Thomas Shanks was a sticky-fingered ensign of Pennsylvania’s 10th Regiment.
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This rascal attempted to steal two pairs of shoes from his lieutenant, perhaps to protect his feet from the autumn chill of 1777.
19
He proved a lousy thief, however. He was caught and promptly cashiered from the army, since Washington would brook no thievery in his ranks. But Shanks would not merely go home after his disgraceful discharge. Instead, he went over to the enemy. Unfortunately for him, he proved to be as lousy a spy as he had been a thief.
In the late spring of 1778, the British devised a plan to smuggle Shanks back inside American lines to spy on Washington. The plot quickly unraveled when a redcoat deserter informed the Americans of Shanks’s intelligence activities. This British grenadier, Sergeant William Sutherland, testified that he was meant to lead Shanks through the British lines so he could return to the American base. After they got past the British defenses and parted ways, however, Sutherland took a shortcut to beat Shanks to the Americans’ camp and informed them of the conspiracy.
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For his trouble, Washington gave Sutherland 60 pounds—blood money.
21
When the obtuse spy arrived at the camp, the Americans confronted him with the grenadier’s testimony. It was apparently enough to make him crack: under intense interrogation, Shanks confessed to spying. And with that, Washington decided to “avoid the formality of a regular trial,” reasoning that it “ought to be dispensed with” in a case like this one. Instead, he would have a military commission examine Shanks, “and if his guilt is clear, his punishment will be very summary.”
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Washington had previously reserved this kind of summary treatment for noncitizens.
Even though Washington was careful to protect Americans’ right to due process, this time he strayed. A seemingly illegal military commission was assembled to try a citizen. The panel of soldiers heard from the British grenadier as well as Shanks’s apprehenders. Taking Shanks’s own admission into account, they deemed him a spy by a vote of 10 to 4. Per Washington’s request, his officers—by a slim 8 to 6 margin—voted to make Shanks “a proper subject for an example” and ordered that he be hanged.
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On Washington’s terse instruction that Shanks “be hanged tomorrow morning at Guard mounting at some convenient Place,” the soldier was brought to the gallows the next day.
24
“Muffled drums beat, fifes wailed the death march,” and excited spectators looked on as Shanks solemnly neared his wretched fate.
25
He was unceremoniously hanged, and his name would fade back into obscurity.
Washington had denied due process to an American. It was quite possible that he skipped a congressionally mandated court-martial because he categorized Shanks as a mutinous soldier, or he believed that the traitor’s confession made a full trial superfluous, or perhaps Washington received undocumented authorization from Congress to employ the military commission. In any case, this was the exception rather than the rule.
26
Washington generally remained a staunch defender of Americans’ right to be prosecuted according to the procedures established by civil authorities. He was careful to protect the lives and liberty of Americans, however treacherous they may have been.
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License to Plunder
W
hile Washington and the courts largely defended Americans’ lives and liberty, they were less respectful of the Tories’ property. As congressional and state coffers were rapidly depleted, many patriots eyed the Loyalists’ vast wealth as a means to pay for the war, which had driven the nation to the brink of bankruptcy.
Lacking taxation powers, Congress attempted to print more currency to satisfy its obligations. As a result, the Continental became nearly worthless and the populace became unable to afford even the basic necessities. “America has much more to fear from the effects of the large quantities of paper money than from the operations of [the British],” wrote one patriot in a letter to his father. He recounted the privation suffered by the people due to what he estimated to be a 200 percent increase in prices over a short time. A pair of boots cost him $21 ($444 current dollars), a hat went for $18 ($381), a quart of rum for $20 ($423), and a quart of whiskey for $10 ($211).
1
These prices were crushing the American home front.
Even Washington’s mother was clamoring for supplies. At approximately seventy years old, Mary Bell Washington was an unstable character who lacked her son’s finesse. She carried the emotional scars of childhood tragedy and revealed them with her flair for the dramatic. Mary’s father died when she was three, and she was rendered an orphan when her mother passed on nine years later. The girl was graciously taken in by a family friend, George Eskridge.
2
A prominent lawyer and member of the Virginia House of Burgesses, Eskridge was a part of the burgeoning colonial gentry. Fortunately for Mary, he was also a compassionate and down-to-earth man who made sure the young orphan was well cared for. He attempted to ensure that she had proper breeding and even introduced her to her future husband, Augustine Washington.
While Mary shunned the high society in which she was raised, she was thankful to Eskridge. Out of appreciation, she named her firstborn (and surprisingly sturdy) son after him. And she came to expect this new George to care for her as well, because she had grown into an anxious and needy woman.
3
Her neediness was aggravated by the loss of her husband when George Washington was eleven years old. A slovenly woman with little regard for social conventions, she never remarried. Instead, Mary viewed her strapping eldest son as her husband’s replacement around the farm and in raising her four other children. Washington grew into the role and complied with her many demands. As he matured into an adventurous young man, however, he became eager to escape.
As self-centered as she was willful, Mary perceived George’s opportunities as competition for his devotion, and she thwarted his attempts to leave as a teen. When he eventually broke away to become a surveyor and then a soldier, Mary never completely forgave him. She sent him letters incessantly complaining of his abandonment and even boycotted his wedding to Martha when he was twenty-seven.
4
A devoted son, Washington attempted to care for his mother even in his absence. He purchased for her a darling white house situated near those of his two brothers and his sister. Because she was not pleased, he built on a large porch overlooking a garden, but Mary remained unsatisfied and asked for an additional home on the other side of the mountains. Washington apparently received not an ounce of appreciation but plenty of grief.
5
His mother excelled at doling that out.
Mary seemed never to acknowledge Washington’s amazing accomplishments as commander, either. Instead, she was known to say, “Ah George, had better have stayed at home and cultivated his farm.”
6
She neither congratulated him on his military victories nor consoled him after his defeats. In fact, to add insult to injury, she was even rumored to be “one of the most rabid Tories”!
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Ignoring the fact that her son was battling for his life as well as the fate of the Revolution, Mary acted as though he had neglected her. Like much of America, she suffered from the wartime shortages of food and medicine. However, unlike most of America, she had a son who was the commander in chief. Mary did not care. While her eldest was desperately trying to feed and clothe his army, she went behind his back to petition the Virginia General Assembly for a government stipend. The speaker of the assembly, fearful of insulting Washington, timidly asked him how he would like the legislature to proceed.
Washington was mortified. He wrote his brother saying that their mother was “upon all occasions, and in all Companies complaining of the hardness of the times, of her wants and distresses; and if not in direct terms, at least by strong innuendos inviting favors which not only makes her appear in an unfavourable point of view but those also who are connected with her”—especially her eldest son, a man who worked assiduously to craft his public persona.
8
Deeming her requests to be for “imaginary wants” that were “oftentimes insatiable,” he sent his brother on a mission to ascertain her real needs and ask that she cease embarrassing him.
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He also took the time to write the Virginia Assembly to explain his mother’s irrationality and instruct them to ignore her.
10
He knew she was relatively well off compared with his troops starving around him. The country was suffering and he urged the assembly to deal with bigger problems.
As the costly war raged, Congress soon owed great debts to the nation’s own soldiers and civilians, as well as to France. The nation was on the verge of bankruptcy, but Congress was unwilling to default on its debts, seeing those obligations as sacrosanct. The congressmen did not feel the same way about the value of the currency, however.
By the winter of 1780, the financial situation was so bleak that Congress repudiated the Continental in order to stave off bankruptcy. Although Congress refused to default on the debt owed to its own citizens and foreign governments, it saw this devaluation as an alternative solution. Therefore, the national government retired the circulating Continentals by accepting them at just one-fortieth of their face value.
11
The result was near chaos. American troops watched in dismay as the value of their pay virtually evaporated. Bartenders stopped accepting Continental bills to purchase rum. Merchants barred their doors, unwilling to sell their wares for anything but gold or silver. Protesters marched through the streets of Philadelphia, parading as their unhappy mascot a tarred dog that was “feathered” with Continentals.
12
Meanwhile, Benjamin Franklin was in Paris vigorously lobbying for more monetary aid. French loans and subsidies kept the United States financially afloat, but just barely. Even Franklin’s unmatched shrewdness could not get enough money to alleviate America’s suffering. And as the costly war drained even Louis XVI’s deep coffers, France’s patience waned.
The Americans were so desperate for funds that many turned to seizing the riches of their neighbors—the hated Loyalists. While the courts and politicians showed the Loyalists clemency when it came to their lives, the civilian authorities were less merciful to their wallets. Congress and the states launched an “attack on their personal fortunes which gradually impoverished them.” They began their monetary assault with a “nibbling system of fines and special taxation.”
13
In addition to the double and treble taxes commonly imposed by the states, Loyalists also faced fines for refusing to fight for the patriots, for the misdeeds of the substitutes they hired to fight in their stead, and for almost any showing of support for the British.
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A Loyalist convicted of entering the British lines could be fined a whopping 2,000 pounds, roughly worth $350,000 in modern U.S. dollars!
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If the Loyalist could not—or would not—pay such fines, his property could be sold from under him.
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And the wretch whose property did not cover the fine risked a whipping, branding, or even the loss of an ear.
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This hardship was heightened by the fact that in some states, a Loyalist who refused to swear allegiance to the patriots’ cause could neither buy nor sell land, sue his neighbor for amounts owed, or even practice as an attorney if that was his profession.
18
When Congress and the states were still not collecting enough from these Tory outlaws, they resorted to outright confiscation. Congress resolved “it be earnestly recommended to the several states, as soon as may be, to confiscate and make sale of all the real and personal estate therein, of such of their inhabitants and other persons who have forfeited the same, and the right to the protection of their respective states, and to invest the money arising from the sales in continental loan office certificates.”
19
The states readily heeded this recommendation. New York alone confiscated 3.6 million pounds worth of property from its Loyalist population.
20
While the civil authorities were seizing property like a drunken kleptomaniac, Washington was far more restrained. As a corollary to his defense of Americans’ lives, the commander also defended their property.
It was the American commander’s role to protect Americans’ rights and employ the proper procedures determined by the republic. In fact, it was the Continental Congress and the state legislatures that often trampled on Americans’ property rights, while the commander in chief sought to protect them. For example, after Congress evicted Loyalists throughout Philadelphia from their own homes in 1778, Washington fired off a letter of protest, criticizing the move as “impolitic,” contending that “to exile many of its Inhabitants cannot be the interest of any State.”
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But even though he disagreed with some of the legislators’ actions, he understood such measures to be their prerogative.
The American commander refused to be a plundering one, and his men suffered for it. He had matured since those days leading up to the Jumonville Affair decades earlier, when he played loose with the rules on confiscation. Now, rather than permit his troops to ravage the countryside like ravenous hyenas, Washington believed his only lawful option was to obtain supplies via the proper congressional channels. And Congress had proven utterly inept at obtaining supplies for his army. Early in the war, they attempted to collect assessments from the states and supplement the shortfall by printing Continentals. But when the states were not paying enough and the Continentals plummeted in value, Congress then attempted a republican experiment in “direct supply.”
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