Germantown and the Roads to Valley Forge Read online

  Up at Trout Hall in Northampton County, sixty miles northeast of Lancaster, James Allen witnessed the effects of Philadelphia's evacuation. “The Congress, all the publick boards, Officers, & all the Whigs in general left the City…in the utmost consternation,” he wrote in his diary. “It is said the scene exceeded all description—Many of the Congress passed by this place (Northampton) & are since assembled, together with the officers of this Government at Lancaster.” Of the city's capture, he commented, “This is a great event & tho’ our people affect to consider the loss of this metropolis as nothing, yet it strikes deep.”57

  The usually placid “Dutch Country” was no longer a quiet haven from the conflict. British prisoners of war from Lancaster, refugees from Philadelphia, including the government people, wounded soldiers from Brandywine, and all manner of military supplies and personnel found their way up to the Lehigh Valley. A few miles from Trout Hall was Bethlehem, a picturesque German settlement numbering about 600, “rearing its large stone edifices out of a forest, situated on a majestic, but gradually rising eminence” overlooking the Lehigh River. Founded in the 1740s by the Moravians or Unitas Fratrum, a pacifist German Protestant sect, the town was centered around the massive Brothers’ and Sisters’ Houses, four-story German-style stone buildings built by a thriving community dedicated to work and worship under the leadership of Rev. John Ettwein. From the cupola on top of the Brothers’ House, “I could see the little town of Bethlehem and its surroundings,” a contemporary traveler wrote. “It is composed of seventy or eighty houses…most of them are quite handsome and built of stone. Every house has a little garden cultivated with care.”58 The Moravians erected a waterworks there ten years earlier, the first in America. They also built a series of mills, and operated the Sun Inn, famous for its hearty food and hospitality. It, too, was substantial, complete with a German-style red-tile roof.

  Now the town and surrounding countryside were inundated with the backwash of war. “The whole of the heavy baggage of the army, in a continuous train of 700 wagons, direct from camp,” arrived in Bethlehem on September 24, the Moravian Diary recorded. Army wagons were typically pulled by four horses, which means that nearly 3,000 horses and over 2,000 personnel appeared on that day alone. “They encamped on the south side of the Lehigh, and in one night destroyed all our buckwheat and the fences around the fields.” The quiet, orderly life of the Moravian Brothers and Sisters was utterly disrupted, for with the wagons “came a crowd of low women and thieves, so that we had to maintain a watch at the Tavern,” the Sun Inn. “No services could be held of late,” the Moravian Brethren lamented, “it is a time of confusion!”59

  Hundreds of others were already in town. Officers, including the Marquis de Lafayette and Brig. Gen. William Woodford, both wounded at Brandywine, had been sent to Bethlehem for treatment. “Many officers come here from Camp for necessarys for themselves & Friends, some of them make dispatch, but others are rather long in geting away,” Woodford told Washington in early October. Of the rabble with the baggage, “Many complaints are Daily made by the Country people of Robberys and other dissorders committed by these Scum of the Army,” the wounded Virginian wrote. “I have taken every method to detect the delinquints & bring them to Justice, but they have heitherto proved ineffectual.” Woodford offered rewards to local militia to apprehend them, and warned the troops “that the Country people would have orders to Fire upon any who are found about their Houses or Farms.”60

  Sixteen members of Congress had arrived on September 22, en route to Lancaster. In a testimonial, they commended Reverend Ettwein and the Moravians for their heroic efforts in aiding the sick and wounded. Additionally, “among the things brought here were the church bells from Philadelphia,” the Moravian Diary noted, “and the wagon in which was loaded the State House bell [the Liberty Bell], broke down in the street, and had to be unloaded.”61 The bells were eventually sent to Allentown for safekeeping in the basement of the newly built Zion Church.

  “Since the battle of Brandywine many thousand Waggons passed my door & are continually passing in great numbers,” James Allen wrote. “All the baggage of our Army is at Bethlehem & here; & what with Hospitals & artificers these little towns are filled.” The flow of refugees had a far-reaching impact: “Every day some of the inhabitants of Phila are coming up to settle here,” he observed. “The road from Easton to Reading, by my house, is now the most traveled in America.” As the British settled in for the occupation, so did reality. “The minds of people are much changed by the loss of Phila & the prospect of a total stop to the necessaries of life, becomes alarming,” Allen noted, and ominously predicted, “this will be a terrible winter.”62

  The fall of Philadelphia caused mixed feelings in the Continental Army as events played out. “You, before this, heard of the Enemies crossing Schuylkill, and also the easy & cheap passage they had,” Lieutenant Colonel Hubley told his friends in Lancaster as recriminations began to circulate. “I dare say his Excellency is censur'd, by many, for his conduct in this matter. But wise Men will suspend their Judgments,” the officer reasoned. “Time—indeed, little time, will convince the World, he did it for the best,” Hubley wrote optimistically, adding, “I hope the Lancaster people are not dispirited.”63

  Other messages along the same lines came to Lancaster. “These are the Fortunes of war,” Colonel Hartley had written to William Atlee and Paul Zantzinger, members of the Pennsylvania Board of War, shortly after Howe's army crossed the Schuylkill. Referring to Congress's flight and the Paoli defeat, he remarked, “The little Checks we meet with tend to make the Survivors Soldiers and States Men; and God knows we want both Statesmen and Generals some times.” As for Washington, “Our Worthy commander in Chief feels for his Country—he is sorry to loose an Inch of Ground. But the loss of Citys may some Times be the Salvation of States.” Knowing that there was little chance of saving the capital at that moment, Hartley tried to put things in perspective. “The Loss of Philadelphia is of Consequence it is true,” he speculated, “but by no Means can be decisive in the Common Cause.” Thinking back to the desperate days before Trenton, the colonel recalled, “Last Year when we had no Army—we did not sink under our Calamities—we roused like Men—this I hope will again be the Case—shallow Politicians and weake Constitutions have suffered us thus to be struck in the Vitals—better days I doubt not will attend America but let former Misfortune be a lesson to our Statesmen.”64

  Even so, the news of the city's capture struck hard. “The Fortune of War has I believe put Philadelphia in the possession of the Enemy,” Hartley again wrote to Lancaster on the day that Cornwallis marched in, “God knows how it happened but so it is.” Like Marshall and others, he took it as a sign of divine retribution, saying, “It is a Misfortune that we have lost our Metropolis but we must suppose that the Great God who conducts the affairs of this World has permitted it for the wisest Purposes—We were vain glorious—We dispised our Enemy—all Things to us Weak Mortals were in our Power.” Reflecting on the losses at Brandywine and Paoli, he tersely added, “The Late Casualties have taught us a different Lesson.”65

  But not all of Pennsylvania's officers were as sanguine. “I am so hurt by our Conduct of late—that I can't reflect one single moment without pain,” Hartley's commander, Gen. Anthony Wayne, wrote in disgust. “Our Gross eaters, lion talkers, Lamb-like fighters, (who say that the Province is not worth Defending) may hug themselves up in the Security of their Persons at the Sacrifice of the first City in America,” he fumed, adding bitterly, “there is Comfort for a Christian!” After his own aggressive move toward the British Army (which resulted in the defeat at Paoli), Wayne was astonished by Washington's pullback from the Schuylkill fords without a fight. “I believe it will be found that Mr. Howe passed the River almost in the face, & not out of view of our Grand Army,” the impetuous Pennsylvanian scribbled, “& that without the least Opposition.” Stating emphatically, “I am not of the Cabinet,” Wayne implied that the blame lay with Washington's
advisors, and concluded by saying, “I have now done with a Picture, over which I wish to draw a vail,—until our Arms produce one more lovely—which I don't in the least despair of—Provided our Great and good Genl. follows the Impulse of his own Judgment and Heart.”66

  Maj. Samuel Shaw of Massachusetts was a bit more levelheaded. “Here, again, some blustering hero, in fighting his battles over a glass of madeira, may take upon him to arraign the conduct of our general, and stigmatize the army as cowards,” the artillery officer told his father. “Leaving such to enjoy their own sagacity, it must appear obvious to men of sense and reflection, duly impressed with the importance of the great contest in which we are engaged, that a general action ought, on no pretence, to be risked under disadvantageous circumstances; nor should the safety of a single city be brought into competition with the welfare of posterity.” Fabian tactics were, perhaps, the better course at the moment, Shaw believed. “Giving these considerations due weight,” he mused, “the absurdity of risking too much is evident: for, should we miscarry, posterity would execrate, and the world call us fools.”67

  Observing the course of events closely, even attaching himself to the army as a volunteer aide from time to time, Thomas Paine viewed what happened from a completely different angle. After writing The American Crisis, essay no. 4 in Philadelphia the day following Brandywine, “Common Sense” stayed in the city as the British Army slowly came closer. He wrote to Benjamin Franklin, “I went to Colonel Bayard, Speaker of the House of Assembly,” the evening before Congress evacuated, and said, “If only an appearance of defence be made in the city by throwing up works at the heads of the streets, it will make the enemy very suspicious how they throw themselves between the city and General Washington, and between two rivers.” Paine was amazed at the timidity of army officers in general, telling Franklin, “notwithstanding the knowledge military gentlemen are supposed to have, I observe they move exceedingly cautious on new ground, and are exceedingly suspicious of villages and towns, and more perplexed at seemingly little things which they cannot clearly understand than at great ones which they are fully acquainted with.”

  In Paine's view, this extended to the British commander in chief. “I think it very probable that General Howe would have mistaken our necessity for a deep-laid scheme, and not ventured himself in the middle of it,” he speculated. Colonel Bayard and Col. William Bradford, the owner of the Coffee House, agreed with Paine, who then went to Gen. Thomas Mifflin, suggesting that “if two or three thousand men could be mustered up, whether we might depend on him to command them, for without some one to lead nothing could be done.” Mifflin, though, “declined that part, not being then very well, but promised what assistance he could. A few hours after this, the alarm happened.” As chaos enveloped the moonlit streets of the city that night, Paine said, “I went directly to Gen. Mifflin, but he had set off, and nothing was done.”68

  By no means was the army solely held responsible for the debacle. Blame was heaped on the people of Pennsylvania from many different quarters and for a variety of reasons. “I feel in some degree reconciled to Howe's entering Pennsylvania and Philadelphia,” Adj. Gen. Timothy Pickering of Massachusetts remarked with wry satisfaction, “that the unworthy inhabitants (of which ’tis apparent a majority of the State is composed) may experience the calamities of war, which nothing but their own supineness and unfriendliness to the American cause would have brought on them.” He, too, saw a suggestion of divine chastisement: “Possibly Heaven permits it in vengeance for their defection, that their country should be the seat of war.”69

  The state's ethnic and religious diversity, and the resulting internal political upheaval, was difficult for the New Englanders to comprehend. “This State is torn to peices by factions in Government,” Congressman Eliphalet Dyer of Connecticut complained. “Quaker, Dunker, Milese & Moravians in religion whose principles not only prevent them from fighting but Induces them to disaffect others & give all possible Aid to the Enemy (Moravians excepted).” As for the Pennsylvania Militia, “Instead of the Country rising for their defence & surrounding & harrassing the Enemy in every Movement,” Dyer seethed, “the Militia which were Collected have principally run off & left the General with his Continental forces to shurk for himself.” The congressman scornfully observed that “Howe seems to be among his friends favoured with every advantageous Intelligence & supplied with every Necessary & Conveniencie both of Provision & Carriage while Genll Washington being in the midst of his Enemies & those disaffected to the Cause was deficient in both.”70

  The Pennsylvania Loyalists became more visible and active, not only in the city, where arrests began shortly after the Crown Forces moved in, but in the countryside as well. “You cannot conceive what wig the Toreys take upon themselves, since Howes march to the City,” Lt. Col. Will Heth of Virginia fumed to his friend Col. Daniel Morgan. “In some parts of this Damn'd Infernal State—it is dangerous for an Honest man to travel.”71 General Smallwood told the governor of Maryland, “Here is more Toryism I suggest than in all the states besides and less Fortitude than in any particular State in America.”72 Pickering was even more vehement: “Were Howe, with his present force, in New England, and General Washington with so many Continental troops…I should not wish for a better opportunity to crush him; we should have there the best intelligence, and as many militia as we desired.” Outraged at the sorry lack of local support, he told his father, “Here we are, in fact, in an enemy's country. I am told upwards of sixty-five thousand men are enrolled in the militia of Pennsylvania; yet we have not two thousand in the field, and these are of little worth and constantly deserting.” Pennsylvania was not alone in its dereliction, Pickering pointed out, for after Brandywine, when the British occupied Wilmington and captured Delaware's president, John McKinly, “almost all the militia of Delaware State also ran home. Some Maryland militia join us tomorrow, perhaps a thousand men”—Smallwood's force, coming from the Paoli defeat with half of its original number—but “many that marched from home have deserted.” All was not lost in the Middle States, though, for he recognized that “the Jersey militia have been at war a year, are embittered against the foe, and have constantly behaved well in Jersey.”

  Still, Pickering was disgusted and angry. “I had heard at home so much contempt and ridicule thrown by the southern gentlemen on the New England militia, that I expected something better here; but no militia can be more contemptible than those of Pennsylvania and Delaware; none can be spoken of more contemptuously than they are by their own countrymen,” he ranted. “And how astonishing it is, that not a man is roused to action when the enemy is in the heart of the country, and within twelve miles of their grand capital, of so much importance to them and the Continent! How amazing, that Howe should march from the head of Elk to the Schuylkill, a space of sixty miles, without opposition from the people of the country, except a small band of militia just round Elk! Such events would not have happened in New England,” the Massachusetts officer smugly observed. “I rejoice that I can call that my country. I think myself honored by it.”73

  Despite Pickering's peevish analysis and jaundiced, provincial outlook, others saw glimmers of opportunity in the loss of Philadelphia. “There are thousands of brave Men ready to retake it & support the Liberties of their Country,” Colonel Hartley wrote with confidence on September 26 as the army moved from Camp Pottsgrove to Pennypacker's Mill, ten miles closer to the city. “Our army are truly advancing—I don't see a Man that is out of Spirits—The whole Army eager to regain what has been lost, and drive the Invaders from this Country.”74

  “General Washington is assembling & collecting troops from all sides,” Maryland congressman Charles Carroll wrote from Lancaster on September 25. “His army is much broken down with their late marches but a few days’ rest I hope will revive their strength & spirits.” Fort Mifflin and Fort Mercer were still blocking the river approaches, supported by the Pennsylvania Navy, a collection of small gunboats and two small frigates, including t
he new 30-gun Continental frigate Delaware. “If the garrison at the fort will hold out a few days,” the congressman told his father, “perhaps Mr. Howe may repent his going into Philadelphia.”75

  In the city, once the triumphal parade concluded, the British and Hessian troops were deployed in a semicircle around the outskirts. The 1st Battalion of British Grenadiers was posted in Southwark, the suburb just below the city's southern boundary at South Street, while the 2nd Battalion and the Hessian Grenadier Battalion von Lengerke were cantoned at the Bettering House west of town. The Grenadier Battalion von Linsing was assigned to the Barracks in Northern Liberties to guard the upper approaches.76 Harcourt's two squadrons of the Queen's Light Dragoons rode out to the Schuylkill Stables, a mile or so outside of town just west of the Common at Center Square and below the Middle Ferry on the road to Gray's Ferry. The stables had been built by the Pennsylvania Board of War for the exclusive use of the state and Continental light dragoons and were evacuated only a day or two before.

  The light field guns stayed with their respective battalions, while the heavy artillery was split up and stationed on the river. Two of the 12-pounders and two howitzers were positioned at the upper end of Northern Liberties along the riverbank. The remaining four 12-pounders and two howitzers were placed on high ground south of town near the 1st Battalion's camp, where Jacob Mordecai recalled that “General Cleaveland of the British artillery erected a battery on the Delaware below Penrose's shipyards to prevent the approach of the American naval force stationed at Fort Mifflin.”77 The British Engineers began constructing platforms to mount the guns properly.