The Power of the Herd (11 page)

That authority rested to a great extent on Washington's instinctual understanding of the leader's role as educator rather than dictator. He
cultivated
trust, courage, and devotion as much as he commanded it. It's a crying shame he didn't write a book on horse training, but the art form, being almost exclusively nonverbal, probably eluded his efforts to describe it in the brief journal entries he had time to record at the end of the day. Washington was too busy building an agricultural empire at Mount Vernon, fighting a revolutionary war, and negotiating the parameters of the very first U.S. presidency. Still, his success in all of those realms was without a doubt tied to his profound mastery of the human-equine relationship. As Thomas Jefferson later complained when he and Washington became political rivals, the persistent image of the elder statesman on horseback always seemed to trump the most eloquent speeches and persuasive intellectual arguments anyone else devised in opposition. Without saying a word, the man radiated dignity and power.

And there was no arguing with him. Not because he wouldn't listen — Ellis describes a crucial element of his presidential style as
“leading by listening.”
He'd spend hours, even days, letting people speak their piece, sometimes to the chagrin of younger, more action-oriented members of his entourage. Once he considered the options and came to a strong conclusion, however, he had no problem herding large groups of people around with the infectious combination of poise, courage, energy, and conviction he exhibited in launching his twelve-hundred-pound war charger into a bloody battle with a thousand shoeless, half-dressed men running behind him.

This frustrated intellectually based idealists like Jefferson and James Madison to no end. The fact that Washington didn't talk a whole lot made them even crazier. As Ellis observes,
“He possessed a nearly preternatural ability to remain silent
while everyone around him was squirming under the social pressure to fill the silence with chatty conversation. ([John] Adams later claimed that this ‘gift of silence' was Washington's greatest political asset, which Adams himself so envied because he lacked the gift altogether.)”

Washington's influence would forever remain a mystery to men with little horse sense, men who sat in chairs debating ideas while their colleague became
“first in war and first in peace,” literally riding through the richly nuanced, wholly nonverbal realms of that crucial “other 90 percent.”

As civilization progressed toward the Age of Reason, it became increasingly out of fashion, taboo even, for people to acknowledge animals as sentient beings, let alone companions, colleagues, or, heaven forbid, influences on human leadership potential. Add to this Washington's own penchant for keeping his feelings and thoughts under wraps until he was ready to make an official public statement on the many controversial topics of the day, and you begin to understand why little is written about the relationship he had with his most loyal and revered equine companions Old Nelson and Blueskin. At a time when most horses were not afforded palliative care, the fact that Washington's mounts were well nourished in retirement speaks volumes about how highly our first president regarded these four-legged war heroes.

In 1795, John Hunter, an English visitor to Mount Vernon, made the following casual yet telling observation in a letter to a friend:

When dinner was over, we visited the General's stables
, saw his magnificent horses, among them “Old Nelson,” now twenty-two years of age, that carried the General almost always during the war. “Blueskin,” another fine old horse, next to him, had that honor. They had heard the roaring of many a cannon in their time. “Blueskin” was not the favorite on account of his not standing fire so well as venerable “Old Nelson.” The General makes no manner of use of them now. He keeps them in a nice stable, where they feed away at their ease for their past services.

This brief glimpse illuminates subtle yet important elements of Washington's philosophy. As he matured, his immense powers of influence, courage, endurance, and motivation were enhanced by an ever-widening, ever-deepening sense of compassion and appreciation for the contributions of others that crossed cultural, racial, and species boundaries. In Washington's world, respect for the
intelligence
of all life trumped concern for social norms and historical precedent, manifesting as a sort of empathy-in-action capable of sensing and tapping potential in unexpected places. Short-term gain became increasingly subservient to long-term goals, in terms of not just profit but also behavior, as Washington actively modeled how members of a free society would be expected to treat their colleagues
and
subordinates, even those who currently ranked as enemies or possessions.

Most soldiers and farmers, after all, considered a bullet to the head a humane, economically prudent way to retire an arthritic workhorse. Yet Washington's very survival during the war depended on choosing the best horse for the job, relying on that one animal in a million whose capacity for heroism matched his own. Seeing his prospective mounts as interchangeable machines to be used and discarded without conscience could actually have been fatal.

During the Battle of Monmouth Court House, for instance, his second in command, Charles Lee, panicked and began to lead a frantic retreat against firmly expressed orders. Washington relieved the man on the spot. Then, as Ellis observes, he rallied his troops to attack on more favorable terrain
“while calmly sitting astride his horse
in the midst of a blistering British artillery barrage.” Old Nelson showed more courage and poise under fire than a highly experienced senior general like Lee, and Washington treated his loyal charger as an equine officer worthy of reward for exceptional service.

From there, the general's attitude toward “Negro slaves,” “Indian savages,” and the uneducated, often destitute immigrants who became his soldiers evolved as well. People who showed real talent, integrity, courage, and dedication were given positions of responsibility acknowledging their gifts and experience, regardless of race, religion, or social standing. Washington's valet, a slave named Billy Lee (no relation to the aforementioned senior general), assumed command of the servants and valets for all Washington's officers during the very same Battle of Monmouth Court House, leading them on horseback to safer positions behind the action. An exceptional rider himself, Lee also served as Washington's huntsman during peacetime fox hunts. In his memoirs, Washington's stepgrandson George Washington Parke Custis described Lee's formidable skills:
“Will, the huntsman, better known
in Revolutionary lore as Billy, rode a horse called
Chinkling,
a surprising leaper, and made very much like its rider, low, but sturdy, and of great bone and muscle. Will had but one order, which was to keep with the hounds; and, mounted on
Chinkling
… this fearless horseman would rush, at full speed, through brake or tangled wood, in a style at which modern huntsmen would stand aghast.”

Lee had no trouble keeping up with Washington throughout the eight-year war, ready to hand over a spare horse or telescope in the thick of battle, facing every major threat, enduring the incredible hardships at Valley Forge, and enjoying the fruits of victory, including, eventually, his own freedom. Revolutionary War veterans visiting Mount Vernon often stopped by to reminisce with Lee, who was, in later years, disabled by a serious knee injury and fitted with a brace. While the formerly spirited, athletic man dealt with the physical and emotional pain through increasing alcoholism, his contribution was never
forgotten. Washington's will provided him a stipend of thirty dollars a year and the option of remaining at Mount Vernon if he chose. Billy Lee lived the rest of his life as a free man on his former master's lush estate.

Washington's expanded view of human dignity and potential did not weaken his resolve to get the job done, however. High-born dilettantes who entered the war to make a name for themselves were given several chances to prove their worthiness — and unceremoniously relieved if they showed up lacking. This, of course, made Washington a controversial character at times, costing him considerable popularity among certain members of the upper classes. Still, he had no qualms about dismissing General Charles Lee (who had friends in high places and an inflated sense of his own importance) after the Monmouth Court House incident. Further acts of insubordination led to Lee's court-martial — and a certain amount of trouble for Washington to enforce it. Still, he managed to amass and train a multiracial, multicultural force of soldiers with the sheer nerve to achieve the impossible. Long before he ever took office, America's first president demonstrated, daily, the practical benefits of equality. It's doubtful he would have won the high-stakes War of Independence without such a radical sense of it.

Of all the miraculous feats Washington performed during the war, surviving it was certainly one of them (considering his willingness to plunge headlong into the thick of battle, let alone lead such a seemingly lost cause to begin with). Even so, his ability to inspire others to transcend justified, deeply ingrained human impulses stands out as his greatest achievement. Hoping to quash any signs of rebellion, British soldiers had been systematically traumatizing the entire country, creating opportunities for the more sadistic members of their ranks to exercise their darkest instincts. King George's edict to provide “no quarter” to American troops must have been hard for some of his own men to stomach, however: Regulars and mercenaries were severely punished if they showed mercy to surrendering revolutionaries. Most colonial soldiers were killed on the spot as a result, though some were tortured, starved, and mistreated aboard prison ships.

Washington's troops, then, had good reason to exact revenge when the opportunity arose. Yet with the first major American victory came a wholly unexpected demand they do the exact opposite. Washington not only spared the lives of a thousand Hessians captured during the Battle of Trenton, he literally marched them toward the promise of a new life.
“Treat them with humanity,”
he
wrote in orders handed down to all his officers, “and let them have no reason to Complain of our Copying the brutal example of the British Army in their treatment of our unfortunate brethren….Provide everything necessary for them on the road.”

Through this extraordinary, thoroughly unprecedented move, Washington instilled tremendous self-control, and more than a hint of compassion, in his men. As James Parrish Hodges observed in
Beyond the Cherry Tree: The Leadership Wisdom of George Washington,
his reasons were both practical and idealistic. By introducing what John Adams later called a “policy of humanity,” Washington was protecting his own soldiers, hoping the British might reciprocate in future altercations, if only to trade colonial troops for valued officers. He also correctly assumed that some of the Hessians might desert their cruel taskmasters and join the American cause.
To encourage them, he “marched the prisoners
through the German villages in Pennsylvania so they could see how prosperous their former countrymen were.” Over time, Congress officially recognized the respectful treatment of enemy combatants as a
strategic advantage
that also exemplified the goals of the American Revolution.

“We were fighting for the rights of ordinary people,”
Hodges emphasized. By showing mercy when the British insisted on giving no quarter to his own troops, Washington set an example for the world, manifesting a new dream, a new way of being. The
experience
of the ideal profoundly affected his very first prisoners of war. Hodges reports that
“about 40 percent of the Hessians
stayed outright or went back to Germany, got their families, and came back over.” As a result, Washington's eloquence of action demonstrated what Abraham Lincoln later so eloquently described in words: “I destroy my enemies when I make them my friends.”

British leaders eventually conceded the negative effects of their own institutionalized cruelty.
In 1778, Colonel Charles Stuart wrote
to his father, the Earl of Bute: “Wherever our armies have marched, wherever they have encamped, every species of barbarity has been executed. We planted an irrevocable hatred wherever we went, which neither time nor measure will be able to eradicate.”

Robert F. Kennedy Jr. observed in a 2005
Los Angeles Times
editorial:

In the end, our founding fathers not only protected
our national values, they defeated a militarily superior enemy. Indeed, it was their disciplined adherence to those values that helped them win a hopeless struggle against the best soldiers in Europe.

In accordance with this proud American tradition, President Lincoln instituted the first formal code of conduct for the humane treatment of prisoners of war in 1863. Lincoln's order forbade any form of torture or
cruelty, and it became the model for the 1929 Geneva Convention. Dwight Eisenhower made a point to guarantee exemplary treatment to German POWs in World War II, and Gen. Douglas MacArthur ordered application of the Geneva Convention during the Korean War, even though the U.S. was not yet a signatory. In the Vietnam War, the United States extended the convention's protection to Viet Cong prisoners even though the law did not technically require it.

The very fact that Kennedy had to write an article opposing torture in the twenty-first century shows how easy it is for people to slide back into old habits. But if scenes of American soldiers waterboarding suspected terrorists and humiliating naked Iraqi prisoners would have saddened Washington, recent acts of corporate greed would have inflamed his legendary temper. After all, when you consider that Washington fought the entire Revolutionary War
as a volunteer
— and I mean he literally did not collect a salary during the eight years he dodged artillery fire on horseback and begged for funds to feed and clothe his soldiers — well, you begin to understand how rarely the entrepreneurs and politicians who most profited from his efforts have bothered to follow his example.