Blood of Tyrants: George Washington & the Forging of the Presidency (11 page)

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Authors: Logan Beirne

Tags: #American Revolution, #Founding Fathers, #George Washington, #18th Century

BOOK: Blood of Tyrants: George Washington & the Forging of the Presidency
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Before things escalated further, Congress attempted to negotiate peace during the summer of 1775. They presented the British with an “Olive Branch Petition” in which the colonies agreed to cease their uprising if King George III and Parliament revoked their oppressive new laws and withdrew their troops. But by August, the king had had enough insolence.
The first in a line of British kings of German descent to have actually been born in Britain, George III proudly declared, “Born and educated in this country, I glory in the name of Britain.”
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And he was certainly ready to place Britain’s interests before those of the American colonies. Thirty-seven years old at the time, he had already ruled for fifteen years and had supported certain efforts to tax the colonies. This did not win him fans in America. Washington captured the sentiment of many when he said, “Great Britain hath no more right to put their hands into my pocket . . . than I have to put my hands into yours.”
10
As the conflict escalated, the colonists came to vilify George III as a ruthless tyrant, who “has plundered our seas, ravaged our Coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.”
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In reality, the king was a reserved, thoughtful man, willing to endure pains to do what he thought was right—and he expected others to do the same. For example, when his bid to marry his true love was opposed, he broke off the relationship, writing, “I am born for the happiness or misery of a great nation and consequently must often act contrary to my passions.”
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He eventually married, and even though he did not meet the bride chosen for him until their wedding day, he nevertheless enjoyed a happy marriage—and a remarkably faithful one for monarchs of the era—fathering fifteen children. But this happy twist of fate did not erase his “grin and bear it” mentality. So when the colonists rebelled against the burdens placed on them by Parliament, the king was not particularly sympathetic.
With large bulging eyes and cheeks, George III possessed a high forehead and thick, carefully groomed hair. He was so well coifed, in fact, that the arsenic used in the hair products of the time may have contributed to his bouts of insanity.
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He was very lucid, however, when the patriots began to rebel. Infuriated by their attack against British power, he declared war on the “dangerous and ill designing” patriots.
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Although a pious Anglican, he was not particularly forgiving and vowed to crush these “wicked and desperate persons within [his] Realm.”
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Britain scoffed at America’s olive branch. The fight was on.
In summer of 1775, the war escalated and prisoner counts along with it. Reports abounded that the British were mistreating their American captives. “His Excellency,” as Washington was called, raised the matter with his British Army counterpart, General Thomas Gage, a high-browed, beady-eyed aristocrat. The two men were no strangers. Ironically, the now bitter rivals had once been rather friendly. Gage had commanded Washington in the Seven Years’ War and respected the young man’s bravery after he organized a successful retreat that saved many of Gage’s troops. In fact, the British general had sympathized with Washington when he was passed over for promotion in the British Army many years before and the two had maintained cordial relations following the war. However, after two decades, time and distance had severed their ties and their relationship had cooled, to say the least.
Washington was shocked and horrified by reports that Americans captured during the siege of Boston were left “languishing with Wounds, and Sickness; that some have been even amputated” by British troops under Gage’s command.
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He yearned for all prisoners to be treated with humanity and had ordered his men to care for the enemy combatants in their custody. But Gage was not reciprocating. To Washington, this conduct was a terrible offense, and it was very personal. Both honor and pragmatism demanded retribution.
Washington was not a detached general but one who fought alongside his men. Battle after battle, he led the charge, sometimes having multiple horses shot out from under him as he continued to fight. Although none of his several horses were actually white, popular tales often depicted him as a princely leader atop a great white horse in the thick of battle. While aloof in his mannerisms and occasionally gruff with his subordinates, he suffered alongside his troops, and it fostered mutual respect. So when his captured brethren were abused, he wanted not only to avenge them but also to protect other Americans from future harm. Using his British captives as leverage achieved both objectives.
Washington’s personal motto was
Exitus acta probat
, Latin for “the outcome justifies the deed.” He was an extremely principled man, but history has lost sight of his very practical side. While he earnestly endeavored to raise America’s treatment of her prisoners above the barbarity of previous European wars, it became clear to him that the only way he could save his captured countrymen was to potentially mutilate the redcoats in his custody.
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Washington was morally opposed to mistreating prisoners. But he was even more opposed to letting Americans suffer. He was a practical man and if he could use British captives to defend his countrymen, he would. When it came down to saving Americans, the outcome justified the deed.
Retribution was the primary means by which armies remedied enemy breaches of the laws of war. And so Washington warned Gage, his friend-turned-foe,
My Duty now makes it necessary to apprize you, that for the future I shall regulate my Conduct towards those Gentlemen, who are or may be in our Possession, exactly by the Rule you shall observe towards those of ours, now in your Custody.
If Severity and Hardship mark the Line of your Conduct (painful as it may be to me) your Prisoners will feel its Effects.
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In the broadest reading, this letter expressed the view that the enemy’s actions justified amputating limbs of British prisoners. And these were not empty threats, since Washington held a number of British troops captive early in the war. While it was unlikely that he truly intended to go to that extreme in order to protect American prisoners at this stage, the British indeed complained that the American side was already mistreating British captives in other ways.
One report of abuse comes from when Washington’s forces attacked the lighthouse on an island in Boston Harbor that summer of 1775. Their mission was to disrupt British night shipping by extinguishing the warning light. And so on a steamy July night, with the darkness and crashing waves masking their advance, three hundred American minutemen boarded whaleboats and stealthily made their way towards the small rocky island and its thirty-two unsuspecting British guards.
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In a fierce 2:00 A.M. ambush, the stench of gunpowder pierced the salty sea air. The patriot muskets quickly killed a third of the redcoats and the remainder surrendered before the Americans triumphantly ignited the lighthouse into a towering inferno.
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But the Americans’ jubilance was short-lived. The tide had receded, beaching their getaway boats. Trapped on the island, the Americans watched the British gunboats race to the scene.
The tide returned just in time for the Americans to jump into their makeshift armada with their captives and get to the opposite shore before the British cannon could blow them to pieces. The infuriated British were able to hit only two Americans before the rest made it to safety. Once ashore, the Americans promptly put their new captives to work, forcing them to carry a cannon up a hill.
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Word traveled back to the British lines that this was just the tip of the proverbial iceberg.
After Gage had received Washington’s warning, he spat off an angry rejoinder. His intelligence, he said, had indicated that Americans were abusing captured redcoats, using extreme forced-work tactics and even starvation in order to compel the captured British troops to help the American side:
My intelligence from your army would justify severe recrimination. I understand there are of the King’s faithful subjects, taken some time since by the rebels, laboring, like negro slaves, to gain their daily subsistence, or reduced to the wretched alternative, to perish by famine or take arms against their King and country. Those who have made the treatment of the prisoners in my hands, or of your other friends in Boston, a pretence for such measures, found barbarity upon falsehood.
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Neither Washington’s threat to General Gage nor the Americans’ possible abuses were based on any congressional resolution regarding the treatment of enemy captives. Washington led the way, informing Congress of his actions only after the fact.
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Likewise, no state legislative body instructed the commander on the matter of prisoner treatment. Instead, the Continental Army informed the Massachusetts legislature that “Gage is resolved to know no distinction of Rank among our Prisoners in his Hands, which obliges Genl. Washington (very contrary to his disposition) to observe the same Rule of Treatment to those Gentlemen, . . . which otherwise may appear harsh and cruel.”
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Washington considered it within his powers as commander in chief to decide the treatment of enemy prisoners without any need for a congressional resolution. He determined the best course of action based on his understanding of the laws of war. And his views on the matter did not always align with those of Congress.
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American Fortitude
 
I
n August 1775, mere days after Washington’s hostile exchange with General Gage, the Americans ambushed the British transport ship HMS
Hope
as it sailed up the Delaware River.
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The outnumbered British quickly surrendered, and the Americans captured a British officer named Major Christopher French. Approximately fifty years old, described as “small of stature” and having coarse, stern features, he was imprisoned in Hartford, Connecticut.
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While there was little indication of serious mistreatment, the prissy Major French began complaining to Washington about the “Incivility or Contempt” with which he was treated by the townspeople.
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They mocked and insulted him, leaving him outraged that such rabble should dare speak to a British officer in such a manner.
Like a disgruntled customer who sends a note to the corporate office about an unpleasant cashier, French dashed off several angry letters to Washington, who diligently replied to each. At first the general responded cordially, pledging that “suitable Provision shall be made for you and your Companions, and shew you every civility.”
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But as the war dragged on and the British continued to abuse their captives, his tone shifted.
Referring to the mistreatment of Americans by the British, Washington curtly told French, “I should illy support my Country’s Honor, and my own Character, if I did not shew a proper Sense of their sufferings, by making the condition of the Ministerial Officers, in some Degree, dependant on theirs.”
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Major French escaped before Washington educated him in the sufferings of American prisoners, but the commander’s thinly veiled threats conveyed his emerging belief that abusing British prisoners was justified.
In December 1775, over seven months after the outbreak of war, Congress finally passed a resolution concerning prisoner treatment. However, it was largely at odds with Washington’s declared stance. As he held the British forces in Boston, the Continental Congress resolved
That such as are taken be treated as prisoners of war, but with humanity, and allowed the same rations as the troops in the service of the Continent; that the officers being in pay should supply themselves with cloaths, their bills to be taken therefor, that the soldiers be furnished as they now are.
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With this edict, Congress sought to take the high road and elevate the nation’s conduct above less-noble struggles of the past.
As a matter of principle, Washington agreed. He was morally opposed to mistreatment, in theory, and had initially preferred to “err on the side of mercy than that of strict Justice.”
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Experience taught him, however, that the high standard he sought was not practical, and that harsh measures might be necessary to save American lives. Just weeks after Congress’s decree that prisoners be treated humanely, Washington again threatened to abuse a British captive.
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This time, he needed to protect a captured national hero.
Washington was enraged by reports that the British had abused the popular American patriot Colonel Ethan Allen. Allen was a flamboyant farmer-turned-statesman-turned-land-speculator best known as the charismatic leader of a “merry band” of militiamen called the Green Mountain Boys.
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Allen was born into a relatively prosperous farming family in the sparsely populated hills of northwestern Connecticut. But farm life was not enough for this fiery character. Like many ambitious youth at the time, he journeyed to the frontier to find his fortune and eventually made his way to the wilderness of Vermont. Not yet a state, it was a hotly disputed area over which New York landowners attempted to assert control while the squatters living there sought independent statehood. The “wild west” of New England, this region was dominated by a rambunctious lot. Allen fit right in.

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