This atrocity would not go unanswered. Washington saw the defense of his countrymen’s lives and liberty as so crucial that he diverted a quarter of his sorely needed troops to this frontier mission. And to lead this operation, he turned to his quarrelsome underling, Major General John Sullivan.
A vain and ambitious lawyer, Sullivan was not a popular man. The hardworking son of Irish immigrants, he had set up the only law practice in the rural town of Durham, New Hampshire, at the tender age of twenty-four. This did not make him friends, however. He soon became the town pariah on account of his penchant for suing his neighbors.
11
The brash young man became embroiled in multiple foreclosure disputes, making a small fortune at the expense of the townsfolk. Needless to say, he was rather detested around this agrarian community. Fed up with this obnoxious attorney, his neighbors eventually sued him for “Oppressive Extortive Behavior.” But the crafty Sullivan defeated their lawsuits and even dared to countersue for libel. Despite suffering multiple mob attacks, he pressed on and won over thirty-five legal actions. And in doing so, he attained financial success while still in his twenties.
12
But this was not enough. Beneath a black mane and a high brow, his dark eyes were fixated on personal advancement.
The never-satisfied Sullivan next sought power. He slowly rehabilitated his reputation in the region and managed to curry favor with the political elite of New Hampshire. On the eve of the Revolution, Sullivan renounced his support for the Crown and emerged as an ardent patriot. Harnessing New Hampshire’s patriotic fervor, he convinced the New Hampshire legislature to appoint him to the Continental Congress. There he sided with the radical Massachusetts representatives’ calls for liberty and made known his eagerness for armed resistance. For his ardent patriotism and militant background, he was awarded an officer’s commission in the new Continental Army. The young lawyer relished the fight.
Washington acknowledged that Sullivan was “active, spirited, and Zealously attach’d to the Cause,” but noted that his performance in leading troops was mixed.
13
Sullivan’s dearth of military accomplishment would not temper his ambition, however. Ever the argumentative attorney, he quarreled with Washington and Congress over promotions. Notwithstanding his mediocre performance, he took great umbrage at the fact that he was not granted a higher rank. At one point, Washington became so exasperated with Sullivan’s “unjustifiable Suspicions” of being wronged that he told him, “No other officer of rank in the whole army has so often conceived himself neglected, slighted and ill-treated as you have done, and none I am sure has had less cause than yourself to entertain such ideas.”
14
So when it came time for Washington to send one of his officers far out into the wilderness, he sent the pesky Sullivan.
Eager to prove himself and win a promotion, Sullivan led 5,000 men on Washington’s scorched-earth campaign against the tribes. Washington had ordered him, “you will not by any means, listen to any overture of peace before the total ruin of their settlements is effected.”
15
Thus, the fighting Irishman began his march, beating back the tribes and destroying their villages throughout the summer of 1779. At first, Sullivan’s mission went swimmingly—he soon boasted to Washington that he had destroyed forty towns and burned their surrounding farmlands.
16
But, as usual, Sullivan eventually ran into trouble. More precisely, he got lost.
Sullivan was seeking the Seneca capital, Genesee Castle. Located in a remote region in northwestern New York State, Genesee was a “beautifully situated” village of 128 homes, “mostly large and elegant.” It was “encircled with a clear flat, which extended for a number of miles, where the most extensive fields of corn waving, and every kind of vegetable that can be conceived.”
17
Washington wanted this bountiful haven wiped off the map, but Sullivan had to find it first.
Arguing with his guides over Genesee Castle’s location, Sullivan dispatched a scouting party. They eventually found the capital, but it was six miles farther away than Sullivan’s team realized, resulting in a delay that the scouts could not afford. As the sun rose through the clouds on that raw September morning, they found themselves deep in hostile territory without the cover of darkness. Proceeding anxiously back towards Sullivan’s camp, the thirty American scouts were intercepted by a force of four hundred Native Americans and Loyalists.
18
The vastly outnumbered patriots fired valiantly from a grove of trees, but were quickly overwhelmed.
The two leading American scouts were taken prisoner, stripped naked, and tied to a hardy young oak.
In a vengeful rage, the Native Americans inflicted on them gruesome “malice & savage barbarity,” some of it “too shocking to relate.”
19
According to multiple patriot accounts (which did tend to demonize the tribes), the captors were careful to keep the men alive “in order to heighten [their] misery & satisfy their revenge,” as they whipped them, tore off their fingernails, stabbed them with spears, cut out their tongues, and plucked out their eyes.
20
They then allegedly took special care to skin one man’s genitals, partially detach them, and leave them hanging from his body. After suffering “other tortures which decency will not permit . . . mention,” the captives finally found relief only in their beheadings.
21
Sullivan’s troops arrived later that day to find pieces of their fellow patriots scattered around the “Torture Tree.”
Horrified and outraged, they razed Genesee Castle. Although the oak survived, little else did—the Americans burned down the whole village and all the surrounding farms they could find. Then they pressed on with their mission of annihilation, leaving a trail of “devastation, destruction, flames and death.”
22
They searched the whole region for Native American settlements, tracing “[e]very creek and river,” to ensure that there was “not a single town left.”
23
After his force had destroyed an estimated fifty towns, including 1,200 homes,
24
Sullivan reported back to the Continental Army that he had completed Washington’s “extermination of the original lords of this vast empire.”
25
Washington had effectively answered the Native American threat. This episode seemingly shows him as a ruthless commander who would do anything to win the war, but that was not the case. To the contrary, he highly valued individuals’ rights—as long as those individuals were American. The “Native American” peoples were not viewed as “American.” (Indeed, the term “Native American” would not be coined until centuries later.) Washington saw these tribes as a “cruel and bloodthirsty enemy” that brutally massacred American settlers and destroyed their property.
26
And so Washington annihilated them.
To Washington, the Native American attacks were not just another horror of war; they were a grave affront, and as commander in chief, he had a duty to counter it. Ardent in his belief in the sanctity of American rights, he would defend his countrymen with a vengeance.
27
Band of Brethren
A
s commander, Washington saw himself as the guardian of American liberty; but, on the flip side of the coin, he had far less respect for his enemies’ liberty. Washington treated men quite differently depending on their nationality.
During the Revolutionary War, nationality was a tricky and somewhat fluid notion. For the first year of the war—from the Battle of Lexington to the start of the disastrous New York campaign—the “Americans” were technically British subjects. It was not until the Continental Congress issued the Declaration of Independence on July 4, 1776, that the Americans formally renounced their place within the British Empire. At that point, Americans would no longer be royal “subjects”; instead, they became “citizens.”
The notion of citizenship was still a developing one, but it had a long history. The concept harks back to the ancient Greek city-states, particularly democratic Athens. In the fourth century B.C., Aristotle defined a citizen as “he who has the power to take part in the deliberative or judicial administration of any state.”
1
Of course, this privilege was restricted to Greek male property owners.
Such men had the right to vote and to hold office, but with these rights came duties: to pay taxes, serve in the military, and participate in their own self-governance. This meant not merely voting, typically conducted by a show of arms “naked to the shoulder,”
2
but also being present, active, and vocal in the life of the city. In fact, the Greeks had a term for those who did not actively participate in their democracy:
idiotai
.
3
The Romans adopted a similar concept of citizenship, calling it
civitas
. Under the Roman Empire, citizenship grew more expansive, guaranteeing rights and protections of law. But many of these notions were lost as Rome disintegrated.
During Europe’s medieval era from the fifth to the fifteenth century, a sense of citizenship existed in some free cities, but the concept of national citizenship was practically nonexistent.
4
Instead, society revolved more around individuals’ feudal obligations to the nobles who controlled the land on which they worked. Ordinary people were “subjects” of a ruler and had few rights.
5
In the eighteenth century, the Western political world still clung to trappings of a sovereign-subject relationship. The members of the English king’s community were regarded as dependents who were afforded defense against outside aggressors in return for unwavering loyalty to the Crown. Under this tradition inherited by the American colonists, there was a general sense that there should be a distinction between outsiders, to whom the king owed nothing, and the king’s subjects, who had a right to protection.
Analogized to the bond between parent and child, this king-subject relationship was one in which the subject held a “natural” allegiance to the king. This relationship was deemed immutable: the subject owed “lasting obedience to his natural superior, the king.”
6
The Americans, however, bristled against this notion of perpetual allegiance.
7
They rejected the perception of the king as a father figure to whom they owed a natural, unending loyalty. Instead, they developed the idea that the community owed allegiance only insofar as the government protected their rights. And King George III, along with Parliament, was not protecting theirs.
Inspired by the revival of classical political philosophy that began in the Renaissance, the Americans embraced the relatively radical idea of citizenship. They sought to emulate ancient Greek democracy and the Roman Republic and likewise empower the people to participate in all aspects of government. However, just as in ancient Greece, not all types of people were considered citizens. The backbone of the new American republic was to be white men, while slaves and Native Americans were excluded. Moreover, white women were disfranchised citizens who could not vote or hold office.
8
Instead, their role was to raise sons with the civic virtue required to govern the nation.
The white, male American citizens owed their allegiance not to some monarch, as “subjects” did, but to each other.
9
The citizens of the United States were to be their own masters and, together, to strive for the betterment of their country. A land of
idiotai
was to be avoided at all costs. Thus, American citizens were expected to fulfill their civic duties, which included remaining informed and actively improving their republic. Self-government meant hard work, but along with these duties came privileges.
In some respects, American citizenship was a club. One congressman characterized the American citizenry as a “band of brethren, united to each other by the strongest ties, . . . attached to the same principles of government, very similar in their manners and customs.”
10
Being a part of this band provided certain perks: citizens were guaranteed their natural right to “life, liberty, and property.”
11
It was the government’s duty to protect these rights, and Washington, as commander in chief, served as the defender of citizens’ rights in wartime.
This club of citizenship was so unaccustomed at the time that Thomas Jefferson, in an early draft of the Declaration of Independence, referred to the American people as “subjects.” But he remedied this mistake with zeal. While he simply crossed out other errors in the draft, “subjects” was the only word that he obliterated with the furious strokes of his pen.
12
He was so intent on removing that word because it signaled loyalty to King George III. The Americans wished to renounce their allegiance to the British Crown and declare themselves citizens of the new United States of America. With the Declaration of Independence, the American people collectively naturalized everyone living in the states (except those of African descent and Native Americans) and automatically made them United States citizens.
13
The Declaration basically formalized the prevailing notion that “Americans” were those who had lived in the colonies prior to the outbreak of war. In keeping with the general xenophobia common at the time, those who had recently emigrated from Britain were often viewed with suspicion, however. For example, Charles Lee was an Englishman who had moved to America only three years before the war. Even though his military qualifications were superior to those of the Virginia-born Washington, his relatively recent arrival—along with his many other faults—made Lee a less desirable candidate for commander in chief.
14
But while newcomers were often distrusted, they were still generally considered Americans. Surprisingly, the same largely held true for Loyalists.