadelphia, where the welcoming party included a band, troops of cavalry and infantry, and hundreds of civilians.
A Philadelphia loyalist who ate supper with the delegates that evening remembered Washington as “a fine figure, and of a most easy and agreeable address.” He was charmed by Washington’s quiet affability and commanding presence, qualities that routinely won the trust of others. In the coming congress, they would be on full display.27
Chapter 30
General Washington
On May 9, Washington entered a Philadelphia that was changing daily. The peace-loving Quaker town was turning to the business of war. An English visitor recorded the transformation:
I find the drums beating, colors flying, and detachments of newly raised militia parading the streets; the whole country appears determined to assume a military character, and this city, throwing off her pacific aspect, is forming military companies. . . .
According to two North Carolinians, the city’s twenty-eight companies each drilled twice every day. “Nothing,” one wrote, “is heard but the sound of drums and fifes.”1 With church bells pealing, Philadelphians gave Benjamin Franklin a hero’s welcome home from England, then lavished the same treatment on the Virginia delegates, then on those from Massachusetts, Connecticut, and New York. Military units provided escorts and joined processions, marching “with a slow solemn pace.”2
Washington carried with him not only his militia uniform but also six copies of the British Army’s standard drill manual to help him train raw troops.3 Washington knew he would soon command Virginia’s military, and perhaps more. He was the only delegate with significant fighting experience and the leading soldier from the largest colony. Virginia always commanded attention.
Washington later said he had felt the “utmost diffidence” about commanding American forces, because “the situation required greater abilities and more experience than I possessed to conduct a great military machine.” He knew that machine would be “little more than a mere chaos” confronting Britain’s huge resources:
Her fleets covered the ocean, and . . . her troops had harvested laurels in every quarter of the globe. . . . We had no preparation. Money, the nerve of war, was wanting. The sword of war was to be forged on the anvil of necessity.
To prevail, Washington wrote on another occasion, Americans would rely on “the unconquerable resolution of our citizens, the conscious rectitude of our cause, and a confident trust that we should not be forsaken by heaven.” Soldiers, he well knew, generally preferred more tangible advantages.4
On May 10, anxious delegates convened in the Pennsylvania State House. Facing war, the delegates were grim, but the crisis welded them together. The fighting near Boston, Richard Henry Lee wrote, “roused such a universal military spirit throughout all the colonies, and excited such universal resentment against this savage ministry and their detestable agents,” that “there never appeared more perfect unanimity among any set of men.” Events loomed so large, a Connecticut delegate confided to his wife, “I tremble when I think of their vast importance.”5
Fifty of the delegates had attended the previous congress, but there were new faces: Ben Franklin and James Wilson of Pennsylvania, John Hancock from Massachusetts, and Thomas Jefferson of Virginia. With seven other delegates, Washington made a standing reservation for dinner at the City Tavern, but ate there only eight times. As at the first Congress, he dined often in the homes of wealthy Philadelphians. This time, he spent evenings and early mornings chairing four different committees, always wearing his militia uniform. Even prickly John Adams found that “by his great experience and ability in military matters [Washington] is of much service to us.”6
The image of Washington in full uniform, striding the streets, socializing, and attending congressional sessions, carries the strong whiff of a man intent on high command. Possibly he wore the uniform to show his commitment to the cause, although the image calls to mind the guest who arrives with a guitar slung over one shoulder, desperately hoping that someone will ask for a song. Yet no delegate seems to have found the uniformed Washington ridiculous. Despite statements about how unworthy he felt for command, he pursued that command avidly.
Washington’s first committee responsibility came when New York’s provincial congress requested advice on what posts it should fortify before British forces arrived. Four days later, Washington’s committee report prompted a discussion of “the state of America.” After six days, Congress specified three locations for New York to reinforce against naval attack, and recommended that the colony arm up to 3,000 militia.7
The debate over New York’s defense might have alarmed an aspiring commander. A legislative body with sixty-five members and little military experience was a poor place to make tactical decisions, but there was little alternative. No other continent-wide authority existed. The delegates’ micromanagement was the beginning of their education on how to oversee a war. Most had reviewed budgets and revenues, enacted laws, and drafted addresses to the king or Parliament. They were adept at arguing over tone, commas, and clauses. Now their duties were far more grave. They weighed choices with immediate life-and-death consequences for their neighbors.
John Adams recognized that Congress was learning its job while performing it. “Our unwieldy body moves very slow,” he wrote. “Such a vast multitude of objects, civil, political, commercial and military, press and crowd upon us so fast, that we know not what to do first.” The session unfolded like a Shakespeare history play, with messengers dashing in with news of offstage conflicts that required immediate attention. One day they learned that patriots had seized Fort Ticonderoga in upstate New York; on another day, that a British agent was arrested in Philadelphia Harbor.8
Shortly after the New York resolutions passed, Washington chaired a new committee on the acquisition of ammunition and other supplies. The committee had only five days to dig into the vexing problem, which would dog the American cause for years. It recommended distributing Ticonderoga’s arms and supplies and borrowing £6,000 to buy powder. Later, Congress called on northern colonies to send gunpowder to Massachusetts and directed New York and Pennsylvania to manufacture it.9
Congress drafted “an humble and dutiful petition” to George III, almost out of habit, but war was the reality. A resolution in late May acknowledged that hostilities had begun and directed that “these colonies be immediately put into a state of defe
nse.” Congress was, as a Pennsylvanian put it, “preparing for the worst that can happen, viz., a civil war.”10
Washington wrote to George William Fairfax that he expected war. Thousands of armed Americans formed an impromptu army that ringed Boston, trapping Gage’s troops there. Washington called it “unhappy” that the “plains of America are either to be drenched with blood, or inhabited by slaves.” But regret would not stay his hand. “Can a virtuous Man,” he asked his friend, “hesitate in his choice?”11
More committee service beckoned. Washington chaired a panel to develop an “estimate of the money necessary” for the next twelve months. The task, of course, was impossible. No one knew how long or widespread the conflict would be. And Congress had no power to raise funds anyway.12
By mid-June, the Massachusetts convention advised that since the Americans surrounding Boston were from different colonies, Congress should assume control of them. Many feared invasion from Canada. Delegates used the term “continental army” to describe the men ringing Boston. Congress authorized ten companies of riflemen from Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Virginia to reinforce the Boston siege. Someone had to lead this Continental Army, defending nearly two thousand miles of coastline against the world’s dominant sea power and opposing the army that recently vanquished the French around the globe. The rebellion’s fate rested upon who was the choice of Congress.13
Washington had another committee to chair, this one charged with preparing rules and regulations for the army. Was the assignment a step to even greater responsibilities? Some thought so. In a letter, an unidentified Virginia delegate reported that Washington “has been pressed to take the supreme command of the American troops and I believe will accept the appointment.”14
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