“Josiah,” the General bellowed—all his coolness had disappeared, as this was one subject that could drive him into a rage—“if I had the power, I would impale these speculators on stakes five times higher and sharper than the one prepared by Haman for Mordecai.” Then he caught himself as he saw my eyes widen at the phrase “if I had the power.” He became quieter as he reflected on the contrast between the chimney corner patriots and the sacrifices of our army.
“It baffles the mind,” the General said, “that these men would prey on their own country, their own army, like this. And such an army! Who has before seen such a disciplined army formed so quickly from such an inferior number of raw, untrained recruits? Who, that was not a witness, could imagine that the most violent local prejudices would cease so soon and that men who came from the different parts of the continent, strongly disposed by the habits of education to despise and quarrel with each other, would become”—in one of the General’s favorite, albeit borrowed, phrases—“one band of brothers?”
The General’s praise of the nobility of our army led me to recall that at first he had not reflected so kindly on the troops or officers under his command. Over the years he had changed his opinion. Perhaps this was because he recognized that, as the commander of an army from the thirteen colonies, he knew he had to win the allegiance of all, but I do believe he came to appreciate the performance of all his troops, especially when he compared their tribulations with the easier life of the British and their Hessian allies. Now he spoke once again to me of how, years from now, posterity would not believe the miraculous behavior of our men.
“Josiah, historiographers will bestow on their labors the epithet and marks of fiction. It will not be believed that such a force as Great Britain has employed in this country could be baffled in their plan of subjugating it, by numbers infinitely less, composed of men oftentimes half starved, always in rags, often without pay, and experiencing, at times, every species of distress that human nature is capable of undergoing. Has any army suffered greater hardships than ours?”
The words had a familiar ring to me, and then I realized the General was expressing the same thoughts as he had in a letter a month ago to General Greene. The General had a habit of quoting himself—or me—without realizing it.
“Of course, Josiah,” the General continued, “the composition of our troops has changed in the last eight years. There is more discipline and fewer desertions.”
I listened dutifully as the General stated what I well knew.
“At the beginning, although fewer than twelve thousand troops stepped forward of the twenty-three thousand Congress asked for, they were all full of patriotic fervor. We had mainly New Englanders and Virginians. Many, however, left by the end of 1775 to return to their farms. Today we still have many farmers, but also more of the poor, landless, unemployed, indentured servants, and ex-slaves. What motivates men to fight, Josiah? Patriotism? Natural bravery? Present or future reward? Respect of peers? Patriotism is a great motivation, Josiah; an eighty-dollar bounty for reenlisting for the duration of the war and the chance to eat are apparently also great motivations. We have more troops now because there are greater prospects of both success and at least some financial reward. Yet despite the desertions and the turnover, the resilience has been remarkable, don’t you think?”
He did not wait for me to answer the question. “Just think of the lack of food and clothing and, for most of the war, one-third having no shoes. Well, at least they are better fed and clothed now thanks to French money. They are few compared to the many who did not fight or profited by their endeavors, but they are indeed a band of brothers.”
Ah, there was that phrase “band of brothers” again.
It was really remarkable how the General, who most perceived was by birth part of the Virginia aristocracy—which of course he wasn’t—had come to love and repeat that phrase from the famous St. Crispin’s Day speech in Shakespeare’s Henry V when the king rallies his outnumbered army before the 1415 Battle of Agincourt:
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered,—
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother . . .
I could see why the General loved this speech. It sounded to me very much like himself. And the officers and troops certainly responded to this phrase. The General was so aloof at times, but the troops, even more so the newer recruits, looked in awe at him.
I believe in part the troops respected the General because of his courage in battle. Someone showed me an old article from the French and Indian War where the General commented that he had “heard the bullets whistle” and there was “something charming in the sound.” To one who found whistling bullets more terrifying than charming, this was hard to fathom. I don’t know whether the General still found being shot at “charming” or whether in his middle age he felt a need to act as if he did and an obligation to show courage to those he asked to follow him.
I have read that our military doctrine today follows the British model that suggests generals should always stay in the rear, the better to direct troop movements. The General would have deemed this preposterous. When a battle was developing, he would occasionally sit on a hill in the rear, but as soon as the battle was joined, the General would always move to the front.
Perhaps the respect of his troops was in part because they knew the General, while at times critical, appreciated them. The General instituted awards, ribbons, and what we now call purple hearts. A small matter, you may say, but, as far as I know, the General was the first commander in the world to show such recognition for enlisted men.
Or perhaps the respect stemmed from knowing that the General understood both his troops’ potential and their limitations. The General had no illusions about human nature. “A common man can be a hero and a coward,” he was fond of saying. “Discipline and leadership will go a long ways toward determining which it is.” Such comments always made me feel uncomfortable, believing that I was more coward than hero. I often suspected the General knew this, but he never broached the subject and always acted as if I was a comrade in arms.