The General admired officers who were, as he put it, “educated gentlemen,” unlike himself, but he expected more from them, and when they did not meet his standards, he demonstrated anger far exceeding what he showed toward enlisted men. I remember his curt words when he ordered the execution of an officer convicted of looting loyalist property; and I also remember how the General leaped off his horse, Old Nelson, and struck those officers fleeing British troops on Manhattan Island.
The General had mellowed on deserters, although not mutineers, as the war went on. The year before, several soldiers had returned six months after deserting, and the General gravely sentenced them to loss of pay for the time they were away! If that had happened during the early years, there would have been at least many lashes of the whip. Of course, those who did not return voluntarily and were caught still got the lashes. For soldiers who mutinied—and as I have said, there were more mutinies than those who now glorify the war admit—the General showed little mercy. The penalty recommended by officers at the court-martials of mutineers, at least for the leaders, was death. As the war drew on, the General less frequently issued pardons, particularly after the scare of the last Pennsylvania uprising. I understood the necessity of the executions, and I realized that the cause of almost every mutiny—the broken promises of food, clothing, and pay—could have been invoked, but wasn’t, by all who served. Still I could not bring myself to witness those hangings.
At the beginning of the war, the General had been repeatedly frustrated by the lack of training and discipline among the men. This changed when, in the horrible winter we spent in Valley Forge, a middle-aged Prussian general named Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben (at least he and Ben Franklin claimed he was a general) arrived in the camp. With his Italian greyhound Azor by his side, shouting in German at the men and often telling his translator to “swear at them for me,” I first thought von Steuben seemed like a joke. But he did teach the men how to load and reload rifles and use bayonets. And, bless him, he did show us the use of latrines. I saw his impact when I looked at the neat rows of log cabins in New Windsor. After that winter in Valley Forge, von Steuben wrote the Regulations for the Order and Discipline of the Troops of the United States, a book carefully reviewed and approved by the General. I am told the army used the book for decades. Still, von Steuben was an easy target for regimental humor, and the General often laughed at von Steuben’s complaint that, before anything would happen, he had to tell American troops not just to do something but why they must do something. (The General told me he himself had learned that lesson back in the French and Indian War and then had relearned it at the beginning of this war.)
The General looked down at the letter and read aloud the part about the hardships shared by the anonymous letter writer with the men. The General seemed annoyed and perhaps rightly so. Was this not a criticism of the General? With the letter in his hands, the General asked me, “Have I not taken the best care I could of my men? Yes, they have not been clothed or fed properly, but did I not write hundreds of letters to the Congress, governors, and the French pleading for money and supplies? Have I not, over and over, praised their ardor to Congress and have I not been their strongest advocate? Did I not institute sanitary practices to reduce disease? Did I not insist on mass inoculations against smallpox when many opposed it and did this not save many lives? Josiah, have I not shared the trials and tribulations of the army?”
I did not respond because I knew the questions were rhetorical. I just nodded. He had done all the things he said—I had written most of those letters. We lost twice as many men to disease as to battle. I know sixty years later, with the advances in treatment, that seems hard to believe. Still, that rate was probably lower than the British and the Hessians suffered, although that might have had less to do with the inoculations the General was so proud of and more to do with our being on the run and shifting campsites so often.
Then there was the matter of the General literally sharing his men’s trials and tribulations. Perhaps the General claimed too much credit there. When we camped, the General always had the biggest tent or commandeered a farmhouse. The men did not begrudge this as they knew that the British generals by comparison lived in opulence and luxury. Perhaps I noticed because, despite coming from a wealthy family, as a Quaker I had been taught to live a life of simple frugality. Not that I ever complained about sharing his quarters and offices. And the General at Valley Forge and here in Newburgh had not set up quarters for himself and his aides until tents or cabins had been built for all the men.
The General looked at the letter again and stared at the ceiling. “Josiah, this obviously came from within our camp, perhaps with the encouragement of some in Philadelphia.” I was glad the General had dismissed the idea of a British plot.
Then he turned to the courses advocated. He at least partly echoed my own views. “The suggestion that we withdraw from our families to the West is hardly doable, although we could just stand down and stop firing at the British. The other course implied is that we march on Philadelphia . . .” Here the General’s words trailed off. I noticed that he had used the word “we” in describing the choices put forth.
Then the General, perhaps realizing his use of words, asked me: “Josiah, do you think this diatribe against following the counsel of moderation is directed against me?”
“I don’t think there’s any question about that, sir. Who else are they afraid of successfully urging restraint upon the army?”
The General nodded and remained silent for a moment.
“Josiah, tomorrow morning I want you to go about the camps and try to gather information. Whom do the officers believe wrote the letter? How is it being received? What was the reaction to my postponing the meeting until Saturday? Report back to me before dinner tomorrow.”
“Yes, General,” I replied, realizing the meeting was at an end but expecting more instructions. The General waved me out of his study.