Independence (38 page)

As the delegations were large and each colony had but one vote, many delegates slipped away every three months or so on brief trips home. Sometimes that was not possible. At one point in the fall of 1775, for instance, with some delegates already on leave, some out with illness, and 10 percent of the congressional membership away on committee assignments in Cambridge and Fort Ticonderoga, Congress refused to give John Jay a leave of absence to return home. When he was finally permitted to go home, Jay told his wife that “nothing but actual Imprisonment” could now keep him in Philadelphia.
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A spate of humdrum days, and even weeks, was not uncommon for the congressmen, but trouble was never long in resurfacing. The dull and wearisome late-summer sessions were soon enough interrupted by the first wartime crisis. It unfolded in stages and involved the new Continental army. Late in September, Congress was jolted by a disturbing letter from General Washington. The period of enlistment for the several thousand soldiers who had entered the Grand American Army under General Ward back in April and May was due to expire at year’s end. Happily, Washington advised that he believed most men would reenlist. However, he told Congress that he feared the officers would leave the army if changes were not forthcoming. The problem, said Washington, was that the pay of the subalterns—the ensigns, lieutenants, and captains—was “inadequate to their Rank.” If their remuneration was not increased for 1776, the commander in chief thought it likely that most would resign their commissions at the end of the year. Washington urged that their pay be increased. He did not request a pay raise for the enlisted men. In fact, he asked that they be paid by the calendar month rather than the lunar month—a New England militia tradition that had been continued in the Grand American Army and carried over by Congress into the Continental army—a step that would result in an 8 percent annual pay cut for the men.
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It was readily apparent that if most of the junior officers quit, the army would face a potential calamity. But something subtler lay behind Washington’s letter and Congress’s ultimate response. General Washington was attempting to reshape the very nature of the Continental army. New England, the most egalitarian section within the American colonies, had historically fielded militia characterized by relative equality between the ranks. The pay of a Massachusetts lieutenant, for instance, was only twice that of a private, and the pay of the highest-ranking officer—a colonel—was just six times greater than that of the lowest-ranking soldier. In the southern colonies, the least egalitarian American provinces, militia lieutenants were paid about five times as much as privates and colonels about twenty times as much. When Congress established the Continental army in June, it more or less adopted the New England pay schedule, save for the general officers, which were newly created ranks. Thus, a Continental lieutenant’s stipend was twice that of a private, and a Continental colonel’s pay was just seven and one-half times that of a private. But general officers were paid twenty to twenty-five times what privates were. Washington’s remuneration as commander in chief was seventy-five times greater than that of his lowest-ranking soldier.
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When General Washington urged Congress to increase the pay of officers, he had a hidden motive. He sought an officer corps gathered from the elite within American society. Washington’s hope may have been to eradicate the “Familiarity between the Officers & Men” that he had found when he reached Cambridge, and that he believed was “incompatible with [the] Subordination & Discipline” required to build an effective army.
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Whatever Washington’s motivation, some congressmen welcomed his letter, as they had come to fear an egalitarian citizen-army as a potential agent for social change. These congressmen believed that a rigidly disciplined army whose leadership was drawn from the socially superior was unlikely to be a force in favor of innovative social reform. Those who saw the rebellion as both a protest against British policy and an opportunity for meaningful social and political change understood what was implicitly at stake. But they were as reluctant to engage in this battle as John Adams had been to fight Dickinson over petitioning the monarch, and for the same reason. Unity remained their priority. The more radical congressmen understood that Congress was fully behind the war—“there is a serious Spirit here—Such a Spirit as I have not known before,” John Adams exclaimed on October 1—and they wished to avoid actions that might jeopardize the national mood that had crystallized behind waging war against the mother country. Besides, the war had to be won before any lasting social changes could be put in place.
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Congress responded to Washington’s letter by creating a three-member Camp Committee to hurry to Cambridge and meet with the commander in chief. As two of the three committee members were Southerners, it was a foregone conclusion that Congress would oblige Washington. Those congressmen who disliked what was unfolding did not exert themselves, one dissatisfied deputy remarked.
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As a result, Congress in November endorsed the Camp Committee’s recommendation of pay raises for all subalterns. The pay of a lieutenant jumped from two to three times that of a private, while a captain’s pay rose from three to four times that of a private. This, it turned out, was merely the first step. While the pay of enlisted men fell, that of all subalterns was further increased in the fall of 1776—by then lieutenants’ pay was four times and captains’ six times that of privates—and the pay of those holding the rank of majors, lieutenant colonels, and colonels (untouched in 1775) jumped by about one third.
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The fear of an army that would be used to bring on radical change—a concern best articulated by Galloway in 1774 but felt by every conservative congressman—was largely laid to rest. The ordinary citizens who comprised the lower ranks of enlisted men would be held in check by an officer corps drawn almost entirely from America’s social and economic elite.

By mid-autumn Washington had gotten what he sought, but his victory was accompanied by a more serious crisis.
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As the gray, scudding clouds that heralded the approach of winter gathered over Cambridge, the enlisted men—those whom Washington had thought would remain in the army—left for home in droves the moment their enlistments expired. In a matter of days the size of the army declined by almost 80 percent, prompting the commander to rage at the men’s “dearth of Public Spirit” and their “dirty, mercenary” character. Pay was a factor in soldiers’ decision to go home. The enlisted men found the salary “Alterations disgusting,” one congressman remarked. But other factors prompted their return to civilian life. The men felt that they had done their duty. Now it was someone else’s turn to sacrifice. Many were yeomen who feared their farms would go to rack and ruin if they stayed away for a second consecutive year. Many were simply fed up with soldiering, having discovered that it often was a hard and lonely life filled with discomfort and danger and a disconcerting lack of freedom.
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Washington and Congress had to scramble to meet the unanticipated emergency. The commander held out the promise of furloughs and additional blankets to induce men to reenlist, and he persuaded the four New England governors to send sufficient numbers of militiamen to Boston until another army could be raised. Congress refused to provide bounties as a recruiting tool, but with some success it persuaded the colonies to be generous. A few provinces gave those who enlisted, or reenlisted, a cash bonus—usually an additional month’s pay—as well as a blanket, a shirt, and “1 pr. Shoes, 1 pr. yarn stocking & a felt hat.” By February 1776 the army had grown to 12,510, ending the manpower crisis and also thwarting Washington’s next request. Telling Congress that the army had been saved only by “the finger of Providence,” Washington asked Congress to terminate the practice of enlisting men for one year. He wanted a standing army composed of men who signed on to serve for the duration of the war.

That was too much for most congressmen. Like Samuel Adams, most deputies believed that standing armies were “always dangerous to the liberties of the people.” Many probably also agreed with John Adams, who said that a standing army would consist of “the meanest, idlest, most intemperate and worthless” men in society. Having an officer corps drawn from the elite was one thing, but John and Samuel Adams, and most other members of Congress, wanted a soldiery that was broadly representative of the population and, as much as possible, they wanted men to volunteer to serve because they believed in the cause.
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Before the year was out, wartime pressures led Congress down other paths that few could have anticipated. For instance, the First Congress had embargoed British imports and, beginning in September 1775, American exports to the mother country. Long before autumn it was becoming apparent that the commercial prohibitions were causing problems. New York’s Robert R. Livingston pointed out in October that “we suffer” from stoppage of trade. Money had dried up. Weapons and ammunition would remain in short supply “unless We open our Ports” to other nations. What is more, Livingston cautioned, the boycotts had put ten thousand sailors and dockhands out of work. The unemployed not only posed a potential threat to the domestic tranquility, but from desperation they also might be driven “into the Hands of our Enemies.” Thomas Willing of Pennsylvania added that salt was in dangerously short supply. Richard Henry Lee responded by proposing that Congress throw open American ports to all nations that wished to trade with the colonies. “We shall get necessary Manufactures and Money and Powder” if such a step was taken, he said, for the Royal Navy would not dare attack the vessels of Europe’s neutral nations that sailed into American harbors. Lee thought it especially likely that France, which he fancifully claimed was “in Distress” for American commodities, would leap at the chance to trade with the colonies.
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Many moderate delegates were horrified. Opening trade with all of Europe was nearly tantamount to declaring independence. The reconciliationists first wanted to hear the king’s response to the Olive Branch Petition. Even if that proved to be disappointing, some held out hope that in time—perhaps following American victories in Canada—London would make concessions. Sounding as if he was clutching at straws, South Carolina’s Christopher Gadsden, a planter-merchant, warned that the colonies would not share equally in the foreign trade. The mid-Atlantic and Chesapeake colonies—the former America’s breadbasket, the latter the producer of both grains and tobacco—would do almost all the business. Those colonies that were left out would be resentful. Throwing open the ports “will divide us. One colony will envy another, and be jealous.”
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Like Gadsden, Georgia’s John Joachim Zubly looked askance at opening trade with Europe, but he also acknowledged, “We cant do without Trade. We must have Trade.” Zubly, a Presbyterian minister who had emigrated from Switzerland to Savannah, where he delivered his sermons in English, French, and German, spoke broken English, but his colleagues had no difficulty understanding the point he made: “I came here with 2 views. One was to secure the Rights of America. 2. A Reconciliation with G. Britain.” Congress, he continued, “must regulate our Trade so that a Reconciliation be obtained,” but also so that “We [are] enable[d] to carry on the War.” Thomas Johnson of Maryland was not so sure. “I see less and less Prospect of a Reconciliation every day. But I would not render it impossible.” The rub, Zubly responded, was that “We must trade. We must trade with Somebody” to obtain the weapons of war. Great Britain, he reminded his colleagues, was not going to furnish the colonists with military supplies.
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Once again, the more radical colonists shrank from pushing too hard, lest Congress’s solidarity behind the war be shattered. Besides, as Zubly’s comments demonstrated, many moderates recognized that the war required that some change be made to America’s trade policies. On October 26 the congressmen compromised. The Association was altered to permit trade with foreign ports in the Caribbean. It was done, said one moderate, “for the purpose of purchasing ammunition &c.” Zubly rejoiced that it would additionally procure “supplies to keep soul and Body together.”
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While the radicals did not get everything they wanted concerning trade, opening commerce in the West Indies made possible the attainment of something they had sought for the past six months. Since the creation of the Continental army, New England’s delegates had pushed to establish a Continental navy, and in August Rhode Island formally proposed “building and equipping … an American fleet.” Aside from the Yankees, few in Congress thought such a step was a wise idea. Some objected to the cost. It would “mortgage the whole Continent,” said one congressman, who thought it better to spend the money on fortifying the Hudson. Zubly added that nothing was needed for waging war but “Powder and Shot” for the army. Maryland’s Samuel Chase, a tall man (he stood over six feet) with a ruddy complexion—behind his back, some colleagues referred to him as “Bacon Face”—called the creation of a navy “the maddest Idea in the World,” as the costly American fleet would be tiny and in no time would be swept from the sea by the giant Royal Navy. Angered, Silas Deane of Connecticut retorted, “I dont think it romantic, at all.” Gadsden agreed that Congress should consider “some Plan of Defence by Sea.” His colleague from South Carolina, John Rutledge, was willing to consider a navy, but he was not prepared to commit to it until he learned its size and cost. What was the point of having a navy, some asked? A New Englander answered that “a Fleet … might make prey enough of the Trade of our Enemies to make it worth while.” Thomas Willing from Pennsylvanian was horrified. Any step that was seen as waging offensive warfare would only make reconciliation infinitely more difficult. The proponents of a navy answered that the creation of a fleet would be “a defensive Measure.”
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