Action off Mud Fort by William Elliott circa 1787 (Wikimedia Commons). This image portrays a subsequent battle in the Delaware in the Autumn of 1777, during the naval campaign to open the Delaware River. Roebuck was a major combatant in those engagements as well.
The beginning of May 1776 found Captain Andrew Snape Hamond of the Royal Navy’s Roebuck, a fifth rate of forty-four guns, operating off the Delaware capes. His job was to control traffic in and out of the bay and maintain a de facto British blockade while seizing any supplies that might be of use to the rebel Americans and instead secure them for British forces. On Saturday, May 4, Hamond began moving up the bay and into the Delaware river in company with Liverpool, 28 guns, the brig Betsey and several tenders. He was short of water and needed to refill empty casks at a fresh source. It was also an opportunity to take a look at rebel defenses on the critical waterway.[i] The British enjoyed only light winds and cloudy skies as they sailed upstream for the next two days, periodically anchoring and frequently taking soundings to avoid the muddy shallows. Operating at some distance, on May 6 the Liverpool spotted a grounded sloop and sent a boat to recover it. But, it was stuck fast and Captain Henry Bellew’s crew burned the ship instead.[ii]
Between 6 and 7 am on Tuesday, May 7, Hamond signaled his little squadron to raise anchor and continue moving up the Delaware River in the direction of Wilmington. Off New Castle, they spied an armed schooner and several boats and gave chase in the afternoon, just as the weather broke and began pelting the ships in strong winds and heavy rain. The schooner ran for the shallows under fire from the British ships. She grounded and Hamond sent boats to seize her around 3 pm. Unable to refloat her, they settled on taking off her cargo: bread and flour.[iii] At the end of a productive day, around 7 pm, Hamond anchored his ships near the Christina River and Wilmington.
Ashore, word spread quickly of Roebuck’s advance up the river. At Dover on May 6, Colonel John Haslet of the Delaware Regiment received word that the British were off Port Penn in the area of Reedy’s Island and the local militia expected an attack. The British were already upstream from Haslet. As Roebuck alternately sailed and anchored, the troops ashore had time to assemble, although they were often chasing dated intelligence about the British position. One hundred thirty men assembled in Cantwells Bridge about 4 am on the 7th, but by then Roebuck had already moved up to New Castle.[iv] Word of the British anchoring off New Castle reached Philadelphia in the afternoon, about the same time that American gondolas at Fort Island left to drop down the river and attack the British at their anchorage. Robert Morris, Vice President of the Continental Congress Marine Committee, ordered Continental Navy Captain John Barry to assemble as many Continental Navy crew as possible and dispatch them to the Pennsylvania ship Reprisal and a floating battery, which were both also to drop down the river and join in the attack on the British.[v] Men from Captain Proctor’s Company of Artillery in the fort even joined the slapdash crews, serving aboard the American vessel Hornet.[vi] It was an all hands moment for Philadelphia’s naval defenders.
Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes back guest historian Ben Powers
Huw Davies’s work The Wandering Army: The Campaigns That Transformed the British Way of War posits that the British Army underwent a period of enlightenment during the late eighteenth century, inspired by its poor showing in the War of the Austrian Succession. Officers turned to continental Europe to study military art in the same spirit that enlightenment scholars studied moral philosophy. This period of military change, innovation, and adaptation encompassed what Davies refers to as “the interconnected relationship of these three areas: military thought, experience, and knowledge exchange, which together drove Britain’s accidental military enlightenment.”
Davies documents that the British Army in the 1700s entered a doldrums of intellectual and tactical stagnation in the early decades of the century, following its successful participation in the War of the Spanish Succession. Victory bred complacency, leading to a poor showing at Fontenoy in 1745. He goes on to demonstrate that defeat galvanized officers to undertake self-directed study of military theory and share lessons learned with other officers, forming a community of practice. Officers later combined these efforts with practical experience gained through active campaigns and peacetime training, resulting in cycles of learning throughout the latter half of the eighteenth century. Davies’s work contributes to the historiography of the British Army by demonstrating that officers actively sought to synthesize the latest military theories, their own combat experiences, and the ideas of their peers into innovative systems to address challenges across multiple theatres of war.
Davies uses a variety of evidence, including historical analysis, accounts of officer practices, and descriptions of training reforms. The bibliography of The Wandering Army contains almost 600 entries, ranging from period treatises, manuals, and official correspondence such as orderly books and military returns, to contemporary newspapers, to historical manuscripts. Davies traces a paper trail of British study of military art from 1745 to 1815, showing that officers studied war, applied what they learned, and discussed war in public forums and personal correspondence. He cites examples of General Henry Clinton walking and studying old battlefields in 1774 to prepare himself for future challenges (Davies, 82–83); Lord Charles Cornwallis’ establishment of a standardized system of drill and equipage for his troops in India, based on lessons he had learned during the War for American Independence (Davies, 204); and the establishment of a camp for the training of light troops at Shorncliffe, England, to teach innovative tactics to light infantry, developed by Sir John Moore (Davies, 287–315).
Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes guest historianBjorn Bruckshaw, a bio follows the post.
British nautical chart of the eastern portion of Long Island Sound showing the location of Block Island and the surrounding waters where the Continental Navy squadron encountered HMS Glasgow on April 6, 1776. Courtesy of the Library of Congress, Geography and Map Division. Public domain.
In the early morning hours of April 6, 1776, a lone British warship slipped through the moonlit waters southeast of Block Island. The twenty-gun frigate HMS Glasgow was carrying dispatches from Newport, Rhode Island, to the British fleet assembling off Charleston, South Carolina. Suddenly the ship’s lookout sighted sails on the horizon—then more sails behind them. Within minutes Captain Tyringham Howe realized the alarming truth: his single ship had encountered nearly the entire fleet of the newly created Continental Navy.¹
What followed should have been a decisive American victory. Commodore Esek Hopkins commanded a squadron of seven armed vessels, including the flagship Alfred, the brigs Cabot and Andrew Doria, and several additional ships. Against them stood only one British frigate. Yet by dawn the British ship had fought its way free and escaped. The encounter became one of the earliest—and most embarrassing—naval engagements of the American Revolution.²
The clash southeast of Block Island revealed the weaknesses of the young American navy: inexperienced crews, poor coordination between ships, and ineffective gunnery. Despite overwhelming numerical superiority, the Continental squadron failed to capture a single enemy warship. As one frustrated American officer later remarked, “A more imprudent, ill-conducted affair never happened.”³
The British vessel at the center of the encounter was HMS Glasgow, a sixth-rate twenty-gun frigate of the Royal Navy. In early April 1776 the ship had been tasked with delivering dispatches from Newport to the British fleet gathering off Charleston for an upcoming campaign against the southern colonies. That expedition would ultimately culminate in the failed British assault during the Battle of Sullivan’s Island in June 1776.⁴
Meanwhile the American rebellion had begun extending onto the seas. The Second Continental Congress had authorized the creation of a navy in late 1775 to challenge British control of American waters. By February 1776 the first ships of the fleet were ready for service, and Congress appointed Hopkins as commander-in-chief of the new force.⁵
Hopkins’s squadron consisted largely of converted merchant vessels hastily adapted for war. The fleet included the flagship Alfred, along with Columbus, Cabot, Andrew Doria, Providence, Wasp, and Fly. Among the officers serving aboard the fleet was a young lieutenant named John Paul Jones, who served aboard the Alfred and would later gain fame as one of the most celebrated naval commanders of the Revolution.⁶
Was the Battle of Germantown an American failure or a British success? Did the Continental Army lose due to an overly complicated plan, environmental factors such as fog, and poorly applied military judgment, or was the British Army’s resistance a decisive factor? The defense of the Chew House demonstrates that the British were professional, tenacious, and courageous, rather than the fortunate recipients of the fruits of an American blunder. Led by Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Musgrave, the men of the 40th Regiment of Foot established a strongpoint that disrupted American momentum and derailed the attack. Musgrave and the 40th Regiment of Foot transformed the Chew House into an obstacle that delayed the American advance long enough for British forces to reform and counterattack. This episode reveals the significance of British leadership and discipline under severe conditions, thereby reframing the context of the Battle of Germantown.¹
Germantown occurred at a time when the Continental Army was undergoing a transformation from an amateur to a professional military. American officers engaged in self-directed study of “books upon martial science” and were known to carry such texts among their baggage and haversacks when on campaign.² In this manner, Continental officers sought to emulate their European counterparts.³ One officer known to have made a detailed study of the art and science of war was Washington’s Chief of Artillery, Henry Knox.⁴ At the time of Germantown, the officers of the Continental Army had been at war for over two years and had learned many practical lessons; however, many officers, including Washington, continued to hold Knox’s auto-didactic military education in high esteem. The gap between knowing theory and its practical application would become apparent, to the detriment of the Continentals, at Germantown.
In contrast, the British Army officer corps had been fully engaged in a minor military enlightenment through the latter half of the eighteenth century. While British officers engaged in self-study programs similar to Knox’s, they could more readily share the results of their study within an established army, comparing and contrasting ideas and adopting best practices.⁵ The British Army was able to synthesize the best practices from both theory and combat experience into regulations that informed the training and operational deployment of all its formations.⁶
Early interpretations of the battle frequently emphasized confusion and poor execution, particularly the American decision to attack the Chew House. Yet the battle was “very much more than a contest… for the possession of a country house.” More recent scholarship describes the plan for the attack on Germantown as a sophisticated maneuvering scheme that nearly succeeded. Its subsequent failure owes more to British action than American incompetence.
Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes guest historian Drew Palmer. A biography follows at the end of this post.
What does it look like when veteran soldiers do not want to fight anymore? When morale plummets and the realities of war take their toll on men. This is exactly what happened to 150 men in the Maryland Line of the Continental Army in the late summer of 1780.
The 1st Maryland Regiment holds the line at the Battle of Guilford Courthouse, March 15, 1781
The continental regiments of Maryland that made up what became known as the “Maryland Line” or “Old Line State” had earned the reputation as a reliable, brave, and disciplined fighting force as early as 1776 after their actions in the Battle of Long Island.1 At the Battle of Camden on August 16, 1780, the 1st and 2nd Maryland Brigades offered a stout defense as Gen. Charles Cornwallis’s British force crashed into Continental soldiers from Maryland and Delaware. In the end, though, Maj. General Horatio Gates’s Southern Continental Army was completely routed from the field, with many of the Maryland Continental troops taken prisoner and held in the small village of Camden after the battle.2
The village of Camden, South Carolina, was an unpleasant place to be after the battle. The crowded conditions and brutal summer climate of South Carolina began to produce sickness amongst Cornwallis’s men and the American prisoners that were held in Camden. To prevent further sickness from spreading, Cornwallis decided to split the American prisoners held at Camden into divisions of around 150 men. These divisions were guarded by small detachments of the British army and marched from Camden to Charlestown, South Carolina.3 One detachment of the British 63rd Regiment of Foot escorted 150 prisoners of the 1st Maryland Brigade captured at Camden. The division made it to Thomas Sumter’s abandoned plantation at Great Savannah, about 60 miles northwest of Charleston. As the Maryland prisoners and their British guards halted for the night, militia commander Francis Marion received word from a Loyalist deserter that the Marylanders were nearby and decided to ambush the British element in hopes of freeing the Maryland prisoners.4 In the early morning hours of August 25, 1780, Marion’s militia attacked.
In December 1775, Henry Knox wrote to General George Washington, “I hope in 16 or 17 days to be able to present your Excellency a noble train of artillery”. However, the train of artillery would not arrive until the end of January 1776. Still an impressive feat, as Knox with his team moved 60 tons (119,000 pounds) of artillery over 300 miles from upstate New York to the environs of Boston in 70 days in the midst of winter.
This impressive feat enabled Washington to evict the British from Boston, winning the siege and giving the fledgling rebellion a victory to build momentum from.
To discuss this amazing feat and part of American military history, Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes Dr. Phillip Hamilton, a professor of history at Christopher Newport University. A historian of the American Revolutionary and Early Republican periods, he has edited and written “The Revolutionary War Lives and Letters of Lucy and Henry Knox.”
Although the program is pre-recorded, Emerging Revolutionary War hopes you still tune in on Sunday, February 22 at 7 p.m. EDT. We promise the revelry will be enlightening. If you have any questions, please drop them in the chat during the program, and we will ensure Dr. Hamilton receives them.
Have you ever thrown a rock into a pond? The ripple effect spreads outward for quite a distance along the surface of the water. The American Revolutionary War had the same effect in the late 18th century world as that pebble did to the body of water.
Historian, author, and University of Maryland professor of history, Dr. Richard Bell, focused on those fringes with this publication, bringing them into focus and discussion that was much needed in the historiography. Indeed, this is a new must-have addition to the bookshelf of American Revolutionary Era publications. His book, The American Revolution and the Fate of the World aim to “trace the sinews of the great war from its familiar epicenter outward to all those corners of the Earth” in which the conflict affected (pg. 9). Bell’s unique background, as he describes it, being an “English-born, American trained historian” is optimal to tackling this type of endeavor. As he elaborates, he attempts—successfully this reviewer’s estimation—to peel back the “amnesia…that has its own unique form” respectively on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean when discussing the history of the American Revolution. Between the two main antagonists, Great Britain and the rebelling thirteen North American colonies, “the ways individuals and communities, then as now, are entwined” will be the central theme running like a current through his book (pg. 2).
How does Bell aim to accomplish this approach and subsequent goal? Through seven core arguments, laid out briefly here. The American Revolution “stirred the mass migration and circulation of enormous numbers of people.” Second, the cost of the war was catastrophic, and victory was not certain for the patriots but a “highly contingent result of improbable choices and last-minute improvisations.” Naval power also played “an important key to military success” and “governments, soldiers, and civilians…often acted on the understanding that trade was power. The last two core arguments, patriot “struggle for self-determination stirred imperial authorities to increase oversight and security” on their remaining controlled territories and the American Revolution “was a conflict in which the call for liberty rang around the world as never before” (pg. 10).
Does he succeed? Admirably. By taking the reader through fourteen chapters that seem to be standalone essays but instead bring subjects usually forced to the fringes of histories of the period into focus. From female personas such as Molly Brant, the great leader for indigenous independence to using Peggy Shippen as the focal point for Loyalists and the throes of the great migration that followed the patriot victory in the American Revolution. From other exalted leaders, such as Baron von Steuben and King Louis XVI of France to ordinary citizens and the enslaved, trying to improve and sustain life during the conflict.
His astute insight and impeccable research acumen brings to life William Russell a privateer that might have some of the worst luck of any that sailed the Atlantic Ocean during the war to Bell, uncovering interesting snippets such as the twisted tale of tea. Americans are most familiar with the Boston Tea Party of December 1773, but did you know that by “the early 1800s, taxes levied on the tea trade had become a vital source of US government revenue and, ironically, “became a major contributor of funds to pay the nation’s war debts” (pg. 33).
Did you ever think of the central importance of trade to war? Maintaining colonies and trade routes that kept soldiers, sailors, and citizens fed and government coffers filled? Bell rightly traces the integral connection as “cargo vessels laden with Cuban gold, Barbadian sugar, Irish meat, and Dutch munitions bound together the conflict’s several theaters just as tightly as troops transports and naval fleets…” (pg. 360).
This was a whirlwind synopsis of Bell’s seven core arguments and a sneak peek into the dept of his research and viewpoints. He has filled in the foundation of those fringes of the American Revolutionary War era history. Like those ripples from that proverbial rock, there is still more to discover that have direct ties to the defining era of the American Revolution. One example that he discusses in need of further study is “in the 250 years since 1776, rebels, separatists, and state makers on every settled continent have crafted more than a hundred declarations of independence in imitation of the American original” (pg. 361). Another ripple, started by Bell, that can be explored more fully. The fate of the world rested with the tremors started by the American Revolution, and one can argue the fate of the world still relies on those same tremors of a 21st-century variety today.
Book Information:
The American Revolution and the Fate of the World Richard Bell Riverhead Books (Penguin Random House, INC), New York, 406 pages with images $35.00
Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes back guest historian Evan Portman
It’s often said that politics makes strange bedfellows, but that’s also true of war. On a blistering December night in 1775, Col. Henry Knox found himself sharing a cabin with the unlikeliest of people: the British officer John André.
Henry Knox
Knox was on his way to retrieve captured artillery at Fort Ticonderoga alongside his brother, William. The pair traveled up the Hudson River, facing heavy winds and harsh winter weather along the way. On December 4, a snowstorm hit just as Knox and his brother reached Fort George at the south end of Lake George, about 40 miles from Ticonderoga. Colonel Knox decided to spend the night there and sail up the lake to Fort Ticonderoga the following day.[1]
Knox received a one-room log cabin for the night, which, for lack of proper quarters, he shared with a captured British lieutenant named John André. André had surrendered during the American siege of Fort Saint-Jean in November 1775 and was being transported as a prisoner of war to Lancaster, Pennsylvania. The chance encounter sparked a brief companionship between the two men. Knox and André were the same age and shared a variety of intellectual pursuits, including a deep passion for art and literature. Both had also given up their respective trades to pursue a military career.[2]
However, Knox was careful not to betray the secrecy of his mission. The colonel, who was dressed in civilian clothes, probably did not reveal his military affiliation as a chief lieutenant of George Washington. Nonetheless, the two bedfellows passed the night by the firelight discussing their common interests. André charmed Knox, as he did most men who made his acquaintance, and the British officer’s intelligence and charisma made left a lasting impression on the artilleryman. Alexander Hamilton later recalled that “there was something singularly interesting in the character and fortunes of André” who “united a peculiar elegance of mind and manners, and the advantage of a pleasing person.”[3] The two men cordially parted ways the following day, as Knox made his way to Fort Ticonderoga and André departed for Lancaster.[4]
John André
Five years later Knox and André met again under much different circumstances. By 1780, André had risen to the rank of major and taken charge of the British spy network. It was in this role that the young officer found himself caught up in one of the great dramas of American history: the treachery of Benedict Arnold. André helped facilitate Arnold’s betrayal and eventual defection to the British army, but he was captured by American sentries in the process. Washington appointed a tribunal of 14 Continental Army officers to try André. Among them was Brig. Gen. Henry Knox.
The tribunal unanimously found André guilty of espionage and therefore ordered his death by hanging—the typical form of execution spy in the eighteenth century. Knox did not record his feelings on the matter, and André did not relate whether he recognized the portly artilleryman with whom he had once shared a cabin. Regardless, any companionship between the two men had evaporated as Knox signed André’s death warrant alongside his Continental comrades.[5]
Despite his tragic circumstances, André maintained marked civility even in the face of his execution. Knox looked on as André approached the gallows and declared, “I have said all I have to say before, and have only to request the gentlemen present to bear testimony that I met death as a brave man.”[6] With that, the cart moved out from under André’s feet, and Knox watched as his one-time companion hung.
Despite his role in André’s untimely death, Knox looked back fondly upon his one-time companion. James Thacher, who was stationed at West Point in 1780 and witnessed André’s trial, recalled that Knox “often afterward expressed the most sincere regret, that he was called by duty, to act on the tribunal that pronounced his condemnation.”[7] Though André’s life ended that October day, Knox served in the Continental army with distinction for the rest of the war. However, he never forgot his chance encounter with the charming British officer on that cold, winter night in 1775.
Fort George
[1] Mark Puls, Henry Knox: Visionary General of the American Revolution (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2008), 37.
[2] Puls, Henry Knox, 37; Noah Brooks, Henry Knox: A Soldier of the Revolution, Major-General in the Continental Army, and Washington’s Chief of Artillery (New York: Cosimo, Inc., 2007), 42.
[3] Alexander Hamilton to Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens, 11 October 1780, The Papers of Alexander Hamilton, vol. 2, 1779–1781, ed. Harold C. Syrett, (New York: Columbia University Press, 1961), 460.
[4] Puls, Henry Knox, 37-38; Winthrop Sargent, Life and Career of Major John André (Boston: Ticknor and Fields, 1861), 85.
Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes guest historian Andrew J. Lucien. Brief bio of Andrew follows the post.
Death of General Richard Montgomery
Bunker Hill, Valley Forge, Yorktown, July 4, George Washington. These are the most common images that come to mind when the American Revolution is mentioned by most people. The collective unconscious of America has become steeped in the imagery of glorious American victories to win our independence from the superpower of the time. However, what many are unaware of is the unusual campaign that took place from 1775 to 1776, in an attempt to gain the support of Canada in our quest for independence. This campaign featured several battles, with the key one being the Battle of Quebec. This marked a significant turning point in the campaign and the war as a whole.
In 1775, the fate of the impending schism between Britain and its North American colonies was all but sealed. The colonial fervor had reached a climax at the Battles of Lexington and Concord in the spring of 1775, setting the mother country and its colony down a path of armed conflict. As tensions rose in 1775, Ethan Allan, along with Benedict Arnold, captured the British fort at Ticonderoga in early May, resulting in much-needed guns for the colonials. With successful action undertaken in the northern reaches of New York state, the Continental Congress approved plans to invade Canada. Intelligence led the patriots to believe that there were fewer than 700 British soldiers stationed in the Canadian territory and that the popular sentiment in the territory was in favor of rebellion, and that they, too, might take up arms against the British Crown.
By late September, Ethan Allan unsuccessfully attempted to capture Montreal. Near the same time, Benedict Arnold began to lead a force of around 1,100 men from Boston on an enterprise aimed at aiding in the capture of Canada (only about 600 would reach their destination). These men would eventually join forces with Richard Montgomery’s force around Quebec in December of 1775, “to finish the Glorious work you begun,” to quote George Washington. By the time Arnold’s men reached Canada, they were “in a very weak condition.” Montgomery’s force was moving north from Lake Champlain. His men captured Fort Chambly and Fort St. Johns. Following these captures, the force under Montgomery advanced on Montreal. The British governor, Guy Carlton, took approximately 150 men with him from Montreal to Quebec, believing it to be a more important and defensible position. Montreal was easily captured on the 13th. Montgomery did not rest long after capturing the fort, leaving a small garrison in Montreal and heading to join forces with Arnold’s men at Point aux Trembles. Montgomery, “…was anxious, after the capture of Chamblee, St. Johns and Montreal, to add Quebec, as a prime trophy to the laurels already won.”
With the combined force of Montgomery and Arnold now outside of Quebec, Montgomery sent Carlton multiple messages to surrender, which were all rejected. Upon hearing the refutation of his final offer, Montgomery was supposed to have said he would “dine in Quebec or Hell at Christmas.” Finally, with all other options seemingly exhausted, it was planned to forcibly take the city by sending Arnold’s corps to assault the lower town via St. Roque. Montgomery was to attack the lower town via Pres-de-Ville, near Cape Diamond. There was to be a fient east of St. John’s Gate under Colonel Livingston and one at Cape Diamond under Major Brown. The ultimate goal was to meet in the lower town, then storm the upper town.
Around midnight as the 31st began, clouds began to fill the sky and snow began to fall. This was a signal to the Americans to begin preparing for an assault, using the snowstorm as cover. By 2 a.m., the American troops began their movements. At about 4 a.m., Captain Malcolm Fraser saw flashes and lights on the Heights of Abraham. Fraser suspected that the lights were a sign of the American troops’ movement and ordered his guards to arm. The British began to play their drums and ring their bells to alert the men of Quebec to prepare for the city’s defense. The Americans launched two rockets to signal the beginning of their assault. With the rockets illuminating the early morning sky, the rebels began to fire their muskets into the British line. With the darkness of the morning still upon the soldiers, the British were unable to see their opponents, except when their muskets would flash and illuminate their heads. They used the flash of the muskets to guide their return volleys. The Americans began to launch artillery into Quebec from St. Roque. When Arnold saw the rockets in the morning sky, he led about 600 men from St. Roque to attack the British works at Saut-au-Matelot. Montgomery led his force of about 300 men to attack the works at Pres-de-Ville. Montgomery believed that this location was ripe for an escalade.
Arnold and the rest of his column advanced along the waterfront through St. Roque. The British sailors stationed there rained fire down on the Americans from atop the ramparts. The Americans “could see nothing but the blaze from the muzzles of their muskets.” As the Americans pressed forward, they lost the cover of the houses. Arnold was hit in the leg by enemy fire near the first barricade, and he was taken from the field by two men. Arnold tried to rally his men as he was taken away. Despite the setback, the Americans under Daniel Morgan pressed forward and used their ladders to scale and capture the first barricade at Saut-au-Matelot, along with 30 British troops. Here, the Americans found their muskets useless due to the snow. Many colonial troops resorted to confiscating British muskets. The Americans continued about 250-300 yards further to attempt to capture the second barrier, where they met opposition from the British. The Americans, on a narrow street, moved against the British, who had their own strong defenses, including a 12-foot-high barrier, cannons, and two lines of soldiers ready to repulse the attacking Americans. The British fired down on the Americans from the tops of the buildings. The colonial troops attempted to climb the barrier but were forced back by the British inside with their bayonets fixed. They then fired from under the cover of the houses, allowing the British to see them only as they moved from house to house. The attackers contemplated retreating; however, they tarried, ultimately a dire mistake. Carleton, aware of the developing assault, men to attack the flank of the Americans. With the Americans now flanked and facing stiff opposition in front, they surrendered to the British force.
Montgomery and his men suffered a far more deadly fate. As his column approached Pres-de-Ville, Captain Barnsfair had his men next to their guns and at the ready when the Americans arrived. The British had erected a barrier here with a battery. The Americans advanced within 50 yards of the British guns and halted, then resumed their advance, likely because they believed the soldiers were not on guard. Barnsfair “declared he would not fire till he was sure of doing execution, and… waited till the enemy came within… about thirty yards’ distance” and then called out, “fire!” “Shrieks and groans followed the discharge.” The fire of canister, grapeshot, and musketfire was deadly. When the fire stopped, the field of battle was clear with no rebels left standing on the field. Montogemery was one of the casualties of the action, found lying on his back with his arm still in the air. Seeing the folly of another assault, the remaining men retreated. An officer of Carlton’s declared the battle “a glorious day for us, and as compleat a little victory as was ever gained.” When the dust settled, the Americans suffered about 50 killed, 34 wounded, and 431 captured or missing, while the British defenders lost only 5 killed and 14 wounded. The fighting had lasted only around 4 hours.
Bibliography:
“An Account of the Assault on Quebec, 1775,” The Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography 14, no. 1 (1890): 47–63.
Blockade of Quebec in 1775–1776 by the American Revolutionists (les Bastonnais). Historical event, Quebec City, 1775–1776.
Caldwell, Henry. The Invasion of Canada in 1775. Quebec: Literary and Historical Society of Quebec, [microform].
Hatch, Robert McConnell. Thrust for Canada: The American Attempt on Quebec in 1775–1776. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1979.
Henry, John Joseph. Account of Arnold’s Campaign Against Quebec, and of the Hardships and Sufferings of That Band of Heroes Who Traversed the Wilderness of Maine from Cambridge to the St. Lawrence, in the Autumn of 1775. Albany: Joel Munsell, 1877.
Bio:
Andrew Lucien is a social studies curriculum director at the Cleveland Metropolitan School District, host of The Civil War Center podcast, and founder of thecivilwarcenter.com. He has written extensively on the Civil War and Revolutionary War.
Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes back guest historian Avellina Balestri
As I have increased research and work on my American Revolution trilogy All Ye That Pass By, I have noticed a trend towards making this particular season between the anniversary of Nathan Hale’s hanging (September 22, 1776) and John Andre’s hanging (October 2, 1780) into a strange sort of macabre festival I have dubbed “Hangemtide.” I suppose one could consider it a sort of Halloween for historical enthusiasts, as the autumnal chill starts to creep into the air, greenery dies, and horror releases hit the market. But a strange pseudo-religious reality I have observed is a tendency to treat these hangings as secular passion plays of a kind, connected by a secular Advent calendar of daily memorials, with the overarching takeaway being a strange sense of catharsis for the salvation of a newborn nation.
As a Catholic, I very well know the thematic beats, and I can sense them in an unsettling way in these commemorations. We must have our scapegoat; a man, or two, must die so the nation might live in our origin myth. But though the narrative may comfortably place Hale as the first Christ-figure, it uncomfortably assures that Andre is the second. We as the audience, while intended to shed tears for the first, are meant to bay for the blood of the second. Perhaps we may pity him in passing moments, but never so much that we truly desire him to be spared. His death is a foregone conclusion of the ritual which must be affirmed. We are recalling the traditional readings on Passion Sunday, and hardly realize it. We have, perhaps, lost the much greater plot of Christianity, that in the death of each, the other perishes, and in every death, we partake, in the killing and the dying, and in every human catastrophe, there is planted the original Passion Tree, no less in the past than in the present. History is not safe from our iniquity, nor from grace breaking in upon it, oftentimes painfully.
Touching back upon the historical events being remembered according to our national needs, I have often gently chided friends involved in “Hangentide” that I am ever on call to be the defense lawyer Major Andre never got should they wish to shuttle me into the past on circuit. I do not intend to make that defense the core of my current thesis, but put simply, I believe that if he had received a proper legal defense, Andre may well have had his sentence reduced based on extenuating circumstances. But that was not to be, because it could not be, not in the narrative as it is presented to us over and over again. This was a necessary death; a payment to Justice itself. It is language used to mask what was essentially a revenge hanging for both Hale’s execution at the hands of Crown forces and Arnold’s betrayal of the revolution for hard cold coin. The true foundation stone of “Hangemtide” is a satisfaction we are meant to share in nearly 250-year-old retribution. It is meant to, in some way, bring the country together through our most primal tribal instinct. But does it?
Emerging Revolutionary War Era 