The glorious cause, p.48
The Glorious Cause, page 48
By early October, Burgoyne recognized how bad his situation was. He was not yet cut off from Canada, but his soldiers were in no condition to make a rapid retreat: he had many wounded and sick; his transport was short; his supplies, shorter. He decided in the midst of weakness to try to smash through his enemy. On the morning of October 7 Burgoyne sent out from Freeman’s Farm a heavy force in reconnaissance to test what he thought was the American left. If weakness was found there, he intended to attack with everything he had. His generals did not enter into this plan with much conviction: Riedesel proposed withdrawal to the Batten Kill, a small stream that fed into the Hudson, and Fraser agreed; Phillips refused to give any advice. Burgoyne detested the thought of withdrawal and persisted in his plan, sending the reconnaissance in three columns supported by ten fieldpieces ranging from six pounders to light howitzers. This party crept forward for three-fourths of a mile but discovered nothing. The three columns were then realigned to form a line of about a thousand yards. There the soldiers waited.37
About two-thirty in the afternoon the Americans, whose knowledge of their enemy’s dispositions was superior to the British, struck. Poor’s brigade, New Hampshire regulars led by Enoch Poor, engaged the British left, and soon after Daniel Morgan swung wide and hit the left and found his way to the British rear. The British line began to give way, as the troops discovered Americans all around them. Burgoyne then sent his aide, Sir Francis Clarke, forward from Freeman’s Farm with an order to pull the reconnoitering party back. Clarke received a bullet on the way and died before he could deliver the order.
The battle soon became Benedict Arnold’s. That worthy, eager and brave, had no command, had in fact been relieved by Gates several days before and invited to take himself away. Gates despised him, and he had not even mentioned Arnold in his dispatch to Congress telling of the battle of September 19. Arnold understandably did not admire Gates; he had not taken the hint to clear out but had waited around even though he had no command. Once the bullets began to fly, Arnold decided to insert himself into the battle. He did so brilliantly, riding up and down the line and against the enemy’s center and right. The troops loved Arnold and followed him in a series of wild assaults. Arnold in battle was more than a little mad, but it was a derangement that led to success. The British line crumbled, then disintegrated; Arnold did not stop to savor success but hit the main entrenchments with the same wild enthusiasm. Before the end of the day, his soldiers occupied a portion of the enemy’s works on the extreme right, on the northern edge of Freeman’s Farm. Late in the struggle, Arnold, wounded, was carried off the field, and something went out of the American attack with him. But the Americans controlled the field, and Burgoyne was left in a dreadful position.38
That night and the next Burgoyne withdrew his army, tired, beaten, and dispirited. The sick and wounded, numbering some three hundred, were left behind in a field hospital. On October 9, the British reached the heights of Saratoga; Gates followed but did not succeed in cutting Burgoyne off until October 12. Burgoyne had delayed too long and, unable to cross the river, had no choice but to ask for terms. Discussions were held; the two leaders met on October 16, and the next day the British regulars marched out and laid down their arms. The surrender under the terms of the “Convention,” the agreement each side accepted, provided that the army was to return to England through Boston. Congress, however, disregarded this agreement, fearing that the British would send these men back against America once more. The “Convention Army” eventually was marched to Virginia, where it sat out the war. Altogether some 5800 officers and men with twenty-seven field pieces and 5000 small arms, ammunition, and various sorts of supplies were captured.39
IV
At the time Ticonderoga fell and Burgoyne seemed launched on a campaign of glory, a puzzled George Washington sat watching William Howe in New York City apparently preparing for action. Ships crowded the harbor but Howe delayed sending his troops aboard until July 8, and then, when he had loaded some 18,000, he kept ships and troops sitting idle for the next two weeks. The presumption in Washington’s headquarters was that the ships would soon sail up the Hudson to support Burgoyne. But when on July 24 they cleared Sandy Hook and disappeared on the Atlantic, most of Washington’s colleagues predicted that Philadelphia was their destination. Washington had “strong doubts”—Howe had given him unpleasant surprises before—and apparently half expected Howe to return or to turn up in some unexpected place. The ships did not return, and on July 31 reports of their appearance off the Delaware Capes reached Washington. Then Howe surprised everyone by once more disappearing on the Atlantic. He had been warned against going up the Delaware, which he was told was defended by heavy fortifications. Speculation in Washington’s headquarters and in Congress, which had also regarded Howe’s movements suspiciously, now centered on Charleston, South Carolina. “The most general suspicion now is,” John Adams wrote his beloved Abigail, “that Howe has gone to Charleston S.C. But it is a wild Supposition. It may be right however: for Howe is a wild General.” Washington did not share the expectation that Howe would attack in the south and of course he was right. Early in August eager observers sighted the British convoy entering Chesapeake Bay, and on August 25, Howe began putting his troops ashore on the west side of the Elk River in Maryland. Two days later they had marched to Head of Elk where they rested until the first week in September. Rest was necessary: they had lived in crowded quarters for almost two months, and they had spent half that time at sea in weather that was hotter than most Americans living along the coast could remember.40
Washington put his army on the march almost immediately after learning of Howe’s whereabouts. Aware of the importance of civilian morale, he marched his soldiers through Philadelphia on the way south. To the unpracticed eye, these troops did not have “quite the Air of Soldiers. They dont step exactly in Time. They dont hold up their Heads, quite erect, nor turn out their Toes, so exactly as they ought. They dont all of them cock their Hats—and such as do, dont all wear them the same Way.”41 As trivial as these assessments appear, they marked one important flaw in the American army: a lack of hard discipline which assured steady performance in combat. Still, these half-soldiers fought well in the next few weeks though their leaders sometimes failed them.
Howe’s soldiers were long accustomed to such discipline, but they sometimes got out of hand when they were among civilians, especially the contemptible American civilians. On the way up the Chesapeake they had encountered friendly Americans who rowed out to the ships with fruit, fowl, and milk for sale. These Marylanders from the eastern shore seemed fearless, unaware apparently that the army sometimes simply took what it wanted. The civilians in southern Pennsylvania, in contrast, felt fear and fled, abandoning houses and belongings, cattle, horses, sheep, and grain in the fields. Howe’s soldiers dined well in September; fresh meat appeared on the field mess twice a week, and fruit and vegetables were plentiful. The soldiers enjoyed these days, and some also found the vacant houses irresistible and plundered. Howe realized that this behavior could only erode discipline so vital in battle, and he realized too its effects on American sympathies. He responded with hangings and whippings but not before the news spread over the state and contributed to further alienation and to improved recruiting by the American army.42
That army strengthened by militia now moved to block the British. After the march through Philadelphia, Washington established temporary headquarters at Wilmington. He ordered several detachments forward to harass the advancing British and Germans; “hanging on” the enemy, the phrase usually employed to describe these harrying attacks, indicates something of their method. Maintaining contact kept Washington informed of the location of his foe, and the small units engaged in “hanging on” tormented enemy pickets and patrols, killing them from ambush, annoying them to the point of fury and eventually of fatigue. Howe moved on, of course, despite the irritations of his troops, and on September 10 he discovered that Washington had decided to stop and fight.43
Washington strung his army out on the east side of Brandywine Creek, which cut through wooded slopes. The stream itself was an obstacle and could be crossed only at fords. Greene held the center of the American position at Chad’s Ford with Anthony Wayne. John Armstrong, with militia from Pennsylvania, occupied the ground to the left, and Sullivan with Stirling and Stephen covered the right. These dispositions made considerable sense: they provided strength at the center where the main road to Philadelphia ran, and they allowed concentration of forces. But they left uncovered Trimble’s Ford on the west branch of the Brandywine and Jeffries Ford on the east. The right flank hung open, and behind it a hill which dominated the right and rear sat unoccupied.44
The “wild general,” William Howe, whose wildness had a predictable character, sent Knyphausen’s Germans up against Chad’s Ford to fix Washington’s attention, and then from Welch’s Tavern and Kennett Square he set out at 4:00 A.M. by back roads for Trimble’s and Jeffries Fords. Howe had shown this design before, most recently on Long Island, and he had no reason to suppose that it would fail him now. At ten in the morning Knyphausen’s guns spoke in thunderous tone as a prelude, as far as Washington could tell, to an assault across Chad’s by the infantry. The American artillery replied; the main struggle seemed to be taking shape at the center. Howe and his colleague Cornwallis, meanwhile, were in the process of turning the American flank. By 2:30 in the afternoon they had their troops over the fords and behind Osborne’s Hill. Washington was warned of this move against the end of his unanchored line as early as 9:00 A.M. but failed to heed the warning. When the British appeared on Osborne’s Hill, no one could deny that the Americans had been outflanked once again. Sullivan acted rapidly, moving Stephen and Stirling on right angles to the creek and into a position opposite Howe and Cornwallis.
Those two seemed in no hurry. Rather, they took their time, shifting their columns into two long lines, barely deigning to notice their enemy’s mad scramble to get into position. Once the British were ready, they did nothing but stand in the sunshine, their bayonets sending off flashes when they caught the light. Perhaps they hoped to unnerve the Americans; if so, they failed, but they did impress them. At four o’clock in the afternoon Howe set them in motion—a march down the hill, not fancy, but stepping out smartly to the tune of the “British Grenadier” played by an accompanying band. The troops of Sullivan, Stirling, and Stephen did not panic, but in their haste to realign themselves they had left a gap of several hundred yards in their lines. Stephen seems to have been mainly responsible for not hooking his left flank to Stirling’s right; in any case, the hole there invited British penetration and the British accepted the invitation. Just as the light infantry and the grenadiers began pouring through and rolling up the American left, Nathanael Greene’s brigade arrived. The brigade had been dispatched by Washington when he learned of Howe’s appearance on his right. Greene’s men came on a run that covered four miles in about forty-five minutes.
What had begun as a classic eighteenth-century engagement with the British regulars advancing in a dense line, bayonets at the ready, and sent off with the flourishes of the “British Grenadier” soon degenerated into a confusing and nasty fight. Smoke from cannon and muskets contributed to the confusion by obscuring the location of friend and foe. Maintaining the proper interval between units proved difficult too, as the rough terrain broke up formations. A British officer who attempted to recall his impressions of the action resorted to wit which conceded his inability to make sense out of what he had experienced:
Describe the battle. ‘Twas not like those of Covent Garden or Drury Lane. Thou hast seen Le Brun’s paintings and the tapestry perhaps at Blenheim. Are these natural resemblances? Pshaw! quoth the captain, en un mot. There was a most infernal fire of cannon and musquetry. Most incessant shouting, “Incline to the right! Incline to the left! Halt! Charge!” etc. The balls plowing up the ground. The Trees crackling over one’s head. The branches riven by the artillery. The leaves falling as in autumn by the grapeshot.45
The British units regained their integrity as military organizations; the same cannot be said for all the American regiments once they began their retreat. They found the ground as difficult to traverse as the British did, and when the assault brought the British infantry into close quarters they tended to give way—as individuals rather than as military units. Sergeant Major John Hawkins of Congress’s Own Regiment discarded his knapsack when he was about to be “grabbed by one of the ill-looking Highlanders, a number of whom were firing and advancing very brisk towards our rear.” And in his flight in the confusion and the smoke, he lost sight of his regiment and completed his retreat with troops from North Carolina.46
While the American right fought to hold its position, the center received an attack from across the stream by Knyphausen. The combined force of British and Germans at Chad’s Ford had waited until they heard the sounds of the battle upstream. Then they plunged forward into the Brandywine and for a few minutes at least paid a frightful price. Anthony Wayne’s and William Maxwell’s troops “fought stubbornly,” a German officer reported, sending grapeshot and musket balls over the water which was soon “much stained with blood” before the attackers captured the American guns and turned them on their enemy.47
By darkness the battle had ended on both “fronts.” Washington’s troops made their way to Chester, and Howe’s pulled up short on the battlefield. The British had won a splendid victory, but like so many victories during the war it was not decisive. Washington’s army had retreated in disarray but it was intact. And more important, it remained between Howe and Philadelphia.
V
Between Howe and Philadelphia was exactly where Washington wished to stay. Despite the mauling his forces had received along the Brandywine, he retained his confidence that he could stop Howe. The American troops also responded well to the defeat, though there were the usual desertions. To replace his losses Washington ordered 2500 Continentals down from Peekskill and appealed to the states for militia. Within two weeks he had received 900 Continentals and around 2200 militia from Maryland and New Jersey.48
Before these men arrived, the main army marched and countermarched, always seeking to block the British from Philadelphia. Several small-scale battles marked this maneuvering; one on September 16 at Warren Tavern, between Lancaster and Philadelphia, might have developed into a general engagement had heavy rain not fallen. The rain ruined the cartridge boxes and the gunpowder carried by the American infantry. With his troops disarmed, Washington pulled back, and Howe showed no disposition to force an action. Five days later at Paoli, about two miles southeast of Warren Tavern, Major General James Grey surprised Anthony Wayne’s force, which Washington had left behind to “hang on” Howe. At about one o’clock in the morning Grey led his troops into an American camp carelessly asleep. On Grey’s order the British had removed the flints from their muskets—he was taking no chances that an overeager private might pull a trigger—and they used their bayonets with cruel efficiency. Many of the sleepers never left their blankets, and when the bloody business was over 300 had been killed and wounded and still another hundred captured. Only eight of the British died. Wayne escaped, carrying with him a renewed respect for “No-Flint Grey” and the value of the bayonet.49
The “Paoli Massacre” shook Washington, who was maneuvering cautiously to avoid being trapped or outflanked once more. Howe took advantage of this concern on September 22 when he lured Washington’s army ten miles up the Schuylkill and then crossed at Fatland Ford from the west and slipped into Philadelphia on September 26. A year earlier the loss of the city might have hurt American morale severely. Now it did not, in part because the American army remained whole and in part because reassuring news from the north, where Burgoyne’s army was gradually disintegrating, had seeped down to the middle Atlantic states.50
With Howe ensconced in Philadelphia, Washington made camp along Skippack Creek twenty-five miles to the west. He had no intention of sitting quietly, however. The old desire for action worked within him, drawing strength from his conviction that his troops, young and inexperienced as they generally were, would fight well given half a chance. By early October that chance had appeared. Howe had not found life in Philadelphia full of comfort and ease. He held the city but not the Delaware River, which provided an important line of access to it. The American forts on the river blocked all traffic and denied British ships the opportunity to bring in supplies and reinforcements. In his isolated circumstances Howe feared to spread all his troops throughout Philadelphia in inns and houses and had bivouacked around nine thousand at Germantown on the east side of the Schuylkill River five miles to the north. Another three thousand had been sent to protect the transport of supplies from Elktown, which of course involved a slow move over land. Four battalions remained in Philadelphia and two more had marched off to attack Billingsport twelve miles below the city on the Delaware. Howe was now spread all over the map.51
When Washington learned of the scattered condition of the enemy, he decided to attack the largest concentration at Germantown. His troops probably needed no persuasion to fight, but Washington felt compelled once more to review the reasons why they should. The preamble to his general order to the army conveyed something of his own eagerness and, what is probably more important, just how far his understanding of the Revolution and of his army had proceeded. He now recognized that a professional pride existed in at least several of his regiments, and he appealed to it by reminding them that far to the north their comrades had delivered a heavy blow to Burgoyne at Freeman’s Farm. He coupled this reminder of the northern success to invocation of the cause of America. “This army, the main American army, will certainly not suffer itself to be outdone by their northern Brethren; they will never endure such disgrace; but with an ambition becoming freemen, contending in the most righteous cause rival the heroic spirit which swelled their bosoms, and which, so nobly exerted has procured them deathless renown. Covet! my Countrymen, and fellow soldiers! Covet! a share of the glory due to heroic deeds! Let it never be said, that in a day of action, you turned your backs on the foe; let the enemy no longer triumph.”52
