Martha Washington (21 page)

Although the first attempt at a combined Franco-American attack had failed, the French were still committed to using their fleet in aid of the American rebels. In early May, their minister arrived at camp in company with an unofficial Spanish representative. France had declared war on Great Britain the previous summer, and Spain would follow her lead a few months later. By now, pomp and ceremony were second nature to Washington's army—cannons boomed, muskets fired in unison, infantry paraded and maneuvered, the troop of light horse pranced. The foreign gentlemen stood on an improvised stage with Martha and the other ladies, soon joined by Washington.

That spring and summer, the British tried different strategies. A raiding expedition on Virginia towns bordering the Chesapeake Bay was short-lived, but then a large British force from New York moved up the Hudson, and Martha went home. Having Jack and Nelly settled within easy riding distance of Mount Vernon with their three little girls was a delight. Lund Washington had been courting his cousin Elizabeth Foote. When they married that year, he brought her to Mount Vernon to live. Martha found her a compatible housemate, and they became good friends.

The fall of 1779 was bloody as loyalists and patriots attacked and counterattacked one another in many states, neighbor against neighbor, and frontier violence between Indians and militias worsened, with no quarter given to women or children. An American attempt to retake Savannah was a debacle. The only bright spot was the success of American privateers against British merchantmen and John Paul Jones's capture of a British frigate.

Washington went into winter camp early, settling into Morristown for the second time. That year was even worse than Valley Forge—heavy snow, unpaid troops, and food in short supply, although the men did get their barracks built just before a massive blizzard blew in, the worst in recorded history. When Martha arrived in Morristown just before Christmas, she found the space allotted to the commander too small, cold, and ill equipped. The army had rented an eight-room house from Theodosia Ford, but the upstairs was unfinished, and the landlady still lived in two of the downstairs rooms. All the servants—theirs and Mrs. Ford's—were crammed together into one kitchen room. Most annoying, Nathanael Greene had scooped up the best house, though the allotments usually followed rank.

In the three years since Alexander Hamilton had joined Washington's staff, he had made himself indispensable, so much so that the general refused to give him a field command. Lafayette was the man whom Washington treated as a surrogate son, but Hamilton was also like a son—one of those rebellious, competitive sons who have tense, turbulent relationships with their fathers. Hamilton appreciated Washington's status as an American icon, his lofty spirit, and his ability to keep the army intact. But he desperately resented his own dependence on Washington and yearned for a chance to succeed as a fighting officer, out of the great man's shadow.

For all its discomforts, the village of Morristown was very sociable that winter, and Hamilton had a lively time in both high company and low. Like most of the young aides, he indulged himself with sexual adventures, but he also flirted with proper young ladies at the winter dances. In an almost certainly apocryphal (but too good to leave out) story, Martha called the camp's prowling tomcat “Hamilton.”

Hamilton had started to think of marriage, coolly enumerating the attributes he expected in a bride. Then Elizabeth Schuyler arrived in town in February 1780 to stay with her aunt and uncle, and he was lost. Betsy was twenty-two, a small (Hamilton was short and slight), brown-eyed brunette with considerable strength of character. She was the second daughter of the wealthy Philip Schuyler, retired from the army but still active in the patriot cause. Schuyler was one of Washington's greatest admirers, and Betsy came promptly to pay her respects at headquarters.

The young woman made the commander's wife a pair of cuffs, easily basted on to protect sleeves from soil and as easily removed for washing. In a warm note, Martha thanked her for the cuffs, which she found very pretty. She sent her a small present in return—“some rice powder, which she hopes will be acceptable.”

Martha liked the company of young people and enjoyed watching romances unfold. It was no doubt especially satisfying to watch the rakish Hamilton become enthralled. Within a month, Alexander and Betsy were engaged, and he wrote asking her parents' permission. Not only was their approval given, the Schuylers came to Morristown and rented a house, where they entertained the young suitor. Over the years, Hamilton's enemies sneered at his illegitimate birth and youthful poverty, but not Philip and Catherine van Rensselaer Schuyler. Although they were both members of the old New York landed elite, they put aside their class prejudices, approving of the brilliant and charming young officer and welcoming him into their family.

That spring, unpaid troops mutinied and were put down by loyal units; leaders of the mutinous soldiers were hanged as an example, and the commander feared that the mutiny might spread. Washington was forced to stay in the New York area to control his own troops and to contain the British troops in the city, while the action of the war moved south, where Clinton was besieging the port of Charleston.

The fall of Charleston in May 1780 was the single biggest American defeat of the war; not only was the major southern port lost, but ships, an arsenal, and the entire southern American army fell into enemy hands, while the victors suffered few casualties. Under the leadership of General Cornwallis, the British proceeded with their southern campaign. The northern colonies might be lost, but surely the southern colonies could be regained for Great Britain by war's end.

Just in time to boost the patriots' sagging morale, Lafayette returned from France in May with the news that his mission on behalf of the American cause had been completely successful. The fleet would return again, money would flow, troops would be paid, arms would be shipped, and a French army under the experienced general Comte de Rochambeau would follow Lafayette within two months. To Washington's further pleasure, Spanish troops under Bernardo de Gálvez had taken Mobile, distracting the British in the Gulf of Mexico even though there was no formal Spanish alliance.

When Martha left camp in the middle of June, she was bone weary and determined to stay home until it was time to go north again. She swore that “I suffered so much last winter by going late that I have determined to go early in the fall before the Frost sets in.” In the meantime, she asked relatives to visit her rather than undertake the journey to New Kent—“I find myself so much fatigued with my ride that I shall not be able to come down to see you this summer.” She was also worried about George's spirits. She wrote Burwell Bassett about “the distress of the army and other difficultys tho I did not know the cause, the pore General was so unhappy that it distressed me exceedingly.” Apparently she was being discreet, since she certainly knew about the financial shortfalls, defeats, and mutinies that weighed so heavily on her husband.

Esther DeBerdt Reed, Joseph Reed's wife, decided that it was time for the women of America to act on behalf of their poorly supplied soldiers. In June 1780, she suggested that money should be raised for the troops as “the offering of the ladies.” The movement caught on in other states as these well-connected women wrote to their friends, inviting their involvement; newspapers reported approvingly.

Naturally, Martha Washington became part of the effort. She contributed money herself and wrote to Governor Thomas Jefferson's wife, another Martha, who announced a collection in the churches of mostly rural Virginia. Although the original plan was for Martha Washington to distribute the more than $300,000 collected nationwide, she was far away at Mount Vernon, so George was a poor second choice. At his suggestion for the ladies of Philadelphia, linen was purchased with the money and a large group of women led by Sarah Bache made 2,200 shirts for the soldiers.

An American army was again in the field to oppose the British in the south, commanded by Horatio Gates at Congress's behest. But the victor of Saratoga suffered a mortifying defeat at Camden, South Carolina, resulting in the loss of his command. Nathanael Greene later took over the leadership of an army in terrible disarray and began rebuilding it and attracting popular support while avoiding annihilation by Cornwallis.

Bedeviled as he was, Washington suffered another blow in September on a routine visit to the Hudson River fortress at West Point, commanded by Benedict Arnold. Washington, who admired and respected Arnold as a fighting general, had secured the command for him at his request. When the commander and his party of officers and aides arrived at Arnold's quarters, they found him mysteriously absent and his young wife, abed with their baby, hysterical and seemingly out of her mind. A day's investigation revealed that Arnold had fled downriver to a British warship because he was about to be exposed as a traitor. The British had paid him for information, including the whereabouts of Washington when he was vulnerable to capture; Arnold had been on the verge of turning West Point over to the enemy.

Although he took swift action to defend against any British move, Washington had time to sympathize and worry about Peggy Shippen Arnold, the traitor's much younger wife. A winsome blonde, Peggy was a member of a prominent Philadelphia family, the cousin of Martha and George's friend Eliza Powel, and well-known to them both. Washington, Lafayette, Hamilton, and the other officers were unanimous in their pity for Arnold's innocent wife. They were unaware that she had been a full participant in Arnold's plans, even an instigator, and that her hysterics were staged to trick and confuse them.

Martha rejoined George in early December 1780 at the new headquarters in New Windsor, New York, where they stayed through June. With the turn of the year, there was fresh trouble with the troops. Although the men were now fed and clothed, the length of the war was telling on them. There was another mutiny in January, followed by desertions, and still another mutiny two weeks later.

Safely married into the wealthy Schuyler family, Alexander Hamilton forced a quarrel on “the great man” over some hasty words, refused to accept Washington's attempt to make amends, and resigned his position. The smooth functioning of headquarters was interrupted (Martha made a fair copy in her best hand of at least one letter for her husband, contrary to her usual habit), and social relations were strained as well. Martha had planned to accompany Betsy Hamilton to Albany for a visit with the Schuylers; the trip was canceled with a weak excuse. Despite Hamilton's bitter complaints against his benefactor, he continued to trust in his sense of justice. After many requests, Washington did provide Hamilton with an opportunity to fight at Yorktown.

The tide was turning in the south. Daniel Morgan won a conclusive, though small, victory at Cowpens, South Carolina, in January, followed by Greene's drawn battle at Guilford Courthouse, North Carolina, in March. Cornwallis won in the field but withdrew before any further encounter could take place; he couldn't afford another such costly victory. Guilford was devastating to the British; their casualties were twice as heavy as the Americans', including several officers, and reinforcements were far away. For the Americans, the news was all good. The smallest victory gave them new hope and encouraged them to hold on. Cornwallis began his march into Virginia toward Yorktown. With an enemy that melted away only to form up again, the old cliché expressed it all: The British were winning the battles but slowly losing the war.

Rochambeau had finally agreed to a joint attack on New York, and Washington was poised for action. Martha planned to go home in May, but she fell ill with a gallbladder attack and spent five weeks in bed. Martha Mortier, the widow of a British army paymaster (whose Manhattan house the Washingtons had lived in during their brief stay in 1776), sent a note under a flag of truce, saying that she had heard of Mrs. Washington's indisposition through intercepted letters; accompanying the note were some invalids' comforts, including lemons, oranges, limes, and two dozen pineapples. George feared that acceptance of these expensive gifts would appear to be consorting with the enemy and returned them with a stiff note. He was still aggrieved that Lund had negotiated with a British vessel to prevent the destruction of Mount Vernon. Without a taste of citrus fruit, the recovered Martha left camp in mid-June.

That summer, Jack and Nelly joined her at home as they often did, although they had finally moved to Abingdon. Mount Vernon rang with the voices of Betsy and Patty, five and almost four. Because of her delicate health from several pregnancies and difficult births, Nelly frequently left little Nelly, two years old, and the new baby—a boy at last, to his papa's relief—to be cared for at Mount Vernon by their grandmother and Eliza Foote Washington. The baby boy, born on April 30, had been christened George Washington Parke Custis, called Wash or Washy.

Wild for joint action and be damned to the budget, Washington had the French officers for dinner several days a week. Thirty guests a day gathered at the commander's table and missed having his wife there to oversee the meal. The camaraderie—not to speak of the beer, rum, and Madeira—boded well for future cooperation, but the French naturally criticized the cuisine. The coffee was too weak, the salad was vinegary, and the food ran together in their single plates. Surely war wasn't a valid excuse for a one-course dinner.

In mid-August, the news arrived: The French fleet under the command of Admiral de Grasse was on the way to the Chesapeake, with three thousand soldiers on board. Between the fleet and Lafayette's forces, reinforced by these French troops, Cornwallis would be trapped at Yorktown. Giving up the dream of New York, Washington and Rochambeau and their armies set off for Virginia, some by boat, the others marching.