The debacle knocked Gates off his perch, especially after the terror-stricken general scampered away on horseback and raced 180 miles before mustering the equanimity to report to Congress. Washington, who had an unerring knack for letting his enemies dig their own graves, was tight-lipped about the defeat. Still, his loyal aides heaped scorn on the discredited Gates, who became the laughingstock of Washington’s staff. “Was there ever an instance of a general running away, as Gates has done, from his whole army?” Alexander Hamilton whooped with glee. “One hundred and eighty miles in three days and a half. It does admirable credit to the activity of a man at his time of life.”17 With the American defeat, Georgia and the Carolinas fell under British sway, making Virginia more vulnerable to invasion. For the moment, Lord Cornwallis looked invincible. Drawing the moral for Congress, Washington sidestepped Gates’s cowardice to concentrate on the militia’s amateurish performance. “No militia will ever acquire the habits necessary to resist a regular force . . . The firmness requisite for the real business of fighting is only to be attained by a constant course of discipline and service.”18
After the Camden battle, Congress relieved a chastened Gates of his command and launched an inquest into his ignominious behavior. Gates had been the last serious rival left to Washington, whose supremacy now stood unchallenged. Gates’s downfall paved the way for the return to power of General Nathanael Greene, who yearned to get back to the battlefield. He had labored successfully at the thankless job of quartermaster general and was fully rehabilitated from the disgrace of Fort Washington. Washington praised Greene for introducing both “method and system” to army supplies and reposed more confidence in him than in any other general.19 Despite Washington’s patronage, however, Greene could be an anxious, insecure man, very sensitive to slights. After the Battle of Brandywine, he had licked his wounds when Washington didn’t single out for praise his division, which had included a Virginia brigade under General Weedon. “You, sir, are considered my favorite officer,” Washington told him candidly. “Weedon’s brigade, like myself, are Virginians. Should I applaud them for their achievement under your command, I shall be charged with partiality.” 20
Greene often experienced Washington as a difficult, caviling boss, which was hard for him as he needed periodic hand-holding and reassurance. In 1778 Greene wrote a self-pitying letter to Washington that almost begged for praise: “As I came into the Quartermaster’s department with reluctance, so I shall leave it with pleasure. Your influence brought me in and the want of your approbation will induce me to go out.”21 However brusque he could be to his colleagues, Washington was also finely responsive to their psychological needs. He replied to Greene’s letter: “But let me beseech you, my dear Sir, not to harbor any distrusts of my friendship or conceive that I mean to wound the feelings of a person whom I greatly esteem and regard.”22
In removing Gates from his command, Congress certified Washington’s consolidation of power by ceding to him the choice of a successor. Always sure-handed in dealing with Congress, he decided to “nominate” Nathanael Greene for the southern command instead of choosing him outright, and Congress confirmed this superb choice on October 14, 1780. The story is sometimes told that Greene initially rejected the demanding post. “Knox is the man for this difficult undertaking,” he told Washington. “All obstacles vanish before him. His resources are infinite.” “True,” Washington retorted slyly, “and therefore I cannot part with him.”23
Owing to the huge British presence in New York, Washington didn’t think he could spare many men for the southern campaign. In giving Greene instructions, he revealed his own remoteness from the southern theater: “Uninformed as I am of the enemy’s force in that quarter, of our own, or of the resources which it will be in your power to command . . . I can give you no particular instructions, but must leave you to govern yourself entirely.”24 When Caty Greene expressed concern about her husband being sent south, Washington made the magnanimous offer to serve as her post office and relay messages to her husband. “If you will entrust your letters to my care,” he told her, “they shall have the same attention paid to them as my own.”25
AS THE END OF SUMMER APPROACHED, it seemed more than a little peculiar that Washington still hadn’t set eyes on the Count de Rochambeau and the Chevalier de Ternay. The simple truth was that he feared the American army might fall apart in his absence and was too embarrassed by its frightful shape to chance an encounter with the French. Aside from more men, he estimated that he needed five thousand muskets and two hundred tons of gunpowder to field a viable force. When Lafayette informed him of Rochambeau’s express wish to meet him, Washington owned up to the problem: “With respect to the Count’s desire of a personal interview with me, you are sensible, my dear Marquis, that there is nothing I should more ardently desire than to meet him. But you are also sensible that my presence here is essential to keep our preparations in activity, or even going on at all.”26 It was an extraordinary commentary on his army’s enfeebled state. In late August the bread shortage grew so alarming that he faced the severe dilemma of whether to dismiss the militia because he couldn’t feed them or accept new recruits and let them “come forward to starve.”27 In early September, in order to conserve food, he sent home four hundred militiamen.
In mid-September 1780, accompanied by Lafayette, Hamilton, Knox, and an entourage of twenty-two horsemen, Washington set out for his long overdue rendezvous with Rochambeau and Ternay. The spot chosen for the parley, Hartford, Connecticut, stood equidistant between the two armies. Washington dealt with the French from a weakened position: he had only ten thousand soldiers in his army, half the number he wanted, and the total would be halved on January 1 as enlistments expired. He thought it essential that Americans, not Frenchmen, should have credit for winning the American Revolution: “The generosity of our allies has a claim to all our confidence and all our gratitude, but it is neither for the honor of America, nor for the interest of the common cause, to leave the work entirely to them.”28 En route to Hartford, Washington and his retinue paused near West Point so that he could lunch with its commandant, Benedict Arnold. Pleased with Arnold but apprehensive about the state of West Point’s defenses, Washington promised to stop by on his return trip and tour the fortifications.
As Washington approached Hartford, then a humble village consisting of a single road along the Connecticut River, French cannon thundered thirteen times and local citizens broke forth in ecstatic cheers. With Lafayette acting as translator, Washington and Rochambeau had their first chance to size each other up. Rochambeau looked the part of a rough-hewn soldier who had put in thirty-seven years in the army. Short and thickset, he had a scar above one eye and shuffled about with a mild limp from an old war wound. Whatever his reservations about Washington’s military plans, he was tactful, even affable, at this first meeting, but too temperamental to keep his moods in check for long. Claude Blanchard, his chief quartermaster, claimed that Rochambeau distrusted everyone and saw himself “surrounded by rogues and idiots. This character, combined with manners far from courteous, makes him disagreeable to everybody.”29