Narrative and Critical History of America, Vol. 6 (of 8) / The United States of North America, Part I

by Unknown

"Our situation", writes Washington to the President of Congress, "is truly distressing. The check our detachment sustained on the 27th ultimo has dispirited too great a proportion of our troops, and filled their minds with apprehension and despair. The militia, instead of calling forth their utmost efforts to a brave and manly opposition in order to repair our losses, are discouraged, intractable, and impatient to return. Great numbers of them have gone off: in some instances almost by whole regiments, by half ones, and by companies at a time. This circumstance of itself, independently of others, when fronted by a well-appointed enemy superior in numbers to our whole collected force, would be sufficiently disagreeable; but when their example has infected another part of the army, when their want of discipline and refusal of almost every kind of restraint and government have produced a like conduct but too common to the whole, and an entire disregard of that order and subordination necessary to the well-doing of an army, and which had been inculcated before, as well as the nature of our military establishment would admit of, our condition becomes more alarming; and, with the deepest concern, I am obliged to confess my want of confidence in the generality of the troops.

"All these circumstances fully confirm the opinion I ever entertained, and which I more than once in my letters took the liberty of mentioning to Congress, that no dependence could be put in a militia, or other troops, than those enlisted and embodied for a longer period than our regulations heretofore have prescribed. I am persuaded, and as fully convinced as I am of any one fact that has happened, that our liberties must of necessity be greatly hazarded, if not entirely lost, if their defence is left to any but a permanent standing army; I mean, one to exist during the war. Nor would the expense incident to the support of such a body of troops as would be competent to almost every emergency far exceed that which is daily incurred by calling in succor and new enlistments, which, when effected, are not attended with any good consequences. Men who have been free and subject to no control cannot be reduced to order in an instant; and the privileges and exemptions, which they claim and will have, influence the conduct of others; and the aid derived from them is nearly counterbalanced by the disorder, irregularity, and confusion they occasion."

Three weeks later, he again writes: "It becomes evident to me, then, that, as this contest is not likely to be the work of a day, as the war must be carried on systematically, and to do it you must have good officers, there are no other possible means to obtain them but by establishing your army upon a permanent footing, and giving your officers good pay. This will induce gentlemen and men of character to engage; and till the bulk of your officers is composed of such persons as are actuated by principles of honor and a spirit of enterprise, you have little to expect from them.... But while the only merit an officer possesses is his ability to raise men, while these men consider and treat him as an equal, and in the character of an officer regard him no more than a broomstick, being mixed together as one common herd, no order nor discipline can prevail; nor will the officer ever meet with that respect which is essentially necessary to due subordination. To place any dependence upon militia is assuredly resting upon a broken staff.... To bring men to a proper degree of subordination is not the work of a day, a month, or even a year; and unhappily for us and the cause we are engaged in, the little discipline I have been laboring to establish in the army under my immediate command is in a manner done away with by having such a mixture of troops as have been called together within these few months....

"The jealousy of a standing army and the evils to be apprehended from one are remote, and in my judgment, situated and circumstanced as we are, not at all to be dreaded; but the consequence of wanting one, according to my ideas formed from the present view of things, is certain and inevitable ruin. For, if I was called upon to declare upon oath whether the militia have been most serviceable or hurtful, upon the whole, I should subscribe to the latter."

The defeat of the American army on Long Island, a heavy blow to the patriot cause, suggested a desperate remedy to the mind of Washington,—no less a measure than the deliberate destruction of the great commercial city of New York. "Till of late", he writes to the President of Congress, "I had no doubt in my own mind of defending this place; nor should I have yet if the men would do their duty, but this I despair of.... If we should be obliged to abandon the town, ought it to stand as winter-quarters for the enemy? They would derive great conveniences from it on the one hand, and much property would be destroyed on the other.... At present I dare say the enemy mean to preserve it if they can. If Congress, therefore, should resolve upon the destruction of it, the resolution should be a profound secret, as the knowledge of it will make a capital change in their plans." General Greene, John Jay, and many others of note were of the same opinion. Congress decided otherwise, and Howe forbore to bombard it from Brooklyn Heights and Governor's Island, both belligerents deeming its possession of far greater service to either than its destruction.

As New York was not to be destroyed, it became a serious question how a city swarming with Tories was to be defended with less than twenty thousand militia against a powerful army. Washington, Greene, Putnam, and others were opposed to the attempt, but were overruled by a council of war. The question was finally left by Congress to the commander-in-chief, who, deeming the city untenable, made preparations, September 10th, for its speedy evacuation, which was concurred in, two days later, by a new council of war. This determination was timely, as the Americans were about to be driven out.

Howe, anticipating Washington's design, determined to prevent the execution of it by the same manœuvre he had tried so successfully on Long Island,—that was to threaten the city's front and right flank by the fleet, while his army, assembled about the present site of Astoria, should cross the East River, turn Washington's left flank, cut off his communications with the mainland, oblige him to fight on the enemy's terms, and force him to surrender at discretion, or by a brilliant stroke break the American army in pieces, and secure their arms and stores.

On the evening of September 14th Howe began his crossing of the East River by taking possession of Montressor (Randall's) Island, and the next morning he sent three ships up the Hudson as high as Bloomingdale, which stopped any further evacuation of the city by water. Soon after, under the fire of ten vessels-of-war, the main British force, under Sir Henry Clinton, embarked upon flatboats, barges, and galleys, at the mouth of Newtown Creek, and by the favoring tide was carried to Kip's Bay (34th Street), where they disembarked and quickly put to rout the panic-stricken American militia, and pursued the fugitives in disorderly flight over the fields to Murray Hill.

So soon as Washington heard the enemy's cannonade he rode with all speed to the front, and used every exertion to rally the runaways; but his efforts, though seconded by the officers in immediate command, were utterly futile. Mortified and in despair at such poltroonery, the commander-in-chief almost lost control of himself, and, says General Greene, "sought death rather than life" at the hands of the enemy.