A Ragged Continental
At the second Continental Congress, held May 10, 1775, Washington was made chairman of committees for getting ammunition, supplies and money for the war. His military knowledge and experience enabled him to make rules and regulations for an army, and he advised what forts should be garrisoned. (Troops placed in a fort for defense.) It was necessary for Congress to take care of the army of 16,000 patriots that had hastily gathered in the neighborhood of Boston, and to appoint a Commander-in-Chief of all the forces of the colonies. They had to decide as to who in all the country, could best be trusted with this important and responsible position. All eyes turned to Washington. When his name was first mentioned for this place, he, with his usual modesty, slipped out of the room. But he was chosen Commander-in-Chief by the unanimous (all agreeing) vote of Congress. When told of his appointment, he accepted, though he said he did not think he was "equal to the command he was honored with." He refused to take any pay for his services, saying that no money, nor anything else but duty and patriotism could tempt him to leave his home. Having one of the loveliest homes in America, he gave up his comfort and happiness and risked all he had for his country. Congress also appointed four major-generals—one of them the brave old Israel Putnam—and eight brigadier-generals.
There were many men in Congress at that time whose names Americans can never forget. They did many wise things, but none was more fortunate than this choice of a Commander-in-Chief for the Continental Army. One of the members, John Adams, called him "the modest and virtuous, the generous and brave George Washington."
Washington's early life and training fitted him in a wonderful way for this great and difficult post. As a young surveyor, he had learned much about the country and how to make his way through forests and mountains. Later, as a commander, he had learned how to fight in the woods, and all the secrets of frontier warfare. With Braddock, he had learned that soldiers drilled on the parade grounds and battle-fields of Europe did not know what to do when hemmed in by rocks and brush and savage enemies in a new and uncleared country. He had also learned how to value and how to handle the independent, though rough-looking, soldiers of the backwoods. With all this knowledge and experience, with his clear mind and high courage, Washington was the most dangerous foe the British could have.
In June (1775), Washington, as Commander-in-Chief of the army, left Philadelphia for Boston. There was no time to visit Mount Vernon. He wrote to his wife, telling her to be brave and that he trusted God would soon bring him safely home. General Philip Schuyler and General Charles Lee and a light horse troop went with him. As they galloped along the way, people came out of the farms and villages to see the great General. Washington, now forty-three years old, was very splendid and dignified in his bearing, yet always modest and quiet—a gentleman and a soldier.
About twenty miles from Philadelphia, they met a messenger from Boston riding a fleet horse and bearing dispatches to Congress. They stopped and heard from him the news of the Battle of Bunker Hill, which had just been fought (June 17, 1775). The British had been victorious, but not until more than half their number had been killed and the patriots had fired their last round of ammunition. When Washington was told how bravely the militia had stood their ground, he said, "The liberties of the country are safe!" He was not troubled by the triumph of the British, because he felt sure the Americans would win when properly armed and drilled. This news made him more anxious to reach the scene of action and he traveled on as fast as he could. He left General Schuyler to command the patriot forces in New York.
The Charge at Bunker Hill
On July second, he reached his headquarters in Cambridge, where he was received with cheers and the thunder of cannon. The men had so little powder that they could not give him a great salute, but they spared all they could.