Reflecting on what the General would do tomorrow inevitably led me to reflect on what would happen after the General’s decision. If he refused to lead or bless the rebellion, would it still take place and succeed? It seemed possible, given the mood of the men, but not probable. Who, other than the General, could lead such a rebellion and win public support? General Gates was the obvious choice. His aides adored Old Granny, as they called him, but his ignominious defeat at Camden had dimmed his support among the troops, the political leaders, and the people. Still, he was an ambitious man eager to claim fame and glory, and the frustration of the officers and men would give him a potent force to lead on Philadelphia. I knew from the earlier mutinies that, if Gates’s units followed him, other units might quickly join. The New Jersey unit had joined the Pennsylvania units a year before, and I knew how worried we were in headquarters about commanding the loyalty of other units that might be called upon to put down that mutiny. And that was a mutiny without any officer leadership, let alone a top-ranking general like Gates.
But what if General Washington joined and led the rebellion? Or what if he stood aside but gave it his blessing? I did not like the idea, but I had to admit the chances for success were great. The army at Newburgh would follow him gladly, and I was pretty sure other units, which had the same grievances, would follow also. I thought again of all those mutinies during the war. There was the expectation they would fail because of deft and strong actions by the General to quell them. Still, the politicians had fled Philadelphia for Princeton while the General had worked his magic. With the General in the lead, I suspected many politicians in the states, and many congressmen too, would join what they perceived to be the future ruling government.
And what of the people? Many still harbored hostility toward the military dating back to the conduct of British troops in colonial days. And Americans’ repeated noble support for the war was marred by a strange reluctance, particularly in New England, to pay the taxes to fund a standing army. Many surely still believed in republican principles despite the frustrations and deprivations the long war had brought. And yet my cousin Benjamin told me that the Pennsylvania mutineers a year ago had met with a more friendly than hostile reception from the public. The people knew from their relatives in service how ill served our troops had been. More important was the relationship of the people to the General. He could not go anywhere without people applauding and bowing. To many, he embodied the Revolution. He had become the cause. Why else had the British focused so much energy on either assassinating or capturing him?
The war had been just as much to throw off British rule as to establish some little-thought-out republican government. The replacement of a distant parliament and king with a popular American ruler such as the General, instead of with an ineffective and despised Congress, would seem natural and appropriate. And the loyalist population, which was still numerous in the South, New York, and other places, would feel more comfortable with a king, albeit not the one with whom they started the war. Who could better bring the warring citizens together than the General? While success was not a certainty, I was forced to conclude that an insurrection led or blessed by the General would probably succeed.
Suddenly I started thinking about what I had dreaded the whole week. What would I do if the General led the insurrection? I respected the General and thought he would be a wise ruler. Still, I was a republican, and my Quaker upbringing influenced my outlook. No one led our meetings, no one stood between us and the Lord, and this naturally led us to be suspicious of divine or less divine rulers. Still, even among my brethren, there would be sympathy for an insurrection led by the General. Why, even my Prescilla had raised the subject with me one time when she got angry about my failure to receive pay. What if the General expected me to accompany him on the march to Philadelphia? Would I have the courage to say no? Did I really want to say no?
It was in the early evening on Friday, after the midday dinner but before supper, that I was gratefully diverted from worrying about these questions when the General opened his door and waved for me to come in. I practically jumped from my chair and bounded toward his study, certain that the General would have me draft something relating to tomorrow’s meeting or at least divulge his plans. It was not to be. After offering me the usual glass of Madeira, the General seemed determined to talk about every subject but the impending mutiny.
“Josiah,” he said, “what do you think of my writing a book about farming? Would you help?”
“Sir, of course, but, as you know, I have lived my whole life in a city and know little about farming.”
“Well, Josiah, my neighbors talked to me on the way back from Yorktown and suggested I write such a book.”
That the General was obsessed with farming I well knew from his detailed letters I sent almost every week to Mount Vernon’s manager, his cousin Lund, as well as the agricultural treatises from England that often adorned his desk. Still, it seemed incredible to me that he could really be thinking of such things at a time like this.
“Well, sir, why do your neighbors believe you should write such a book?” I asked.
“Oh, because of this new plough I have invented and my idea for a mechanical seed spreader. The crop rotation I have implemented to get away from tobacco. You can’t feed our nation on tobacco. How to diversify the activities on a plantation. You see, Josiah, tobacco is finished as a cash crop in Virginia. I was among the first in my neighborhood to shift land to wheat and corn. Then I was the first to develop a major herring fishery on the Potomac. We’ve caught hundreds of thousands of herring and shipped them to the West Indies. Then we built mills to weave clothing out of flax and hemp. And there is the whiskey distillery.”
The General then paused and chuckled. “Of course, I was also the first to try to mine iron ore in Virginia. That was a complete failure . . . as was my effort to plant wine vineyards.”
Still, it all sounded quite impressive to a city merchant’s son. The General started talking about manures and moving mud from the Potomac and mixing it with animal droppings. “Well, I don’t know much about farming, sir, but if I can help put things together, I will do so,” I said to the General before I started to nod off, thinking of his troubles with punctuation and spelling.
“No,” the General exclaimed abruptly, “it’s not a good idea. People will think I’m immodest.”
I couldn’t see what was immodest about writing a book on a subject you knew something about, but I didn’t argue. The General was always thinking of how he would look to Americans in the future. Maybe he thought later Americans would think he was focusing on his farm instead of winning the war or setting up a government.
“Josiah,” the General said, shifting the subject, “what do you think this country will look like in thirty years?” I mumbled something about a growing population and migration west of the Appalachians. “True,” replied the General, “but will the new Western states stick with us or go with Spain?”
That possibility had never occurred to me. “Why should they go with Spain, sir?” I asked.