Gates entered the British Army as a teenager and garnered quite respectable, albeit not particularly illustrious, military experience over the next two and a half decades. He fought alongside Washington in the Seven Years’ War, so his old friend as commander in chief urged Congress to grant Gates a high position in the new American army. Gates was not content with his commission, however. He wanted more, and he possessed the means to get it. He had many prattling friends in Congress as well as a knack for political intrigue.
17
Gates first set his sights on the job of his immediate superior, General Philip Schuyler. Washington’s third-in-command when the war began in 1775, Schuyler was a generous and courteous gentleman who treated Gates with the utmost respect. With a kind face, narrow-set dark eyes, and a bulbous nose, he resembled the “puppy-dog” that he was in temperament. Schuyler once stumbled upon a wounded enemy soldier who had just attacked his party. Moved by the soldier’s cries, he carried him to a doctor, thereby saving his life.
18
But Gates and his friends were more than willing to kick this puppy.
Like a high school election campaign, the congressional cliques’ rumor mills began to churn. The New England faction was particularly vocal. Typical of the regional clashes between the states, New Englanders generally disdained New Yorkers as the two regions competed for power and influence. As a legislator, Schuyler had defended New York’s claims to Vermont lands against those of the bombastic Ethan Allen and his New England brethren. “For this crime the men of New England were never able to forgive him, and he was pursued with vindictive hatred until his career as general was ruined.”
19
Gates’s New England allies in Congress spread rumors of Schuyler’s military mismanagement and even indirectly accused him of treason.
20
While Gates did not possess the brashness to lead this slander coup, “his nature was thoroughly weak and petty, and he never shrank from falsehood when it seemed to suit his purpose.”
21
The rumors worked. The majority in Congress slowly turned against Schuyler. Just as the New Englanders in Congress had planned, Gates took Schuyler’s spot as Washington’s third-in-command. Now he finally had a chance for greatness as he confronted Burgoyne in the woods of upstate New York.
Referring to Gates as the “old midwife,” Burgoyne struck back at the American forces.
22
The inert Gates was nearly outflanked, but Arnold foresaw their opponent’s strategy and argued vehemently for dispatching troops to counter the maneuver. Gates, a man often “influenced by spite,” disliked his brash underling’s know-it-all demeanor.
23
He did not like being second-guessed or having his newly won authority questioned. But he held his rage in check and finally came to agree with Arnold.
For his part, Arnold was “maddened” by Gates’s incompetency and “seemed inspired with the fury of a demon.” In a bold frontal attack that sent the British troops recoiling, he “proved his courage and ability.”
24
In the fierce battle, the ill-trained, ragtag American troops swarmed against the British regiment. Both sides suffered disastrous casualties in the intense fighting, but by the time the Americans retreated, they had inflicted far more casualties than they sustained. One American officer wrote, “I trust we have convinced the British butchers that the ‘cowardly’ Yankees can, and when there is a call for it, will fight.”
25
Mere weeks later, a second battle erupted between Gentleman Johnny and Granny Gates. The American forces now outnumbered the British 11,000 to 5,000.
26
Still confident he could win, Burgoyne struck the Americans on the afternoon of October 7, 1777. After yet another quarrel over tactics, Gates angrily relieved Arnold of his field command and told him, “I have nothing for you to do; you have no business here.”
27
Not one to be dismissed, Arnold nevertheless charged into the battle. He bravely led his men, quite literally risking life and limb—he was shot in the leg during the firefight and nearly crushed by his horse.
28
When the gunpowder and cannon smoke dissipated, the Americans emerged triumphant. After a horrific day of fighting, dusk settled upon the battered men.
The British sat awake that early autumn night, listening to the groans of their comrades dying in the battlefield that separated the two opposing camps. However well trained they were, Burgoyne’s ranks were thinning while the American side was continually refueled with fresh militiamen from around the countryside. His supplies of food and munitions dwindling along with his hopes, Burgoyne frantically attempted to formulate a plan of escape.
Meanwhile, Howe was so fixated on Philadelphia that he never ordered Clinton to provide reinforcements from New York. While Burgoyne assumed that Clinton was bound by orders to join him “at all risks,” Clinton never received such a command.
29
Leaving much to Clinton’s discretion, Howe had merely said, “if you can make any diversion in favor of General Burgoyne’s [army], I need not point out the utility of such a measure.”
30
And Clinton did not exactly jump to Burgoyne’s rescue of his own accord.
Instead, ever cautious, Clinton feared that Washington would launch a renewed attack on New York City and decided to retain the bulk of his forces there. Like Howe before him, he was thoroughly enjoying the New York high life, as evidenced by his tremendously high liquor bill. Not only did he have four houses, but he also took a liking to an officer’s wife, Mrs. Mary Baddeley.
31
He had little desire to venture out of the city.
When Clinton received Burgoyne’s plea that “an attack on Fort Montgomery must be of great use,” he dispatched just that small force for its quick assault on the fort and rampage up the Hudson.
32
Not fully grasping his comrade’s desperation, Clinton failed to do more, writing merely, “I hope this little success of ours may facilitate your operations . . . . I heartily wish you success.”
33
Clinton’s diversionary effort was too little, too late. Refusing to divert troops south towards Clinton, the Americans proved unrelenting in their pressure on Burgoyne.
After days of hesitation, Burgoyne was surrounded by the Americans, who “swarmed around the little adverse army like birds of prey.”
34
Retreat became impossible. As a chilly rain began to fall, he knew his beleaguered force was doomed. Burgoyne surrendered on October 17, 1777, at what came to be called the “Battle of Saratoga.” His ego finally checked, he would return to Britain in disgrace. The Americans took thousands of prisoners in a victory that stunned the world.
This was not just a military victory, but also a hugely symbolic one, since it demonstrated the Americans’ ability to defeat the British in large-scale European-style warfare. If the sneak attacks at Trenton and Princeton had been the psychological turning point in the war, Saratoga was the political one. It prompted the French, eager to prey on their old rival’s weakness, to enter the war on the United States’ side. Washington was overjoyed. Although suspicious of the French, he adhered to the ancient Chinese proverb “the enemy of my enemy is my friend,” since he badly needed the help of this “friend.” He looked forward to France’s money, ammunition, clothing, and troops. Perhaps most of all, he wanted the aid of her powerful navy. His efforts had repeatedly been hobbled by his lack of a naval force, and France was his only hope to counter Britain’s maritime supremacy. When France then prompted Spain to declare war on Britain also in an attempt to settle old scores, Washington exclaimed that these new allies brought “universal joy” to the patriots.
This joy was not so universal, however. Little did Washington know, the great victory at Saratoga would lead to treachery that nearly ended the Revolution. Ironically, Arnold’s great triumph also led to his betrayal of the American cause.
22
A Traitor Lurks
B
enedict Arnold was born into a wealthy and socially prominent Connecticut family. After two of his sisters died during a yellow fever epidemic that swept New England during his childhood, Benedict’s grieving father began paying more attention to rum than the family finances. He eventually squandered the family fortune and was thrown into a debtors’ prison, thereby forcing his family out of the Arnold ancestral home in a humiliating public spectacle. These hardships instilled in Benedict a tremendous drive for both financial success and public recognition. As a headstrong, ambitious teenager, he sought to prove his worth through military service and enlisted in the provincial militia to fight in the Seven Years’ War in 1757. Although he served for very short stints and saw no combat before returning to his family, his service in the war instilled in him a taste for battle and a hatred for the French.
1
Back home in Connecticut, he grew into a courageous man, though haughty and vain. Reaching five foot nine, he was of average height for the era but powerfully built. He was stern-featured, with a sharp chin, high cheekbones, a prominent nose, and intense blue eyes that quickly transformed from cordial to cold when his temper flared. As quarrelsome as he was bold, Arnold had a knack for making enemies. He once attempted to kill an English sea captain in a duel over a perceived slight, and he fired a pistol at a Frenchman he caught alone with his only surviving sister.
When he was not busy fighting, he worked furiously to rebuild the family’s estate. With the funds he could scrape together, he founded a small trading company in New Haven, Connecticut. He married the sheriff ’s daughter and benefitted financially from her family’s investments in his business. Protected from creditors by his father-in-law, Arnold’s trading house thrived. Enterprising, he eventually became one of the most successful merchants in New England, trading wares all along the eastern seaboard. It was in this role as a prosperous merchant that Arnold became disenchanted with British rule.
Angered by the Crown’s rising taxes in the lead-up to the Revolution, Arnold turned to smuggling to avoid the new duties. He came to see the Crown’s actions as a threat to his enterprise and to Americans’ personal liberty. As usual, Arnold was eager to fight. Thus, upon hearing of the outbreak of war, he swiftly organized a small group of New Haven militiamen to join the fight, declaring that Britain’s actions had rendered him “obliged to have recourse to arms in defense of our lives and liberties.”
2
Despite his patriotic fervor, however, Arnold did not fit in well with his revolutionary compatriots. To many Americans, Arnold’s mannerisms, powdered wig, and fashionable dress made him seem more a Brit than a patriot. No matter how many times he proved himself in the early battles of the war, he was disliked on a personal level by the Revolution’s political and military leaders. This fact crystallized for Arnold following his great victory at Saratoga.
“Granny Gates,” ever eager for more power after ousting Schuyler, claimed credit for the Americans’ triumph at the Battle of Saratoga, even though it was due in large part to Arnold’s tactics and bravery. Adding injury to insult, he even accused Arnold of insubordination. This infuriated the prideful man. The serious leg wound he suffered during the battle was far less vexing to him than the fact that Gates took credit for routing the British. When asked about his injuries, Arnold— dejected from all the ill-treatment—whispered in a wavering voice that he had been shot in the leg and added, “I wish it had been my heart.”
3
After Arnold’s victory at Saratoga, General Howe’s days enjoying the Philadelphia highlife ended abruptly. He resigned as commander of the British forces in 1778 so that he might return to Britain to defend his honor. He was anxious to explain his failure to end the American uprising before his vocal detractors in the British Parliament, and to make them understand the difficulty of subduing such a large nation’s rebellious populace. He was unsuccessful. Fiercely condemned for his indecisive leadership, he lost the seat in Parliament that he had held for two decades. He had lost his command along with Mrs. Loring. And to add insult, his smug underling benefitted from Howe’s fall from grace.
Sir Henry Clinton, much to his delight, was selected as the new British commander in chief. He had arrived with Howe and Burgoyne in 1775, and, as the last man standing, he held seniority. Taking a less conciliatory approach to the rebels than his predecessor, Clinton was eager to show that his leadership could crush the American rebellion.
During the transition of command in the spring of 1778, London ordered Clinton to abandon Philadelphia. With the French navy looming, the British feared that the city was under threat, and they chose to employ their overextended resources elsewhere. Clinton sent some of the troops to the Caribbean to protect British interests there and ordered the others to bolster his New York City stronghold. With a supply train twelve miles long, 10,000 redcoats set out across New Jersey back towards the island.
4
Believing them to be more vulnerable as they traveled, Washington seized this opportunity to keep the British off-guard, and in the process, he settled some old political scores.
When the British withdrew from Philadelphia, Washington received intelligence that the redcoats were on the move across New Jersey. He convened a war council to seek advice on how best to disrupt Clinton’s plans. Meanwhile, the ever-insubordinate Charles Lee had returned to the scene.