By an Associate.
Continuing the narrative that began here.
In the meantime events were progressing that would in the end lead to our rupture with the mother country and that revolution which would shower Washington with so much glory.
So habituated are we to thinking of Washington as the hero of the revolution that most of us have forgotten how little interest he took in the events leading up to it. The Intolerable Acts were quite tolerable for Washington; his wealth insulated him from the effects of arbitrary taxation, and the government of Quebec interested him no more than the government of the lunar regions. It was only when events began to take on a more martial character that Washington’s interest was roused. News of the Boston Massacre filled him with righteous indignation, and he introduced a bill in the House of Burgesses prohibiting massacres of any sort in any town or independent city within the territory of Virginia—a bill that passed by a large majority, but which the governor refused to sign, describing it as disloyal to the crown, which, he said, retained a divinely instituted right to massacre citizens which no act of any colonial legislature could alienate. Positions were hardening on both sides, and men who had been peaceful citizens now began to speak openly of armed resistance. And if it came to that, there was, in Washington’s mind, only one suitable leader.
By the time of the First Continental Congress, to which Virginia naturally sent Washington as a delegate, the General was ready in his own mind to take command of the colonial forces. Certainly he would have been the obvious choice had there been any colonial forces to take command of, but that one detail was lacking. The Congress therefore accomplished little. Washington indeed pressed it to adopt certain resolutions which had the effect of fanning the flames, notably the “King George is a fat Dutch slob” clause in the Suffolk Resolves, a clause which Washington regarded as essential to demonstrating the seriousness of the colonists’ grievances. But these protests for some reason merely hardened the position of the king and his ministers.
Everything had changed by the time of the Second Continental Congress. By then the stirring events at Concord and Lexington had reached the ears of every American, no matter how remote, and with no real leadership or direction a large force of colonial militia had gathered around Boston, hemming in the British soldiers who occupied the city.
Summoned to that Second Continental Congress, Washington made it his first order of business to visit his tailor. He had grown to six feet ten inches tall, and thus required an entirely new uniform in splendid buff and blue.
This time Parson Weems and I accompanied Washington to Philadelphia. “Great events are doing, Gist,” Washington told me, “and I have need of old and trusted friends. It may possibly be—I will not, of course, anticipate the decision of the Congress, but it may possibly be—that I shall be called to lead the forces investing Boston. In that case, I shall rely upon you to put affairs in order at Mount Vernon and then join me in Massachusetts.”
This was my first visit to Philadelphia, the metropolis of America. Washington, of course, was familiar with the place; or at least he was familiar with the inn at which we stayed (where his chamber was already adorned with one of his brass plaques), the house where the Congress met, the tavern nearby, and a theater at which puppet-shows were regularly exhibited. The tavern was noted for a peculiar meal served on a small loaf of bread, consisting of thinly sliced beef mixed with onions and some green vegetable I did not recognize, with a certain liberal amount of cheese laid on top. Washington was much taken with the dish, which he consumed with his usual Madeira.
I attended the daily meetings of the Congress as Washington’s adjutant, so that I was afforded a first-hand view of the momentous debates in which the future of North America was decided. Yet at the time one would hardly have thought that momentous debates were in progress. It is always only in hindsight that we can see history in the making; the dross is burned off in the flame of later events, and we remember only the gold. Most of the debates led nowhere. The question of independence was brought up by a few of the New England firebrands; the middle and southern representatives were altogether against the notion, regarding it as an absurd phantasy. Yet there was no real agreement as to what was the objective of the rebellion. Mr. Hancock, the merchant from Massachusetts, was of the opinion that the most desirable outcome would be a new system of taxation in which the burden of government was supported largely by the poor, leaving the rich free to invest their money in various enterprises that would enrich our country by enriching the owners thereof. Representatives from Georgia were certain that any equitable settlement would involve support for the silk industry. One of the gentlemen from Delaware believed that the rebellion would serve the divine purpose of inaugurating the millennial rule of the saints, but he usually kept to himself and indeed was encouraged to do so.
One thing, however was certain: that a rebellion of some sort was already in progress: and without some coordination among the colonies it was likely to end in disaster. The delegates seemed unanimously agreed that someone ought to take command of the volunteers currently besieging Boston, someone who represented the colonies acting in concert. But who might take that exalted position? Where might the Congress find a man who had both the military experience and the stature to meet the current emergency?
The delegates had picked June 15, 1775, as the date for a vote on the commander-in-chief of colonial forces. On the evening of the fourteenth of June, Washington insisted (against my gentle admonitions) on taking Parson Weems and me to see a puppet-show much like the one his men had mounted all those years ago at Fort Washington, but of course with more elaborate settings and puppets, and the addition of a crocodile to the dramatis personae. I found it amusing in its way; Washington took in the drama in almost reverent silence, with no visible change in his expression. I wondered whether he would suffer the effects of the show later that evening, but he seemed not to be affected at all.
The next morning, when the Congress met, Mr. Hancock began the debate with some abstract observations on the desirable qualities to be sought in such a commander as the Congress planned to appoint.
“Gentlemen,” said Hancock, “it is to be noted that the soldiers—I scruple not to call these brave volunteers soldiers, though as yet few of them have any military experience—it is to be noted, I say, that almost all of them are from New-England, and indeed the greater part from Massachusetts. Now, this being the case, it is clear that they need one of their own to lead them: a New-Englander like themselves, and for preference a man from Massachusetts. It would indeed be most desirable to have a man of Boston, who would thus be intimately acquainted with the scene of the battle. Furthermore, our candidate must be a man already known to most of them, at least by reputation; and he must be a man universally respected by his neighbors. Now, it is a peculiar fact of the New-England character that wealth is the thing most likely to excite a New-Englander’s admiration and approval. Our man must therefore be a man preeminent in wealth, which not only would give him the requisite reputation, but also could prove useful in meeting the needs of the army in an emergency. As for his name, it ought to roll of the tongue easily; and we ought not to diminish the importance of its beginning with a good sturdy letter, such as H, whose two uprights are solidly cross-braced for an appearance of stability that inspires universal confidence. I make no particular recommendations, of course; I merely state a few general principles by which this Congress may wish to be guided.”
After this speech, Washington was recognized. He stood to his full height, which was more than a head taller than any other man in the room, and made sure the brass buttons on his buff-and-blue uniform were displayed to their best advantage. Then he began his discourse:
“Gentlemen, I thank the representative from Massachusetts for his observations. I must agree with him that, in the matter of personal wealth, our candidate must have a lot of it. I would add that it is desirable that such wealth be in a form that is not likely to lose its value in the vicissitudes to come: I am thinking particularly of land. I would suggest, however, that it is essential at this crucial moment to have all the colonies united. For this purpose it is necessary to show that we have set aside all considerations of sectional prejudice. What better way to demonstrate that we have not been influenced by local sentiment than by appointing a man who not only is not a New-Englander, but in fact has never even been to Boston? Moreover, such a commander’s complete ignorance of the land, the town, and the waterways surrounding it will give him a fresh view of the situation, unhampered by the fettering influence of specific knowledge. Furthermore, it will be useful to have a man of such physical stature as to be able to make himself readily seen on the field. And of course it goes without saying that he must look well in his uniform; and all the better if he already possesses a suitable uniform, as in that case no time will be lost at the tailor’s. In short, gentlemen, if you will take my advice, you will choose for your general a man who is tall, rich, Southern, well-dressed, and thoroughly ignorant. I hope these few remarks have been of some assistance to you in making your choice.”
Washington resumed his seat to considerable applause, although what I had first heard as applause coming from the Massachusetts delegation proved to be the sound of Mr. Hancock slapping his forehead.
Mr. Carroll of Maryland then stood and nominated General Washington as supreme commander of the army of the United Colonies, at which turn of events Washington showed great surprise. Mr. Hancock, displaying signs of impatience or disgust, then rose and nominated Mr. Hancock. A vote was called for, and Washington rose to retire into the next room, saying that, as the vote concerned himself, he would not have the other members prejudiced by his presence, and would therefore occupy the time in brushing his general’s uniform. I followed him, and thus was not present to hear the vote taken; but Washington was ready when the door opened and he was summoned to accept the commission of the Congress.
“I call every gentleman in the room to witness that I am not fit for this signal honor which you have bestowed upon me,” he declared as he made his way to the center of the chamber.
“Well, in that case—” Mr. Hancock began; but he was ignored in the general press to greet Washington.
“However,” Washington continued, easily addressing the whole assembly over the tops of the heads of the men surrounding him, “with the aid of Almighty God, and—heh—with the certainty—heh heh—that the brave—heh heh ha ha ha—the br—— ha ha ha ha ha ha—”
The laughing fit was now fully upon him, and Washington began whooping and gasping for air.
“He saw a very amusing puppet-show last night,” I explained to the other delegates.
“The crocodile ate him up!” Washington wailed before he fell down in a chair, kicking his feet in the air, unable to speak for quite some time. The chamber echoed to the sounds of Washington’s laughter, the applause of the delegates, and a rhythmic thumping, which I found to be coming from Mr. Hancock, who had grasped the ledger in which the minutes of the sessions were kept and was busy smacking himself in the face with it.
Washington set off for Boston the next morning. I did not accompany him; instead, as we had planned, I rode back to Mount Vernon to make a few final arrangements for Washington’s extended absence. Mrs. Washington was quite competent to manage the estate, but Washington trusted me alone to bring him certain necessities, among them a dozen pairs of his favorite silk underwear.
It was thus some weeks before I arrived at Boston, or rather at Cambridge across the river, where Washington had made his headquarters. The city was still occupied by the redcoats, but the colonial volunteers held most of the land around the city. The British could not get out by land, but they could supply themselves by sea. Under those conditions, the siege could go on till the day after Doomsday.
As soon as I identified myself, I was conducted to the house that served as Washington’s headquarters. I entered and was left in a small front parlor warmed by a generous fire.
Here I expected to meet Washington, and I was rather surprised when, instead of the General, a young woman came in and greeted me:
“Mr. Gist?”
She looked about twenty at the most, with a complexion of pure dark walnut, jet-black hair, dark eyes that blazed in the firelight, full lips that invited thoughts of what they would feel like against mine. I thought she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life, all the more so because she was dressed in a militia officer’s uniform, which molded the shape of her figure in a way that emphasized all the features a man likes best in a woman.
Had Washington taken a mistress? No, the idea was absurd. But who was she?
And then it occurred to me that she had spoken to me, and I ought to answer her.
“Yes—Christopher Gist, Miss…”
At that moment Washington burst into the room and seized both my hands. “Gist, my dear friend! How good it is to see you and my underwear. I see you’ve met Phillips.”
He was obviously referring to the beautiful young woman in military dress. “Yes. Yes, we were just introducing ourselves.”
“Invaluable man, Phillips. He has a mind for military problems. You’ll like him when you get to know him. Now let me have a pair of my underwear. You can hardly believe what I’ve been reduced to wearing up here. There we are! I’ll be right back.”
He left the room holding his underwear out in front of him, ducking his head to avoid banging it on the lintel.
The young woman waited until she heard another door close. Then she turned back to me.
“The General believes I am a white man named Phillips. You may attempt to tell him otherwise. Perhaps you will have better luck than I had.”
“But you’re really—”
“Susanna, Mr. Gist.”
“Susanna Phillips?”
“Just Susanna.”
“And you are a, um, a…”
“A free woman, sir.”
“And no one else has remarked on the, um, the fact of, uh…”
“The men don’t like to contradict the General, Mr. Gist.”
I could certainly see the wisdom of that policy. It was not that there was any danger in contradicting Washington, who was the most affable man in the world; it was simply that contradicting him was a task like that of Sisyphus, but far more fatiguing. “The men are right. He’ll get no contradiction from me. But how—I mean, what brought you into the continental army in the first place?”
“My uncle, sir—I mean, not really my uncle, but I called him that, and I loved him, and the redcoats killed him in the Massacre, when I was a girl of twelve. And now that I have the chance, sir, I thought I might return the favor. Many times over, if I can manage it.”
At that moment my old friend Parson Weems appeared in the doorway. “Gist! You’ve made it. How are things at Mount Vernon?” He made his way to the fire and opened his greatcoat as if to absorb all the heat from the flames.
“Mrs. Washington is in good health and keeping the house in order,” I replied.
“Very good. I see you’ve met Susanna. Our friend the General thinks she’s a remarkable man.”
“So I’m given to understand.”
“I’m beginning to think he’s right,” Weems added, with a smile for Susanna, which I noticed she did not return.
“How has the siege been going?” I asked—“if ‘siege’ is the right word.”
“We have the redcoats penned up,” Parson Weems answered. “They are confined to Boston and such places as they can reach from the harbor, which is to say England, Europe, the Americas, Africa, Asia, and the islands. But, by heaven, they can’t get to Cambridge.”
“And has Washington done anything to change the situation?”
“Well, he sent an expedition to a pencil-factory in the wilds of New-York.”
“New-York? What in heaven’s name has that to do with the siege of Boston?”
“Susanna gave him the idea,” Weems said with a wry smile.
I turned to the dark beauty, who explained, “There was a certain young officer who was too…energetic. He was constantly meddling in the conduct of the siege. So I thought his energy might best be expended in an unexpected attack on an important British installation in the interior.”
“Ticonderoga supplies the pencils for all the British forces in North America,” Weems explained.
“If Arnold is half the brilliant commander he thinks he is,” Susanna continued, “an American victory will fill the whole army with enthusiasm. If he fails, we shall hear no more of him. Either way, he will be there instead of here.”
“I see,” I said, and I had to admit the idea seemed to be well thought out. “And you made that statement to General Washington?”
Parson Weems laughed. “Not precisely, eh, Susanna?”
Susanna glanced down at the floor. “The general may possibly be under the impression that Ticonderoga is a suburb of Boston,” she said rather quietly.
“Clever man, our Susanna,” Weems said with a smile.
Washington now came into the room; but as he had forgotten to duck under the lintel, he was rubbing his forehead. “They build houses smaller than they used to,” he complained. “But at least the underwear situation is rectified.” He turned to Susanna. “What is the news from the troops?”
“They are cold and miserable and bored,” she replied.
“Good man, Phillips. See what you can do for them.”
“Yes, sir,” Susanna replied, and she left the room. We heard her putting on her coat and going out the front door. Then Washington spoke in a more confidential tone.
“Gist, Parson, I’ve sent Phillips away because I wished to speak to you about him privately. You’ve known him as long as I have, Parson, and Gist, you’ve seen enough, perhaps, to be able to render an opinion. I’ve been worried that there’s something not quite right about him.”
“Really?” I asked warily, and at the same time Parson Weems said, “Indeed?”
“He works so hard that I hate to say anything to him,” Washington continued, “but I’ve been concerned for some time. Does he look pale to you?”
Weems and I looked at each other silently for a few moments.
“Not…particularly,” I replied at last.
“Not more than usually,” Parson Weems agreed.
“I wouldn’t say ‘pale’ exactly,” I added.
“Some men have naturally pallid complexions,” said Weems, but I tried to signal him that he was perhaps going too far.
“Thank you, gentlemen. I may be imagining things,” Washington said, “and indeed I hope that is the case. I feel better having the opinion of two trusted friends. Mr. Phillips has proved so useful that I naturally worry about his health, but you have reassured me.”
That night I shared a room with Parson Weems, who snored abominably. Washington had suggested putting me up with young Phillips, a temptation I resisted on the grounds that, if his health indeed was delicate, he ought to have a room of his own.
The next morning came a great sensation: that proud young officer Benedict Arnold had returned from Ticonderoga covered with glory, bearing with him enough pencils to supply the colonial forces indefinitely, and, what was just as important, the cannons the British had been using to defend the place.
“Now,” Washington said later on, when he was having dinner with Susanna, Parson Weems, and me, “we have the means to evict the British from the city. With these cannons, we can level any hiding places and leave the redcoats no shelter whatsoever.”
“That would have the effect of destroying Boston,” I remarked.
“True, but it may be necessary to destroy the city in order to save it.”
“The cannons need not be trained on the city,” said Susanna. “There is a hill at Dorchester Heights with a commanding view of the harbor. If the cannons were brought up to the top of the hill, they could be trained on the harbor, and the British would find it impossible to withstand our siege.”
“An interesting thought,” Washington replied, “but it seems to show your inexperience. I have seen cannons in operation. They are very effective against solid objects, but against the liquid element I believe they would have very little power. When a hole is made in water, you see, the water on all sides rushes in to fill the gap, and in a manner of speaking the body of water repairs itself instantaneously. I do not believe a cannon could do any permanent damage to the harbor at all.”
Susanna was looking downward with her fingers on her temples, as if suffering from a headache; but she spoke in a civil tone. “I was thinking of the ships in the harbor, General.”
“The ships?”
“The redcoats can stay in Boston forever as long as they can supply themselves by sea. If we make it impossible for their ships to come and go safely, the British will not be able to hold out very long.”
“Oh,” said Washington, looking puzzled. “But how do we make it impossible for the ships to come and go safely?”
“By blasting them to splinters with our cannons!” Susanna exclaimed; and then, more calmly, she added, “sir.”
“Ah, I see.” And then Washington’s face lit up. “Yes! My word, I do see! Well done, Phillips. We’ll give it a try.”
Immediately the order was given to occupy Dorchester Heights, and soon our cannons were making quite an impression on British shipping.
“And now what do we do?” Washington asked Susanna as we stood on the heights looking down into the harbor, which for the moment was singularly free of British ships.
“Nothing,” Susanna replied.
“Nothing?”
“Nothing. When the British ships come in, we fire on them. But otherwise we wait and do nothing. The British will realize the impossibility of their situation, and they will either try something desperate and stupid, or they will simply leave—and we shall let them leave—and the city will be free. All we have to do is—nothing.”
“Yes!” Washington agreed enthusiastically. “The ‘nothing’ strategy, which worked so well for General Forbes. You remember, Gist—oh, no, you weren’t there. But you heard the story. The French ran away and burned their own fort without a fight, all because General Forbes did nothing. Well, gentlemen, if nothing worked for Forbes, perhaps it will work for me as well. We’ll try nothing.”
So we did nothing. I spent some of that time getting to know the charming Susanna better, but I was not aware of how much she had charmed me until one evening Weems came into the room we shared with a blackened eye that was painfully obvious even in the dim rushlight.
“What happened to you?” I asked.
“I tried my luck with Susanna,” he replied. “Apparently fortune did not favor my attempt.”
I suddenly found it difficult to control my rage, which is a very unusual condition for me. “Weems,” I reminded him, “you are a man of the cloth.”
“The cloth does not always cover the man,” said Weems.
“You insulted a lady!”
“She’s only a negress.”
Suddenly I was much closer to him. “She wears the uniform of the Virginia militia! As far as you are concerned, she in an officer and a gentleman, and you will treat her as such, or by God, Weems—”
I stopped. I realized I had been shouting in his face. I backed away.
“I’m sorry, Weems.”
“Apparently the subject interests you warmly,” he said with an infuriatingly wry smile.
“I will not mention it again.”
“You were merely following your chivalrous instincts.”
“And you will apologize to Susanna at the earliest opportunity.”
“Now, really, Gist—”
“You will apologize to her,” I repeated, and I think he could see that I meant it seriously.
“As you say,” he replied with a sigh of resignation. “Since you take such a personal interest in the matter, however, I have a bit of advice for you. Beware of her right fist. You’ll never see it coming until it’s too late.”
Not long afterward, the British evacuated Boston. Washington rode into the city in triumph.
“My word!” he told Susanna, “this ‘nothing’ strategy certainly reaps abundant benefits. I ought to have tried doing nothing a long while ago!”