The Glorious Cause, page 51
Attacking the French in the West Indies pleased everyone in the ministry. What to do about the French fleet, which was stationed at Brest and Toulon, excited neither pleasure nor agreement. When the French announced the American treaties, they had twenty-one ships of the line at Brest and another twelve at Toulon. During the spring they added at least another dozen to this total. The British navy had fifty-five ships of the line, in various degrees of readiness, in March. Should the French send a significant part of their fleet to American waters the situation there, where Britain had maintained naval superiority, would be seriously changed. The British had two ways of meeting this possibility. First, they might follow their method of the previous war—a naval blockade that successfully confined the French navy to European waters. A blockade, however, offered great difficulties, especially a blockade of Brest. A close-in blockade which would see much of the fleet on station off Brest would be hard to sustain because many English ships were not in good condition, and prolonged periods at sea would not improve seaworthiness. Nor was it likely to improve the health of sailors who still fell victim to scurvy. An “open” blockade which would rely on fast frigates patrolling off Brest might be more easily maintained, but it had dangers of its own. One was that the French might divide their fleet and send a part to America. In such case, the English response would be a detachment to follow, trusting to good seamanship and luck to bring it to the place in America the French planned to attack. The Toulon fleet might be dealt with in roughly these same ways—a blockade, say at the Strait of Gibraltar, or by a detachment in case it was sent to American waters.
Soon after the French announcement, the Toulon fleet began to prepare to put to sea. The Comted’Estaing, a landsman, was given command and rumors began to circulate in Britain about his instructions. Would he bring the Toulon line of battle up the Channel to join the main force at Brest, or would he make for America? The question and the conflicting guesses it inspired disturbed cabinet meetings for two months. Sandwich and Admiral Augustus Keppel, commander of the home fleet, or the “Great Fleet” as Keppel grandly called it, insisted that the home islands were in danger and that no division of forces for any reason should be made. They were obsessed with defense of the home islands—”our principal object must be our defence at home”—Sandwich wrote early in April. Both opposed trying to stop Estaing at the Strait, lest the attempt fail and the French slip an invasion in behind the “Great Fleet” lured away to the Mediterranean.23
Germain thought invasion a remote possibility and sought to prevent the loss of naval superiority in America. Stopping the Toulon fleet at the Strait seemed only prudent to him, perhaps because America had long been on his mind.
The king and North were put into a terrible dilemma by this disagreement. They agreed that the French were now their main problem, but to confine the navy so closely to home waters seemed a curious way of fighting them. Yet, if they divided the fleet between the Channel and Strait they ran the risk of exposing the nation to invasion; if they did not, their enemy would be free to overturn British preponderance in America.
Sandwich and Keppel had their way. The Toulon fleet sailed on April 13 and cleared the Strait of Gibraltar on May 16. During the month following Estaing’s departure from Toulon, the king, North, and most of the cabinet, not including Sandwich, changed their minds about how best to react. By the end of the month, orders were issued to send Admiral John “Foul Weather Jack” Byron with thirteen ships of the line to reinforce Richard Howe. The cabinet at this time was betting that Estaing was bound for America. Sandwich and Keppel remained convinced that Estaing would join the Brest fleet and succeeded in so shaking the king’s confidence that on May 13 he ordered Admiral Byron to stay his sailing.24
Indecision paralyzed the king and the navy until June 2, when the Proserpine, a frigate which had been stationed off the Strait, sailed in with the news that Estaing had reached the Atlantic on May 16 and set off for America. The Proserpine had followed Estaing for two days just to make sure that there was no trick loose on the sea. Byron was now ordered to sail, but in the face of opposing winds he did not make open seas for another week. Under way, his ships ran into a storm; scattered and badly damaged, they did not reach American waters until early August.25
Clinton and Admiral Howe knew nothing of these ship movements, and Sandwich did not seem eager to tell them that they would soon have visitors from France. In fact, after losing the struggle to prevent a detachment from sailing to America, he peevishly denied Germain the use of a frigate which might carry the news of Estaing’s coming. As far as Sandwich was concerned Germain could use a packet. Germain dispatched the packet, and Howe learned on June 29 that before long Estaing would appear off the American coast. Clinton, who had assumed command from William Howe on May 8, received orders the next day to pull out of Philadelphia and to send troops to the West Indies and Florida.26
A new commander who is told in effect to make preparations for the dissolution of his army does not ordinarily regard his prospects with delight. Clinton never felt satisfied with what he was given—few soldiers do—and decided that he would hang on to what he had, at least until the evacuation of Philadelphia was completed. He therefore delayed sending the 8000 troops southward.
III
George Washington had grown accustomed to seeing his soldiers disappear—often before their enlistments expired. But in 1778 he was feeling much better than he had in the winter, and not just because he had heard of the French treaties and expected help soon. Rather, the prospects of his army had improved over the winter which had been spent at Valley Forge.
Valley Forge, a name associated with suffering since the winter of 1777–78, lay eighteen miles northwest of Philadelphia, where Valley Creek entered the Schuylkill River from the south flowing from west to east. Despite the name, the “Valley” did not exist, and the “Forge,” where iron once was smelted, had fallen into disuse. The ground between Valley Creek and the Schuylkill was a succession of low hills, several thickly wooded, and about two miles long and a mile and a quarter wide.27
Washington chose Valley Forge for winter quarters because the place was not easily accessible and because, with its high ground and streams, it could be easily defended. It was remote from settled areas, but not so distant as to prevent the army from keeping a close watch on the British in Philadelphia. Protecting Pennsylvania from “the ravages of the enemy” concerned Washington, he explained to his soldiers. At the same time he dreaded making his army a burden to those parts of the state already crowded with refugees who had fled as Howe had advanced. “To their distress humanity forbids us to add,” he told his soldiers, themselves full of distress but empty of belly. Hence the choice of Valley Forge, well located strategically, easily defended, and out of the way of civilians.28
The army that marched into Valley Forge looked tired—and was. After fighting at Germantown in early October, it had maneuvered warily ahead of Howe’s force which itself had not seemed especially eager for another battle. There were skirmishes of sorts, several bitter and deadly, but the main forces of each side did not quite manage to grapple with one another. The closest they came to battle was at the American camp at Whitemarsh, twelve miles west of Philadelphia, which Washington had established early in November. Howe, who had settled back into the comforts of Philadelphia two weeks after Germantown, marched out again early in December. The two armies looked at one another for several days—Washington’s troops were deployed on high ground—until Howe decided that an attack could not succeed. He then returned to Philadelphia for the winter, and a few days later, on December 21, the Americans straggled into Valley Forge.29
In all, Washington’s army numbered 11,000 officers and men, of whom 8200 were fit for duty. They made a camp in a fine strategic site, but there was much about it that added to their misery—and they were miserable when they arrived. They lacked almost everything an army needs for survival. They had been hungry for several weeks, and their new quarters were in a part of Pennsylvania barren of provisions. They had lived for weeks in the open and required barracks or housing that would give them protection from the winter. Valley Forge had virtually no buildings; the troops would have to put up their own.
The recent campaign had worn out shoes and clothing as well as men. The hills offered no more in the way of clothing than of food. Almost everything else was in short supply as well. A few days after their arrival Washington remarked that there was no soap in the army but, he concluded, there was not much use for it since few men had more than one shirt, and some none at all. And he might have noted that, though Valley Creek and the Schuylkill bordered the camp, water for all uses had to be carried for considerable distances, in some places a mile or more.30
The woods afforded the materials for housing, and the soldiers fell to building huts almost immediately. Washington ordered that the camp be carefully laid out. Huts, fourteen by sixteen feet, were to be constructed of logs, roofed with “split slabs.” Clay sealed the sides and was used to make fireplaces. Nails were not to be had of course, and the logs had to be notched. Each hut housed a squad of twelve men. Washington promised to share his soldiers’ hardships until the first huts were completed and lived in a tent before finally moving into one of the few houses near by. By January 13 the last of the huts were completed.31
Comfort did not abound inside the huts’ walls. Many had only the ground for floors, and straw for beds was not readily available. Worst of all, the troops frequently had nothing to eat. At the time of their arrival the commissary seems to have contained only twenty-five barrels of flour—nothing else, neither meat nor fish. During the days that followed the soldiers chopped down trees and put up huts with empty stomachs. At night, according to Albigence Waldo, a surgeon of the Connecticut line, there was a general cry that echoed through the hills—”No meat! No meat!” The troops added to this “melancholy sound” their versions of the cawing of crows and the hooting of owls.32
Imitating bird calls suggests that the troops’ sense of humor saw them through the worst of their sufferings. They had their hatreds, too, and these also may have helped sustain them. One was firecake, a thin bread made of flour and water and baked over the campfire. Another was the commissaries who were supposed to provide food for the army. Waldo reconstructed a number of conversations along the following lines: “What have you for your dinners, boys?” “Nothing but firecake and water, Sir.” At night: “Gentlemen, the supper is ready. What is your supper lads?” “Firecake and water, Sir.” In the morning: “What have you got for breakfast, lads?” “Firecake and water, Sir.” And from Waldo, the snarl: “The Lord send that our Commissary of Purchases may live [on] firecake and water till their glutted gutts are turned to pasteboard.”33
During three periods even firecake was largely lacking—the last week of December, early January, and the middle weeks in February. The time in February was perhaps the worst, with Washington describing the troops as “starving” on February 6, 1778, and their condition as one of “famine” on February 16. By this time the soldiers had already endured two months of short rations; they were cold and many were sick.34
Washington felt their suffering and ate from a lean table himself. More important, he did his best to find food and to get it to Valley Forge. His best was carefully limited by a regard for the rights of civilians, scruples which did not put meat into the mouths of his soldiers. Members of Congress who learned of the hunger at Valley Forge urged Washington to seize the food his troops needed. Washington resisted such suggestions, recognizing that relief of his troops’ hunger by such means would undercut the principles of the revolution and the political support of the people. Instead he sent his commissary through New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, and the upper South in search of provisions. At times he seized supplies, or purchased them with force as well as promises of payment, but in these cases he attempted to protect the sellers’ interests as much as possible. For example, at least five hundred horses died during the winter from lack of feed. Washington ordered their replacement and sent troops to nearby farms. Their orders were to leave sufficient horses for the needs of the farmers, to give receipts, and to assess the value of those taken as fairly as possible. To guarantee fair compensation impartial referees were to be used, and the farmers were allowed a voice in choosing them and to be present when the value of the horses was established.35
Finding supplies was not easy, and moving them to the camp was sometimes even more difficult. With army horses and wagons scarce, civilians—merchants, drayers, and others—had to be relied on, and these men, in business for themselves, frequently had better paying uses for their transport. Pork which had been purchased in New Jersey remained there to spoil for lack of wagons. In Pennsylvania, private contractors shipped flour to New England, where prices were better, while Washington’s soldiers had short rations. And a number of farmers around Philadelphia preferred to sell to the British in the city, who had hard cash, than to accept Washington’s promises of payment.36
With little to do except think of food and warmth, the soldiers at Valley Forge sometimes sought relief on their own terms. Desertions seem not to have exceeded the normal rate, which was bad enough, but the officers began to resign in such numbers as to alarm Washington. The soldiers who stayed did not have enough to do once their huts were built—one of the weaknesses of the American army was a lack of systematic routine that comes in training and drill—and some took to plundering nearby farms. The camp saw the usual coming and going, wandering soldiers who strayed here and there, and the bane of the army, those who fired their guns for the pleasure of the sound. Robbing the farmers who had little enough was more serious. Washington, who characterized it as “base, cruel, and injurious to the cause in which we are engaged,” attempted to stop it by tightening discipline. Passes were required to leave camp, and soldiers found outside camp without them were confined. Washington also ordered that frequent musters were to be taken and instructed his officers to inspect their troops’ huts more often. The indiscriminate shooters were to receive twenty lashes “on the spot,” and only soldiers on duty were to carry arms.37
The troops’ misery lay at the heart of the breaches of discipline. If the conditions of their lives could be improved, most of their excesses would stop. But without supplies of food and clothing not much more than repressing criminal acts could be done. Washington’s orders suggest that he did not overlook many ways of maintaining discipline. Some were vital: bury the dead horses and the offal, the troops were told. Some were less important: stop playing cards and casting dice. Inspect the troops frequently, look into their huts, the officers were instructed.38
Undoubtedly these orders had some effect. The gradual recovery of a sick supply system had more. When the army entered Valley Forge its supply service was almost three years old. The service had changed since its inception outside Boston in 1775, but it had not improved. A commissary department existed to provide food for the bellies that an army supposedly moves on; a second department, under a quartermaster, had as its business the responsibility of supplying most other needs including clothing. For a time before 1777–78, Joseph Trumbull, as commissary general, gave excellent service. He resigned, however, when Congress reorganized the department and among other changes, took into its own hands the appointment of the commissary general’s deputies. Congressional action made the commissary general’s responsibility for supervision of the deputies’ work virtually impossible, and Congress itself proved unable to do the job. The deputies, who actually did most of the purchasing and issuing of provisions, found in autonomy considerable opportunities for profiteering and graft. And those who resisted temptation could not begin to meet the army’s needs without proper coordination and direction.39
William Buchanan succeeded Trumbull as commissary general. He tried, failed, and went the way of Trumbull. Later in the winter of 1778, Congress, after being made to realize that the new system was a failure, reorganized the service once more and appointed Jeremiah Wadsworth to head it. The reorganized commissary now operated under an incentive system whose control was placed with its head. The commissary general now appointed his deputies, purchasing commissaries, and their subordinates, who were paid a percentage of their cash disbursements. The more food they provided the army, the more money they made for themselves. It was not a perfect system, but it established simple lines of authority, made supervision relatively easy, and fixed responsibility.
The quartermaster department endured a similar history of congressional intervention and recovered only when Nathanael Greene took over in March 1778. A set of incentives brought vigor to its operatives, who, as in the commissary, were brought under the control of the service’s head. Greene, himself, was given considerable powers of appointment. For example, he selected his own forage and wagon masters, two key posts.
At Valley Forge in February, energy proved as important as organization in rescuing the army from near-starvation. Greene, under Washington’s supervision, provided both energy and organization, sending foraging parties far and wide. Anthony Wayne crossed the Delaware into New Jersey near Goshen and foraged along the river. There he found hay in abundance but the livestock and horses to feed it to were sometimes difficult to discover, for farmers hid their cattle and horses in the woods. Wayne soon learned the tricks of the hunt, and before long his troops collected large numbers of animals. Receipts were given for the stock impressed, and Wayne believed that most owners were “reconciled” to the “policy, necessity and Justice” of the seizures. Whether Wayne followed Greene’s orders not to give receipts to those who concealed their livestock is not known.40
Henry Lee went farther afield, into Delaware and the eastern shore of Maryland where the pickings were fat. In Delaware the foragers found more cattle than horses, and almost everywhere there was more hay than grain. The islands in the Delaware River may have contained more horses than most areas—pasturage in meadows and especially marshes was good there. Greene himself scoured the islands and burned whatever hay he could not send back because of a shortage of teams and horses, which tactic could not have won the sympathies of farmers in New Jersey and Delaware. But Greene and Lee were both convinced that these two states were filled with loyalists anyway. Action against them, while harsh, would at least deny the British the food and forage that the Americans could not carry to Valley Forge.41
