“Josiah,” he was fond of saying, “delay in gathering information may lead to loss of a tactical victory here and there. That may prolong the war. But failure to gather information may lead to the destruction or capture of our small army. As long as we persevere, the British and the Parliament will eventually grow weary of the struggle.”
He did not have to say that the capture of the army meant the capture of himself. I knew from reading the intercepted British letters that many of the king’s officers believed that the bagging of the “gray fox,” as the General was called, would mean the Crown’s triumph in the war.
Chapter Three
DAY THREE—WEDNESDAY
The Third Anonymous Letter
All, all is ready.
The factious leaders are our friends, that spread
Murmurs and discontents among the soldiers.
They count their toilsome marchers, long fatigues,
Unusual fastings, and will bear no more
This medley of philosophy and war,
Within an hour they’ll storm the Senate-house.
—Sempronius, Cato, Act II
It was too early on a frosty Wednesday morning to head for the Red Tavern, where the junior officers congregated, but the task of gathering the information the General had requested couldn’t wait. I rode through the camps in New Windsor where the troops were housed and some officers were already on duty, making my way from state to state, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. I did not have to ask many questions. Where officers gathered around campfires or lolled in headquarters’ tents, the conversation seemed to not touch any subject other than the letters. “It’s about time” and “I don’t care who he is, he speaks for us” were commonly held views, not only among the officers but also the soldiers.
I started in the Virginia camp. The attitude toward the General seemed full of wistfulness and hopefulness. A captain in the Virginia regiment came right out and said, “We and the General have been patient long enough. It’s about time the General led us to the right city . . . and I don’t mean New York.” His comment was echoed by other officers, who said it had become far more important for the General to lead the army to Philadelphia, where the Congress resided. In the New York camp, some said if the General wouldn’t lead, someone else would, and it was clear they were referring to the second-in-command, General Gates, although his name was not mentioned, perhaps because some knew I was on the General’s staff.
Once I ventured to ask about the practicality of settling in the West or holding on to our arms. A junior officer responded, “Any course is better than the present.” A lieutenant said, “We know what the letter writer really wants and that is what we all want: to march on Philadelphia. We need to finish the job that the Pennsylvania mutineers started two years ago.”
There was some, but not much, mystery about who wrote the letter. At the Massachusetts camp, one officer, Captain Noah Allen, thought it might be a British plot, but he was one of few. Most of the rumors focused on General Gates’s aides, Majors John Armstrong Jr. and Christopher Richmond.
In the New York regiment, I ran into Colonel Courtland, whom I respected greatly. When I asked how the letter was being received, he said, “with glee and approbation, Josiah.” When I asked if he had any ideas who wrote the letter, Courtland confidently named Gates’s aides: “The writing on the copies is Richmond’s, but I have heard the author is his friend Armstrong.” Colonel Courtland’s aide claimed others had seen Major William Barber, another aide to General Gates, deliver the letter to the adjutant’s office, which distributed orders and letters by high-ranking officers to all units.
Other officers, such as Colonel Swift and Major Webb in the Connecticut regiment, shared Colonel Courtland’s view. I knew Armstrong to be ambitious, headstrong, eloquent, and devoted to General Gates. If he was the author, he would not have written the letter without General Gates’s authorization.
Still, many of the officers I questioned didn’t know and didn’t care who wrote the letter. “Whoever wrote that letter, Colonel, sure knows how to write” was a common refrain.
While I was making my rounds, I saw the General stop at the campgrounds of the New York regiment to review the troops. As usual, there were huzzahs for the General. It may have been my imagination, but I thought the cheers sounded more dutiful and less enthusiastic than usual. But then, when he appeared before the Pennsylvania troops, the huzzahs seemed louder. Jumpy as I was, I imagined that might be because the troops anticipated that the General would agree to lead the mutiny.
I sought out, discreetly, my cousin Benjamin. He told me the Pennsylvania troops would happily march on Congress again but that it might take leadership from the officers. Benjamin raised his eyebrows. “Many resisted last time, but if the senior officers led the way . . .”
Benjamin’s regimental commander, Walter Stewart, had returned from Philadelphia and was known to have visited many units throughout the army, spreading word of the dismal reception given our latest petition to Congress. Stewart, as I well knew, was a close friend of General Gates.
I had reached the encampment of the New Hampshire regiment and was starting to sound out some of the officers gathered around a fire when Colonel Joseph Reed, whom I knew, handed me still another anonymous letter that was circulating. “Here, Colonel, have you seen this?”
The letter was neither as short as the one requesting a meeting nor as long as the one prodding the army to revolt. It had obviously been written upon receipt of the General’s order shifting the meeting to Saturday. The writer artfully acknowledged that his earlier letters might have alarmed those who had never heard such sentiments so openly expressed. “Ye well knew that it spoke a language, which till now had been heard only in whispers, and that it contained some sentiments which confidence itself would have breathed with distrust.”
Fearful that the General’s order might be interpreted as disapproval of the call for a meeting, the anonymous writer cleverly argued that the General, by calling the Saturday meeting, was displaying his approval of the writer’s intentions.
Till now, the Commander in Chief has regarded the steps you have taken for redress, with good wishes alone, though ostensible silence has authorized your meetings and his private opinion has sanctified your claims. Had he disliked the object in view would not the same sense of duty which forbad you from meeting on the third day of this week [Tuesday], have forbidden you from meeting on the seventh [Saturday]?
The writer then went on to voice approval of the General’s delay of the meeting until Saturday, making it seem as if the General’s opinion was the same as the writer’s.