Chronically short of generals, Washington counted the bluff Israel Putnam as his only major general in New York. In response to Washington’s pleas, Congress added William Heath, Joseph Spencer, John Sullivan, and Nathanael Greene as major generals. Of this group, Washington banked his highest hopes on Greene, appointing him commander of American forces on Long Island—a striking affirmation of trust in a man with only one year of army experience. Plagued by ill health, Greene had succumbed to jaundice earlier in the year. “I am as yellow as saffron, my appetite all gone, and my flesh too,” he told his brother Jacob. “I am so weak that I can scarcely walk across the room.” Now, in mid-August, as the Continental Army braced for battle, Greene reported to Washington that he was struggling with a “raging fever” and could scarcely sit up in bed.⁵² It was a catastrophic development for Washington, who evacuated Greene to a house north of the city and replaced him with John Sullivan. A fiery, egotistical lawyer from New Hampshire, the son of Irish indentured servants, Sullivan had wild, unruly hair and a confrontational personality. Washington took a balanced view of Sullivan, crediting him with being “spirited and zealously attached to the Cause” but suffering from a “tincture of vanity” and an unhealthy “desire of being popular.”⁵³ William Alexander, better known as Lord Stirling, who had been in charge of New York’s fortifications, was appointed to take over Sullivan’s division. Before the war Washington had tried to help the rich, free-spending Stirling with his crippling debts. A convivial man, excessively fond of drink, Stirling would distinguish himself as a brave soldier and a steadfast supporter of Washington.

With the patriots feeling beleaguered as never before, the question of military strategy preoccupied Washington and his officers. The armchair generals of the Continental Army, averaging only two years of military experience, had suddenly become real generals. Pessimism was rampant. With a sinking feeling, Henry Knox told his brother that the Continental Army was “not sufficiently numerous to resist the formidable attacks which will probably be made.”⁵⁴ Joseph Reed espoused a cautious strategy, “a war of posts,” which he defined thus: “prolong, procrastinate, avoid any general action, or indeed any action, unless we have great advantages.”⁵⁵ Under this strategy, the patriots would fortify a few strong, impregnable positions and invite the British to attack at their peril. Charles Lee wanted to fragment the army into nimble mobile units that could swoop down and harass the enemy as opportunities arose. Washington was slowly being forced to adopt a cautious strategy of trying to survive as best he could and attacking only when unusual chances emerged. The aim was to keep the Continental Army intact and wear down Britain through a prolonged war of attrition, hoping all the while to attract European allies who might deal a devastating blow to the enemy.

The British, for their part, did have to win a military victory; a stalemate would be an expensive and humiliating defeat. They rejected a blockade of American ports as too daunting even for the Royal Navy. One faction favored the blatant application of terror to scare the colonists into submission—but that strategy, tried in Falmouth and Norfolk, had backfired and unified the Americans. The Howe brothers opted for a more subtle, complex agenda than their massive military presence implied, including a concerted attempt to regain the allegiance of the rebels and to mobilize Loyalists. They wanted to establish a British citadel in New York that would serve as a base of operations to sustain hit-and-run raids against Atlantic seaports, enabling their army to move more swiftly than the land-bound Continental Army. Most of all, they wanted to dominate the Hudson River and shut off New England from the other states.

Even as Washington awaited the British onslaught, his overburdened mind turned where it always did for comfort: to Mount Vernon, his mental sanctuary. That August, in his spare moments, he fantasized about the groves of trees that would brighten up each end of his mansion. Only recently he had heard from Jacky Custis that British men-of-war had sailed up the Potomac and burned houses to the ground, but Washington’s mind preferred to dwell on sylvan visions of home. He could see the grounds clearly in his mind, down to the last bush. “There is no doubt but that the honey locust, if you could procure seed enough and that seed would come up, will make . . . a very good hedge,” he wrote to Lund Washington. “So will the haw or thorn . . . but cedar or any kind of evergreen would look better. However, if one thing will not do, we must try another, as no time ought to be lost in rearing of hedges, not only for ornament but use.”⁵⁶ A few days later this escapist vision would be blotted out by the bloodshed in Brooklyn.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Disaster

BY MID-AUGUST fresh contingents of British ships had converged on New York, rounding out an expeditionary force of 32,000 troops, including 8,000 Hessian mercenaries, and revealing the magnitude of the threat to the Continental Army. Making a major statement about the peril of the American revolt, the Crown had enlisted seventy warships, a full half of the Royal Navy, to deliver an overwhelming blow against the Americans. It decided to gamble all on a military solution to a conflict that was, at bottom, one of principle and that depended ultimately on recovering the lost trust of the former colonists.

A subdued Washington knew the stage was set for a major confrontation. “An attack is now therefore to be expected,” he wrote, “which will probably decide the fate of America.”¹ His army of only 10,500 men, 3,000 of them ailing, was sadly outnumbered and outgunned. Even though he tried to put on a brave face, he approached the impending confrontation with dread. “When I compare” the British Army “with that which we have to oppose them, I cannot help feeling very anxious apprehensions,” he confided to Brigadier General William Livingston.² As more militiamen streamed into New York, Washington’s army expanded to 23,000 soldiers, but many were callow youths grabbed from shops and farms who would soon confront a highly professional military force. Washington’s pronouncements acquired a darker tinge, as if he intuited the many deaths that lay ahead. “We must resolve to conquer or die,” he intoned in general orders. “With this resolution and the blessing of heaven, victory and success certainly will attend us.”³

The night of August 21, almost the eve of battle, witnessed an electrical storm of such portentous grandeur that it might have been conjured up by Shakespeare. Major Abner Benedict, posted on the elevated portion of Long Island known as Brooklyn Heights, which towered over the East River and housed the main American fortification, left this graphic description of the celestial pyrotechnics whizzing through the sky: “In a few minutes the entire heavens became black as ink, and from horizon to horizon the whole empyrean was ablaze with lightning . . . The lightning fell in masses and sheets of fire to earth, and seemed to strike incessantly and on every side.”⁴

The Howe brothers postponed an invasion to give the Hessian troops a week to recuperate from their transatlantic journey and to see if their feeble peace overtures bore fruit. Baffled by the delay, Washington found “something exceedingly mysterious in the conduct” of these brothers, who spouted catchphrases of peace amid a huge military buildup.⁵ The paramount question was whether the enemy would land on Manhattan or on Long Island, prompting Washington to hedge his bets by dividing his forces. This strategy, if seemingly prudent, ran the grave risk of having British ships storm up the East River, snapping links between the army’s two wings. To avert this possibility, Washington sank wrecks in the channels of Upper New York Bay—one could see masts of submerged ships poking up from the water—and seeded the East River with spiked obstacles to thwart vessels.