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 welcomes back Jeffrey Collin Wilford For Part I, click here.
General Benedict Arnold’s Betrayal
On the morning of September 21, 1780, while Captain John Van Dyk, only recently freed from the prison ship Jersey, was guarding West Point as part of Colonel John Lamb’s artillery unit, the HMS Vulture arrived at Haverstraw Bay and anchored just off Teller’s Point. Two men pressing apples at a cider mill on the shore became alarmed at the presence of a British warship on the river north of the “neutral ground,” and a barge disembarking from it filled with Redcoats. Not knowing their intent, both decided to take matters into their own hands and opened fire on the soldiers. John “Rifle Jack” Peterson, a veteran of the Battle of Saratoga, received his nickname due to his superior marksmanship. The other, Moses Sherwood was just 19 years old and a friend of Jack Peterson. Both were enlisted in the Westchester County militia. Their relationship was very close as Rifle Jack had held Sherwood’s father in his arms as he died at Saratoga three years earlier.
Croton (Teller’s) Point today – (Wilford)
Several of their shots hit their mark, wounding soldiers and prompting the barge to return to the Vulture which opened fire with a barrage of grapeshot on the two men as they crouched behind rocks. This signaled to the pair that the ship was within cannon range and they quickly made their way in the darkness to Fort Lafayette ten miles to the north to secure a cannon from the officer in charge, Colonel James Livingston.
Cannon that fired on the Vulture Peekskill Museum (Wilford)
At Peterson and Sherwood worked with several other soldiers to lug the 4-pounder back to the point while, unbeknownst to them, André slipped away from the Vulture. He made his way from the Vulture to shore, at around midnight, with Loyalist Joshua Hett Smith who had been instructed to gather him from the ship. His destination was a clandestine meeting on the river bank with American General Benedict Arnold, the famous war hero of Saratoga who had been plotting for months to turn against the cause of American independence. What was clear, by André’s account, was that this meeting was to be a fairly quick round-trip between the Vulture and shore under cover of darkness.
Instead, an unraveling of the circumstances dictated that he shed all previous warnings from British General Sir Henry Clinton to stay dressed in his regimental uniform, avoid enemy checkpoints, and not possess any incriminating papers. André admitted this to Clinton in a letter written after his capture and dated September 29, 1780 stating, “The Events of coming within an Enemys posts and of Changing my dress which led me to my present Situation were contrary to my own Intentions as they were to your Orders.” This would force him to become, in his own words, “involuntarily an impostor.”
As negotiations on the riverbank dragged on, likely due to Arnold’s negotiations around rank and compensation, daybreak drew near. Fearing discovery, and clearly against André’s original plan, they moved their talks to the home of Smith, which overlooked the river and the Vulture at anchor. During the meeting at Smith’s house, Arnold eventually handed over the defensive plans of the Continental Army’s citadel, West Point, and the minutes from General George Washington’s September 6th War Council meeting that created a vulnerability for the Americans that could have proved catastrophic.
It is easy to understand why West Point was so significant to the British. It was crucial, not just as a military installation situated on the banks of the Hudson between New England and the Southern Colonies, but as a symbol of American strength and resolve. Perched on the high ground overlooking the Hudson, West Point had been there to thwart British attempts to dominate the 300-mile-long river which would have allowed them to effectively cut off the rebels of New England from the rest of the colonies. Losing West Point would have taken an important strategic foothold away from the Americans. The potential of losing General Washington in the process would have also dealt a severely damaging blow to the American cause, if not ending the war altogether.
While the Arnold and André negotiations were taking place, a contingent of men, along with Peterson and Sherwood, had dragged the 4-pounder to Teller’s Point into position on the riverbank within range of the Vulture.
Early in the morning, awakened by cannon fire, the conspirators at Smith’s house could see the Americans in the distance opening fire on the ship. Though he did not immediately know it, this would permanently separate André from his only means of a safe escape. Hit several times and stranded in the middle of the Hudson by a slack tide and unfavorable winds, the Vulture endured the cannon fire but eventually cut her cables to drift with the currents south to Dobbs Ferry.
As a result of the retreat of the Vulture, an alternative plan was devised to get André back to the British lines. On the morning of the 22nd, in disguise and with a pass written by Arnold to travel unmolested behind American lines under the alias John Anderson, he and Smith began the overland trek back to British-occupied New York City. Arnold returned to his home at West Point. What was clear from André’s later testimony was that he felt like this change of plan made him a victim of circumstance saying he “thought it was settled that in the way I came I was also to return.”
What were the motivations for the thirty-nine-year-old hero of Saratoga, who had risen through the military ranks to become one of Washington’s most effective field generals, to give up not only West Point, but his reputation in history? Much has been written, but what is known is that he had been living a life well beyond his means. His wife Peggy Shippen, half his age and from a prominent Philadelphia Loyalist merchant family, had a taste for luxury. To woo the 19-year-old, Arnold openly lived a life of excess while in Philadelphia which turned more than a few heads, wondering if he had secretly been trading with the British.
Benedict Arnold was also known for his self-assured nature and temper. Infighting within certain circles of the military, and his discovery that several junior officers had received promotions ahead of him, provided him even more motivation to turn. Arnold felt the military did not display the respect that was due a war hero and this sentiment was on display in a letter to Washington on May 5, 1779. “Having made every sacrifice of fortune and blood, and become a cripple in the service of my country, I little expected to meet the ungrateful returns I have received of my countrymen.” Perhaps the influence placed upon him by his relationship with Peggy due to her father’s position, and his criticism of the American cause added more weight to his self-imposed need to betray his country. Consequently, he began to develop a plan to turn over West Point to British General Sir Henry Clinton, with Major John André as the British intermediary.
The second day treading enemy soil was rather uneventful as André and Smith carefully made their way south to the original King’s Ferry which crossed the Hudson between Stony Point and Verplanck, the site of the former Fort Lafayette. The crossing was a nerve-wracking affair for André as this was the main ferry crossing for all Continental troops and supplies just outside of the watchful eye of the British forces in New York City 45 miles to the south. Following the Crom-Pond Road, the journey was slow and deliberate, befitting a spy and his Loyalist guide. As nightfall approached, they bedded down at a farmhouse before continuing their journey early the next morning.
Isaac Underhill House – Where André ate his last breakfast (Wilford)
The pair continued to make their way along the Croton River until reaching the southernmost lines of the Continental Army where Smith left André just after finishing their breakfast at the Isaac Underhill house. By the time André had reached Tarrytown, New York, by way of the Albany Post Road, a road he had been told to avoid, his luck had run out. Isaac Underhill House – Where André ate his last breakfast (Wilford)
At 9 o’clock on the morning of September 23, 1780, André was stopped by three militiamen at Clark’s Kill, a stream that today marks the boundary between Sleepy Hollow and Tarrytown, New York. According to André, he “was taken by three Volunteers who not Satisfied with my pass riffled me and finding papers Made me a prisoner.” Isaac Van Wart, John Paulding, and David Williams would go on to be considered heroes by most, but certainly not by all. One of their leading detractors was the person George Washington entrusted with returning André to West Point and ultimately Tappan for trial, Major Benjamin Tallmadge. Tallmadge was Washington’s chief intelligence officer and he believed the three militiamen were “of that class of person who passed between both armies.” He felt they lacked the very character he would end up heaping upon André.
André Capture Site (Wilford)
While the circumstances surrounding Major John André’s capture unfolded in Tarrytown, General Arnold, aware that his treacherous plot had been uncovered, and leaving behind his baby and a hysterically distraught Peggy Shippen, raced to avoid capture and meet up with the HMS Vulture. Upon his return from a meeting with French General Rochambeau at Hartford Connecticut, Washington, unaware of any involvement by Shippen, allowed her to return to her family in Philadelphia, perhaps letting go of an important bargaining chip in the process. It would later be learned that she might have been complicit in her husband’s treason. While she openly denied it, an admission from Theodosia Burr, Aaron Burr’s wife, that she admitted to her involvement as well as a £500 annual pension from King George III would suggest this.
Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes historian and educator Jeffrey Collin Wilford to theblog. A brief biog is at the bottom of this post. A list of sources will be at the bottom of the concluding Part III.
Major John André and John Van Dyk: Continental Artillery Soldier
Much has been written about the betrayal of America by Benedict Arnold. However, one small but candidly morbid fact buried in the story has not. It relates to the disposition of British Major John André’s remains as they lay in a wooden ossuary on a British mail ship on the banks of the Hudson River while awaiting their return to England in 1821. The only recorded recollection of this event was in a letter written by a 67-year-old former Revolutionary War soldier and published in a Virginia newspaper in 1825. This man also happened to be one of the four officers who escorted André to the gallows in Tappan, New York, on October 2, 1780.
John Van Dyk lived a storied life, serving America as a militiaman, Continental Artillery soldier, customs officer, New York City assessor, and assistant alderman. He came from an old Dutch family that had settled in the original New Amsterdam colony, which would eventually become Manhattan. There is ample evidence that, in 1775, he was actively involved in significant acts of disobedience against British rule with other “Liberty Boys,” as the New York Sons of Liberty preferred to call themselves.
One of these acts was stealing muskets and cannons from the Royal Armory and Fort George. Under the encouragement of Isaac Sears and Marinus Willett, he was one of a crowd of colonists who broke into the Royal Arsenal at City Hall on April 23, 1775, stealing 550 muskets, bayonets, and related munitions. The angry mob had been spurred to act by the attacks on their fellow countrymen the week previous at Lexington and Concord in Massachusetts. Every person who took a musket was required to sign for it, signaling a promise to return it if it was needed to fight against British occupation. That call came on July 4, 1775, when the New York Provincial Congress ordered them recalled to outfit newly commissioned Colonel Alexander McDougall’s 1st New York Regiment. It was relayed that anyone who refused would be deemed an enemy of the state. In all, 434 muskets were returned.
Exactly four months later, Captain John Van Dyk was one of sixty or so men who, under Liberty Boys Colonel John Lasher and Colonel John Lamb, executed the orders of the New York Provincial Congress to remove the cannon from Fort George at the southern tip of Manhattan and drag them back to the area of City Hall. With tensions high in the city, the state leaders feared they would be turned against the colonists if they were left in the hands of the British. One of the militia members assisting in the removal effort was 19-year-old King’s College student Alexander Hamilton of the Hearts of Oak independent militia. By this time, civil unrest had relegated the British colonial government to operating from naval ships anchored in New York Harbor, which made keeping the cannon secure from a more agitated population nearly impossible.
Just before midnight on August 23, 1775, a skirmish ensued between Lasher and Lamb’s men removing the cannon, and a British barge near the shore. It had been sent to monitor the rebels’ activity by Captain George Vandeput from the HMS Asia, a 64-gun British warship anchored near shore. Musket shots rang out, presumably started by the British, which resulted in the killing of a King’s soldier on the barge. As a result, the Asia turned broadside and opened fire with their cannons in a barrage on the city that lasted for three hours. A city whose population had already been diminished by the fear of a coming conflict, shrunk even further due to the terror experienced that night.
John Van Dyk spent most of the next eight years as an officer in General Henry Knox’s artillery while under the command of Colonel John Lamb. During the war, he saw action at Brooklyn, Harlem Heights, White Plains, Trenton, Brandywine, Germantown, Crosswicks Creek, Monmouth, and Short Hills. He was also at both Morristown winter encampments and Valley Forge. In 1780 he was captured by the British off the coast of New Jersey and confined on the prison ship HMS Jersey in Brooklyn before being released that summer.
Van Dyk had spent months out of commission in late 1779 and early 1780 with what, according to his symptoms, was probably malaria or yellow fever. He petitioned General Knox, who, in turn, appealed to General Washington for leave to recuperate. Making his way to West Point to meet with General Washington he was instructed by the Commander-in-Chief’s aide-de-camp to be evaluated by Dr. John Cochran, physician and surgeon general of the army of the Middle Department. On Cochran’s recommendation, General Washington wrote to President Samuel Huntington asking that the Continental Congress grant Van Dyk’s petition for an 8-month Furlow to sea to convalesce, which was common at the time as it was believed the fresh sea air was helpful to healing. Approved, it would take six months before he boarded the brig General Reed with a crew of 120 and 16 guns, a privateer out of Philadelphia commanded by Samuel Davidson. Once aboard ship he was temporarily made a Lieutenant of Marines.
Only two days into the voyage, on April 21, 1780, things took an immediate turn for the worse when they were intercepted and captured by the 28-gun HMS Iris and the 16-gun sloop HMS Vulture. The Iris was the former American warship USS Hancock, captured in July of 1777 and renamed by the British. Van Dyk was brought to Brooklyn and placed on the prison ship Jersey in Wallabout Bay, one of the most notorious and deadly places for holding American prisoners of war. Conditions were so poor that, while approximately 6,800 American soldiers died in battle during the Revolution, over 11,000 prisoners died on the Jersey alone! Fortunately for John Van Dyk, American officers were often traded off the Jersey for British officers who were in the custody of American forces. Within two months he was released and traveled to his temporary home of Elizabethtown, New Jersey to finish recuperating before rejoining Lamb’s artillery in Tappan, New York.
John Van Dyk had experienced many horrors of war in the years and months leading up to the morning of September 21, 1780, when British Major John André, an Adjutant General to British General Sir Henry Clinton, left New York City and sailed up the Hudson River. This pivotal incident would brand one of Washington’s closest generals a traitor and lead to the death of the esteemed and well-liked André. Ironically, Major André traveled on the very same sloop that had assisted in the capture of Captain Van Dyk just six months earlier.
Bio:
Jeffrey Wilford has been an educator in Maine for over 30 years where he holds certifications in history and science. He received a bachelor’s degree in communications with an emphasis in journalism from California State University – Fullerton and a master’s degree in education, teaching and learning, from the University of Maine. In addition to his career teaching, he has worked as a general assignment newspaper reporter and an assistant to the press secretary of former Maine Governor and US Congressman Joseph Brennen. He lives in Maine with his wife Nicolette Rolde Wilford.
Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes back guest historian Eric Olsen. Eric is a historian with the National Park Service at Morristown National Historical Park. To learn more about the site, click here.
The following obituary of a Revolutionary War veteran appeared in a Marietta, Ohio newspaper in 1830.“Saturday, July 24, 1830
Casualty – On Saturday evening last, Mr. Bazil Norman of Roxbury township, a man of color, left his house to go to watch a deer lick, and not returning in the course of the night, the next day a search was commenced under the belief that some accident had befallen him; after a diligent search by his family and neighbors, he was found dead having fallen from a precipice about twelve feet. From appearances he had been to the lick and stayed the usual time, and late in the evening attempted to return, by the aid of a torch-light; having a narrow pass to descend between some rocks about a half mile from his house, he missed his way a few yards, fell, and broke is neck. Mr. Norman was aged about 73 – was a soldier in the revolutionary war, and at the time of his death received a pension from the United States.” -American Friend & Marietta Gazette, July 24, 1830.
Bazabeel Norman was an African American private in the Maryland Line of the Continental Army and most likely part of the 1779-1780 encampment at Jockey Hollow. I haven’t been able to find any muster rolls or service records to confirm this, but fortunately Norman did apply for a veteran’s pension in 1818 in which he summarized his military service.
“ enlisted in fall of the year 1777 into the company of Capt. Richard Anderson as a private soldier in the regiment commanded by Col. John Gumby in the Maryland line and served my Country against the common enemy until the close of the war…I was in the battles of Monmouth, Camden, Cowpens, Guilford Courthouse & Eutaw Springs. I am now 67 years old…”
In 1818 the only veterans who could apply for a pension were for men who were infirm or indigent. Bazabeel Norman apparently fit the requirements and was granted a pension. But too many men were granted pensions and Congress suspected that undeserving men were cheating the system. In 1820 veterans who had been granted pensions in 1818 were now required to make a list of their possessions and prove they were needy. In his July 25, 1820 application, Norman summarized his family life.
“As to my family I have none at home but my wife, one son & a Grand child, an orphan. My wife is 63 years of age & very infirm, my son wants only about a month of being 21 years of age. My Grandchild is a Girl about eight years old & very weakly. The rest of my children are of age & doing for themselves. I am by occupation a farmer but owing to age & infirmity I am unable to do very little toward supporting myself.”
After his death in 1830 his wife “Fortune” applied for and obtained a widow’s pension [W 5429]. In her application, she mentioned that they were married before the end of the war but did not provide any more interesting information.
The only reason I was able to research Bazabeel Norman was because of an email from Michael Shaver, Acting Chief of Interpretation of Morristown NHP & Thomas Edison NHP. I’m quoting from his email, because frankly I never heard of the person he makes reference to and it easier than rewriting his email. Michael wrote, “A few weeks ago on the PBS series, Finding Your Roots, one of the genealogies that Henry Louis Gates was exploring was that of actress, Rebecca Hall. Hall, the daughter of Sir Peter Hall, founder of the Royal Shakespeare Company, and Maria Ewing, an American-born opera star of the 1970s and 1980s. Hall has appeared in Iron Man 3 and last year’s King Kong movie, along with a host of highly acclaimed independent films. What prompted her appearance on the program was her directorial debut of the Netflix film, Passing. Hall now lives in Brooklyn and the Hudson Valley…
At about 30 minutes in, Gates is taking Hall back into the earlier generations of her family. He closes out with the discovery of Bazabeel “Basil” Norman, a free black from Maryland at about 36 minutes who was discovered through documentation of a veteran’s land grant in Ohio in 1818.
Basil Norman came from Frederick County, Maryland joined the 7th Regiment in the fall of 1777, under the command of Colonel John Gumby, in the company commanded by Captain Richard Anderson “and served my country against the common enemy until the close of the war under the continental establishment and discharged under a general order.
So Norman was probably hung his hat in Jockey Hollow.”
A big shout out/thank you to Michael for the tip which has revealed another African American soldier from Jockey Hollow.
Sources:
American Friend & Marietta Gazette, July 24, 1830, page 3, column 1, Ancestry online
Pension Application of Bazabeel Norman and his widow Fortune Norman, W5429, National Archives, Fold 3, Ancestry Online.
Approximately 5,000 African-American or Black soldiers fought for the patriot cause in the American Revolution. Some joined state militias, some joined the Continental Army, and some sailed the seas with the fledgling navies of the United Colonies. William and Benjamin Frank were two of those 5,000. Both were free Blacks from Rhode Island who enlisted in the 2nd Rhode Island Regiment in 1777. Their father was a veteran of the French and Indian War, so the family was well-established in military tradition.
The 2nd Rhode Island fought and defended Fort Mercer during the campaigns of 1777 and survived harsh winters at Valley Forge and Morristown before returning to Rhode Island to literally defend the hearth and home from the British. Author and historian Dr. Shirley L. Green, adjunct professor at the University of Toledo, a 26-year veteran of the law enforcement community, and current Director of the Toledo Police Museum in Ohio, “takes the reader on a journey based on her family’s history, rooted in its oral tradition.”
Her book Revolutionary Blacks, Discovering the Frank Brothers, Freeborn Men of Color, Soldiers of Independence was published by Westholme Publishing in November 2023.
Furthermore, Dr. Green puts “together the pieces of the puzzle through archival research, interviews, and DNA evidence” to authenticate and expand the family history. The end result is a very readable and needed addition to the historiography of the American Revolution. Her ability to tell “a complex account of Black life during the Revolutionary Era demonstrates that free men of color…demonstrates that free men of color shared with white soldiers the desire to improve their condition in life and to maintain their families safely in postcolonial North America.”
Emerging Revolutionary War looks forward to an engaging and informative discussion with Dr. Green, this Sunday, at 7 p.m. EDT on our Facebook page. We hope you can tune in for this next episode of Emerging Revolutionary War’s “Rev War Revelry.”
For more information about the book and to order a copy, click here.
Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes back guest historian Karl G. Elsea
History can be fun; for example, when a war trophy in Sweden and the popular television series “Antiques Roadshow” can be combined to explain an American Revolutionary War legend. There are a number of books, articles, an actor impersonator, and even an U. S. Postal stamp from 1975 showing Peter Francisco carrying a cannon barrel to save it from falling into British hands at the Battle of Camden. Sadly, their stories of Peter carrying a barrel weighting 600 pounds, or even an amazing 1,100 pounds, are not close to true. Here is the likely story. The kind of barrel Peter actually carried is shown in the next picture. The barrel likely weighed between 200 and 300 pounds.
An original amusette is located at the Armémuseums’s magazine in Stockholm. This amusette was constructed in 1768 and captured by the Swedes in the battle at Berby in 1808. The following picture shows this amusette:
Like a modern-day Nathanael Greene or Edward Carrington, Andrew Waters spends his days trekking the waterways of the Carolina high country. Just like those famous military leaders, Andrew Waters does the surveying of these waterways and their tributaries for his day job; as a land and water conservationist.
During this career, Waters first learned about the “Race to the Dan” the pivotal retrograde movement in 1780 that saved Greene’s army from the pursuing British force under Lord Charles Cornwallis. Having the unique perspective from his training and an interest in the history of the time period, he had the perfect combination to pen a complete history of the “Race to the Dan.” Published by Westholme Publishing in October 2020, the title, To The End of the World, Nathanael Greene, Charles Cornwallis, and the Race to the Dan fills a much needed gap in the historiography of the the American Revolution in the southern theater.
This Sunday, at 7p.m. EDT, on Emerging Revolutionary War’s Facebook page, join us in an interview with Waters, discussing this book, Nathanael Greene’s leadership, and any questions you may have about this subject. Remember that favorite beverage and we look forward to you tuning as we welcome historian and author Andrew Waters to the next installment of the “Rev War Revelry.”
In the spring of 1778, General George Washington chose Major General Nathanael Greene to be the quartermaster general of the Continental army, replacing General Thomas Mifflin who had resigned the previous November. Greene was hesitant and wrote the quote that graces the title of this post. He was leery of giving up a field command to take a thankless job that faced a mountain of difficulties and was more administrative. From the start of his tenure in this important post, Greene brought about effective change. His never ending responsibilities included allocating resources, installing the right people into positions, and untangling contracts, transportation woes, and developing a concept, such as supply depots on potential campaign routes were vast improvements over what his predecessor accomplished.
Nathanael Greene
Greene though yearned to return to an active field command and through his close connection to Washington along with his due diligence as quartermaster, he was assigned command in the southern theater. His assignment was to replace Major General Horatio Gates as the head of Continental forces after the latter’s defeat at Camden, South Carolina in August 1780. Greene’s role in this position is well-documented and outside the scope of this post. One of the decisions he made, early on in his tenure as commander, paid huge dividends and is usually relegated to a passing few lines in most histories of the southern campaigns. What Greene wrote years earlier about “quartermaster in history” the quote that gives this piece its title, holds true in this instance as well.
On December 4, 1780, Greene wrote to Edward Carrington, then on assignment scouting the rivers and topography through North Carolina and southern Virginia, offering him a new assignment; that of quartermaster general for the southern army. After finishing his surveying of the rivers and water transportation, Carrington was ordered to head toward Greene’s forces, bringing supplies that had been gathered with him as well.
This decision, to place an officer of the caliber of Edward Carrington, in that position was a wise move. One that passes largely unheralded. A decision, though, that ultimately leads to success and eventual victory. In this case the momentous “Race to the Dan” that saved Continental forces, fatigued Lord Charles Cornwallis’ British forces, and played an early role in the latter’s move toward Virginia.
On the morning of August 27, 1780 there was a knock on the door of the Charleston, South Carolina residence of Christopher Gadsden, lieutenant governor of South Carolina. He had stayed when the city capitulated to British forces in May. Gadsden had represented the civil government and handed the city over to the British commander, Sir Henry Clinton. He was released on parole.
Christopher Gadsden
Now, approximately three months later, Clinton was back in New York, and the new British commander Lord Charles Cornwallis had reneged on the parole agreement. Along with another 20 civil officers, Gadsden was led through the town to the docks to a waiting ship, set to sail for St. Augustine in British East Florida.
Upon arrival in the oldest city in European North America, Gadsden was given the opportunity by Governor Tonyn to avoid incarceration in Florida. This is when the 56-year old patriot probably uttered the phrase below.
“I gave my parole once, and it has been shamefully violated by the British Government: I shall not give another to people on whom no faith can be reposed.”
With that decision, Gadsden landed himself in Castillo de San Marcos the large coquina stone fortress that stood guard over St. Augustine. Not only was the South Carolinian kept in a cell, he was kept in solitary confinement for the next 42 weeks!
Upon his release in September 1781, Gadsden and the rest of the civil prisoners were sent by merchant vessel to Philadelphia. Gadsden wasted no time in hurrying southward to South Carolina and a return to the state House of Representatives. He served in various political roles, although he had to decline the governorship because of the affects of his imprisonment. He died in 1805. A grandson, James Gadsden would give his name to the Gadsden Purchase.
Gadsden was held in the cell to the right (author photo)
Today one can visit Castillo de San Marcos, a national park unit within the National Park Service. When touring the Castillo you can view the cell where Gadsden spent his solitary confinement and read the accompanying exhibits.
Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes back guest historian Dan Davis
Like my last post at Emerging Revolutionary War on the “Race to the Dan”, the origins of this post lie in a conversation with blog co-founder, Phill Greenwalt. The topic of our discussion revolved around the aftermath of the British victory at the Battle of Camden. The engagement ultimately brought two American officers to the Southern Theater: Nathanael Greene and Daniel Morgan. Greene accepted the position as the new head of the Southern Department’s co two months to the day after the battle while commanding the post at West Point, New York. Morgan’s story, however, is much more fascinating.
In the spring of 1779, George Washington created a light infantry corps within the Continental Army. Such a command fit Morgan’s skillset. He previously commanded the army’s provisional rifle corps. Additionally, Morgan, then a colonel, had compiled a record that arguably warranted elevation to brigadier general. After fighting broke out at Lexington and Concord, Morgan led a rifle company to the aid to the American army besieging Boston. Morgan participated in Col. Benedict Arnold’s Canadian Expedition and was captured during the assault on Quebec. He also played a critical role in the Battles of Saratoga. Morgan’s home state of Virginia, however, had met its quota for general officers and a vacancy was not available.
On June 30, 1779, Morgan learned Brig. Gen. Anthony Wayne received command of the new corps. With his pride devastated, Morgan traveled to Philadelphia. There, on July 19, Congress read his resignation.
Emerging Revolutionary War Era 