Martha Washington (18 page)

Martha remained a little over a month in New York. With the arrival of the army, smallpox began running wild through the city. Smallpox was very infectious and frequently fatal and left many of its surviving victims horribly scarred, their faces as cratered as the moon. The combination of a port city and an army of thousands of young men from the countryside created the ideal conditions for an epidemic. George himself was immune because of a light case he had suffered in his youth, but Martha wasn't. Without being inoculated, she couldn't stay safely in New York.

George was a strong advocate of inoculation, despite the risk of death, working tirelessly to create an army safe from smallpox. But he doubted Martha's courage to go through the frightening procedure. As he wrote to his brother Jack on April 29, “Mrs. Washington is still here, and talks of taking the Small Pox, but I doubt her resolution.” How could he have been so blind? Martha would brave anything to be with him.

Summoned by Congress for consultation, George took the opportunity to escort Martha to Philadelphia, out of harm's way and with access to the nation's best doctors if she was inoculated. They arrived on May 23, staying at Randolph's lodging house rather than accepting John Hancock's offer of his home. That very afternoon, Martha plunged ahead, allowing a doctor to infect her before retiring to her room for the next three weeks.

After nearly a year in command, Washington had several changes and reforms in mind to improve the army, and he was able to convince Congress to put some of them into effect. Congressmen were considering the whole question of declaring independence; Washington considered fielding an army evidence enough of rebellion. Although he complained about being held overlong in Philadelphia by politicians, he was also keeping up his wife's spirits throughout her quarantine. The inoculation was successful. Not a pockmark marred her fair skin.

By June 6, Washington was again in New York, leaving Martha behind to recover completely; she rejoined him by midmonth. Then, on June 29, fifty British ships appeared on the horizon, carrying General William Howe and his troops. They settled into camp on Staten Island, awaiting reinforcements and a larger fleet from England.

The next day, Martha Washington and Lucy Knox were hustled out of town by their husbands, who were preparing to defend the city against vastly superior enemies. Kitty Greene stayed longer, stubbornly refusing to leave, but she too finally went home, pregnant with her second child. Martha waited in Philadelphia: if nothing more came of the British presence in New York than in Boston, she might be able to return. No need to hurry home, so far away, if there was a chance of rejoining George.

Thus it happened that Martha knew about the Declaration of Independence before her husband did. She was in Philadelphia when Congress voted for independence on July 2, when the Declaration was adopted on July 4, and when the Declaration was read and independence publicly proclaimed on July 8. Wherever she may have been staying, her closest sight of the parade, gunfire, and public reading at the State House was probably through a window. The crowds were rowdy, and few of the gentry were in evidence. George received a copy of the document on July 9. To the troops assembled on the large Broadway common, the commander read aloud the words that would change all their lives. But it would surely be no easy task.

Sir William Howe's brother, Admiral Lord Richard Howe, arrived soon after the Declaration with a large fleet and British reinforcements outnumbering the Americans by about two and a half to one. For six weeks, there were skirmishes and halfhearted suggestions of peace from the Howes, about which George wrote to his wife. Martha's hopes were buoyed by the opinion of some Philadelphians who “begen to think thare will be noe Battle after all.”

Also heartened by the soldiers making their way to New York and a letter from her husband, on August 28 Martha rejoiced to Nancy: “I thank god we shant want men.” Ironically, that was the date of the Battle of Long Island, an American defeat. Shortly afterward, terrible news reached Philadelphia. The American forces under Washington's command had pulled back from New York City, seriously mauled. They were retreating up Manhattan Island, and supporters of the Revolution had to face the possibility that their cause could be lost. Martha went home as soon as possible. She wouldn't be joining her husband in New York City any time soon.

Harlem Heights, Valcour Bay, White Plains, Fort Washington, Newport—one American loss followed another until Washington was driven into Pennsylvania. Congress was terrified that the successful British army, now in control of New Jersey, would march straight to Philadelphia and punish the supporters of the Revolution. They fled the endangered city and reconvened in greater safety at Baltimore in early December.

Martha and George continued writing their weekly letters, his filled with the blackest news, though they were often delayed or went astray. In October, a packet of letters from American headquarters was stolen from an express rider as he refreshed himself at a tavern and taken to the British commander, including one for Martha that General Howe politely returned. Even in the middle of loss and vexations, George maintained his steady concern for Mount Vernon and his wife—ordering holly trees planted and sending down two likely bays for the team that drew Martha's coach. Back home, she fretted and worried about her husband. As general of the rebellious army, he would surely face death if the war was lost.

But there was also new life at Mount Vernon. Martha was delighted with her first grandchild, Elizabeth Parke Custis, described by her proud papa as “the strapping Huzze [hussy],” born August 21. Jack declared seriously that she was “as fine a Healthy, fat Baby as ever was born.” Her black hair and eyes were like Nelly's. “It is as pretty & Fine a Baba as ever I saw. This not my opinion alone, but the Opinion of all who have seen Her.” Her grandmama had to agree when she finally saw baby Betsy.

Winter fell unusually hard that year, the roads froze, snowdrifts piled high, and still the American army hadn't gone into winter camp by late December. From the defeats suffered and the almost miraculous escapes pulled off, Washington was learning effective tactics to use against a large professional army. He was learning to mitigate the weaknesses and maximize the strengths of American soldiers. He was on the way to creating a new sort of army, one that would survive to fight again and again until it wore down its opponents.

The string of unbroken losses at the end of 1776 had created a mood of gloom throughout a nation that hadn't yet celebrated its first birthday. It seemed possible that the Revolution would be crushed long before the next fourth of July. Washington turned that gloomy foreboding around. His surprise crossing of the icy Delaware River into enemy-held New Jersey on Christmas evening and the victorious attacks on Trenton and Princeton gave the nation new hope—particularly when British forces pulled back to their stronghold in New York City. New Jersey was in American hands again. Washington's army then settled into winter camp at Morristown, New Jersey, in January 1777.

The winter at Morristown was a preview for Valley Forge—severe cold, short supplies, muttering soldiers going home when their enlistments ran out. George was lonely and missed Martha. The erratic arrival of his letters from home was “mortifying, as it deprives me of the consolation of hearing from home on domestic matters.” No one, he believed, “suffers more by an absence from home than myself.”

Before the roads were quite clear, Martha set out for Morristown in late February, arriving at the camp in mid-March 1777. One way or another, her husband had mismanaged all her housekeeping arrangements, and she was forced to arrange everything anew for their convenience. Her arrival also acted as a signal for the arrival of the other women—officers' wives, sisters, and daughters, as well as visitors from the neighborhood. They gathered around Martha, sewing in hand, chatting and gossiping, commenting on or contriving romances.

Everybody enjoyed being with the Washingtons at headquarters because of their obvious fondness for each other and the good cheer they radiated. Martha doted on her “Old Man,” as she called him. Bystanders were often amused when the formidable general, so often the object of dumbstruck respect, failed to notice that his “dear Patsy” was talking to him. That short, determined lady would yank on his coattails to get his attention, until he smiled down lovingly from his great height. She humanized the national hero—or rather demonstrated his humanity to those who hadn't seen it. Himself very happily married, Nathanael Greene could recognize love when he saw it: “They are very happy in each other.”

Martha Daingerfield Bland, the wife of Colonel Theodorick Bland of Virginia, was in camp that spring. Like many women, she was charmed by Washington's “politeness and attention” as well as his ability to “be downright impudent sometimes.” She and her husband went to headquarters nearly every day “from Inclination.” Washington devoted the morning and early afternoon to military and political matters, but from dinner on he enjoyed the society of Martha and their visitors. “His Worthy Lady seems to be in perfect felicity while she is by the side of her
Old Man
as she calls him.” In the afternoons, a large group often rode out on horseback through the beautifully rolling countryside.

A newcomer at headquarters was Alexander Hamilton, recently appointed aide-de-camp. Brilliant, polemical, and wildly ambitious, the twenty-year-old Hamilton seemed to be the perfect aide, secretary, and right-hand man to Washington. Born in the West Indies, he had been sent to King's College in New York, where he threw himself into the patriots' cause. Although he dreamed of further combat, he made the most of his close association with the commander in chief.

Another young man joined Washington's inner circle after Martha went home in June. In July, a nineteen-year-old French nobleman arrived at camp. Fired with the desire for glory and fed up with a miserable life ruled by his overbearing father-in-law, the Marquis de Lafayette had broken free and sailed to America. Overwhelmed by his position and wealth, Congress appointed him a major general of the Continental Army—even though he had no military experience. Washington suffered constant aggravation from congressional infatuation with foreign officers—many of them bogus, others totally unsuited to serve in a republic—all of them demanding high ranks and commands. But Lafayette was different. He had come to learn from Washington, not to peacock about. He became the son Washington had longed for and that Jack Custis could never be.

Howe brought his army from New York by ship to the head of the Chesapeake and then marched on Philadelphia—not so much because he wanted the city as that he wanted to force Washington into battle so he could destroy the American army. Congress hurriedly departed westward for Lancaster and then farther west to York, which became the interim American capital. They demanded that their general prevent the capture of Philadelphia.

For the British to win a clear-cut victory, they needed to meet the Americans in open country where their numbers and rigorous discipline would prevail. Washington had learned that he had to pick his own ground. So far, quick movements, surprise attacks, superior marksmanship, and fast retreats had prevented his forces from being smashed by their better-armed, better-trained, and numerically superior enemies. The longer the British were forced to fight so far from home, their supply lines stretched until they twanged, the better for the American cause. Running up the cost of this operation both in pounds sterling and in casualties was creating political and popular opposition to the war in England.

The French were clandestinely supplying the rebels with money and war matériel to weaken their traditional enemies across the English Channel. American commissioners in Paris headed by Benjamin Franklin were trying to negotiate official recognition and aid. Any evidence that the American cause was viable could help tilt French officials toward a favorable decision.

Washington's two attempts to defend Philadelphia, the Battles of Brandywine and Germantown in September and October 1777, came close to succeeding, each turned to defeat by overelaborate plans and adverse circumstances. Germantown, in particular, following less than a month on the loss at the Brandywine, impressed French observers with the resiliency and flexibility of the American forces. But Philadelphia was lost: Howe and his army settled there that fall, impervious to American attack.

It was the capture of General John Burgoyne's army in October at Saratoga that finally led the French to commit to the American cause. Benedict Arnold contributed mightily to the American victory, though the credit was claimed by his commander Horatio Gates. Preening himself on the greatest American victory to date, Gates set himself up as equal to Washington, ignoring his orders and listening to intriguers who wanted him to oust the commander. Washington would be troubled and mortified by these machinations for the next several months; as in any conflict, Martha was her husband's committed partisan. Even after George overcame his detractors, she had nothing more to do with Elizabeth Gates. When Mercy Warren asked Martha to pass on her regards to Elizabeth the following year, Martha refused, citing distance as her excuse.